One night stand with my daddy's best friend

CAMILLE

I stared at the little onesie on the hanger, wondering whether or not it was a good idea to spend this much money on baby clothing when I knew that

the baby would grow like a weed. The onesie was cute, but I didn't know if it was different enough from the five others draped over my arm to justify buying. "When are you due?" the cashier asked, glancing over at me from behind the register.

"August." I smiled and added the onesie to the stack.

Whatever didn't fit after a while, I would donate to a shelter or to a family in need. The clothes wouldn't be wasted. They would be given to somebody who needed them more than I did.

With that thought in mind, I started grabbing more onesies from the rack and draping them over my arm. When I finally went to the register, I tried not to think about the total. My baby and then another would get use out of these clothes. They were worth spending the money on.

"This one is so cute," the cashier said as she held up one of the onesies with a little dinosaur on it.

"I know," I said, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. "I had to stop myself from buying the matching shirt too."

The cashier and I talked as she rang up my purchase, folding the tiny outfits and putting them into a paper bag while I paid.

Once I was done at the shop, I started walking in the direction of one of my favorite cafés. It was a small little shop that was just around the corner.

As I was walking, the wind started to grow colder, and snow began falling. I wrapped my coat tightly around my body, pulling the belt a little tighter to keep it secure. People were unbothered as they hurried down the street. They were used to the cold weather in the city.

When I turned the corner at the end of the street, I saw a woman huddled against a wall. She looked like the wind could blow her away if it blew hard enough. Loose clothes were hanging off her tiny frame and there was a pair of flip flops on her feet.

I opened my purse, prepared to pull out some money and hand it to her until I saw the woman's face.

I froze in my tracks, staring down at the woman in front of me. She lifted her head when I stopped, her eyes narrowing. There was no light in her eyes like there once had been when I was a young child. The lines that covered her face were darker and dirt was smeared along her cheeks.

"Well, it looks like you finally made something of yourself," my mother said, her voice raspy as she looked up at me. "Who knew?"

"What are you doing here? I thought you were staying with your sister in Oregon?"

My mother looked at me, resentment in her eyes. Her gaze traveled along my body before she shook her head. I tried not to let her get to me, but it was

hard. Childhood memories came flooding back and I wanted to put as much distance between my mother and myself as possible.

Though not all the memories were bad, most were.

Still, I couldn't bring myself to walk away from her. Not when she was at the worst that I had ever seen her.

I wanted to tell her to pull up her sleeves and show me her arms, but I knew that seeing the truth would only hurt worse. At least this way I could pretend that there was nothing wrong other than her homelessness.

"Do you have a place to stay for the night?" I asked, crouching down across from her, careful to keep the paper bag from getting soaked by the snow and slush on the ground.

"Does it look like I have a place to stay for the night?" she asked, her tone sharp as she glared up at me. "I don't know why you care. It's not as if you've ever given a shit about your poor mama."

"There is a shelter around the corner. I can walk with you if you like. It's a women-only one. They should have some hot meals ready and a place to sleep."

She crossed her arms and looked away from me, but I could see her wavering. As much as she didn't want to accept my help, she didn't have anyone to turn to.

If she was back in New York, something bad had gone wrong in Oregon.

Her sister never would have kicked her out without a reason.

"Come on. It's going to be cold tonight. At least there will be a bed and a warm place to sleep."

"Don't you have any money? I know you're working that fancy job."

"No, I don't have any money," I said, holding my purse a little bit closer to my body. "All I can do is walk with you to the shelter. Why don't we do

that?"

She finally nodded and got to her feet, stumbling a few steps. I reached out to help her but she yanked her arm away from me. With a sigh, I walked with her down the street.

"You always did think you were better than me," Mama said as she walked. She pulled a flask from somewhere within the baggy clothes and took a sip. "You have all this money and yet you won't do anything to help." "Mama," I said, my soft southern accent reappearing.

The only time it came out was when I was talking to her. It had only taken me a few months of living in New York to realize that companies wouldn't take me seriously unless I lost the accent.

"No! You leave your poor mama to rot in the streets like a common beggar."

"Mama, I paid for your rehab four times in the last seven years."

Mama rolled her eyes as we turned a corner. The shelter was only a few feet ahead. My heart was hammering in my chest and everything in me was screaming at me to get away from her before she had the chance to hurt me again. The pain had rarely been physical but the emotional wounds she inflicted were cut so deep that I wasn't sure I would ever be able to fully heal.

"I didn't ask for you to send me there."

"Mama, you needed to go. Do you want to go back? I can help you get clean again."

"You'll mind your own damn business is what you'll do," she said as I stopped in front of the shelter. "I don't need you and your uppity attitude thinking that you know what's best."

"Mama, we're here," I said, my shoulders slumping with exhaustion. I

couldn't believe that I had gone from such a great day shopping for baby supplies to such a horrible one.

"Good," she muttered.

I opened my purse and pulled out a small notebook. She watched as I scribbled my phone number of the paper. When I handed it to her, she rolled her eyes but slipped the piece of paper in her pocket. "That's my number in case you change your mind," I said. "Don't want it."

She took another sip from her flask before stumbling her way inside the shelter where a woman was waiting for her.

I stayed until the door had closed behind her, a couple tears rolling down my cheeks. Once I could no longer see her, I called for a car to come pick me up.

I was ready to go home.

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Tears rolled down my cheeks and it felt like I couldn't breathe. I slumped against my headboard, my knees pulled to my chest.

This wasn't the way that having a baby was supposed to happen. I was supposed to have a mother around who was going to love and support me. There was supposed to be a man in my life who I loved. Who loved me back.

I wasn't supposed to be doing this on my own. There was supposed to be a community of people around me.

My shoulders shook with sobs as I thought about the way my mother looked. She was thinner than I had ever seen her and there were dark circles beneath her eyes. I didn't know how long she'd been in the city, but she didn't look like she was doing well.

The walls felt like they were closing in around me and my heart was racing. No matter how deeply I inhaled, it still felt like I couldn't breathe. There wasn't enough air in the room.

"Shit, Camille!" Drew said as he raced into my room. "Are you okay?" "Can't breathe," I said, hyperventilating as I tried to get enough air. It felt

like I was suffocating. "Not enough air."

"Camille, I want you to count for me, okay? We're going to count in multiples of seven. I promise that it will help you feel better."

I nodded, still trying to take a deep breath. "Seven, fourteen, twenty-one, twenty-eight, thirty-five."

Drew counted with me, his voice steady and calm as he rubbed his hand up and down my thigh. With each number I said, I felt my chest start to relax. The walls were no longer closing in and after a few minutes I was finally able to breathe. "I'll get you something to drink," he said before leaving the room.

When he came back, I took the glass of water and took a long sip. I set the glass on my nightstand before wiping away the tears that had fallen.

"What just happened?" he asked, worry etched onto his face. "I've never seen you like that."

"Don't worry about it," I said, running a hand through my hair though I couldn't be bothered to care about whether I looked like a complete mess or not.

"I'm going to worry about it. You're sitting in here and clutching

yourself."

"It's just pregnancy hormones," I said, my voice weak as I tried to come up with an excuse he might believe. I didn't want to spend time rehashing my childhood with him.

"It is not just pregnancy hormones. I've seen pregnant women. That was more."

"It was nothing." "Bullshit."

"It's not bullshit," I said, starting to try and find a reason for him to leave. "Do you have panic attacks a lot?" Drew asked as he sat back down on the

edge of my bed.

I shook my head. "Not so much anymore. When I was younger, I used to have them a lot."

He hummed and reached for my hand, taking it, and rubbing his thumb along my knuckles absentmindedly. I focused on the motion of his thumb, taking deep breaths as the panic tried to claw its way forward again. "Do you mind if I ask what triggered it?"

I swallowed hard and sighed. Though I didn't want to get into it with him, he had told me about his childhood. I didn't owe him an explanation of my own, but I wanted to tell him.

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"I grew up with a single mother. She was an addict. Preferred whatever she could get her hands on. She was one of the few who don't have a drug of choice. Sometimes she stole when work wasn't giving her enough money for the drugs." Drew squeezed my hand. "How long?"

"For as long as I can remember. It wasn't that bad when I was younger but as I got older it started to get worse. Never knew whether she was going to be

alive or not when I got home. I worked two jobs as soon as I was old enough to start working. Moved away from our trailer park in Texas as soon as I could." "That must have been hard."

I nodded. "It still is. She's been in Oregon the last few years. I've sent her to rehab a handful of times in the last few years."

"How old are you?" Drew asked, looking me over.

"Twenty-eight." I pulled my hand out of his and wrapped my arms around my knees. "I was twenty-one the first time I sent her to rehab. I saw her today." "That's why you had the panic attack?"

"Yeah," I said, looking down at the pale pattern on my duvet. "She's been gone from New York for nearly four years. She followed me up here after she found out I got a job at Crestwood Capital. Left and went to live with her sister when I stopped giving her money directly."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I went to therapy for a couple years," I said as I picked at my nails. Tears gathered in my eyes again. "I went to therapy, and I was supposed to have worked through everything that she did to me, but I saw her today and I felt more broken than ever."

Drew moved onto the bed until he was leaning against the headboard beside me. His arm wrapped around my shoulder, and he pulled me into his side. I inhaled the spicy scent of his cologne, trying to block out the memories by focusing on him.

"Sometimes therapy doesn't fix everything."

"I walked her to the damn shelter and offered her help again. I don't know why I did. I know that she's just going to hurt me in the end."

His hand ran up and down my waist, his breathing even as he held me. I started counting his inhales and exhales as something else to focus on. Right then, Drew was the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.

In that moment, I needed him like I needed air.

I didn't want to need him. I was fine on my own. The last decade of my life had been spent working hard to make sure that I was fine on my own.

Yet, as I leaned against him, I wasn't sure that I would ever be fine on my own again.

"We keep helping the people who hurt us because we think one day they might be able to change."

"I don't think she will ever change," I said, another round of tears rolling down my cheeks. "She's in too deep with her addiction."

"It's going to be okay. One day, she might wake up and realize what she's missing."

I took a deep breath, my hands shaking. "I'm terrified of becoming her. I'm scared that I'm going to become her and that I'm going to do to our child what she did to me."

Drew held me a little tighter as the tears started pouring. I held on to him, relishing in his warmth and closeness, even as I sobbed mourning the loss of a relationship I shouldn't still want.