Chapter Text
I’d like to start off by saying, I feel pathetic. Bit of a weird note to begin on, but I am firmly dedicated to being honest. I know there’s nothing inherently wrong with dating apps. That’s why they exist. Some people just need that push to meet people and it can really, truly help people who aren’t big on meeting people ‘the old fashioned way’, also known as turning up at a bar and hoping to god that the future love of your life will be there too. But there is just something so humiliating about me, specifically, doing such a thing. That logic makes sense with the added context that I have a daughter, Blaire. She’s four years old and she’s literally my entire life. Normally, children are the final step, the seal to a picture perfect life. So it’s moderately mortifying that I’m doing this in backwards order. I know you’re going to fact check me, so I’ll acknowledge that nothing is flawless and all families are different, blah blah blah. Actually, it’s probably better that I just tell you the whole story before I confuse you.
Imagine a nineteen year old Nick Nelson. Bright eyed, bushy tailed, full of piss and vinegar. I was going to university in the United States. I know, shocking, a boy from humble beginnings attending an out of country university isn’t McDonald’s level common, but I earned a scholarship from my dream school. University of California, Los Angeles, more commonly known as UCLA. I played sports, took a bunch of psychology courses and geared up to become a teacher. Quite a mundane career, or so I’m told, but I was really excited about it. Enter Valerie, with a waterfall of hair darker than the North Sea and eyes of newborn sapphire.
It was love at first sight, if that even exists. We were attached at the hip and became known as the disgustingly in love couple within our friend group. I didn’t ever want to be away from her. She just cloaked me in comfort and warmth. She reminded of everything good in the world, like warm rainy days and when streets are quiet at midnight. When the world feels like it’s yours. In short? I was properly smitten.
And you know, we were grown people. We had…urges. There’s nothing wrong with people who don’t want to have sex for whatever reason, but Valerie and I definitely weren’t those people. The thing is, we were careful. Very, very careful. We always used condoms and she was on the birth control pill. But, of course, alcohol came in to break our protected streak. One drunken night, I slipped up and she forgot to mention that she had stopped birth control a few weeks prior because the hormones were messing with her head. So, yeah. Both of us 22 with a baby on the way.
Okay, okay. This is were things get divisive. I’m not going to say my daughter was an accident. That feels cruel to even think because she is the single best that has ever happened to me. She just wasn’t planned and a surprise of that nature could certainly startle a person. We didn’t know if we were going to keep her at first. 22 is pretty damn early to have a baby, especially with someone you haven’t started building a definite future with yet. And I’m also not going to pretend it was my choice whether we were going to have this baby or not, because it was not my body that would carry and then birth the child. I told Valerie I would do my best to support whatever decision she made. Initially, that decision looked like an abortion. She just felt like she was too young to put her mind and body through that type of stress. I held her as she cried about the internal debate and hesitantly scheduled the appointment. I assured her that she was trusting her gut and she shouldn’t be ashamed about that.
And you might be confused now. How did she change her mind? Don’t be afraid, I didn’t talk her out of it and neither did anyone else. She was pretty stubborn generally, especially on this and rightfully so. If someone tries to sway you on such a life altering thing, they deserve a right ass kicking. However, late one night, Valerie had a dream. A dream where she and I were holding a beautiful baby underneath a willow tree. We were laughing and dancing and singing and she claims she just knew. That was our future. As soon as she awoke, she shook me and demanded I help her cancel the appointment.
I double, triple checked that she was sure. She wasn’t just sure. She was insistent. She also told me that regardless of the child’s gender, its middle name would be Willow, after the tree in the vision that sealed the deal.
Now, pregnancy was certainly a test for our relationship. Straight after graduation, Valerie entered the second trimester and with that transition came many, many changes. We found a new, larger flat together, so the baby would have space when it arrived. She. When she arrived. Around this point is when we found out we were having a girl. A little baby girl. Valerie wanted a boy and I acted like I did too, feigning disappointment alongside her when the ultrasound revealed the biological sex of our child. But the truth is, I hoped for a girl the second Valerie and I affirmed we were following through with the pregnancy. Oh, damn I’m getting sidetracked. So, yes bigger flat, and yet we felt cramped. Cabin fever and hormones mixed to make a stress-inducing cocktail in which we fought. Often. Valerie and I always saw eye to eye, up to that point, but we just seemed to have diametrically opposed views on everything all of the sudden. We chalked it up to pregnancy hormones making Valerie testy and me falling for it and taking the bait.
This proved false on the glowing November afternoon we welcomed Blaire into the world. It should’ve been a sign that the fifteen hours of labor were the first time in months that Valerie and I didn’t have some sort of argument or annoyance with each other. And it just got worse. Valerie seemed to hate everything about my personality, the way I parented, or simply, the way I existed. She nagged on me to get a ‘real job’. That was her favorite thing to fight about. “You went to school for teaching, Nicholas. Are you going into that field or not?” It’s not like I wasn’t working. She would have a right to be peeved about that. I was working three jobs, at a supermarket, fast food restaurant and occasionally picking up shifts as an Uber driver when I had time. But it still wasn’t enough. So on top of everything I had going on, what with the three jobs, life partnership/ commitment and a baby, I started searching for a teaching job. Blaire’s first birthday came and went, and yet, my quest proved fruitless. Until.
My mum found me a job working as a primary school teacher back In England. It paid phenomenally well, despite the accurate stereotype that the world does not pay teachers a livable salary. I thought about it long and hard. It was my dream job with very adequate pay, close to my mum, everything like that. It was a spectacular opportunity. But I knew I would rather die than leave my daughter. I wasn’t my father. I never understood how parents could willingly leave their child/ children in their dust. But Valerie seemed to get it just fine.
When I discussed the job with her, she screamed at me, before promptly storming out of the house. I expected her to return the next day, after she had cooled down. But she didn’t. I got a text after five whole days that she would only come back to the flat if Blaire and I weren’t in it. She was basically forcing me to desert her and take the kid while I was at it.
I couldn’t even take it seriously. I reread the text millions of times in disbelief. Eventually, I showed up at Valerie’s mum’s house, where she was staying, to ask her if this was actually what she wanted. After one of the most heated discussions of my life, she confirmed that this is what she had been wanting, essentially, since Blaire’s birth. That motherhood didn’t come naturally to her and watching me quickly acclimate to parenting and gain my sea legs had killed her. She resented me for it. She didn’t love me anymore or our child by extension. With a solemn nod, I left. I couldn’t force her to care for me or Blaire, so I just had to roll with it. I was in shock for a while, though. I recall sitting on a park bench for hours, with Blaire, my baby. Just my baby. ‘She is just my baby, now.’