Echoes

Part 23

For the next three days, I completely ignored Asher. He called and he texted. He left text messages saying there were voice mail messages, and voice mail messages telling me there were text messages. The gist of every message was the same, he was sorry, he wanted to get on good terms for Giselle's sake, and he wanted to figure out when he could see her next.

As much as I detested him now, I wasn't going to deprive my daughter of her father. She adored Asher, and I knew she meant the world to him. Our issues didn't have anything to do with that. And this was why I forced myself to make contact four days after I walked in on him with Michele. 'Meet me on the porch at midnight', I texted, to which he replied 'Of course'. Of course? Was he serious? He said 'of course' as if I should expect him to be reliable and acquiesce to my request. It would have been laughable if I weren't so sad.

I sat on the swinging chair on our front porch at a quarter to midnight, and Asher was approaching the yard by five minutes to twelve. He walked awkwardly towards me, with his hands in his pocket and his gaze going back and forth between my eyes and the ground.

"Hey," he said, once he'd reached the porch. "Can I sit down?"

"Next to me?" I asked. "You must be out of your mind."

He nodded, but if I hadn't known any better, I would have thought a look of hurt crossed his face. But if it had, he didn't say anything to indicate it.

"Fair enough," he replied, before sitting on the railing of the porch.

"I'm sorry for the way things went down," he said.

"Asher, don't bother, okay?" I pleaded. "I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear excuses from you, and I don't want you to make excuses for your girlfriend. Or should I say 'that treacherous slut you're ramming'?"

"She's not my girlfriend," he insisted.

"Then why in the fuck is she wearing my ring?" I asked.

"You won't get it," he said. "You won't."

"No, I get it. You're not with me anymore because you're fucking her. Even if she's not your girlfriend, that just says how much of a slut she is and what a bastard you are, but it doesn't change anything for me."

"Shira don't talk like that, please," he pleaded. "I don't want you to hate me."

"What you want doesn't matter anymore, Asher," I reminded him. "You don't get to ask me for things anymore, unless it's about our daughter."

"You're going to let me see her still, right?"

"Of course I will," I replied. "I'm not your manipulative bitch of a mother. Unlike her, I actually love my child."

I had hit below the belt, but I didn't care. A little-known fact about Asher was that his mother had left his father for a period when he was about five, refusing to let him see his father unless his father agreed to ensure she didn't have to split his money with his siblings in the event of his death. He had horrible memories of that time, and he'd said more than once that it had led to his decision never to marry...something he had, of course, rethought once our relationship deepened.

"Okay, good," he said, apparently choosing not to hit back at me for my comment. "When can I see her?"

"Saturday and Sunday when you're off, and Wednesday after work," I replied. "You get four hours tops until she's older."

"Thank you," he said. "And you know you don't have to take me to court or anything for child support, right? I mean you can if you want to. But I plan on continuing to give you what I always have, if not more."