Mickey - The View From Here PART TWO - Gallavich

Troubled Times

Lip was waiting outside for us when we pulled up in front of his house, arms crossed over his chest protectively as he awaited Debbie’s return.

“You’re in trouble,” I teased Debbie, noting the sudden gulp and anxiety fall over her as we parked the ambulance.

“Shut up,” she sneered at me, fear looming in her eyes.

“He’s right,” Ian told her without a hint of humor. “Don’t think anyone in that house will be on your side because none of us are.”

Ian got out of the vehicle, prompting his sister to quickly follow, pleading her case. “Ian,” Debbie whined. “I thought out of everyone, you would understand. Stop being such a jerk.”

Ian walked ahead of her, greeting his brother along the way and leaving me to trail behind to see Debbie get thrown to the wolves. It wasn’t a discussion I wished to be part of, so I tried to hurry past them. I nodded a greeting to Lip and kept walking, the sound of Debbie’s excuses only muted once I was inside.

In the living room, Ian was greeting Liam, Tammy, Franny, and little Fred before he motioned for me to follow him to one of the bedrooms. Judging by the soft, pastel décor, this was Tammy and Lip’s bedroom, decorated by Tammy.

Once Ian had shut us away from eavesdroppers, he pulled at his short, red hair and growled with overwhelming frustration. So upset that he was unable to speak without shouting, he dramatically mouthed,  “what the fuck?”

Hoping to console my husband, I tried to take him into my arms.

Ian shoved me away with, “no, Mickey! We can’t let her do this. I don’t trust her!”

“I don’t either!” I shouted back at him, irritated with the entire situation. “We don’t have a choice. You know that, man.

Ian paced the length of the bedroom over and over. “We could call CPS.”

“Stop,” I begged, hoping he would stop reaching for a solution that wasn’t there. “I don’t like this any more than you do, but we already talked about this. She’s Franny’s mom. She fucked up, but CPS ain’t gonna give us custody ‘cause we fucked up too. We’re felons, Ian. You honestly expect anybody to give us a kid?”

For a moment, I could see all that rage Ian held against his sister aimed directly at me. “You’re not helping.”

Slightly wounded for reasons beyond me and unsure how to assist, I backed off.

Burying his head in his hands, Ian tried to calm himself, slowly breathing in and out. Searching for a fleeting distraction from the latest shit storm, he calmly inquired, “how was therapy?”

I shrugged. “I dunno. It was therapy.”

“What’d you talk about?”

I tried not to show my hesitation. “Just…stuff.”

Desperate to get his mind off of Debbie, Ian gritted his teeth and said, “okay…what’d you talk about, though?”

“I just told you, shithead, stuff.”

That was all it took to spike Ian’s suspicions and defenses. “Why are you being so secretive?”

Reacting before I could register my actions, I snapped back, “why are you being so fucking nosey?

“I’m not being nosey, I just wanna know how you’re doing,” he shot back.

“Then ask that.”

“Why are you fighting with me right now?” Ian questioned. “You’re being sketchy as fuck.”

I scoffed and shook my head. “And you’re fuckin' paranoid! Stop projecting your sister bullshit onto me!”

“Projecting? That’s a new word. Did Andy teach you that?” Ian jabbed.

My eyes settled onto my husband with a spark of fury. “I’m pissed at Debbie too, but could you stop being a prick for five fuckin’ minutes when you talk to me?”

“I’m only being a prick ‘cause you’re keeping secrets.”

“Am not!”

“Then what did you talk about in therapy?”

“My kid! I talked about Yevgeny! You happy now?” I hissed, ready to find a dark hole to crawl into and die.