Secrets

1

I could hear my daughter’s cries in the next apartment over. I rolled onto my stomach and grabbed my phone off of the coffee table. It was nearly 3AM. I listened for the sound of Leila getting up to feed Iris, but there was no indication of movement on the other side of the wall. I sat up on the couch and rubbed my face.

“Oh man. I need to shave,” I said, feeling the rough stubble that extended from my chin to my neck. I stood, slipped on my jeans from the day before and padded silently into our bedroom to find some sandals. They were buried deep within our closet, underneath Gregorie’s many pairs of dress shoes. The television in Leila’s room was overbearingly loud. I could barely hear Iris’s cries as she competed for attention against a group of screaming girls from one of those QVC infomercials.

Gregorie rolled and thrashed about, muttering in his sleep before finally settling on his stomach. The bed was a rumpled mess, but he would know I never slept on my side last night. I just wish he would be able to get enough sleep tonight. I left the room as quietly as I had entered and closed the bedroom door behind me.

“Alright. Let’s go help little Iris out,” I whispered to myself as I walked through the living room and out of the front door. Using the key Leila had given me for emergencies and nights like these, I let myself into the apartment. Iris’s hoarse cries filled my ears as I opened the door. This was the seventh night in a row. A full week of Leila’s negligence.

I headed straight to Iris’s crib, ignoring the women trying to sell a “trendy, sterling silver jewelry set” on the television in the other bedroom. Iris’s breath hitched as I walked into the room. She hiccupped and coughed as I bundled her up into a blanket and placed her on my chest. The room flashed brightly and shortly after, a not so distant roll of thunder shook the walls of the building.

“Hey honey. Daddy is here now. It’s okay,” I whispered. Her tiny body shivered as she lay on my chest, trying to catch her breath. She whimpered while I grabbed a washcloth from her dresser and went into the kitchen to fix her a bottle of formula. I wet the washcloth with cool water from the sink, and then looked for a pot to heat up her bottle. There were so many dishes everywhere I couldn’t distinguish the clean from the dirty. Giving up, I ran the hot water to try to warm it as much as I could, turning the bottle slowly and holding it by the nipple so as to not burn myself. The seconds ticked by. Another peal of thunder shook the walls. The rain started to pound the windows. Iris began to whine again.

“It’s coming. I’m just warming it up for you,” I said, bouncing her in the crook of my arm. I set the now warmed bottle of formula on the counter and turned off the faucet. Then I rubbed the cool cloth over her cheeks to try to get rid of some of the redness from crying. The lightning flashed and the power cut out. Iris whimpered. I breathed a sigh. At least the television was off.

Brushing her wisps of curly hair from her face, I fed her the formula as we walked back to her room. The apartment was now quiet. We sat in the rocking chair beside Iris’s crib and I began feed her. The sounds of her greedily suckling her bottle filled the room as the storm raged on outside the window. The 2oz of formula was gone in just under ten minutes.

Sitting Iris up on my lap, I rubbed her back, coaxing a burp from her. I listened to the rain as we sat, waiting in silence. I still had Leila to deal with. Iris sighed out a loud belch. Then I laid her back in the crook of my arm, gently rocking her and humming a traditional lullaby. She fell asleep quickly. I laid her back into her crib and quietly left the room, closing her door behind me. Then, I stalked towards Leila’s room with only the aide of the streetlights to light the way.

“Leila. Wake up.” I smacked the bedpost in an attempt to wake Leila. The bed had one of those short-posted frames built for extra thick mattresses. I leaned with my thighs pressed up against it as I reached to nudge the heavy lump in the center of the bed. The lump moved a little before a hand was revealed. She stretched, then laid still.

“I said get up. You can’t keep doing this.” The hand flipped the covers down and revealed a mass of honey blonde hair. I caught a glimpse of her dissatisfied face as she sat up on the bed and stretched. She yawned.

“What do you want, Jason,” Leila asked. I’m trying to get some sleep.”

“Leila, Iris was screaming her head off in the other room for God knows how long before I woke up and came over, and you’re over here, in bed with the television blaring, sleeping through all of it—“ Lightning flashed, thunder rolled.

“I’m exhausted, Jason.”

“And I’m not? You said that we would take turns and nights like this would only happen occasionally when you had to work late. This has been happening every. Fucking. Night. For the past week. Iris is three weeks old—“

“I know how old she is!”

“Are you sure? Do you really know how old she is? Because you barely pay any attention to her. It’s like you never even carried her in your womb for nine months.”

“Hey! I never asked for the kid—“

“The kid is our daughter and you will not neglect her. I don’t care if you want her or not. You carried her and you gave birth to her. She is your responsibility as well as mine.”

She kneeled on the bed, clutching the bedspread in her fists, her eyes glaring defiantly into mine. Our arguments have increased lately. Sometimes I wish our situation was different. We could actually be a real family; Iris could have a caring mother and loving father. But Leila doesn’t want Iris. And I don’t want Leila. I did once. But that was before Gregorie had stepped into my life all those years ago, around the same time that she walked out. I looked away first, into the semi-darkness. I stepped from the bed, intending to leave the room but she grabbed my arm. My body grew rigid and I stepped out of reach.

“Why don’t you want me,” she asked.

“It’s complicated.”

“What do you mean ‘it’s complicated’? Are you seeing someone? Have you suddenly turned gay,” Leila questioned. I shook my head and my face twisted into a bitter smile. If only she knew.

“I said it’s complicated. Stop asking so many questions—“

“But—“

“Now, it’s a little after 4AM. Iris has been fed, changed and put to bed. Do you think you’ll be able to handle tending to her until you leave for work?”

Leila nodded and lowered herself before flopping over on her side. I left the room and checked on Iris one more time before going back to my apartment. She was sound asleep, oblivious to the storm raging outside and inside the building. I kissed her cheek and walked out of her room, closing the door behind me. Leila was standing in the doorway of her bedroom, waiting for me.

“I loved you, you know,” she said. Grunting in response, I exited her apartment. I stood in front of my apartment door, the dull 21C hammered to the black, peeling door. The sudden urge to smoke a cigarette and down a few shots was lingering in the back of my mind. It’s been years since my last drink and much longer since my last cigarette. I gave up smoking for Leila. I gave up drinking for Gregorie. I sighed in the empty hallway before entering my own apartment, hoping all this change wasn’t in vain.