Continued from Time to Start Packing. Again

My mom and my aunt flew out a few days later to help me get my business in order and prepare to leave. My uncle was supposed to have come, but couldn’t at the last minute. There are people in much worse situations than mine who don’t have people in their lives who are willing to drop everything for them, take a few days off of work and come out of pocket because a loved one needs something. I was thankful for having that kind of support and finally ready to make use of it.

They’d both been vehement about my staying home the first time, trying their hardest to convince me. For all the people who have since told me you can’t talk reason with an unreasonable person, my mother was the first.

Still, as they split up and spread out, taking down the apartment competently and categorically, there were no “I told you sos.” (A lot of times, people will continue banging there head for fear that someone whose seeming silly and uninformed advice turned out to be wise, might say, “I told you so.”)

I continued to take the baby to daycare when my family was here so BD wouldn’t become suspicious. He’d made a habit of calling everyday about an hour after I dropped him off, to make sure the baby was indeed there.

This day was no different. I wasn’t working in the office today, I had to do an interview in Brooklyn and I planned to come back in the late afternoon to write up the story. It ended up being an all-day thing.

BD never called my job. He’d only been there twice to pick up a pair of keys or something when he’d locked himself out, so I wasn’t worried about him finding out about my last day at work.

Murphy’s law.

I called the office to check in and let them know things were taking longer than I’d expected. These Hip-Hop dudes were never on time.

“Oh, Hey, Mel, your boyfriend just called here,” the receptionist said.

My boyfriend. I hadn’t been real clear with my employer about my situation and hadn’t told my coworkers anything at all. He never called my job.

“Uh, what did he want?”

“I dunno, I told him I’d leave a message on your desk, but I didn’t know if you’d be back for it since today’s your last day,” she said.

Well, I hadn’t instructed her not to. I didn’t want my departure to be shrouded in such mystery and shame. “Shhh, don’t tell anyone I’m leaving.” Messy and personal. Certainly not professional. That’s how I felt, anyway. So much I woulda done differently …

“You said I wasn’t comin back?”

“Well, I said you might not be because you went on location and it’s getting late. And I know you won’t be back tomorrow.”

Fantastic.

“Should I not have said anything?” She asked.

“No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Shyt.

“Don’t worry about it, Mel,” my mom attempted to calm me later. “So he knows you’re leaving. Okay. But he doesn’t know I’m here, he doesn’t know your Aunt Velma’s here, he doesn’t know when you’re leaving or how. He probably assumes you’re flying again like last time and that you bought a ticket already.”

That’s exactly what he thinks.

“I bet he expects you to leave tomorrow,” she went on.

He did.

“Then we’ll just wait until Monday.”

BD had picked the baby up from daycare that evening. He did that sometimes. Sometimes he’d call beforehand and let me know he wanted him that night; sometimes he’d txt me after and inform me that he’d picked the baby up; sometimes he wouldn’t say anything and I’d go to the daycare center after work to discover that BD had taken him an hour before. He hated to have to ask my permission for anything.

Tonight was typical. He’d picked him up and not said a word. So frustrating.

I called him around 8 p.m.

“Hey, when are you bringing the baby back?” I asked. “It’s getting kinda late and I want to put him to bed.”

“I think I’ll keep him tonight.”

Wow. I tried to sound casual and unmoved.

“Oh, okay. Well, just bring him back in the morning then. No problem,” I said.

“Actually, I wanted to go to the museum with him tomorrow afternoon.”

Now, he’s testing me. He’s fishing around for a time. I’m not stressing about tonight, so it’s not tonight, and I didn’t make a big deal about the next day either, so maybe it's not tomorrow.

“Okay,” I said. “That’ll be fun. He’s gonna wanna touch everything. Take lots of pictures,” I said, trying to end the conversation.

“Wait, are you gonna be with us when he has his pediatric appointment on Thursday?”

Am I going to be with them? Have I ever missed a doctor appointment? He doesn’t even have a car, I’m the one who takes the baby for his wellness visits.

“Have I ever missed a doctor appointment, BD?” Not really an answer. “Okay you guys have big fun, gnight --”

“Wait, is your magazine job gonna let you off to take him to the doctor?”

My "magazine" job? Who says that? Your "teaching" job? It’s clear to me now that he’s recording the conversation. I guess, to try and prove later that I had been untruthful with him about taking our son out of the state. It wouldn’t be necessary. It would be quite obvious actually and something I’d admit to. But the realization made me nervous anyway.

“I gotta go BD. Talk tyou later.” I hung up.

Monday morning, I took the baby to daycare as I always did, and rushed back home to load up the car. BD had already boarded the bus for work by this time, but I called the school a half hour later just to make sure. Perfect.

Our clothes had all been boxed and shipped home, UPS. The big stuff, like the sofa and my bed, the dresser and the book shelves, were put in storage and everything else had to fit in the Camry. Two hours later, my mom, my aunt and I, went by the daycare center. They waited in the car as I made a little small talk with one of the care providers and signed my son out. I hadn’t said a word about my plans. I’d have to call them later and apologize and pay the two-week penalty for lack of notice. I couldn’t risk letting them know earlier.

I strapped the baby into his seat in the back, slid in next to him and we were off. We were really going home this time. Really.

The day and a half leading up to my final departure had been wrenching. My stomach was in knots, I had not slept, and though I’d decided what I must do – leave – I wasn’t at peace about facing the fall out that would inevitably ensue. There would definitely be a battle. I had no idea how it would end, or how long it would take, or even exactly what constituted “kidnapping” in the legal sense. I just knew I was kicking it off.

In New Jersey, relocating with your kid out of state without the other parent’s or the court’s permission, fits the definition, by the way.

More madness Monday.

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*All names have been changed to protect the guilty & the innocent.