When We Met - Shey Stahl Page 0,2

Marilyn Manson taped to the top bunk staring down at me. Yep, you heard me right. Marilyn fucking Manson.

“Go to sleep,” I tell Sev when she starts trying to sing in my ear.

“I can’t,” she whispers, her voice a growl. We call it her monster voice, and it’s about as creepy as the poster. “I’m not tired.” Rolling over, she flops half her body on mine. I can feel her eyes on me before the question pops out. “Where did I come from?”

Not this again. I turn my head from the poster to Sev. “We’ve been over this,” I whisper. “From your mom’s tummy.” I shift in the bed, noticing it’s damp. “Is your sippy cup in the bed again?” Those damn cups say leakproof, but they lie. “Your bed is wet.”

Ignoring my question, she asks again, “Why?”

“Why what?”

She sighs as if this is exhausting to her. Welcome to my world, kid. “Why I in her tummy?”

“Because you were.” I run my fingertips over her cheeks, my eyes heavy.

She blinks, bright-eyed. “Why?”

“You’re making me question why I helped you out of your blanket burrito.”

She sighs, rubbing her stuffed up nose. “I haves water?”

“No.”

“Why?”

As you can tell, “why” is her favorite word. Groaning, I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Because. You’ll pee the bed.”

She smiles, sneaky and kinda creepy. “Too late.”

There I sit, staring at Marilyn Manson, trapped in a pee bed next to a toddler, wondering if I have the strength to get up and change her sheets.

You’re probably wondering how this all happened. I’m not referring to the poster, although that’s a question for another day, but the “single dad with two kids” thing. Where’s the mom?

That’s a long story. I don’t know if I can even put it into words that will make sense, but I’ll try.

She left.

Not what you were looking for? Fair enough. I suppose I can expand. I’ve got time, right?

You’ve heard this story before, more than likely. If not, you’ve been living under a rock, but I’ll give you the short version.

Football star, homecoming queen.

Still not enough? Okay, I’ll continue. He fucking loves her. Falls head over goddamn heels. And they fuck. A lot. She gets pregnant behind the bleachers of the stadium. He forgoes the scholarship he had to play college ball, and she gives birth to a baby girl that fall. The boy? The one who thought his life was over with two pink lines? He falls madly in love with being a dad.

And the girl in this story? She was never “small town” and wanted out of North Texas.

No, this isn’t the start of a country song, though I’m sure somewhere it is.

Because this story, the one of a boy who swore to give that girl he absolutely fucking adored everything she ever wanted, well, he works two jobs and still can’t give her what she wants. It doesn’t end happily ever after. It ends with her ring on the nightstand and my heart in the trash beside it.

Loving each other doesn’t mean a happy marriage. Hating each other doesn’t mean divorce. Liking one another doesn’t mean respect.

See where I’m going with that?

Yeah, me neither. It’s the middle of the night. I can’t think straight. But I can show you how it played out in twenty sentences or less.

I’m pregnant.

Marry Me.

Are we too young?

We can make it.

I do.

I’m so in love with you.

I’ll give you the world.

Why do you work so much?

I do it for you.

Are you happy?

I’m pregnant again.

I love you.

I’m unhappy.

I’m trying.

Loving me shouldn’t be this hard.

It’s not. I just don’t love you anymore.

We can work it out.

I’m leaving.

The end.

She chose to leave, to fall out of love with me. Ready for the brutal part? I let her, and when she left the ring on the nightstand, I did nothing to stop her because there are some heartaches that you’ll never get over. Like girls who give back diamond rings.

I try to get comfortable on the bed with my feet hanging off the edge and a stuffed animal practically up my ass. I think about Tara, my wife. The one who thought we weren’t enough. The one who Camdyn has her smile and Sev has her temper.

So you might wonder how’d I get over her?

Well, after drinking more than I needed to, I went off-the-rails crazy, and rock bottom became a hell I visited often. There for a while, I couldn’t even force myself out of bed. What got me through it? It wasn’t the whiskey I thought could