Page 36 of Hash

“It was. But what you need to also get is that I’m not going anywhere.”

“Well, I would hope not. Like I said last night, I don’t want Cormac’s dad in and out of his life.”

Hash shakes his head. “You’re not getting it, and that’s okay. You will eventually.”

“I don’t know what that means, Hash.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

Taking a bite of pizza, I study him as I chew.

I think he’s in over his head with this. He’s so stuck on making up for lost time that he isn’t realizing what kind of responsibility he’s trying to take on. You can’t walk away when it doesn’t suit you anymore.

I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared of something in my life than I will be when he decides to wake up and realize this isn’t for him.

It’s going to destroy me.

But I’ll keep going because Cormac needs me.

“You want to come by the clubhouse this weekend?” Hash asks, shocking me.

I start to choke on my pizza at the unexpected question.

“Oh, shit.” Hash jumps up and pats me on the back. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good,” I choke out, waving him off as I reach for my drink. Once I’m sure I won’t erupt in another coughing fit, I ask, “It’s a little soon for that, don’t you think?”

And why now?

After all this time, now you want me to meet them? Is it just because you have a kid now? It hurts that he’s the only reason things changed.

“Do you not want to meet them?” Hash asks, leveling his gaze at me.

“Okay,” I say as I scooch to the edge of my seat, placing my hands on my knees and sliding them up and down my thighs. “We need to get on the same page. I wanted to meet your family two years ago, Hash. I don’t appreciate the guilt trip. I think for now it would be best to take this slow and see how things pan out.”

Hash swallows. “I’m not trying to guilt-trip you, Aisling,” he says, his voice low.

Just as I’m about to respond, Cormac squeals from his high chair, letting me know that he’s done eating.

Hash stands at the same time I do.

“I got him.” Hash moves to clean him up.

“I’m just going to throw him in the tub and get him ready for bed. He’s had a long day.” I grab Cormac out of his high chair.

It was a petty move, but I don’t care. I’m one more remark of him acting like there’s nothing wrong with what he’s doing from punching him in the face. The anger I feel towards him doesn’t seem to be going away. And nights with him like tonight, feel like it’s suffocating me.

I hope he leaves.

This was a mistake.

“Let’s go take a bath, little man.” I kiss Cormac’s cheek as I bring him into the bathroom and draw his bath.

The mom guilt was eating at me today as I picked him up from Frankie’s and dropped him off at daycare. I don’t enjoy being away from him anymore than I have to, especially when it’s having to bring up the past.

Forty minutes later, Cormac is bathed, has had his milk and is dressed in his pajamas and is knocked out in his crib. I quietly tiptoe out of his room and gently shut the door, making sure not to wake him.

I don’t hear any noise coming from the kitchen or living area as I dash into my room to change and grab the baby monitor. I slip on a pair of black yoga pants and a black scoop next tee that fits a little too tight around the girls. Ever since I got pregnant, my boobs grew to what feel like fucking melons. Breastfeeding has kept them just as big.