Emma and the Whole Heart: Part X

I only got two see her every two weeks now, on the weekends. My ex-wife called it a “gift”, told me that I should be grateful. She smiled when she said it, like she'd won something. I was able to endure her sneer. And I was even able to endure Emma's tearful pleading, begging me to do something, anything to fix this. It broke my heart to pieces and I hated myself for doing this to her, but I kept it together. I sucked it up and said the things a father it supposed to say.

“Don't worry.”

“It's going to be alright, love.”

“We'll still get to see each other.”

“I'm going to fight this.”

“They can't keep us apart.”

“I love you.”

But when my wife's new guy-friend tried consoling me, I lost my patience. “Abe, I hope you're not taking this personally. Grace and I, we're doing what's best for our daughter.”

'Our daughter', he said.

I decked him.

He lay on the ground like a dazed fish, reaching out for nothing.

I walked away.

At first, I stopped drinking entirely when she was here. But we never had enough time. As soon as I felt like I had my daughter back, as soon as we began slipping back into that old easy way of talking, they came to take her away. I gritted my teeth each time and forced a smile for Emma's sake.

“See you later, kitten”, I'd say.

“I love you daddy”, she'd say.

“Love you too, honey”, I'd say. “With my whole heart.”

And then things got too familiar. Things got too easy. I'd petitioned the courts for more time to no avail. I completed an alcohol education program, got myself a couple chips from AA, and secured a job. But it wasn't enough. And Grace was not willing to compromise.

It was only a matter of time before I fell apart.

The last time she was here, we sat at the table together joking and eating breakfast. Everything was perfect. Everything was normal. And then it wasn't.

“You're getting sloppy in your old age, dad”, she said. “I mean, Christ, I can smell the booze from here”. She held her nose and waved her hand dramatically in front of her face.

“And rum and coke? For breakfast? You're not even trying any more!”

“Em -”

“A six pack first thing in the morning? Now that I understand. It's basically wheat and water, right? Like uncooked pancakes with a kick, no? But, shit, rum and coke -”

“Language...”

“ - at 8 A-fucking-M is just embarrassing.”

“Watch your mouth young...”

“What kind of ball-less, defanged, low-life sham of a man -”

“That's enough, Emma.”

“ - mixes himself a cocktail for breakfast and leaves his daughter hanging? Let me guess – the DTs got so bad you spilled half the booze on the floor and only had enough left to make one. Am I right or am I right, Dad?”

“I said that's enough.”

“But then it's never really enough, is it, Dad? I mean it's one thing to get piss-pants drunk when I'm not here and then play sober when I come around. But you! You go ahead and -”

“Young lady you -”

“ - get cocked right in front of your daughter. And why not? There's no problem living every day like it's your last, right?

“I don't have a -”

She slammed both fists down on the table. “SHUT UP!”

“Emma I've had enough of -”

She slammed her fists again, repeatedly, this time hard enough to send her plate to the floor. “SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!”

She sat there, shaking, crying, furious. I sat there, useless and drunk, desperately trying to come up with something to say or do that might mend this. “Emma honey, I love you with my whole heart”, I thought and didn't say. Because I wasn't sure if that was true any more. I couldn't remember what it felt like to have a whole heart let alone to love someone with one. I wanted to reach out to her but I didn't dare. I was poison. So I sat in my chair. Sipped my drink. And cried with her.

She never came back.