Depression had set in pretty quick after that, and I had eaten half my weight in cheese and onion crisps before passing out on my bed, with the scrap book I’d spent all summer making. I wasn’t entirely sure if it was a healthy hobby to have undertaken, but it gave me unmeasurable comfort, so I was going with it.
When I woke this morning, that scrap book was the first thing I reached for. It was like my own personal comfort blanket, filled with six years of memories of Joey Lynch.
Every photograph, every perfect summer night, every horrible roaring screaming match, everything I was from the age of twelve to this exact moment involved Joey.
Revolved around our relationship and the way he made me feel.
My eyes landed on a picture taken the night of my eighteenth birthday.
I stared down at the two fresh-faced teenagers smiling back at me.
It felt like a million years ago, but I remembered the moment, the feelings I had in my heart at that exact time in space.
“This is Daddy,” I said, stroking my ever-expanding belly, as I sat cross-legged on my bed and turned the page of my scrap book.
When I first started talking to my bump, it was right after Joey left for rehab, and I felt like a tool.
But now, it felt as natural as breathing.
All day every day, I chattered away to my little intruder.
Having Joey’s baby inside of me felt like I still had a part of him with me.
Like I was talking to him.
“See?” I let my finger trail over the photograph. “That’s your daddy holding the winner’s cup in third year. He was the captain of the school hurling team that year, and he was the best on the pitch. And that’s uncle Podge standing beside him, and right in the back with his shirt over his head is uncle Al. He’s a little unstable, but we love him anyway.” My gaze flicked to Paul who was also in the team photo, and I grimaced. “And that guy right there is Mammy’s first boyfriend. Daddy likes to call him Paul the prick.”
A weird little shiver rolled through me when the baby squirmed in response, causing my poor, overstretched stomach to ripple. “Take it handy, little hurler,” I cooed, stroking the part of my stomach where I felt the most pressure. “Poor Mammy doesn’t need any more stretch marks, okay? So, you just hang tight in there.”
LET’S TALK ABOUT INTIMACY
JOEY
“Let’s talk about intimacy.”
“Let’s not.”
“I want you to go back to the beginning,” my psychiatrist said calmly. “Back to your earliest memories.”
“Intimacy.” I glared across the room at her, feeling beyond irritated. The shit this woman asked me. It was beyond the pale. “The fuck has intimacy got to do with anything?”
“A great deal,” she replied, offering me a reassuring smile. “Let’s start off with your earliest memory of being held.”
“Sexually?”
“Let’s start off with emotionally,” she instructed. “Do you remember a time in your life when your parents held you?”
“My parents.”
She nodded. “Your mother, for instance.”
I stiffened. “This is fucked up.”
“Just go with it,” she coaxed. “Have I led you astray yet?”
“No,” I reluctantly had to admit, while I tried to think back to when I was a kid. “I remember my father hugging me.”
“Let’s evaluate on that, shall we?”
“As in?”
“As in tell me about that memory.”
“I think I was about five or six?” I offered, struggling to hold the memory in place. “It was before we went into care for those six months. And I’d scored the winning goal in a match.”
“A hurling match?”
I nodded. “He was so fucking excited about it, that he picked me up and threw me in the air.” I rubbed my jaw and blew out a pained breath at the memory. “Took me to the shop afterwards and bought me a pound’s worth of penny jellies.” Frowning, I said, “I remember thinking ‘if I can keep winning, it’ll keep him happy, and he’ll stop hitting my mother’。” Shrugging, I added, “So, I kept winning.”
“Did it work?”
I gave her a hard look. “What do you think?”
“That’s very interesting.”
“How’d you figure?”
“Because your mind didn’t automatically return to your mother.”
“Because I don’t remember her hugging me.”
“That’s a heartbreaking statement to make, Joey,” she surmised, scribbling away on her clipboard.”
“She was good to Shannon,” I offered, feeling that familiar urge to defend her, even from beyond the grave. “The boys, too.”
“But not you.”
I shrugged. “We had a different kind of relationship.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I don’t think she looked on me like a son,” I admitted gruffly. “More like a teammate.”
“A teammate.”
I nodded.
The doctor was quiet for a long moment before changing it up by saying, “Tell me about the first time you had sex.”
“Why?” I glared at her. “Are you looking for tips?”
“How old were you?”
“I don’t know. I was in third year at the time.” Frowning, I scratched my jaw and thought back. “I think it was a couple of months before my fifteenth birthday.”
“You think?”
I shrugged in response.
“That’s very young.”
Again, I shrugged.
“How did it make you feel?”
“Not good.”
“Because you weren’t ready?”
“Because I wasn’t in control.”
Her brows furrowed. “Tell me about the girl.”
“She was just a girl from school.” Leaning back in my chair, I pushed my hair off my face, and tried to focus on the memory. “We’d been scoring on and off —”
“Scoring?” she interjected. “I’m sorry, Joey, but I’m not familiar with the slang.”
“Kissing,” I explained. “It means kissing.” I paused for a moment before adding, “Shifting means kissing, too.”
“So, you and this girl were shifting.”
I nodded. “If we were both at the same party or disco, then nine times out of ten, we’d end up scoring with each other.”
“Did you have feelings for this girl?”
“No,” I admitted truthfully. “I mean, I didn’t dislike her or anything like that. She was a nice girl. We were friendly enough, but I didn’t have any real feelings for her. Not like…” I shook my head again. “She was just…there.”
“Aoife,” she filled in knowingly. “Not like the feelings you had for Aoife?”
“Have for Aoife,” I corrected, and then shifted in discomfort. “We were just friends back then. She had a fella. I told you this before.”
“Ah, yes,” she mused, flicking through her notes. “Paul the prick, if I recall correctly.”
I snorted. “Yeah.”
“Tell me about that night,” she instructed. “About the lead up.”