Ride Steady Read online

  I hadn’t been shopping with girlfriends since before I got pregnant.

  I had no money for trifles, a higher rent coming up, a hefty debt still to pay my old attorney, and non-monetary debts racking up to new friends.

  Even with all this, lunch and the mall on the horizon with women I liked, I… could not… wait.

  So I didn’t.

  Me and Travis rolled.

  * * *

  “If you don’t get that,” Elvira started, standing, bouncing, and holding my son to her while holding his hand so he couldn’t smack her with it (anymore). “I’m gettin’ it for you.”

  “And I’m getting the other one. The tank with all those rectangular sequins on it,” Tyra declared.

  We were in the handicapped dressing room of a store that I’d never been to.

  All of us. Including Rider and Cutter, who had proved through a mannequin incident in a previous store that they needed constant vigilance.

  And I was standing in front of the mirror in my jeans and a tube top.

  It wasn’t your average, everyday tube top.

  It was a muted forest green in a smooth, stretchy, but tight knit. It had a thin turnover lip at the top and a seam under the breasts. And it went down my midriff and lower, to tuck into my jeans.

  It was a classy tube top.

  And I couldn’t believe it with my bigger breasts, but it looked really cute.

  Further, Tyra was right. I’d also tried on a black tank that had rectangular silver sequins stitched in an amazing design on the front, and although that wasn’t my normal thing either, it still looked fabulous.

  It looked biker babe.

  But biker babe chic.

  I stared at myself wondering if I’d ever have the nerve to wear such a top.

  Then I thought about Joker with his brunette and I wished I could afford it.

  On that thought, my phone rang.

  “I’m on it,” Tyra said, sitting on the shelf bench, before she dug into my purse, which was on the bench beside her.

  I felt a little hand slap my thigh and looked down to see Cutter standing there, his head tipped way back, his mother’s green eyes in a face reminiscent of his father on me.

  “Pretty,” he said.

  Well, there was another vote.

  I smiled at him. “Thanks, honey.”

  “Says unknown number,” Tyra stated and I turned to her to see she had her arm extended, phone toward me.

  I grabbed it, took the call, and put it to my ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Ms. Teodoro?” a woman that sounded familiar asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Hold for Angie, please.”

  Oh. My attorney.

  I heard a click and then I heard, “Ms. Teodoro?”

  “Hi, Angie. Please, it’s Carissa,” I corrected.

  Or Carrie.

  Or Butterfly.

  But those were Joker’s.

  I looked back to the tube top, thinking maybe I could afford it, if I could talk Sharon into giving me some overtime next week.

  “Just wanted to touch base, tell you we got the files, and I’ve been over them. I’ll transfer you back to Leanne to set up a meeting but I wanted to ask you about breastfeeding.”

  I stopped thinking about tube tops and my eyes unfocused as I gave my attention to Angie.

  “Sorry?”

  “Breastfeeding. There’s a note in your attorney’s file that says that Mr. Neiland refused your breast milk during his visitations with Travis and started your son on formula without discussing this with you. Is this true?”

  It was, but I tried not to remember it because at the time I’d been so hurt, and so angry, I’d phoned my attorney and told him all about it.

  That being that, in the beginning, when Aaron had Travis for only short periods of time, the fact that I breastfed him wasn’t an issue. I just pumped extra and handed it over when I handed over Travis, and, if needed, I would drop more by his house.

  But when Aaron won half custody, it was harder for me to keep up with supply and demand, meaning I couldn’t hand over a week’s worth at one time. This meant that I had to pop by Aaron’s house more often, but also, because I worked and I couldn’t be at Aaron’s beck and call, Tory would have to come by my place or the store to get more milk.

  Therefore, this had gone on for two visitations before they stopped setting up pick-up times for more milk, which obviously made me worry.

  Then at the end of his time with Travis, Aaron handed my son back to me, telling me he was no longer feeding Travis my milk, but formula. He also declared it was better for Travis if I stopped breastfeeding and switched to formula, essentially ordering me to do so.

  Now, I wasn’t the kind of woman who wanted to breastfeed until my kid was five.

  But I was the kind of woman who wanted to give my child the kind of nurture and connection he could get only from me until it was a healthy option to stop doing it.

  So, of course, I refused. My times feeding Travis were mine. They were beautiful. There was no way to describe how significant that connection was, and I had no intention of giving it up.

  Unfortunately, Aaron’s decision had a variety of ramifications.

  The first being, since I was tossing a lot of milk down the drain once the freezer filled up (and had to take breaks from work to pump), this became onerous and disruptive, rather than necessary for my son’s nurture.

  Still, I would have continued doing it, but then it came clear that Travis was having trouble coping with the constant change. He’d already suffered nipple confusion when the back and forth was happening between my breast and Aaron needing to use bottles. Not to mention just having to endure the back and forth between his mommy and daddy.

  But then Travis started spitting up more, having trouble returning to the nipple when I got him back, was cranky and slept fitfully, and in the end, he wasn’t gaining weight the way he should.

  Since Aaron flatly refused to put him back on my milk, I had no choice but to switch to formula.

  And heartbreakingly, Travis’s feedings steadied, he was in better spirits, slept peacefully and looked healthier.

  At the time, I’d been devastated, the experience made worse by learning precisely how powerless I was about what happened with my baby.

  So it also terrified me.

  “It’s true,” I answered Angie. “He demanded I switch from breast milk to formula, and although I refused in the beginning, Travis had issues with the change, Aaron would not hear of accepting my milk, so I had to relent.”

  I heard Tyra gasp but I didn’t turn to her. I stayed focused on Angie.

  “It says in your custody agreement that matters of health and well-being are to be decided equally between you and your ex-husband,” Angie told me, something I already knew.

  “That may be so, but that’s not Aaron’s way of doing things,” I shared. “If he wants to do it, he does.”

  “That couldn’t have been easy on you or your son,” Angie noted.

  “It absolutely wasn’t,” I confirmed. “On either of us. But Aaron has little concern about what’s easy on me or, apparently, Travis. In fact, just last week Travis had croup. Aaron took him to the hospital, and he didn’t inform me he did. His fiancée shared with me after the fact, but Aaron didn’t contact me at all. I requested to see my son, but this was refused. I saw him two days later, but only because Aaron’s fiancée snuck him to my place of work so I could spend thirty minutes with him.”

  There was heavy silence before Angie said, “When you speak to Leanne, please make our meeting as soon as you possibly can, Carissa. There are a number of motions I could file. In the meantime, I’ll think things over so I can fully discuss our strategy options going forward during our meeting.”

  “Can you give me a hint?” I asked, my heart thumping.

  “Of course,” she answered. “First, there’s no way the financial support you can provide your son should not be augmented by your ex-husband.
The discrepancy between your earnings is vast. Second, even though your marriage was not very long, your settlement, considering proceedings started when you were pregnant, was outrageously low. There is no way you could set up an appropriate home for your son and yourself with that kind of money. Your husband more than has the means to have helped provide you with that, not only through his earnings but also the trust fund that opened to him when he turned twenty-five, and two rather substantial inheritances that he’s received in the last four years.”

  She took a breath before she continued and I kept listening hard, my heart still hammering in my chest because she sounded on the ball and raring to fight. I hadn’t had anyone but me in my corner for so long, it was a thrill to have someone who knew what they were talking about finally helping me fight.

  “Also, your ex-husband by signed agreement does not have the right to make unilateral decisions of the magnitude of ceasing breastfeeding. And last, regardless that it was croup, and I assume, as well as hope, your son is feeling much better, any illness should be reported to an ex-spouse. It’s an unparalleled hardship that you weren’t informed of his ailment nor granted access to him while he was ill. From what I understood from Mr. Allen, this situation was sketchy at best. Now, understanding it fully, it’s far worse. I’m fighting mad, Carissa. I just hope you are too.”

  “I am,” I whispered, my heart thumping faster, because she didn’t sound fighting mad.

  She sounded incensed.

  “Then please, make a meeting with Leanne as soon as is convenient. I’ll stay late if you have to work. I’ll instruct Leanne about that. Take care, Carissa, and I hope to see you soon.”

  She transferred me. I spoke with Leanne. We set a meeting the next day after I got off work and I disconnected, then stood there in a cute tube top, staring at my phone.

  I did this thinking maybe, just maybe, finally there was hope.

  “Your ex made you stop breastfeeding?”

  I stiltedly turned to Tyra at her question.

  She was staring up at me, her eyes bright with tears, though, from the look on her face, I didn’t know if they were tears of camaraderie of a mother done wrong or tears of fury.

  “Yes,” I told her.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered. “I totally hate your ex.”

  “I hate him too!” Rider cried loyally.

  I forced a grin at him but said, “That’s sweet, cutie, but you really shouldn’t hate people.”

  “You should if they’re mean,” Rider returned.

  Now, how could I argue that?

  “Tyra, notice,” Elvira stated, and at her tone, my eyes went direct to her.

  At one look, I saw Elvira wasn’t feeling upset about a mother done wrong.

  She was just flat furious.

  “Your man’s got T-minus a month to sort that jackass, then I’m settin’ Hawk on him,” she warned.

  “Vira said ass!” Cutter shouted, though why he’d point that out when his father said the same and he hadn’t uttered a word, I didn’t know.

  I also didn’t ask.

  This was because Tyra said, “We’re on it, Elvira.”

  “You better be,” she snapped then looked at me. “Tube top and tank. And I saw a cute dress out there you’re gonna try on, girl. I don’t care what you say. And if it looks as cute as all that,” she pointed a finger at me, “I’m gettin’ all of it for you.” Her upraised hand snapped into a palm out position when I opened my mouth. “No lip,” she ordered. “Not lost on me you’re a sister whose current circumstances say you can’t treat yourself, and no sister of mine who looks that good in that top, that tank, and probably that dress you’re gonna try on doesn’t get a treat. Comes around goes around. That’s life. You’ll have your shot. Now it’s my turn.”

  Then, taking Travis with her, she flounced on her deep purple suede stilettos out of the dressing room.

  I looked to Tyra.

  “You’ll learn Elvira’s ways and bow to them like the rest of us,” she informed me.

  I had a feeling I would.

  “And she’s right,” Tyra continued gently. “You need a treat, Carissa. You’ll enjoy it, but trust me, as much as you do, she’ll enjoy giving it to you more.”

  I felt a stinging in my eyes and bit my lip that had started quivering. Since I had to do that, I didn’t answer.

  I just nodded.

  She kept hold of my gaze and kept talking gently. “You’re going to be okay.”

  “You’re all helping a lot. Too much,” I replied, my voice quaky.

  She stood and got close. When she did, she placed a hand light on my cheek and leaned toward me.

  “We’ve all had our times. And if we’re lucky, we’ve all had people that took our back during those times. You’ve been unlucky, honey. But your luck has changed. Roll with it.”

  I stared into her eyes.

  And with lips again quivering, I nodded.

  Thirty minutes later, we all left the store, me pushing Travis’s empty stroller (Tyra had ahold of him now), and in it was a bag that held a cute tube top, an awesome tank, and a fabulous petal-pink sleeveless tee dress with a boat neck, blousy top, and side-ruched skirt that wasn’t exactly me.

  But it was perfect.

  Better, it was a treat. And I hadn’t had one of those in a long time.

  We had lunch at the food court while Rider and Cutter terrorized all the children in the play area.

  And I ate, chatted, and even laughed… feeling it.

  Feeling it like I felt it when I was riding with Snapper.

  But this time, that first-time feeling wasn’t feeling free.

  It was feeling lucky.

  CHAPTER NINE

  You Like Mexican?

  Carissa

  IT WAS AFTER lunch and more shopping that included Tyra buying me a pair of really neat big hoop earrings with a webby thing in the middle but mostly included Tyra and Elvira amassing five shopping bags each.

  It was also after Tyra spoke with her renters and they let us come around so I could view her home.

  It was better than I could imagine just looking at it on a small phone screen.

  In real life, it was a dream come true.

  But now, it was dinnertime and I was back home, someplace I didn’t want to be and someplace I was thrilled would not be home for long.

  I had my son at my hip, my purse and Travis’s diaper bag over my shoulder, my shopping bag in my hand, my foot lifted to take the first step that led to many—steps I would soon not have to climb when I got home with my baby (and there it was, me feeling even more lucky)—when I heard, “Yo.”

  I turned, stopped dead and stared, unfortunately with mouth open, at Joker sauntering to me.

  What on earth?

  “What are you doing here?” I asked as he made it to me.

  “Got him,” he muttered, and before I could make a move to stop him, he grabbed Travis.

  Then before I could say a word about that, he spoke.

  “Here to check your place. See how many trucks we need to move your crap.”

  Crap was not a great word, but it wasn’t worth a nickel, so I let it slide.

  And disappointed was not exactly the right word for the emotion I was feeling that he was just there to check out my place to see how many trucks they needed, but for my peace of mind I didn’t think too hard on what the right word would be.

  “Well, okay,” I mumbled.

  He stood there.

  I stared up at him.

  “Butterfly, haul your ass up there,” he ordered.

  That was worth a nickel.

  “Another five cents,” I told him.

  He shook his head then jerked it to the stairs.

  I sighed and moved that way.

  I climbed. Travis and Joker climbed behind me.

  I walked down the walkway. Joker with Travis walked with me.

  I opened the door and entered my apartment. Joker brought Travis in after I did.

  He closed
the door and looked around.

  I did too.

  The single bonus of Tory (outside her having enough human kindness to inform me my son was sick and then bring him to see me) was that she wanted to redecorate my house after Aaron kicked me out of it. Something Aaron let her do. Therefore I got most of the furniture that used to make its home in a much nicer place.

  This meant what Joker was seeing was incongruous.

  That being a beautiful, expensive, comfortable fawn suede sectional that ate up nearly every inch of space and surrounded a fabulous, large, heavy, carved, square coffee table and faced a massive media center including a big flat screen TV that took up all the wall space with none to spare.

  The attractive rush-seated hardwood stools at my bar didn’t belong to the place either. Nor did the countertop appliances and kitchen paraphernalia that were all expensive because they were top of the line. All this was given to us during our engagement party, my shower, and our wedding, and those gifts were mostly from Aaron’s parents’ friends.

  And last, there were the accoutrements, heavy silver frames (that now did not hold pictures of me and Aaron over the too many years we were together but instead held pictures of Travis, Travis and me, Travis and my dad, or my dad, my mom, and Althea), expensive decorative knickknacks, and a Bose dock that I didn’t get in the divorce decree. I filched it. But luckily, Aaron either didn’t notice or was so busy having sex with a barely legal model and making my life a misery he didn’t have the energy to fight to get it back.

  Joker couldn’t see my bedroom suite, which also took up the entirety of space in my tiny bedroom, especially with Travis’s crib and changing table shoved against a wall.

  I’d even gotten the comforter and sheets. All that was magnificent, elegant, even regal.

  As it would be.

  I’d picked the comfy sectional.

  But Aaron’s mother had chosen our bedroom furniture.

  Plus I had the storage unit my father paid for (saying he needed it for his stuff but I’d been there, he had two boxes stored there, the rest of the space was taken with the leftovers of my marriage). It held my dining room table and the guest bedroom furniture from one of our four guest bedrooms.