Perched on his front steps, knees high and feet flat, he waited, flinging stones as far as he could, which was still pretty far he had to admit. They’d been together for years, on-and-off, years of her treating him worse than anyone else ever did. The arrangement suited him. He needed someone to tell him he was a piece of shit, since his whole life, everyone—Momma and Pops, Gramps and Nana, aunts and uncles, cousins, second-cousins, people who he called cousins but weren’t, neighbors, coaches, fans—kept been telling him he was the best winger on the Island, that he’d be leading the Islanders to their next Stanley Cup, the first in nearly forty years.

Those expectations stayed expectations. His people had been there to support him no matter how hard he failed: at the state finals, when he missed an open net goal then punched a ref in the teeth, all in front of the Junior Team USA scouts; at the police station, to bail him out when he totaled his car on the Belt and escaped without a scratch, his prom date with a few broken ribs. They supported him every time he lost his job, when he flunked out of community, when he got busted driving drunk on Sunrise Highway and escorted home since the cops and his dad were friends in middle school. Again and again, he did things that should’ve put him in jail. And they were still there for him. So, his dad got him a union job at LIRR. He wanted his co-workers to resent him for coasting along, getting all these extra chances. But they didn’t. Maybe they pitied him, he thought. She was different. 

She left him again and again. She left him after he cheated on her with her best friend, after he knocked her up the first time and said he didn’t believe in abortion. She got one anyway and he realized his rigid faith wasn’t so rigid after all. They reconciled and she didn’t get pregnant for another year. And this time she wanted to keep the baby, though he insisted he wasn’t ready to be a father. 

He loved his daughter—that was for sure. Even his woman couldn’t argue this. He treated his baby girl the only way he knew: as the center of everything, because family is everything. He had sworn he’d change his life. And nothing changed. His woman, man, he thought, she was never gonna change either. All they did was fight, because no matter what happened he was the same man he’d always been, which infuriated her. She’d get all worked up about something that didn’t matter in the long run, and yell, throw shit, break appliances, all while shouting the most horrible personal attacks to get under his skin. He’d listen, calmly, and hold their daughter to his chest with his hands over her ears. 

This time she was gone. They hadn’t even been fighting. He woke up from a nap with his baby girl on his chest, and she was gone. He rose from the porch and went inside to finish cooking dinner for him and his daughter, convinced she’d be back, hoping she was gone forever because that’s what he deserved.

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