The Argument

I found Ryan in the kitchen, opening a can of light beer. "Jesus, Ry. It's 1 in the afternoon. Bit early for that, isn't it?"

"It's just one beer, Allie." He sat down at the table and took a gulp.

Not wanting to start an argument, I pulled up a chair across from him. "So, Mom's really into her redecorating, huh? She even got Dad an Eames chair set for his home office. An Eames chair set! Can you believe that?"

"It's nothing compared to our Monobloc furniture," he replied flatly, taking another swig of beer.

I rested my chin on my hands, my gaze directed upwards. "When we get our finances together, we'll buy our own house and decorate it with fancy stuff, too."

His laughter was bitter. "Sure! It'll take us, what, five years to pay off your credit card debt? If we don't pay that and our rent, and stop buying food for us and the baby, we'd be millionaires!"

I felt like I had been slapped in the face. "What's wrong with you?"

"Everything, apparently! Ask your dad, he knows."

"Come on, Ry. You know that he means well. He's just looking out for me. He's always been distrustful of all my partners."

"Oh, yeah? From what you've told me, he didn't treat your ex Andrew like crap."

"That's just because they had so much in common."

He sneered. "Like the fact that Andrew is rich, too?"

I stared down at the plastic laminate kitchen table, tracing the chipped parts with my fingertips.

"And all these gifts from your parents?" he continued. "They bought Jax a three-thousand-peso mobile toy for his crib. What would a 6-month-old do with that expensive piece of plastic?"

"They're spoiling their only grandchild. What's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong is that they don't think I can provide for you and Jax. Are you really that naïve to think otherwise? Or are you just refusing to acknowledge that I'm right about Mommy and Daddy?"

I reached inside my pocket for a box of cigarettes, shook one out, and lit it.

Ryan scowled. "How many times do I have to tell you not to smoke inside the house?"

"What? Jax is in the bedroom."

"The chemicals in the smoke cling to walls, Allie. I've told you this over and over. It's not good for Jax."

"Fine!" I exclaimed, putting the cigarette out on the table. The smell of burning plastic was acrid.

"What did you do that for, Allie? Now you've ruined the table!"

I laughed sarcastically. "I don't see how that's a problem. It's just Monobloc furniture, like you said! Besides, it goes so well with this decrepit hellhole we call a house."

"Well, I'm sorry you didn't get that white picket fence that Andrew would have provided for you. I'm so sorry this isn't good enough for you." He rolled his eyes and stood up, the chair legs scraping on the floor. He went to the fridge, this time for some leftover whiskey. "If only your dad could see us, he'd be laughing his wrinkled old ass off." He didn't even bother with a glass. He took a swig from the bottle.

My hands were clenched. "Well, look around you, Ryan. Can you blame my dad for acting that way? This isn't exactly the life we envisioned for ourselves, let alone for Jax!"

Ryan's face hardened. "Don't you fucking talk to me about Jax. I've taken good care of him, and I always will."

I snorted. "Yeah, you take care of him when you're actually here at home. You're always making excuses, like 'I have to work overtime' or some crap like that. I have a job too, you know, and I don't have to work late because I finish my work on time."

He slammed the bottle onto the table. Whiskey sloshed on the plastic surface, dripping onto the linoleum floor. "Your complete and utter ignorance is, per usual, astounding. You're just a goddamned clerk. I work at a call center. I can't help it if I'm needed to cover someone else's shift!"

I stood up so fast, my head spun. "That doesn't change the fact that I spend more time with Jax than you do. Did you ever think where the hell we would be if my parents weren't generous enough to pay for Jax's nanny so we can both work? That alone gives me the right to fucking talk to you about Jax."

He stood up too, his usually pale face turning bright red—from alcohol or anger?—and said, in an eerily calm voice, "Do you know why I take on so much overtime?" He took a couple of steps until he was right in front of me, his frame towering over my own slight build. I took a careful step back, still keeping my eyes on his.

"I take on that much overtime because we're up to our eyeballs in debt. You have collections agents calling you every damn day because of your credit card bills. Money you could have used to buy baby formula for Jax, you use it to buy a new pair of five-thousand-peso shoes you don't even need."

I felt my face turn red as well. "You know I can't help it when I'm in the middle of a manic episode. I act impulsively—"

"Don't you dare use that bullshit bipolar disorder of yours to make excuses for your lack of responsibility!" He didn't even bother disguising the contempt in his voice. "I'm sick of this!"

My fists clenched, I stepped closer to him, so close that I could smell the whiskey evaporating from his breath. "So, what? You're going to pack up your shit and leave?" I jabbed my finger in his chest, hard.

He swatted my hand away. "And why would I do that?"

"Well, isn't that why we didn't get married when we found out we were having a kid? So you can jump ship when things get too rough?"

He shook his head before reaching for the bottle. "Amazing. Typical Allie—playing the victim card again."

A retort was halfway out of my mouth when we heard something. Jax was crying in the bedroom.

Ryan started to move, but I grabbed his arm. "Ryan, I am not letting you hold him when you've been drinking."

"Jesus Christ, Allie, I'm not drunk."

"I don't care. You're not holding him when you've been drinking. End of discussion."

I didn't wait for an answer. I left him in the kitchen and headed for Jax.