Providence

Chapter 94: Ryan

It's been a couple of days since I asked Niamh to take Evelyn out for the night. The next morning, she seemed a bit more at ease and relaxed. But afterwards, she went straight back to her low spirited mood. Lately, I feel like she's been turning into a different person almost. She always took most things personally, but now it seems that it's escalated.

Anytime somebody tries to help her, she rips into them, saying she feels like she's being told she's incapable of anything. She's not coping with Denise well either. She still hasn't quite got the hang of getting her to stop crying. And that's perfectly normal. But she beats herself down because of it. I know it upsets her, but with how snappy she's being lately, I don't want to push her to talk about it, given that she hasn't volunteered to discuss her feelings with me.

Take yesterday for an example. I was getting changed in the bedroom and she was in the living room with the Denise. I could hear her crying, and came out to see if Evelyn needed a hand. It wasn't just Denise who was crying. Evelyn was crouched over her, sobbing from the pits of her stomach. "I'm trying, please," she kept weeping.

And then when she realised I was watching her, she stood up abruptly, wiped her eyes and faced me with a smile, as though to camouflage her feelings. When we first starting seeing each other, one of Evelyn's stark weaknesses was expressing how she felt clearly. Over the past few years, she had improved. But now, she seems to almost be regressing in character. And I don't know what to do for her.

I've just awoken from a bit of a nap. I was feeling weary and needed to put my head down. "Oh my God Denise," Evelyn screams.

I cock my head and listen out for Denise crying, which I can't hear. I wonder what's setting her off now. As I limp into the living room, Evelyn is again, on the brink of tears. She's clutching Denise's milk bottle.

"Are you alright?" I ask.

"Is it not obvious I'm not alright?" she spouts through gritted teeth.

I sigh. "Evelyn, I'm only asking."

She begins to hyperventilate. "No, I'm on the edge Ryan. I can't cope."

"Hey," I say. "Talk to me about it."

Evelyn shakes her head. "She won't take her milk for me."

"Here, let me try," I say, stretching my hand out for the bottle, which she swipes from my reach.

"For me," she emphasises, raising her voice.

"Evelyn, keep your voice down," I tell her. "She's going to start crying."

"The little brat never stops crying for me anyway," she shrieks.

I've been trying to keep calm and collected and understanding, but she's making that really hard for me. "She's not a brat, she's our daughter."

"Same difference," she spits.

I place my hands over my face for a moment. "What's happening to you?" I ask. "You were never this--"

She slams the bottle on the coffee table. "This what?" she demands.

I don't think this noise is helping. I think we've scared Denise because she's starting crying again. I go to take a step towards her, before stopping as Evelyn continues to speak. "I was never this what, Ryan?" she urges.

"This horrible," I say.

I'm immediately regret it. I can see her face beginning to flush. "If I'm this horrible, then why are you still with me?"

"Because I love you," I tell her. "But I don't know what's happening to you, Evelyn."

"I'll tell you what's happening," she replies. "I'm stuck."

A horrible feeling begins to churn in my gut. When she says she's stuck, I have the feeling that's she not exclusively referring to Denise. She's talking about me too, I'm sure of it. She's stuck, because of me and my condition. She doesn't really want to be committing to me, the way I am. But she feels obliged now, because we have a baby together. It has to be what's been causing her behavior to change. This realisation invokes guilt in me. I fall silent and look to her.

"I need a drink," she says. "I'm going out."

She picks the bottle up and hands it to me.

"Since she's no bother to you, maybe you can feed her and settle her down."

And with that, she storms towards the door. "Evelyn, wait--" Flinching as the door slams closed, I give up and crouch beside my daughter, the bottle in hand.