Life Interrupted (25 page)

             
“Mama, cake!” The gibberish that follows is unclear, but from the way she’s swinging Mr. Bear around, I grasp that he’s been forgiven for his earlier offenses and is being treated to cake.  Smiling, I break off a small crumb and hand it to her, watching as she goes through the routine of pretending to share it before shoving it in her mouth and running off again.  That’s my girl.

             
After she’s finished every crumb, Stacy sits back and eyes the plate, her silver wrapper the only thing left from her first cupcake.  Mom comes in and sits at the table while Stacy goes through another internal battle.  Grabbing a cupcake, my mom leans back and props her feet on the same chair mine are resting on.

             
“What are you doing?” she asks but I don’t look at her.

             
“Watching Stacy.  She just had one cupcake and is either regretting it, or talking herself out of another.”

             
“Why would she regret it?”

             
“Fat and sugar and empty carbohydrates add no nutritional value to my body, therefore, they give nothing to the baby.”

             
“Chocolate has been proven to improve emotional stability as well as a person’s outlook on life,” Mom says without missing a beat.

             
“God knows your emotional state could use a boost,” I tell her and watch the walls crumble a second time.

             
“The hell with it,” Stacy says as she grabs another one.  “Rae ate McDonalds while carrying Gracie—she didn’t come out with three eyes or childhood diabetes.”

             
“That’s the spirit,” Mom says and toasts her with her own cupcake.  “Speaking of, Rae, your soon to be…uncle? Step-Grandpa? Whoever the hell he is, is coming over later today to go through the points he’s going to make with the Kash’s lawyer on Monday.”

             
“That was fast, it’s only been a week,” I say and she smiles. 

“Your father made the call, asked him personally.  Apparently, he felt it was time he helped out.”

I don’t know what to say and when my mom sees this, she pats my shoulder and pushes another cupcake toward me.  “Here, eat this before your sister does, it will make you feel better.  And then go get ready, because for once your father has come through and we’re going to work together to annihilate Melanie Kash for thinking she could intimidate our daughter without us ever finding out.  I just hope your father holds onto his newly found testicles to be some real help.”

When I open the front door to my father an hour later, next to him is a small woman I assume to be his fiancée, and it shames me to admit I’m shocked that she’s Asian and not the blonde bimbo I had originally pictured.  Despite Stacy’s comments that she was normal, I couldn’t get the image of some gold-digging sex-kitten out of my head, but looking at the small woman with beautiful skin and almond eyes dressed almost sedately in her black pants and white and black polka dot blouse, I’m stunned.  After a second, I feel Tripp shove me from behind and my eyes snap to him.

             
“You’re staring,” he whispers and motions for me to move.

             
I shove him back before turning and stepping back to open the door.  We stand in the doorway in an awkward square as my dad makes the introductions, shaking Tripp’s hand and kissing a shy Gracie before motioning to his petite fiancée, Lucy. 

             
“It’s not my American name,” she says and makes me laugh.  “It’s just my real name.” 

             
“Lucy’s a scientist,” he says and my eyes widen.

             
“Really? What field?”

             
“Biochemistry.  I work in the lab, mostly, observing and testing.” She must see my curiosity because she smiles.  “I actually had your mother as a teacher when I started at Oregon State.  She made me want to change my major from Engineering to Biology.”

             
I’m speechless and out of the corner of my eye I can tell Tripp is focused on Gracie, listening as she babbles at him, trying not to let loose the laughter that is surely bubbling inside of him.  Seriously, what are the odds?

             
“Is that—” I have to stop and clear my throat.  “Is that how you guys met? At the university? I didn’t think you were working in Corvallis anymore, Dad.”

             
“Heavens no, dating a student would be unethical,” he says and I’m oddly amused that he can say that like it’s obvious.  “We met at hot yoga six months ago.  Lucy’s a regular and I’m trying to open my chakras to new experiences.”

             
Since I don’t know what a chakra is, nor do I want the image of my father in any sort of yoga gear or awkward, bendy position in my brain any longer, I motion for everyone to go back to the living room.

             
“My dad will be here in a second,” Lucy says and I nod.  “I hope you’re okay that I came along. I just wanted to meet you so badly.  Your father speaks highly of you.”

             
I stop to stare at her, wondering if there’s an ulterior motive behind her words—like she’s about to bitch slap me for making my dad cry the last time I saw him.  When she just smiles, I shake my head.  “I can’t imagine why.  We barely know each other.”

             
She acknowledges this with a slight lift of her chin.  “I understand—I’m twenty-five and I’m just getting to know my father.”

             
“If that’s the case, then why would he do this favor for someone he doesn’t know?”

             
She smiles then, as if that’s exactly the point.  “Because he still loves me, and he knows this matters to someone I love.”

             
And just like that, I’m not so mad at my dad anymore.

~

              Lucy’s dad is not the quiet Asian man I was anticipating.  Rather than softly spoken like her, his voice is whip sharp and demanding.  His hair is silvering at the temples, which only adds to his dominance in a figure that should be considered slim and instead seems imposing with all of the arrogance he carries around.  When he arrives, the only thing he does is ask to be alone with me and hear my story.

             
Now, after forty-five minutes of telling this man everything from who I was before Gracie, to when I got pregnant, to now and everything in between, including my depression and sexual partners (yikes was I glad there was only two), he hasn’t said anything and I’m sitting here, my throat dry from all of the nerves and talking.  I want to ask him what he’s writing, what I should do, what he thinks, but his posture tells me he’s not the kind of man you question, so I wait, my hands tucked under my thighs, my body rigid as I work to keep still when all I want to do is something physical to release this tension.

             
“Well, teen pregnancy is never pretty, and when it’s the result of a one-night-stand it’s even uglier, but you’ve been a good mom and a half-decent person.”

             
If this is meant to be a compliment or an insult I can’t tell, so rather than take it any particular way, I just nod my head.  “This Marcus Kash, the biological father, he hasn’t made any contact with the child?”

             
“Gracie,” I say.  I can’t call her the child, it’s too test tube.

             
He raises a brow.  “He hasn’t made any move to be in her life?”

             
“No.  The only contact has been with me, and really only twice, when he warned me away from trying to claim her as his.”

             
“How
do
you know she’s his?”

             
It’s not that this line of questioning is unwarranted, nor is it the worst accusation that’s ever been aimed my way.  I’m a teen mom who wasn’t in a serious relationship—or even a casual one—when I got pregnant, so I rarely get offended when someone asks me something offensive or rude.  But most people haven’t heard my whole story in the way I just told him, so irritation slams into me and there’s a sudden bite to my words when I speak next.  “I was a virgin when Marcus and I had sex—like I told you twenty minutes ago.  I wasn’t lying when I said he was the only person I’d slept with until two weeks ago.  So, yeah, she’s his because she can’t be anyone else’s.”

             
He nods un-phased by my acid tone, and scribbles some more before continuing down the path of overly personal questions.  If I thought telling him the story of my pregnancy and two hookups with Tripp was embarrassing, its nothing compared to the next thirty minutes of questioning. 

             
No, there’ve never been any STDs—ever.  Yes, I’m sure.  No terminated pregnancies, no drugs, no alcohol save the night I got pregnant (yep, pregnant after a one night, drunken stand—keep writing, asshole).  No expulsions from schools, no major violations of the law—okay, a few speeding tickets.  Yes, I plan to go to college.  No, I don’t know where.             

“Talk to me about the first six months of Gracie’s life.  What were you doing?”

              Another challenge—awesome.  He knows I suffered from depression because I’ve already told him.  He’s written it down and still he’s staring at me, his pen poised and ready on the legal pad, his almost black eyes narrowed on mine.  He’s thin like his daughter, but from what I’ve seen of Lucy she’s gentle, hands, face, posture.  Her father is anything but.  Adam Chen is shrewd, all business, all the time.  His face is in a perpetual frown, his brows always drawn together as if he doesn’t quite understand something I’ve said and though he’s probably an inch or two shorter than me, the way he holds himself, as if he’s the most important person in the room, makes him feel bigger.  And I thought growing up with an absentee father was bad. 
Hats off to you, Lucy, this guy’s a real d-bag.

             
“Rachel? The first six months.  Did you care for the child?”

             
“Gracie,” I snap, and there’s a new light in his eyes.  Approval, maybe, but I don’t really care now.  If he wants to rip me open, he can have me, but he’s not getting polite Rachel anymore.  “Her name is Gracie, and no, I didn’t care for her.  For the first few months I barely made it out of bed, and for the next few I didn’t know how to be a person let alone a mother.  Is that you want to hear?”

             
“I want to hear the truth,” he says in an icy calm that has my already raging temper spiking.

             
“Are you sure? Because I’m giving you the truth and you can’t seem to keep it straight.  Do you think I like the fact that for six months I didn’t want my daughter? Do you think I like remembering that not I only did I not want her, I couldn’t be bothered to care what happened to her, to me, to anyone? That the darkness was so heavy, so consuming, it was all I could do every day to open my eyes even once and see that I was still alive? And then after, to go to therapy and tell some fucking
stranger
that I was a terrible mom, a terrible person who couldn’t seem to feel anything but mild anger toward my daughter? That I made the choice to have and keep a daughter I could barely look at without hating? Do you think I like knowing all of that, remembering it? And I
do
still remember it, that feeling, that darkness.  That’s the worst part.  I know what I did, I still remember every day, and as much as I’d like to beat myself up every day because of it, I can’t, because I have a daughter who deserves more, and I’m going to make goddamn sure she gets it whether you help me or not.”

             
My chest is heaving and my body is trembling and all I want to do is deck this guy and walk out.  Clenching my hands into fists under my thighs, I take a deep breath and pray that this counting down from ten shit really works or Lawyer Chen just might find himself with a black eye.  Asswipe.  Judging me. 
Judge this
, I think and mentally flip him off. 

             
When he sits back, his face is no longer set in disapproving lines, but curious ones.  “All right.”

             
What the fuck? “What does that mean?”

             
“It means we’re done.  I’m meeting with the Kash lawyer tomorrow morning to give him our terms.”

             
“And what the hell are those?”

             
“Don’t swear, especially if this goes to trial.  It makes you look young and immature.”

             
Yeah, because no adult has ever used a bad word.  Bite me
.  Swallowing back my retort, I breathe and ask again, “What terms?”

             
“The ones that say under no circumstances are you giving up your child, nor are you sharing.  If Melanie Kash wants to continue harassing you, we’ll slap her with a lawsuit and take her to court where the burden of proof will be on her to show you’re anything but what you say you are.”

             
“And what’s that?”

             
This time he stops putting his things into his briefcase and looks at me.  “A decent person who made the ill-advised choice to sleep with a bad man.  Now, you’re doing what’s right, even commendable, and raising your daughter in a healthy, happy environment—something her son has never attempted to do or help with.  She has no grounds to sue for custody, nor does she have any rights to the child.  If she wants to push, we’ll push back.  I only give one warning.”

             
He might be an asshole of epic proportions, but the man knows what he’s doing, and he’s certainly made me feel better in the last ten seconds.  And the term “ill-advised” tickles me for some reason.  I mean, really, just say stupid.  I stand when he does, holding out my hand.  He shakes is brusquely.  “I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon to let you know where things stand.”

             
I nod.  “What happens if we go to trial? Other than the fact that it will cost me a small fortune.”  One more thing I’ll owe my mom.

             
“The same thing that happens if they agree to my terms, only more paperwork.  Ms. Reynolds, you’re certainly not the worst mother I’ve seen and though it wasn’t a happy thing that lead you to this point in your life, I see no reason you shouldn’t be happy now.”  Since I don’t know what else to say, I murmur thank you and step back.  He nods.  “I’ve billed your father—it appears this is the area with which he’s chosen to take part in your life.  Be grateful, since I’m the best.”  With that, he turns and leaves.  When I walk into the kitchen a few minutes later, I smile when everyone turns to stare at me. 

             
“Well, Lucy, I can see why you and he might not get along that well.  The man knows what he’s doing, but he’s also a grade A dickhead.”  I sit down and throw a look to my father when he winces.  “And after his parting shot, I can assure you, you’re joining another family whose patriarch thinks you’re useless.  Better bring you’re A game for the new bun in the oven or Grandpa might just get rid of you permanently.”  When he pales, I smile and try to make it sincere.  “Don’t worry, I’ll defend you.  Thank you,” I say to him, and really do mean it.  His eyes stay on mine and I think they water a little before he nods.

             
“It’s the right thing.  It’s not enough, but it’s the right thing.”

             
I nod because I understand, and more, it sums up everything I hope for Gracie; I might not always be enough, but I’m going to try and do right for her because she deserves it, and so do I.