by Kris Ripper
“Yeah, I heard all about it. ‘If you showed an ounce of the strength God gave you, Regina, you’d be the one standing there with your boy in your arms.’ She acts like I like being this way. Like I was a little kid and thought, When I grow up I want to be just like that meth head hood rat down the block, with no teeth, who don’t even remember her family.”
Until this moment Singer hadn’t understood all the warnings against offering money to the relatives of foster kids. Of course they had no intention of doing any such thing, and they were on guard for any attempt to get money out of them. But this was the real danger: not Regina asking for help, but looking like she needed it. He wanted to send her to rehab, if that’s what she wanted. His parents could have helped him with anything he’d needed, and Regina’s couldn’t. Not because Marie didn’t work hard, but because that’s how it shook out for her. Race and class and circumstance.
Singer had never been stupid. He’d always understood that there was great benefit in being a white man born to well-off parents. He’d always understood that being born into poverty was a nearly inescapable trap no matter how much the feel-good movies tried to act like with enough hard work anyone could make a comfortable living and own a house in the suburbs. Enough hard work and a whole lot of luck.
Regina didn’t look like she’d seen a whole lot of luck.
“David—that’s Miles’s daddy—was a football player. Did I tell you that? He was so beautiful out there on the field. He made varsity sophomore year, he was that good.”
“So what happened?” Jake asked.
“Oh, nothing, you know how it is. You make all these big plans and things just don’t work out. God, he’s so big. He’s walking?”
“He’s pulling himself along the furniture, anyway. He took one step, fell down, and you could basically see him thinking maybe he’d try again in a few months. He’s really fast getting around on the couches.”
“We think because he mostly skipped crawling, he’s still a little top-heavy,” Singer added. “Jake’s mom said when they crawl for a while they build different muscles, but Miles went straight to a shuffle-crawl, then trying to walk, so he’s still getting used to his balance.”
“Uh-huh. He’ll get it, though. Right? I mean, not that he’s— Brandi said he’s fine, but Mama says she thinks maybe I messed him up.”
“You didn’t mess him up.” Jake glanced over, meeting Singer’s eyes. “He’s not messed up, Regina. Look at him.”
Miles had made it past his mother’s legs to the end of the two-seater and was now obviously calculating whether he could make it to the closest chair. He teetered, undecided, and didn’t look up when Regina touched his hair.
“Did Mama tell you to take him to a barber?”
“She mentioned it. We figured we’d ask her on Sunday.”
“I can’t even believe you two go to her crazy church.”
“Well, the food was good,” Singer deadpanned.
Regina laughed, a little more like she’d been the first time they met her. “Yeah. Make sure you compliment the slaw. Get on Sarah’s good side. She and Mama been joined at the hip since they were babies.”
“Thanks for the tip. It was slightly overwhelming last week. I’m not sure how much I tasted, really.” Jake leaned over to poke Miles’s side. Miles giggled, maintaining his focus on the chair. After a second he wiggled, so Jake poked him again. God, it was so good to see them play. Singer didn’t know how he could miss something that made him so jealous, but he did.
“So you guys have, like, a nice house and stuff, right?”
That was an abrupt shift.
“We do,” Singer said.
“Good. That’s good. When I picture him, it’s always nice. And bright. Do you have a backyard? I always picture him in a yard, with grass, and trees.”
Singer swallowed thickly. “We have a yard. Though I don’t think he likes grass that much right now. Maybe when he can walk he’ll like it more.”
“He’ll probably be a good football player, like his daddy.” She eyed them. “You guys play football?”
“Only in family games where everyone knows how much I suck,” Jake said. “But my brother used to be pretty good.” He narrowed his eyes. “Raiders, right?”
“Forty-Niners! The Raiders are for shit, Jake.”
“Raiders or die, Regina!”
Both of them cracked up, and Miles craned his neck to see what the joke was. After a beat, he laughed, a little late, which set them off more.
Regina was just nineteen, ten years younger than the youngest of Jake’s cousins. But for the bags under her eyes and the way her skin hung off her bones, this could be a fight in the living room between opposing factions of football fans.
“The thing is that they can be so good,” Jake was saying. “They’ll play three quarters and look good, and then in that last quarter they start giving away interceptions like it’s going out of style. What the hell is that?”
“Because they suck, I told you. And they front like they’re gonna kill whoever gets in their way, but they can’t back it up!”
A knock at the door. Regina slumped against the cushions.
“How’s everyone doing?” Brandi asked. Singer might have been making it up, but he thought she was eyeing Regina hard.
“We’re good. Raiders or Niners, Brandi?”
“I don’t watch football. Did everyone have a good visit?”
When Regina didn’t say anything, Jake replied. “Yeah. Miles showed off his mad furniture-walking skills for his mom.”
Because Singer happened to be looking in Regina’s direction, he saw the way the little muscles around her eyes tightened at the word mom. She’d missed appointments and flaked out on drug testing and whatever else she was supposed to do to get Miles back, but she loved him. She missed him. He flashed to drinking in the spa the other night, getting high at least in part because missing Jake and Miles had been so acute there was nowhere he could hide from that feeling. How much worse would it be for Regina, who’d given birth to him and never expected to get him back?
They left the visit subdued and silent. Once they had their customary coffees, Jake cleared his throat. “We’ll have to be careful with Regina.”
“How do you mean?”
“She’s inconsistent. Her mood last time was way different than this time. We have to be careful with Miles, so he understands that she loves him, and that she can’t always be reliable.”
Singer glanced over. Jake was sitting in the passenger seat, cradling his coffee, staring out the window. “You think we need to tell him that?”
“I think we have to do what’s right for Miles, and sometimes that will be saying no when she wants to see him because the last few times she broke his heart by not showing up. And if she wants to see him that badly, she can come to church, Singer. But he’s gonna get older and then he’s going to know when she doesn’t show up. Not that we never let him see her because she might not come, just that we put some boundaries in place so she’s deliberate—so all of us are deliberate about their relationship.”
Which made sense, but still made something deep inside Singer ache.
“I feel bad for her. She had a football player boyfriend in high school, she had plans, and now she’s got nothing.”
“I feel bad for her, too. And for Marie. I bet Marie had all kinds of plans for Regina, you know? Our parents definitely had plans for us.”
“I’m pretty sure I was supposed to marry a blond woman and have a lot of blue-eyed children.”
Jake huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I bet. I think my parents were more invested in my career. Care wanted to be a lawyer since he was little. I was probably supposed to be a doctor or something. But I didn’t want my life to be about my job, like Mom’s is. I like having an office job I can walk away from at the end of the day.”
“Me too.
And I agree with you. But all this makes me more determined to keep going to church than ever. He needs to have his”—people—“family around, to whatever degree we can manage it.”
“We are his family. And so is Marie, and Regina, and Marie’s bestie Sarah, who makes delicious slaw.” This time Jake glanced over, and Singer felt it, even though he was still concentrating on the road. “Did you get the feeling Marie and Sarah were—close?”
“Close?”
“I’m just saying.”
“Jacob, if you’re trying to tell me that you think Miles’s grandmother is a lesbian—”
Jake laughed. “Oh man. I’m making that up, right?”
“I’m sure you are. Really.”
“You gotta admit, she didn’t even blink at us—”
“Jake. Stop making up stories about Marie.”
“Ha. I totally am. Probably I shouldn’t do that when he’s awake, though.”
“Probably not.” Singer checked the rearview mirror. Asleep, and safely latched, and yes, he was bigger than he’d been when he first moved in. They’d had to rethread the shoulder braces on the car seat.
He wanted to ask Jake to come home. To beg, if necessary. And judging by the fight they’d had Sunday, which he still didn’t understand, begging probably was necessary. But he didn’t.
Singer dropped his family off at Carey and Alice’s house, kissed both of them, and drove himself home.
39
Singer
75 days and 19 hours with Miles
Singer felt slightly more comfortable the second time they brought Miles to church. He wasn’t relaxed by any means, but it was easier to hand Miles over to Sarah and watch the way he traveled between people. Kids were always coming up to play with him, and this time when he started to fall asleep, Marie brought him back to them.
“You want to get him in the car so he sleeps on the way to your house?”
“That would be great,” Jake said. “Thanks, Marie.”
“I’ve done screaming babies in cars. He’s a real sweet thing next to Regina. She was always screaming.”
“Yeah, I think we’re getting off lightly.” Jake took Miles, resettling him on a shoulder.
“That just means he’ll challenge you later.” She kissed Miles’s cheek. “Have a good sleep, boy.” She hesitated, not quite looking at them. “Will you be back next week?”
“Definitely. Believe me, Marie, this is way better than the church I grew up going to.”
The lines around her mouth released, as if tension she’d been holding since they met her was suddenly a little less. “Damn right it is. This is what worship looks like, boys.”
Jake hesitated, then reached for her hand. “We’ll see you next week, Marie.”
“Good.” She turned away, suspiciously wiping her eyes.
“Did you just make our son’s grandmother cry?” Singer whispered.
“Shut up, I didn’t mean to.” Jake looked over. “Did you just call him our son?”
Singer almost stopped walking, only vaguely paying attention to his feet as he followed Jake to the car. Our son. He’d said it without noticing. But it felt right, standing here in a black church, where Miles looked like he belonged and the two of them looked like they were lost and needed directions to the John Denver concert.
“Yeah,” Singer said. “I did. He is.”
“Do not make me cry, Singer.”
Things between them, surely at a high point for relationship awkwardness, were one thing. The other thing was this: they had a son together. Somehow those two facts were not mutually exclusive.
“You coming to lunch?”
“Sure.”
Lunch. Coffee. Cookies. Carey and Alice’s house.
“Maybe we can—talk later, Singer. About everything.”
Everything. Singer’s stomach knotted. “You say my name more than you used to.”
Jake got into the driver’s side and didn’t look over. “Um. Yeah. Well, I used to try not to. Because Frankie said that any time I said your name it was obvious how I felt about you, and it took a few years for me to figure out that it wasn’t actually a secret anymore.”
Singer gave that a beat before saying, “So I should blame Frankie?”
“Ha. Yeah. It’s totally Frank’s fault.”
This was the moment. He needed to say something. Ask something. Or maybe confess. No avoiding it, even though he felt queasy, and he didn’t want a repeat of their last car fight. But later was so seductive.
The sound of Singer’s phone ringing interrupted, and he answered before it could wake Miles.
“Frances, we were just talking about you.”
“Dude, what the hell is going on at your house right now? Your dad’s here?”
“My what?”
Frankie made a loud air sound into the phone. “Your dad. Is apparently here, or at least that’s what Lisa said when I ran into her on the way in to torture you. I dropped her off at the shopping center like ten minutes ago.”
“Wait, Lisa’s at the shopping center?” In Singer’s peripheral vision, Jake looked over.
“She was creeping around the side of the house and wanted a ride somewhere, so I dropped her in front of the bookstore. Why?”
“Lisa doesn’t go out. At least, not alone.”
“Well, now your dad’s here, and Lisa’s on the run. What the fuck, Singer Thurman?”
“I have no idea. I had no idea Dad was coming up.”
“Your dad’s here?” Jake asked. “Holy shit.”
“Frankie, I gotta go. Will you call me if you see my sister?”
“Sure. She looked fine, though. Maybe a little freaked out—”
“Yes, thank you.” He cut the line and turned to Jake. “I need to get home. Will you—”
“’Course. You want us to come in with you?”
Yes. No. I don’t know. He wanted Jake at his side right now, to face down whatever was going on. With all their misunderstandings, Jake was still solid, was still the person he’d want to have his back walking into any situation that included both of his parents. But Singer glanced at the back seat, where Miles was still asleep, with his head at what had to be the least comfortable angle possible. “No. No, take Miles with you and I’ll keep you posted.”
“Singer.”
Singer shook his head. “I’ll call you if I need you, I promise. But if I’m finally going to figure out what my parents are up to, I think it would be best if I did that alone. But text Lisa, would you? It’s weird that she’s out in public by herself after three months of living in her bedroom and occasionally letting us drag her places.”
“I’ll see if I can get ahold of her. If I tell Alice, I can almost promise Emery will show up at lunch just hoping to see Lisa.”
“Oh, I know. They blush even at the mention of each other.”
Jake’s head snapped to the side. “You’ve seen Emery blush?”
“You haven’t?”
“Man. Never mind. But seriously, he’s hot, right? I mean, it’s not wrong of me to notice that?”
“You’d have to be dead not to notice that.” Singer decided not to mention the tattoos. “I can’t believe my father is here.”
“Me neither. What do you think they’re up to?”
“I really have no idea.”
Jake pulled up at the house and idled at the curb. “If you need us, we’ll be here in ten minutes.”
“Thank you. Let me know if you hear from Lisa.”
“I will.”
Singer leaned over for a quick kiss. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Yeah, the Derries are gonna need an update, Singer.”
He’d meant about them—their relationship—everything—but where would clarifying get him? Singer kissed his fingers and pressed them against Mile
s’s cheek.
“Anyway, let us know what’s going on. And take care of Lisa.”
“I’ll try.”
He waved until the car was out of sight, then started up the driveway. The Volvo wasn’t here, but Dad’s car was, so he’d driven up. What was that, eight hours? Seven? That wasn’t an impulsive flight.
Singer braced himself and went inside.
His father was sitting in the living room. A suitcase stood next to the door.
“Hello,” Singer said, and waited.
Dad stood up, hesitating before walking over to shake hands. “Hello, Singer.”
“To what do we owe the pleasure of your sudden and mysterious appearance, Dad?”
“I’m here to help your sister. Your mother’s very worried.”
“Lisa’s fine.” Notice, no How’s your long-term boyfriend? I hear you adopted a little boy.
“To be perfectly frank, Singer, she doesn’t sound fine. Has she really had excessive meetings with a sex worker?”
Oh my god, a sex worker? Singer desperately (briefly) wished he’d asked Jake inside. “To be perfectly frank, Dad, no. She hasn’t. I’m going to see if there’s any coffee left. When did you get in?”
“Maybe thirty minutes ago. Your mother said she’d be home soon, and I wasn’t certain who else was in the house.”
You might have tried our phones. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Yes,” Dad replied after a pause. “Is she here? Your sister?”
“I have no idea, I just walked in the door. Jake and I took Miles to church with his grandmother this morning.” He glanced over, but no, no flicker of recognition through the confusion on Dad’s face. “She didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
Singer sighed and dumped coffee into the machine. “I don’t even know where to start. I’m going to jump in the shower. I’ll be out in a few minutes.” He smiled, wryly. “Make yourself at home, Dad.”
Dad smiled with all due humor in return.
The second he shut the door to the bedroom, Singer pulled out his phone. Where are you? This is fucking bizarre. Dad’s in the house. I have no idea what to think about that. Also, Mother didn’t tell him about Miles. Typical. Then he pulled off his clothes and stepped into hot water.