Kith and Kin

by Kris Ripper

  Jake offered her a seat on one of the sofas beside Singer, but she found an excuse to do something in the kitchen long enough for all of them to settle into their places. They talked over one another, filling every corner of the house with their voices and laughter.

  The house still felt warm, awake, alive. Not hollow.

  It was hard to remember being that young, laughing that freely. Viv wasn’t sure she ever had, really, though it was always possible that she’d decided such unfettered emotion was somehow unbecoming, that it wasn’t suited to her role in life. When she looked back, she could see places where she’d restrained herself, times when she might have embraced sentiment, or even passion.

  Could a woman her age learn how to feel passionate? Probably not, but Viv thought she might try. It was frightening to be starting fresh now, when she’d thought everything would be established, the shape of her days more or less unchanged. But it wasn’t without a certain thrill, she acknowledged. Anything could happen.

  Across the room Singer happened to look over at Lisa, both of them smiling, and Viv had to turn away briefly to dab at her eyes again. She’d raised her children in this house, and they’d grown into people she hardly knew. But that, too, might be remedied. Both of them could laugh. Both of them could claim friendships steadfast enough to rally for a spontaneous house cleaning.

  She pulled a chair from the dining room a little closer to the group spread out over the floor and the sofas and returned to eating her food. She had no idea what they were talking about, but it didn’t matter. Every now and then Singer would say something, or Lisa, and the baby rounded the table, happy to eat bits off of everyone’s plates.

  They all packed up to go later, leaving the house in perfect saleable condition. Lisa gave her a hug and told her to drive safely. Jake and Singer were the last to go. On impulse, Viv grabbed Jake’s hand as he was chorusing “Good night, Mrs. Thurman” and said, “Please call me Viv. Everyone does.”

  He smiled widely. “Good night, Viv. Text Singer when you get home safe.”

  “I will.” She kissed the baby’s forehead. “Take care of them.”

  “I’ll do that.” He walked out, slipping past Singer, who was staring at her.

  “Mother, I…” But he couldn’t seem to find words.

  She kissed his cheek. “Good night, darling. Thank you for helping today.”

  “Of course. You won’t drive tonight, will you?”

  “No, I have a hotel room. I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

  “All right.” He hesitated, then kissed her cheek. “Good-bye, Mother. We’ll have to plan a visit soon, if you’ve decided to stay in Valencia.”

  “I think so. For now, anyway.”

  Singer nodded. “Maybe after the adoption is finalized.”

  “I look forward to it.” Both of them paused, and in that pause, that shared moment, Viv understood that she hadn’t said anything but the absolute truth. Singer and Jake and the baby would come visit, and she would look forward to seeing them.

  Sounding a bit hushed, Singer murmured, “Well, good night.”

  She found she couldn’t say anything at all, and so kissed him again, and locked the door behind them.

  Epilogue

  Singer

  389 days with Miles

  The Family Law Center in Martinez was an eye-pleasing mix of glass and steel, angles and curves. They stood in the entirely unseasonable summer rain, and Singer focused on the architecture until he saw Marie and Sarah walking slowly down the block. Well. Marie was walking slowly. Sarah was clearly trying to contain herself.

  “I’m telling you they’re gay,” Jake murmured. He waved.

  “They’re friends. People who don’t grow up surrounded by Derries have friends, Jacob.” Singer knelt down. “Miles, do you see Nana?”

  At almost two years old, Miles was a big tumbling kid, and when he started running down the sidewalk Singer felt the same certainty he always felt: this is the time he falls flat on his face. But before he could, Sarah swooped in and grabbed him. She kissed him, then held him out so he could hug Marie, even though Marie relied more on her cane in bad weather.

  He scanned the street, but no sign of Regina.

  “Do you think he’s going to notice she isn’t here?” Jake asked.

  Singer gestured to the huge collection of Derries and hangers-on. “I don’t think so. I’m glad Marie’s here, though.”

  “Me too. That makes it feel real.”

  Both of them kissed Marie, careful not to act too enthusiastic just in case it brought up old wounds.

  “For God’s sake, you can smile,” she snapped.

  “We’re so completely excited,” Jake said. “You couldn’t get her to come?”

  “She was high.” Marie shook her head. “I thought it’d be best if she didn’t, in that state.”

  “I offered to duct tape her mouth shut, but Marie said no,” Sarah added, bouncing Miles. “Good lord, all these people belong to you two?”

  “I have kind of a big family, sorry.”

  “Marie!”

  “Incoming,” Jake mumbled.

  “Your mama doesn’t scare me,” Marie mumbled back, though Singer thought she was putting on a brave face.

  “Then you don’t know her well enough yet. Mom, can we not—”

  “Hush, I’m saying hi to Marie. Marie, can you believe how big he is? Did you get the photos? How’s your back?”

  Cathy had found Marie on Facebook and, over their strong objections, sent her a friend request. Jake and Singer were a little surprised when Marie accepted it.

  They stepped to the side, and Lisa walked up. “This is my high school nightmare. There are Derries everywhere I turn.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Jake said. “Should we run?”

  “You wish. How’re you guys holding up?”

  “This can’t actually be happening. I feel like we’ve been waiting forever.”

  “I thought we’d wait longer,” Singer said.

  “My brother the optimist.” She opened her mouth to say something, then stopped and smiled instead. “Hey, Emery.”

  “Am I late? Sorry, there was traffic on 680.”

  “We haven’t gone inside yet.”

  They didn’t kiss when they greeted each other, but they linked hands, which was almost more sweet. Not that Singer was evaluating the sweetness of Lisa’s relationship.

  Okay, maybe he was. She’d never had sweet before.

  “Mother said to tell you good luck, by the way. I think she’s under the impression there’s a test, or something.”

  “Dad texted to say congratulations—on Tuesday.”

  Lisa rolled her eyes. “Nice of them to pay attention.”

  Cathy raised her voice to call out: “Everyone waiting outside the courtroom, we’ll be out when we can. Everyone coming in, let’s go.”

  Lisa snickered. “Ha. Your mom’s nervous, huh, Jake?”

  “Did you pass her car on the way here? She’s got trays of cupcakes in it. She’s happy it’s cold out so they won’t melt.”

  “Ha. Where’s the little man?”

  It took a second, and even though Singer knew there was no chance of Miles getting lost or kidnapped when literally surrounded by Derries, he still panicked for half a breath.

  “Carey has him,” Jake said.

  As Singer found them, Carey was hoisting Miles onto his shoulders while Miles giggled.

  “He’s in such a good mood.” Singer kept his voice low. “I had nightmares where he got totally overwhelmed and cried all day.”

  “Pretty sure that’s gonna be us, Singer.”

  “Good point.” His phone buzzed. A message from Kara. “Hey, Kara and Victor say good luck, and Rachel made us a picture.” Singer swallowed, then held it out for Jake to look.


  “Our first family portrait,” he said.

  Two beige men and one brown baby.

  “Oh god, Singer.” Jake brushed a kiss to his cheek.

  “I know. You think we should go in, so they know we’re here?”

  “I doubt they can miss us. And yeah, let’s do this.”

  Singer sucked in a deep breath. “Is it weird that I still don’t feel ready, even though we’ve been waiting forever?”

  “It only feels like forever. And it only feels like we’re not ready for this.”

  “Right. It’s all an illusion.”

  Jake grinned and kissed Singer’s other cheek. “Not all of it.” He turned away and called, “Hey! Give me back my kid!”

  Miles, alerted, said, “Hey! Ake!”

  Even strangers chuckled.

  After the flurry of being outside with everyone, the courtroom itself felt almost calm.

  “I just got nervous,” Jake whispered, shifting Miles to his other arm.

  “You weren’t nervous before?”

  “I guess I wasn’t nervous enough.”

  Miles grabbed a handful of Singer’s shirt. “Er,” he said urgently.

  “What? You okay?” They stopped walking (and perforce everyone behind them stopped walking, too).

  “Er,” Miles repeated.

  “I’m right here,” Singer said, closing his hand over Miles’s fist.

  Miles put his head down and didn’t let go.

  “This is a little like dancing,” Jake murmured as they carefully started walking again.

  “We should dance more often.”

  “Quit being punchy.”

  Singer fought a wave of hysterical laughter and tried to make his face serious, but shuffling along beside Jake and Miles made it hard.

  They sat at the plaintiff table with their attorney and scooted their chairs close enough so Miles could hold onto both of them.

  “I’m going to puke,” Jake whispered.

  “You can’t.”

  “But—”

  They shut up when the judge rearranged some papers. Minutes ticked by in a slow-motion blur of swearing to tell the truth and agreeing about their names and birthdays.

  This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.

  When asked if they wanted to change Miles’s name, Jake glanced over, a silent You talk.

  “Yes,” Singer heard himself say. “To Miles Thurman Derrie.” No hyphen. Regina hadn’t given Miles a middle name, so they did. Singer’s name. And Lisa’s.

  He swallowed hard, and Jake reached over. The warmth of his hand sank into Singer’s skin.

  The judge’s voice washed over him, conferring on them the status and responsibility of permanent parents. Singer followed the words and knew what they meant, but he didn’t tune back in until the woman said, “Congratulations, gentlemen. And congratulations, Miles.”

  Singer kissed Miles’s head, and Miles turned toward him.

  “Er?”

  “Love you.”

  “LOVE YOU,” Miles repeated, unnaturally loud in the hushed room.

  Everyone laughed.

  Miles looked around, then buried his face in Jake’s neck again.

  “Pictures,” Cathy said.

  Right, pictures with the judge. Adoption rite of passage.

  They arranged themselves, Singer slightly behind Jake on his Miles side. After a second of hesitation he put his hand lightly on Jake’s waist.

  Miles started talking, and Singer caught “tacos” and “doggy” and possibly “cupcake.”

  Jake laughed. “We’ll get to cupcakes later, bud. Right now we’re doing pictures.”

  “Say cheese, Miles!” Cathy called.

  “Cheese!” Miles called back to his grandmother.

  “You think he thinks she means food?” Singer whispered.

  Cathy gestured imperiously toward them. “Marie, get in there, we’re taking one of you, too.”

  Were they supposed to monopolize the judge’s time like this? Not that she seemed to be complaining.

  “Cathy—”

  “Don’t Cathy me, lady. Get in the picture.”

  “Don’t argue with her,” Singer advised, holding out his other arm. “She always wins.”

  Marie grumbled, shifting her cane to a better position, but she was definitely pleased to be included.

  “Say cheese!”

  This time Miles wasn’t messing around.

  “CHEESE CHEESE CHESSE CHEESE CHEESE!”

  “I think he’s hungry,” the judge teased.

  In the pictures they’d all be smiling. Singer felt the curve of his own lips tugging at muscles sore from smiling all day.

  He swallowed again.

  “You’re supposed to be the one crying,” Jake muttered in the chaos following pictures as they were gently herded out of the courtroom.

  “Give me our son.”

  In all the pictures taken by the people who waited outside, Miles would be in Singer’s arms. He felt suddenly self-conscious and turned his own face into Miles’s.

  “I am not crying,” Jake chanted. “Not crying, dammit.”

  “Liar.”

  Then the Derries (and hangers-on) swarmed them, carrying them outside, where the rain had miraculously paused. The front steps were lined with a picnic of buffet-style cold cuts and rolls and fruit platters, with various tubs of store-bought potato salad and egg salad and pasta salad.

  “You know, with whatever your folks spent on this spread we could have started Miles’s college fund.”

  “If you think they haven’t already, you don’t know them very well.”

  Singer paused. “Good point. When do you think they’re gonna tell us?”

  “Today, maybe. Or they might wait until his birthday. Miles, do you want to go to college someday?”

  “Cupcake!”

  Jake laughed. “Who has cupcakes? The man of the hour wants cupcakes.”

  “The man of the hour can eat some vegetables first,” Cathy said, holding out her arms. “Come here, my strong boy. Come sit with Nana and Sarah and me while we dissect the joke that is our health care system.”

  Singer caught her eye. “Everything okay with Marie’s treatment?”

  “I’m trying to get her to let me pay for the physical therapy out of pocket. There’s no earthly reason why she should be in this much pain.”

  “Good luck,” Jake said.

  “Oh, I’ll win. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

  They waved, and Miles waved back for a split second until he saw Marie’s plate. Then he dove for the food.

  “So the thing where my mom’s trying to push her do-gooder agenda all over Marie—should I be worried?”

  “I think Marie loves it when rich white people tell her what to do,” Singer replied. “Oh my god, I can’t believe we just laughed at that.”

  “I hope she at least understands that it’s a nurse thing. Damn.” Jake swiped at his eyes again. “Singer, we’re parents. I mean officially. Legally. No one can take him away from us.”

  “I know.” But that wasn’t what he really wanted to say. “Jake, I— Thank you. For having enough faith for both of us.”

  “Only until puberty. Then it’s all you.”

  “Right.”

  Frankie whistled at them. “Hey slackers! Settle a bet for us.”

  “Oh god,” Jake muttered.

  “We’d rather not,” Singer called back.

  Frankie rolled her eyes but didn’t push it, releasing them from the obligation to get involved. She was gesturing wildly with one hand while the other was loosely in Logan’s grasp. (She never said “boyfriend,” but Logan had reached boyfriend status in the family anyway.)

  “He might not want to go to college,” Jake said.


  “What do you mean?” Singer pulled his attention back from Derrie-watching.

  “I don’t know. Only that he might not be interested in college. I mean, we all went, and it’s not like I’m using my awesome literary analysis skills at work. And you majored in philosophy, so—”

  “Don’t mess with me about Neitzsche.”

  “I’ll, um, try not to. But you know, maybe by the time Miles is older there will be stuff he wants to do.”

  Singer almost brushed it off, but there was something behind this. More than college. “What’re you thinking?”

  “I’m not sure. But you know how people act like having a kid is sort of this sacrifice? That it places all these limits on what you can do?”

  “You mean like all the drinking and wild parties we used to throw?”

  “Yeah, you always knew when movie night at Thurman House got out of hand because people would start insulting on the catalog of Jennifer Aniston.”

  “I love Anniston.”

  Jake grinned. “I know you do. And no, I mean, I look at him, right now, and I feel like our world has expanded a thousand times, Singer. I feel like our family didn’t just grow by one person, it grew by an entire dimension that didn’t exist before Miles.”

  “Sometimes I feel like he makes us more of a family than we were before,” Singer said. “Or than we could have been without him.” Not crying.

  “Yeah. Me too. And, um, I think we should keep thinking about surrogacy, but I could do this again, too. Which I know sounds crazy to say when we kind of just got done with it, but—”

  “No, I know.” Because right now Miles’s two grandmothers were talking like they were friends, despite everything. The system was so fucked up, and yet it had built this family Singer didn’t even know he needed. And Miles was theirs, so incredibly, inevitably theirs.

  Jake cleared his throat. “So anyway, I had this idea. Um.”

  “Are we going to Disneyland? Because I could seriously use a honeymoon from—everything. Especially if we’re going to start it again at some point.”

  “Well, um, actually…” Jake reached for his hand and held it. “I was kind of thinking we should make it even more official. Our family. And I’m pro-Disneyland, for the record.”