“Godmother,” Nick repeated, rolling his eyes. “Is that even a thing?”
I turned my attention away from the useless blob that was Nick and looked at the attorney.
“Em and I decided on the whole godmother thing when we were, like, seventeen. It was never legit, and it sure as hell should have never been legal.”
“I apologize for the confusion, Mrs. Carson,” Howard said. He didn’t look sorry. “But Emily Barlow was under the impression that in case of her death, you would raise Piper as your own.”
“Oh, it's actually Miss,” Nick butted in, leaning across the table to look at the attorney. “Sam isn't married. She ate the last boyfriend she had.” He drew back and sat up, and my fingers itched to wrap around his neck and squeeze. He must have noticed my expression because he sat back, folded his arms, and shrugged. “Just saying.”
“I’m so glad you have the emotional maturity of a seventh-grader, which is an improvement since the last time I saw you.” I put out my cigarette and glared at him, unsure of what I wanted to do more: punch him in the face or take off running and never come back.
“Well, actually,” Howard began to say, but Nick rambled on, unrelenting.
“It’s relevant to the conversation, Sam,” Nick said with a sneer. A muscle in his jaw twitched, highlighting the dirty blond stubble forming on his cheeks and chin, which he rubbed vigorously.
“Again, I'm sorry for the confusion,” said Howard. He seemed uneasy now, like he really hadn’t been prepared at all for this ridiculous childhood spat. “But you both need to know—”
“While we're on this subject, why in the hell didn't Emily grant me custody of the kid?” Nick leaned forward, avoiding my gaze as he rested his elbows on the table. I made it a point to move away from him, but he pretended not to notice. “I don’t even know why this one’s here.” He flipped his thumb in my direction without meeting my gaze. “Piper is my niece. We're blood-related, after all.”
“Actually—" Howard cleared his throat, but we both ignored him.
“The last blood-related man in Piper’s life took off when she was born,” I seethed. “What makes you think you’re better than her own father?” When Nick didn’t immediately answer, I pressed on. “Not to mention, I'm sure Emily just wasn't comfortable with her seven-year-old daughter becoming your whore magnet.”
“Oh, yeah, because an uptight, bitchy workaholic who is incapable of any emotion besides I fucking hate everybody was such a better alternative.”
“I don't hate everybody,” I said. “Just you. And while we're at it, that is better than a wanna-be loser living on his friend’s couch while he fails every day to make something of himself.”
“Fuck off, Sam,” Nick said, and the muscle in his jaw clenched again. I was treading on dangerous territory, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Nick Barlow always made me feel this way, and I sure as hell wasn’t about to step aside and let him run the show. “Let me deal with my family matters. Stay out of it.”
“You weren’t family to Emily,” I said. “You were nothing to Emily, you no-good piece of shit.”
Silence fell over the dining room table. Howard, the Attorney, wouldn’t look at either of us, not that I could blame him. Nick only stared at me, and I couldn’t read the expression on his face. I wasn’t sure I wanted to. Instead, I closed my eyes and took a calming breath, pleasantly surprised when Nick finally shut up and didn’t refute with some stupid insult.
“Well,” he said after a moment. He brushed the shaggy hair back from his face and shrugged. “That escalated quickly.”
Ignoring Nick, I looked at Howard the Attorney, folding my hands in front of me. “I can't do this,” I said, and both men looked at me, their gazes narrowing. “I'm not fit for this. I was always sure Emily had some family besides Nick to take Piper on.” I paused, biting my lip, making it bleed. “Then again, I never thought we'd be here, either.”
Even Nick was silent as I glanced down at my paint-chipped fingernails, fighting the pain in my chest and the tears threatening to spill over. I couldn’t lose it, not now, not in front of everyone who expected me to be strong. I was Emily’s best friend; I had to be strong.
“Well, here we are,” Nick said softly, and I could hear the remorse in his voice. The pain. Emily had, after all, been his twin sister. For once, I didn't have the automatic urge to knock Nick’s teeth out. If he was feeling anything like I was at that moment, I had nothing to say.
“What happens if I don't take Piper?” I asked. “Is there someone else behind me?”
Nick raised his hand, irritated again, but Howard shook his head.
“If her first choice refuses care, then Piper will go to”—he shuffled through some paperwork and squinted—"Milton and Agnes Barlow.”
Both Nick and I turned at once to stare at the attorney. “My parents?” Nick confirmed. “Emily requested them? What was she thinking?” He cracked his knuckles against the table and shook his head. “I'm the kid's uncle. I will take her. Sending her to live with Agnes and Milton is the last thing I will let happen.”
“And what do you mean if ‘we’ refuse care?” I cut in. “When did ‘we’ happen?”
“Look, guys, just let me explain.” Howard leaned forward on the table, shuffling through some paperwork, squinting. “You’re here for a reason, Mr. Barlow, and it’s because Emily’s request is specific.” If Samantha refuses to care for Piper, you are no longer considered for guardianship.”
“I don't get it.” I cleared my throat, hoping Agnes wasn't listening on the other side of the wall. “Why can't Piper just go to Nick if he wants her?”
“Because Ms. Barlow was extremely set in her decision,” Howard said. “Either both of you care for her, or neither of you does.”
Nick
I leaned against the door frame, watching Piper glide back and forth on her wing set in the back yard. Her chin was to her chest, eyes cast on the ground beneath her hanging feet.
“Hey, princess,” I called. “Do you want to play a game or something?”
She gazed up at me, her chocolate brown eyes dark under the Miami evening sky. She looked so much like Emily at that moment that a painful sensation took hold of me and squeezed, a metal vise that refused to let up.
“No,” she said and scuffed the dirt with the toe of her pretty black boots.
Still sitting at the kitchen table, Sam had finally stopped shuffling through legal papers and was now sipping a glass of vodka on ice. Her eyes were swollen and red, the aftermath of the mini-breakdown she’d had a few moments ago. I couldn’t lie to myself; I felt ready to have my own meltdown. It seemed like nothing but a thin thread holding us all together, fraying with each passing moment, preparing to snap.
What would happen now? Fuck if anybody actually knew.
No decision had been made, not yet. The ultimatum hung heavy in the air, an unspoken terror between Sam and me. Neither of us spoke about it aloud, but I knew we were both feeling the same thing. Agnes and Milton hadn’t been fit parents when we were kids. Why in the hell did Emily think they’d be better grandparents? Where did we go from here? I didn’t know. Nobody knew.
I wanted to place the blame squarely on Sam’s shoulders, to tell her that whatever she decided would be fine. But I was conflicted, just as much as she was. Was she ready to raise a child?
Was I ready?
Were we ready?
I was twenty-six years old, for hell's sake—I was still a child myself it felt like, in the prime of my life. A situation like this could derail everything.
“Damn you, Em.” I looked up at the sky, at the vivid colors of the setting sun. It was hot, muggy. Sweat clung to me like a second skin, and I hated it. I wanted to go home to Seattle, where the rain washed away the sadness of life, and bad memories hadn’t formed. I wanted to go back—without a kid and a basket-case workaholic along for the ride—and resume my life. I wanted to pretend that none of this had happened, that Emily was still alive and well, caring for
her kid and living life in whatever way she saw fit. I wanted no part of this.
Although all I wanted to do was leave Miami behind and never look back, the mere thought of leaving my innocent niece in the hands of my malicious, cold parents was something I couldn’t consider.
“Nick?” Sam said softly behind me. I looked over, bracing myself in case she had something heavy to throw at me. I was glad Agnes had run to the store, and that Milton was asleep in front of Emily’s living room TV. If anyone could make this situation even more difficult than it already was, it was my parents.
“What?” I watched Sam light another cigarette and inhale deeply. She blew out a ring of smoke and closed her eyes. Her hands still shook, and it was only under the dim porch light that I noticed the black circles under her eyes.
“I don't think I can do this. I don't think I can accept it.” Sam opened her eyes to meet mine, and I saw all the fight from earlier had vanished. She seemed lost and confused now, full of doubt and uncertainty, a scared little girl trapped in the body of a full-grown woman.
I stayed silent for a moment, pondering my words. Why had Emily tied us down to such precise circumstances? It seemed cruel that if Sam refused to care for Piper, I couldn't raise her either. It was bullshit. I might not have been the richest or smartest guy on the block, but I had a conscience, and Piper was still my niece. I hated that both of us had to agree in order for this to move forward.
“I didn't expect you would,” I said finally. I didn’t know what else to say, so I went with the cold truth. “I guess the kid goes to my parents.” Sam flinched like I’d struck her, and for a moment, I wished I could take the cruel words back. Did I actually want a kid? Could I even be a good parent?
“Thanks for giving me so much credit,” Sam said. Her emerald green eyes flashed fire, and I tensed, preparing to bolt in case she decided to rise from the table and lunge at me with fists swinging. But even then, even when I knew I was already past the point of no return, I continued speaking, as though the metaphorical ice beneath my feet wasn’t about to give way to my ultimate death.
“What?” I shrugged. “You're too self-absorbed. I figured you wouldn’t be able to do it.” I tried to act nonchalant, that I didn’t care one way or the other. If anything got Samantha Carson on board with something, it was a challenge.
“Quit being petty,” she snapped. “You don’t know the first thing about raising a child, Nicholas.”
“And you do?”
“I’m trying to live my own life here.” She stood from the table, fists clenched in tight little balls as she rested her knuckles on the tabletop. “I'm two years away from graduating college, and I have a stable, no-kid relationship with a successful man. Excuse me if I'm not comfortable with the prospect of raising a child right now.”
“A relationship?” I repeated. “With that prick Richard, the surgeon? Yeah, Emily told me about him. He sounds like a class-A douchebag. Not that it surprises me—you’ve always known just how to pick ’em.”
Sam flinched, but a mere second later, her expression was smoothed into solid hatred once more. “My relationship is none of your concern,” she said softly. “But I’ll have you know that Richard is very good to me, and that's what matters. Being a mature adult is just the cherry on top, but you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Nick?”
“If being a mature adult means having a stick embedded so far up my ass that I can feel it in my throat, then I think I’ll pass.” I looked back out the sliding glass door. Piper was still swinging, her gaze to the ground, shoes skimming the dirt beneath her feet.
“Grow up, Nick,” Sam said, but her flash of anger had died down again.
“You know what? It’s fine.” I looked away from Piper and toward Sam. She had her head in her hands now, eyes closed. “Did you know that Agnes once locked Emily out of the house when she came home twenty minutes late?” I asked. “She had nowhere else to go, so she fell asleep on the front porch until morning. When she finally got let in, Pop took the belt to her. Em had bruises and welts on her backside for weeks.”
“Nick, stop.” Sam’s voice caught, and the tremble in her shoulders told me she was crying.
“Too much?” I asked, but I couldn’t bring himself to care about hurting her feelings—not today. Not when Piper’s well-being was on the line.
Sam raised her chin, eyes red and puffy. The bit of mascara she’d worn to the funeral had streaked down her face, staining her freckled skin with black. “I hate you,” she said, but her voice cracked. “You’re arrogant, immature, and lazy, and I fucking hate everything about you. Do you think you can raise a child, Nick? You can’t even raise yourself.”
“Keep it coming.” I crossed the room and leaned over the table, palms down, as I stared at Sam. “I know you've always wanted to get it out; you know, the intense, scathing hatred you have for me.”
Sam opened her mouth, and I waited for the worst. But after a second of silence, she closed it again. I was surprised to notice her bottom lip was still quivering. For the first time in the eleven years I’d known her, Samantha Carson finally looked defeated.
“Emily’s put me in an impossible spot,” she said and made a move to light another cigarette. “I either raise Piper with you, or she goes to Milton and Agnes. That's not fair, and it's not okay. What was Emily thinking?”
“Maybe she thought that she’d rather Piper be with both of us,” I said softly. “It's you and me, or it's Milton and Agnes. Piper has no one else, Sam. This is it.”
Sam shook her head and wiped a stray tear from her face, sniffling a little. She’d abandoned the cigarette and was now staring once more at the shiny tabletop. Behind us, coming noisily out of the bathroom, the attorney, Howard James slipped past me and sat down once again across from Sam.
“Have you two made a decision?”
I looked at Sam, who closed her eyes. “Can I have some time?” she asked. “Can I have some time to think about this?”
“You only have twenty-four hours,” Howard James said. “If you haven't decided at that time, the child will go with her grandparents.”
Sam
Two hours and three strawberry daiquiris later, I still wasn’t as drunk as I wanted to be.
“Obviously you need to do this, Sam,” Tasha Clark, one of my and Emily’s good friends, said to me as she filled a frothy beer mug for a customer sitting down the bar from me. She slid it to him and turned her attention back to me. “I mean, come on, it's Piper.”
“I know it's Piper, okay? I get it.” I rested my head in my hands and took a calming breath, feeling the sudden urge to rip my friend's braided cornrows right out of her head. Escaping the Barlow house without Nick’s judgmental stare and Agnes’ steely but curious gaze had been painful enough, but now the one person I thought I could turn to for some helpful advice was making me feel even worse. I should have known it would happen. Tasha had never been one to sugarcoat the truth, even if it meant drowning you in it.
“I know it's Piper,” I said again. “People keep reminding me of that as though I've forgotten. I don't know what to do, Tash. I've never had a kid—I wouldn’t know how to start raising one!”
“I'm sure if you and dear ole' Nicholas put your heads together without wanting to rip them off, you'll figure it out.” Tasha brushed back a braid of black hair and shrugged. “Parenting takes teamwork, Sam. In fact, you’re probably lucky that Emily insisted on Nick, too. It may be easier to raise Piper with some help and not completely alone.”
“I guess I never expected I'd be raising Piper at all.” I picked up my near-empty drink, sloshing the leftovers around in my glass, wondering if it would look bad to ask for another. I couldn't get too drunk—I had a decision to make, and I needed a clear head.
“No one expects to lose their best friend,” Tasha said. “Shit just happens, and we need to learn to roll with it.” She reached for my pack of cigarettes and lit one, inhaling deeply. Born and raised in Detroit, Tasha had been brought up
on the wrong side of the tracks, bouncing from foster home to foster home until finally winding up in Florida where she’d laid her roots. Coming to Miami had toned down Tasha’s big-city attitude, but she still wasn’t a girl you’d want to run into in a dark alley.
“I don't know what I'm doing.” I pressed my palms against the top of the bar counter and shrugged, shaking my head. “I'm a college student, Tash. I can barely raise myself. I wasn't expecting children until my thirties, if at all!” I dropped my head onto the bar counter, smack dab into the middle of a small pool of sticky margarita. “And what in the hell is Richard going to think? He’s going to flip shit.”
Tasha shrugged and butted her cigarette out in the ashtray on the bar counter, then she grabbed a napkin from behind the bar, dipped it in ice water, and handed it to me.
“I guess that all changes now,” she said as I wiped the sugary concoction from my forehead. She leaned forward, elbows resting on the bar, and shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter what I think. You still have a choice to make. Choose wisely.”
Nick
When Emily and I were twelve years old, Agnes’ sister died. She was an aunt but not really our aunt because she was never around. She didn’t send cards or gifts on birthdays or holidays. She didn’t call us just to chat. In fact, when she was around, she made our lives miserable. A “crunchy old hag” Emily called her, but never to her face, or it would be the belt for sure. If Dad was in a bad mood, it would be worse.
I didn’t care much for our Auntie Alice, but I didn’t want to go to the funeral. Neither did Emily. Not because we didn’t want to show our respects, but because we were scared. Frightened. We’d never seen a dead body before.
Agnes told us that she’d look beautiful and quite peaceful, thanks to the funeral director, and to this day, I still believe that Agnes told us the biggest lie that day that she ever had.
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