Cut So Deep: Break So Soft Duet

by Black, Stasia

  * * *

  Charlie falls asleep in my arms on Sunday as I rock him after his bath. I carry him gently to his crib in my room. He barely stirs as I settle him down. I can’t help doing that parent thing where I pause in the doorway and just stare at him for a minute or two with my heart going all gooshy.

  He was whinier today than most. My standard silly-dance around the living room trick almost didn’t work the last hour before bedtime, and he was fussy during almost every other activity all day. Shannon thinks another tooth is coming in and from the amount of drool pouring out of his mouth onto my shirt and whatever toy he could shove in his mouth all day, I think she’s probably right. Poor baby.

  He’s so beautiful when he sleeps. Precious. Perfect. His mouth moves in a sucking motion like he’s dreaming about his sippy cup. I grin and shake my head before slipping out the door.

  Shannon’s in the living room on the couch with a blanket tucked around her, watching some gruesome forensic TV show. “Is he down?”

  I nod and go reheat the spaghetti I made earlier. Feeding Charlie dinner tonight was a feat all on its own, he was so fussy, and I didn’t get to my own dinner. At least he’s not usually like that. I sit down on the ugly-ass seventies maroon velvet lounge chair beside Shannon. It was a dumpster-dive score I’m especially proud of. A neighbor down the street put it out on one of those rare big-item trash pick-up days, and Shannon and I hauled it home. It’s hideous but comfortable as hell and therefore, my favorite place in the whole apartment to hang out.

  I go to take a bite of my spaghetti but then catch sight of the blood and guts on the TV screen. As in, literally some dead guy’s organs and intestines.

  “Oh hell, Shan. Why?” I avert my eyes, but way too late. Why do they always feel the need to go for the autopsy shots in these shows? “Seriously? Can’t we watch something else while I’m trying to eat here?”

  “Hey, I was watching it first,” she shrugs. “You’re the one who decided to come in here with your spaghetti.”

  I grumble and keep my eyes firmly on my food while I eat. I wince a little as a meatball squishes in my mouth. I’d like to say I’m one of those delicate girls who is put off her meal by it all, but nah, I close my eyes, let the queasy moment pass, then get over it and enjoy the hell out of my pasta.

  I look back up at the screen only when my plate is empty. Of course, the detectives are past the forensic part and are now storming the bad guy’s apartment. I’ve missed too much of the plot to care about what’s happening, but I keep watching anyway. I relax into the chair and let the stress of the day with the fussy kiddo roll off me. Ahh, evenings. God’s gift to mothers everywhere.

  “So how’s the new job?” Shannon asks, eyes still on the screen. After a brief shootout, the cops have the bad guys in cuffs.

  I tuck one of my legs up underneath my bum, trying not to let the surprise show on my face. Shannon and I might be sisters, but we’ve never been buddy-buddy. Well, that’s not exactly true. When we were really little, we used to do everything together. She’s three years older than me and my earliest memories are of her half-carrying, half-dragging me everywhere. Dressing me up and calling me her dolly. Holding my hand when we went to the park with Mom and sitting behind me with her arms around my waist as we slowly slid down the slide together. She’s the one who taught me how to tie my shoes.

  I don’t know when it changed. Maybe around when I was seven or eight and started doing pageants? But the change was drastic. She began completely ignoring me and hanging around with her older friends. She never had time for me anymore and whenever we did spend time together, we just fought.

  “It’s…fine,” I finally say.

  She rolls her eyes. “Just fine?”

  Well, it’s not like I can tell her what it’s actually like. I think of the business lunch with Mr. Vale that Bryce put me through last week. God. Instead, I put on a false smile. “No, I mean good. It’s really good.”

  She nods and it’s quiet for a second.

  “What about your week?” I ask. If Shannon’s trying to connect, I want to encourage the effort. She’s so good with Charlie, and it’s more than that. She was here supporting me when no one else was. I don’t know how I would have made it after Charlie was born without her. I wish we could get along better. “The graphic design stuff?” I don’t know a ton about what she actually does. Freelance for advertising firms, from what I understand.

  Her body tenses. “I lost another client.” She picks up the bottle of wine I didn’t notice on her side table and pours herself a glass. From the level of the bottle, I’m guessing it’s not her first. When she puts the bottle back down, it lands with a heavy thud. “That fucking Gregory from In-Line Design is undercutting me and poaching my clients.” She keeps taking liberal swallows from the glass.

  “I’m sorry, Shan. That totally sucks.”

  Her eyes shoot a glare at me. Crap. Wrong thing to say. I was going for sympathy but from the look on her face, she took it as pity.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “So tell me more about this job. It’s “fine,” she makes air quotes. “What’s that mean?”

  “I said it was good,” I try to clarify again.

  “Your boss. The one your personal assisting for?” She smirks, like it’s some kind of inside joke, or she’s insinuating something by it. What I hate is that she’s not that far off the mark.

  “He’s fine.” Without meaning to, it comes out through clenched teeth.

  “Fine again. Of courssse.” The word comes out a little slurred. “I shouldn’t have even asked. Nothing’s ever good enough for you.” She clicks the remote to flip back through the DVR menu.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Why does she have to take every single thing I say the worst way possible?

  “Nothing,” she mutters, selecting another episode of the same show. Without asking me what I want to watch. Naturally.

  I sit up straighter. Why does she have to be such a bitch? What did I ever do to her? “No, I really want to know. What do you mean, nothing’s ever good enough for me?”

  Her eyes flash my direction. Apparently I have the same effect on her that she does me—we’ve both gone from zero to pissed in point three seconds. Sisters.

  “Oh, you know,” she says in a voice dripping with condescension. “You had everything growing up. Everything was about you.” She scrunches her eyebrows together and talks in a mocking high-pitched voice. Aw, poor little Calliope needs money for her beauty pageant dresses.”

  Her jaw locks. “You and Mom getting manis and pedis every other week, even though it was the last thing we could afford. Oh, our Callie is a beauty and has brains, she’s the Valedictorian of her eighth-grade class. And then, oh no,” the high-pitched voice returns, “beautiful Callie has quit the pageants, what’s going on? Is she depressed? Does she have body image issues? Maybe we should get her counseling, even though that would cost us another arm and a leg.”

  Her face goes hard. She downs the rest of her glass of wine so fast that some sloshes on her face and down the front of her shirt. “No matter that dad’s scraping by at the bank, never able to get that promotion he was always working so hard for even though he was always kissing his boss’s ass!”

  I jerk back like she’s slapped me.

  “Shut up!” I jump to my feet. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” I’m conscious to hiss it in a whisper-shout because of Charlie in the next room, but fury pulses through my whole body so hard I can hear my ears ringing. “I’m sorry you had a shit day at work, but you just shut up about shit you don’t know anything about.”

  Shannon’s eyes are wide and I can see that she realizes she took it too far. But I can also see that she thinks my reaction is over the top. Because of course she doesn’t understand.

  Because I never told.

  I never told any of them about what dad’s boss did to me. And yeah, tonight’s not the time for late night confessions. I shake my h
ead at her and walk out of the room.

  * * *

  Shannon slept off her night of wine-bitchery and we avoided each other all of Monday. Then today we pretended nothing ever happened. You’d think we were born in the Midwest for our ability to just gloss over any of the bad shit in life and present a happy all-is-peachy façade.

  I shake my head and ride the elevator down after another long day of work. I look back up in the direction of the fifteenth floor offices in bewilderment. Both yesterday and today at work, Bryce was all Miss Cruise this and Miss Cruise that. Like, he treated me with the utmost professional respect. Both in public in the meetings with project managers and in private.

  What. The. Fuck. If only every day could be like that.

  I let out a sigh. As if I, Callie Cruise, would ever get that lucky. My track record would indicate it’ll never happen for me. I’ll daydream about it anyway. A simple life. One where I just do my job in peace, get a killer paycheck, and go happily along my way. Have a sister like in the movies where we share makeup tips and text back and forth about guys. Kick my ex’s ass in the upcoming custody battle. You know, live the American dream.

  Speaking of—I slip my phone out of my purse to check the time as I hurry out of the building, and shit, I’m running late. I walk as fast as I can down the sidewalk in my heels. Damn, I should have brought a pair of comfy shoes today to change into. I knew the attorney’s office was several blocks away and I wouldn’t have a lot of time before my appointment.

  Don Maury is a respected attorney, available, and only somewhat pricey. Check, check, and check. Not only is his law firm at the top of my wish list, he in particular is my number one pick. I’ve checked out two other lawyers just in case, but I’ve been holding out for him. I did my research. This guy has tons of reviews on the review sites where clients rate their attorneys. I traced the reviewers to actual cases to make sure they weren’t trumped up reviews and they were all real. He’s not only gotten great settlements, he didn’t waste money in useless billable hours. Exactly what I need.

  His office had the longest wait time for an appointment, even for the phone consultation I did with him last week. After facing David and the Shrew’s piranha lawyer last time, I know I can’t afford to go with second best just because I could get a quicker appointment time.

  I keep up my pace no matter that my feet are killing me by the time I get to the office. I end up being only a couple of minutes late and manage not to even limp when I’m led into his office.

  “Miss Cruise,” Mr. Maury stands up and shakes my hand as I come in and sit down in his office. “How can I help you today?”

  He’s a middle-aged man, but his suit is sharp. The slightest paunch at his stomach and gray in his hair somehow only adds to a sense of gravitas about him. It’s a good look for a lawyer.

  Considering how much this guy costs per hour, I don’t beat around the bush. We only went over the barest basics over the phone, so I jump right in and explain my situation with David and Charlie in full detail. I don’t leave anything out. Even the restraining order and the part where I lit David’s car on fire. This is no time to be shy or embarrassed. Their lawyer knows all this stuff, I want mine to be just as equipped.

  Mr. Maury taps his pen on the desk where he’s been making notes, looking thoughtful.

  “And you feel your previous lawyer did not prepare you for the hearing?”

  “God, no.” I shudder. “Every single thing he’d coached me to do beforehand was wrong. He assured me no judge would take a child away from his mother. That fathers never won custody.” It sounded wrong and sexist at the time, but all I cared about was keeping Charlie, so I shut up about it.

  I shake my head. “He said all I had to do was show a lot of emotion in front of the judge. Like, cry as much as possible. Show passion about my child.” Meanwhile, even before the hearing, the fees for billable hours in ‘discovery’ racked up to insane amounts, at least for me on my paltry waitresses’ salaries.

  “Then the day of the hearing, when I kept crying and trying to impress on the judge how much I loved my son, the other attorney attacked me and said I was demonstrating what an unstable and unfit mother I was, just like I’d been years ago when I’d stalked their client. When I became visibly upset about this and tried to deny their accusations, the judge himself chastised me. Meanwhile my lawyer just kept scrambling with his papers.” I sit back in my chair with a huff that blows my hair out of my face. “Their lawyer tore my character to shreds. By the time he was done, if I didn’t know myself, even I would have wondered about the wisdom of leaving a child in my care.” I shake my head, my hands trembling at reliving the absolute helplessness of that afternoon.

  Mr. Maury looks disturbed on my behalf. “Did your lawyer at least seek back child-support? Sometimes that alone is enough of a deterrent to a father seeking custody.”

  I sigh, leaning back in my chair. “Not to David. His wife is independently wealthy. And the money was gone almost as soon as the check cleared.” I explain about the emergency C-Section and the days Charlie spent in the NICU.

  I sigh again, this time in defeat. “I thought I was insured when I had the baby.” I decide not to tell the drawn-out story about how I never thought to check the ‘maternity option’ on my college insurance when I signed up for it, so when I got pregnant, none of it was covered.

  “But I’m more financially sound now,” I hurry to add. “I can pay you, I just got a new job.”

  He smiles in a reassuring way. “I’m not worried. We do a credit check on all potential clients after the phone consultation and you have a reliable history. That’s what we’ll start building on for the next hearing. It will be all about proving how stable your life is and what a steady, cool-headed, and reliable person you are now. We’ll get affidavits of witness statements on your behalf testifying this. Your excellent credit history will speak to your stability. And employment records.” He’s speaking out loud, but it seems half to himself as he scribbles notes on a notepad.

  He looks back up at me. “Are there any men in your life?”

  My mind immediately shoots to Bryce and how he’s made me come in front of him twice now. And then again in front of both him and Mr. Vale. I feel my eyes widen slightly, but then I try to cover my first impulse and don’t look down or away. “No. I haven’t dated anyone since David.” Okay, well, that’s not a lie.

  More scribbles in the notebook.

  “All right.” He taps his pen against the side of his notebook. He looks over my shoulder at the wall and it’s as if I can all but see the gears turning in his head as he thinks. “I think we should take this on a two-pronged approach. On one hand, we present a defense by demonstrating what a stable influence you are, as I already mentioned, and on the other, we attack by pulling apart David’s story at the seams.”

  I sit up straighter in my chair. “Oh? How?”

  “Well, first of all, is there anyone else who can attest to the fact that he knew about the baby when you first told him?”

  “I don’t know,” I bite at my lip. “My family knew. And one of my friends at college, but I never told her David’s name since I didn’t want to get him in trouble. Just that the baby’s father didn’t want him. I don’t know who he told, if anyone. Obviously, he eventually told his wife, not that it helps,” I mutter. But then I look up in excitement. “But the police! I told the police all about what happened and they were communicating with David after the fire. When I was in jail I got dehydrated and passed out. In the infirmary, the doctor confirmed I was pregnant. Maybe there was documentation that the police told David about it?”

  Mr. Maury nods, taking notes.

  “And in the previous hearing, you said he stated that he didn’t know about the baby at all until…?”

  “Until, I don’t know.” I shrug, feeling useless. “He never said in court how he supposedly found out about Charlie. One day I just got a court-ordered paternity test in the mail.”

  Mr. Maury’s ey
es gleam as he nods and makes more notes. “Even more proof he already knew. Then there’s the even bigger matter.”

  “Which is?”

  Mr. Maury looks up at me, eyebrows up. “The obvious. The fact that he was your professor. You were his student. He was how much older than you?”

  I pick at my finger nails. “Um, at the time?” Duh, obviously. I answer my own question. “Nineteen years older.”

  Mr. Maury nods. “A man old enough to be your father, in a position of power, seduced you, got you pregnant, and then left you with nothing.”

  Oh. That obvious thing. I swallow as Mr. Maury continues.

  “Yes, you got upset when he suddenly dropped you to go back to his wife, but he’d emotionally abused you by separating you from friends and family by forcing you to lie to protect his reputation and therefore creating an unhealthy bond.” His eyes flash down at his notes before looking back at me, “It was the first time you’d ever left home. While professor/student romances are not officially banned at Stanford, they’re discouraged. He was seeking tenure back then and it would have reflected badly on him.”

  He looks back up at me. “I looked into it after our phone consult. And isn’t it interesting that David’s only now seeking custody after he’s been granted tenure and you’re no longer a danger to his career?”

  I can’t help huffing in a sharp gust of breath. That bastard. He’s only willing to try to see his son after he made sure his stupid career was safe. His own son.

  “Miss Cruise? Are you all right? Miss Cruise?”

  I look up, startled to realize Mr. Maury’s been repeatedly calling my name and looking at me with concern. That’s when I notice my hands are clutched into fists and I’ve all but half-risen out of my chair.

  “Yes,” I try to smile. “Fine.” I relax my hands and smooth out my skirt. “Just realizing what a bastard my ex is.”

  Mr. Maury’s features turn sympathetic. “Quite. Now, let’s see what we can do to keep him from getting custody of your son.”