by Silla Webb
“Well,” he drawls, “who can argue with that?”
Stunned that he didn’t argue with me, I turn to get in the Jeep. His hand wraps around my elbow, bringing me back to face him. In an instant he has pulled me into a tight hug. And, yeah, he just finished his run and may be a little sweaty, but I don’t care; I hug him back. I feel like he needs this. The way he buries his head in the crease of my neck and shoulder and breathes me in nearly brings me to my knees. He pulls back slowly and whispers in my ear, “Thank you, Jo.”
“No, Madden, thank you for sharing your little girl; she is the absolute best.” I smile and try to clear the emotion from my voice. I turn to get in the Jeep then look back at Madden because I hate leaving him in this somber mood. I holler out to him, “Hey, Mad!”
He turns and raises his eyebrow in question.
“Sorry the puppy scared you. I didn’t know you’re allergic to dogs.”
“It’s okay, darlin.” He smirks. “I’m more of a cat person myself.” He winks. He climbs into the cab of his truck and leaves me standing there, blush all over my body and tingles I should not be feeling with my five-year-old nephew in the vicinity. Well played, shithead, well played.
*~*
Pepto threw up in here. There’s no other way to describe it other than to say someone literally regurgitated pink Pepto everywhere. Never in my life have I seen so much pink. Laney has really outdone herself. I feel like we’ve stepped straight onto the plantation, and Scarlett O’Hara will walk around the corner at any moment. I knew it would be a little over the top, but this goes beyond my expectations. I have no clue where Lan came up with all of this, or better yet why the sudden need to host such a grand event, but that is a discussion for another day.
Belle’s little hand is tucked tightly into mine as we make our way into the party, stopping first to sign the guest book where we retrieve our name tags and pose for a picture against the backdrop designed especially for this occasion; which is pink, of course. I wanted to really make today special for Belle, so it was only right that I buy us matching dresses. I was prepared. I knew what the girls and their mostly over-the-top mothers would be dressed like, and I wanted to make sure that Belle felt just as special even though I am not her mom. The yellow eyelet dresses with floral print from Lilly Pulitzer and white shoes, wedges for me, flats for Belle, contrast perfectly with the pink background and daisy flowers.
We make our way out to the courtyard. It normally serves as part of the playground but has been transformed with white tables and chairs covered with pink cloth and ribbon. Glass centerpiece vases adorn the middle of each table filled with daisies along with pink and white roses. It looks really elegant and uppity. I smile, knowing that at least half of those vases will not survive the fifteen toddler-dressed princesses running around here today. Normally functions like this make me feel like the odd one out, but I refuse to sink away today. With my head held high and confidence in each step, Belle and I make our way over to claim seats. The side-eyes and wayward glances we receive are not lost on me. I can only imagine what words are behind the whispers. Probably something along the lines of, ‘bless her heart’ meaning, look at that poor little girl who has no mom, referring to Belle. Or ‘bless her heart’, wonder why she can’t settle down and have a child of her own instead of taking someone else’s, referring to me. Southern women are fierce, strong-willed, intelligent, polite and respectful, but with that being said, don’t ever try to out gossip a Southern woman—you will lose every time. Facts.
“Ms. Laney!” Belle greets with a hug as Laney makes her way over to us. A look of sympathy adorns Laney’s face as she eyes both Belle and I up and down. I haven’t gotten to speak to her much about the tea party, but from the look on her face, I don’t think she and Madden left things on good terms. After embracing Belle in a swaying squeeze, Laney gives me her signature side hug and says, “You two are too cute, looking all matchy-matchy.”
“Her made me wear it,” Belle says, thumb stuck out and pointing at me. “And her made me fix my hair too.” She stomps the white flat against the ground, her arms crossed over her chest. The exasperation in her voice is hilarious.
“You look really pretty, Belle, and so does Healthy Lady,” Laney says with a wink.
“That’s not hers name,” she protests. “Grammy says I have to be respectful, whatever that is, and call her Miss Jordan. But that’s lots of words, so I decided JoJo is much better.” There she is, the sassy five-year-old is back.
“Y’all,” Laney instructs, “grab a table. We are going to serve tea in a bit.”
“Dis rweal fancy, JoJo,” Belle says, taking my hand as we make our way over to the tables.
“Ah, it’s okay, I guess,” I reassure her with a sly wink to which she giggles at.
I smile as I pull the chair out for Belle then sit beside her. She looks a nervous mess, and I feel her. We make small talk while we wait for the event to begin.
The curt, snooty tone coming from my left draws my attention away from Belle who is seated on my right. I look up to find my old high school classmate, wannabe Stepford wife, and sister to Gia, Brooke Moss, with a pained expression on her face and a miniature version of herself in tow. Jesus, why me?
Brooke and I went to school together; although, she always acted like she was better than me. She always had one goal in mind, marry well and stay pretty for appearances. And that’s just what she did—married a lawyer turned politician turned Mayor of Tybee Island. I wonder what she would do if I told her that the pained expression only adds to the depths of her forehead wrinkles?
I look around quickly, hoping like hell to see anyone that I know other than her who could claim these seats, but it’s no use; all the seats are taken except the two remaining at our table. I offer my best Southern smile and say, “Please, join us.” To which I get an eye roll from Brooke and “hmpf” from her mini-me.
“Oh goodie,” Belle’s voice is laced with more sarcasm than I know what to do with. Who knew five-year-olds did sarcasm?
“How have you been, Brooke?” I ask, trying to put my best foot forward and set a good example for Belle and all. And much to my surprise, Belle is mimicking my actions.
“Hi, Harley, lwovely to see you today.” The way she tries to sound proper is more than hilarious. The little girl offers her a small smile that I am sure her momma and aunt had a hand in teaching. Belle pats my leg eagerly, wanting my attention.
“Can we take a selfie, JoJo?”
Aww, that warms my heart. She wants a picture with me.
“I’d be honored, Miss Belle.”
I quickly hold up my phone, flip the camera, and mash my face close to hers.
“We’s hawt,” Belle states as a snicker comes from Brooke, who happens to be taking in all of our conversation.
“You know it!” I tell Belle because I refuse to let stuck-up, rigid bitches rain on our parade. I’m holding my big ass umbrella today, sister—bring it.
Laney asks for all the little girls to please join her inside for a moment, so Belle and Harley make their way from our table along with all the other littles in the room.
Awkward—that’s what this is. The last thing I want to do is sit around this table with Brooke Moss and try to make small talk. I’d hoped maybe I’d recognize a momma maybe from the gym or anywhere in general, but I come up short. I shouldn’t be surprised. These ladies workout at the high-end clubs.
“It’s just so awful,” Brooke chimes in her over-the-top Southern air as I meet her eyes. “Leaving that little girl to be raised by a man. I’m not sure what Casey was thinking.”
No. Just no. In fact—hell no. We are not talking about Belle’s mom. If Madden wants me to know about that situation, he will tell me. I have no desire to ride on this gossip golf cart that Brooke drives around that big fancy subdivision of hers.
Holding eye contact, I tell her, “I’m not sure what you mean, but no offense, Brooke, I don’t think we should be discussing that. It’s not our busi
ness.” Her perfectly threaded brow slowly arches as her resting bitch face deadpans on me. “I want to make today nice for Belle. She’s a sweetie, and I’m only helping out my friend, Madden.”
A friend can be someone you’ve kissed and had dirty thoughts about, right? A friend can star in your completely too dirty fantasies at night. Yep, nothing weird about that at all.
Brooke holds her hands up as if she’s waving a white flag or saying she isn’t trying to gossip, when she is most definitely trying to gossip. “Oh my, Jordan, I get it. You’re doing a completely noble act,” she praises, her voice all tight and condescending. “Madden has done a great job with his daughter. Gia says he’s a great dad. She’s always telling me funny stories that he relays to her when they have coffee or talk on the phone.”
What the what? Madden and Gia have coffee? They talk on the phone like fucking teenagers or some shit? How did I not know this? I mean, I knew that Gia was the girl he said got away, but I didn’t know he had already made his play. Not that it’s any of my business, really. I friend-zoned the man, and after that kiss I’ve tried to make that fact known. The look on Brooke’s face is proof that I haven’t been able to school my facial expressions. I must look as stunned as she looks victorious. I should’ve expected something like that, though. Brooke and Gia have always been my real-life version of Mean Girls. I so should have used the ‘you can’t sit with us’ line when she first approached the table. Quickly, I try to remove any emotion from my face. I may be sad, and I may have fallen for my client who may never have a real interest in me, but I can save that shit for home. I have to get in the game; today is about Belle. I offer Brooke my best smile but cut my eyes at her, letting her know with my next words this conversation is over.
“Belle is pretty great. She and Madden seem to have fun together.”
“Okay, Moms and family members,” Laney announces, requesting everyone’s attention. “The girls have something special for you to commemorate this special day.”
Belle bounces over to the table, a grin spread wide across her face. She’s carrying two small gift bags that are pink, of course.
“Fank you for coming today,” she says, presenting me with the bag.
She is so excited for me to open it, clapping her little hands together. Smiling, I pull the pink polka dot tissue paper from the top of the bag along with a small pink picture frame with daisies along the sides and an inscription on the bottom that reads, ‘Tybee Tots Tea 2019’. My heart swells even bigger when I register that the photo within the frame is the picture we took only minutes ago on our way in. Belle stands on a pink box, bringing her to head to reach my chest, with her little hand linked with mine, and we are both smiling at the camera. Immediately I know this will always be one of my favorite pictures. Holding back tears, which are just more I can save for the shower later, I hug Belle tight and whisper in her ear, “This is the best gift I have ever gotten.”
“Look! I gots one for my home too!” she squeals, showing me the other little pink bag as she gets comfortable in her seat beside me.
An assortment of tea and cookies are served throughout the party, all while Belle fills me in on the actual “tea” surrounding her preschool. Who knew that girl drama started this young? I know all about who plays with who on the playground and who sits with who at lunch. Belle delivers all this information with such dramatic flair that it’s hard not to be sucked into her world and hang on her every word.
Brooke and Harley stand and leave the party without so much as a word or look in our direction. I’m not even sure why they came. All they did was complain and bicker the entire time. The tea was too cold, the cookies were stale—blah, blah blah. After ten minutes, I tuned them out and focused solely on Belle. I will never understand people like that, people who look for a reason to be unhappy.
Pointing her little pink nail toward Harley’s back as they walk away, Belle says, “Hers likes Kenny.” She rolls her eyes and continues. “But hers too girwly. She don’t like to shoot balls or nothin’.”
“Is that so?” I ask her, to which she nods. “Are you ready to go?”
“Sure am!” Belle gets up from her chair to leave but stops and turns to me. “Hey, JoJo,” she asks, “still gots that selfie of us?”
I nod, but I have no clue where she’s going with this.
“Can you make that the picture on your phone wall so everybody can see?”
“Sure I can, pretty girl.” I make quick work of changing my wallpaper and hold my phone out to her, showing her the background screen that is now our selfie.
“Yass!” She fist pumps and turns to walk away, but not before I hear her say. “Take that, Kenny.”
*~*
“She fell asleep?” Madden reaches into the back of my Jeep and unbuckles Belle, gently pulling her into his chest. “Did you give her somethin’ to knock her out?” he whispers, laughter in his tone.
“I’d never!” I feign offense, following him up the steps of the wrap-around porch with Belle’s gift bag in hand. Unsure of whether I should follow him inside, I wait by the front door while he lays Belle on the couch and covers her with a throw. He comes out to the porch and sits on the swing, his arm relaxed against the back.
“What’s in the bag?” he asks, motioning for me to sit beside him. I hand it to him and take a seat. He pulls the frame out of the bag and smiles. Madden wears love well, and the expression on his face can only be described as unconditional love. He’s such a good daddy.
“Looks like my girls had a good time?” He gently sways the swing.
“Although it wasn’t really our scene, we still had a blast.”
“I appreciate you takin’ her, Jo. I don’t think you understand
the impact you have on Belle’s life.” There’s a softness to his tone that I’m becoming more accustomed to hearing whenever something tugs at his heart, and Belle certainly has a way of doing that.
“I love that little girl, Mad. She’s so kind-hearted, caring, and funny. She makes my heart so full and happy.”
Madden’s fingertips trace slow and lazily against my shoulder as we swing, a silence falling over us.
“Belle’s been havin’ night terrors the last couple months. Wakin’ up at night in screamin’ fits, cryin’ out for her momma.” He pauses, and I hesitate to look at him because I know it’s taking a lot of strength for him to talk to me about this. “Casey and I split up when Belle was only two years, and I should have started the fight for custody then. I didn’t realize so much was goin’ on with Casey. She put on a good front, actin’ like the best momma. She never fought with me about spendin’ time with Belle, even when it wasn’t my day. We got along for the most part, until things drastically changed. Casey suddenly became withdrawn, keepin’ her distance. Almost as if she was tryin’ to close me out.”
Madden pauses and blows out a staggerin’ breath, and I notice the slight tremble beneath his touch. “Mad … if this is too much. It’s not important to me—”
“But it is to me, Jo. You’re part of our lives.” I nod, completely taken aback by his confession. “Casey suddenly stopped answering my calls, and it had been weeks since I’d seen my daughter. Every time I stopped by the house, the lights were out, the doors were all locked. I even went as far as having the police do a welfare check, and they reported that Casey and Belle were fine from what little they could tell.”
The tremors in his voice grow harsher, and I finally work up the nerve to glance in his direction. The walls around my heart crumble to pieces, and I lean against his side, trying to lend him my strength.
“Casey finally called and told me I could bring Belle to my place for a couple of days. She sounded so depleted, and I couldn’t understand why she was trying to be a single parent when we had been co-parenting just fine. I told her I’d be right over after work to pick Belle up. But I was too eager to hold my little girl, so I cut out early and drove into the city to Casey’s house.
“I didn’t even knock on the fro
nt door. The sound of Belle’s breath hitching with each and every ear-piercing wail was the driving force behind pushing my way inside.” Madden’s face is stained blood red with fury as he tries to steady his breathing.
“I couldn’t believe what I was seein’. My baby sat on the living room floor, a filthy mess, her clothes drenched in pee and sweat. She couldn’t even talk, she was so upset. Trash was strewn all about the floor, dirty dishes stacked all over the counters. I picked my girl up and cradled her to my chest to comfort her, and she held onto my neck as if I was her only lifeline. And I was.”
“It took her several moments to catch her breath, she was so distraught and wracked with fear, but the tears finally subsided. I bathed her and rubbed her down in lotion, then I dressed her in the cleanest outfit I could find in the heap of laundry shoved in the corner of her bedroom. Every step I took through the house was littered with trash and clothes and toys. I had no idea how long my kid had been living in this condition.”
“Mad, you can’t blame yourself. Casey shut you out. You tried, honey.”
Heat radiates from his body, and he tightens his grip around me, holding me close to his side. “The milk in the fridge was old, the bread was covered in mold, and a mouse scampered out of the pizza box on the counter. I saw red, Jo. Absolute fuckin’ red. And the worst of it, I’d been in the house for thirty minutes and hadn’t seen Casey.”
“Did she leave Belle alone? My God, Mad, how old was Belle?”
“Belle was only two and a half. Casey was there, in the house. I found her in the storage closet beneath the stairs, her body folded in half, staring into an oblivion that only she could see.”
“Was she on drugs?”
He shakes his head. “No. She’d had a psychotic break. I didn’t realize it, but the signs had been there even when we were together. After I found Casey, I called an ambulance. She was still catatonic when the EMT arrived. She was admitted to the hospital for a mental health observation, and it was quickly determined that she was a harm to herself and others. She was eventually diagnosed with bipolar disorder and schizophrenia. That was when my battle for full custody of Belle began.”