by Julie Cross
“If it helps you, I’ll give him a different name,” I offer with as much sarcasm as I can muster. Although, that’s exactly what I want for him. Not to be a Wellington. “I might even give myself a new name.”
Finally, I turn to leave, my dad shouting to the maid to get his lawyer on the phone. It’s not until I’m outside in the sun that I realize (1) my entire body is shaking, and (2) I have no shirt on.
Lucky for me, it’s summer, and plenty of people are out and about, jogging without a shirt, so I don’t look that out of place. We cross two streets and walk three blocks before Finley forces me to stop and sit down at a picnic table in the courtyard of our apartment building.
I rest my head in my hands, take in a few deep, slow breaths. My heart still beats out of control, and my hands are still shaking. But several more deep breaths later, I’m getting some control back. When I lift my head, Fin is leaning on one elbow, watching me.
“It’s not true, you know,” she says.
“What’s not true?”
“You being nothing without your family name.” She continues to study me so intensely, I start to get uncomfortable. “You know that, right?”
“Yeah,” I say automatically. “That’s what I’m working on. Being something without them.”
She shakes her head. “I mean right now. Like this very second. You as this person across from me. You’re something.”
“Okay.” I smile and reach for her hand, tangling it with mine. “Whatever you say.”
She jerks her hand back, not returning the smile. “I’m not kidding. You are good at lots of things. And you always have this look, like you’re thinking about everything. Turning it around in your mind. I noticed that just minutes after I first met you. And it has nothing to do with your upbringing or your family. Privileged kids often have a narrowed perspective. You’re different. Not because of them, but despite them.”
I stare down at my hands. I don’t know if that’s true or not. I don’t really know if I’m that different from other kids like me. I just know that I want to be different. It’s kind of the only thing I know about myself at the moment. Despite doubting Finley’s theories about me, I lift my head and look at her again before saying, “Thanks. For this. For all of it.”
I pull her closer until she’s sitting between my legs. When her cheek touches my chest, she says, “Can we please end every dinner with you stripping off your shirt?”
I laugh and then rest my chin on the top of her head. “I should probably call the lawyer now. Update him on my dinner with the fam.”
Her lips touch my neck. “Five more minutes.”
I close my eyes and sigh. “Yeah, okay.”
My heart hasn’t returned to normal pace yet. Maybe it won’t until all of this is over and dealt with. I glance at the time on my cell and groan. Finley lifts her head. “What’s wrong?”
“I have that parenting class in an hour.” I pull myself together and sit up straight. I’m so not in the right mind for lessons on lifesaving or diaper changing, but I guess that’s sort of the idea. When you have a kid, you don’t get to pick and choose when to take care of them. You have to do it, even on your worst days.
CHAPTER 40
Finley
The first thing Ron Miller, family law attorney, says when Eddie and I sit down in his office is, “So, your father offered me fifty grand to not represent your paternity case. He also informed me that you’re a drug addict and a compulsive liar. And that the mother of your child feels threatened by you and wants nothing to do with you.”
Eddie nods slowly, pulling in a deep breath. “Huh. That’s…well, that’s interesting.”
“It’s bullshit,” I blurt out, but Eddie lifts a hand to stop me. I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek just to keep from arguing further. He didn’t go through the stress of standing up to his family to have this happen.
“Anything you need to tell me?” Ron Miller asks.
“I think my father summed it all up well,” Eddie says, his voice tense.
Ron’s eyebrows shoot up. “So it’s all true?”
“There is a tiny sliver of truth in each of my father’s claims.” Eddie maintains direct eye contact with the lawyer and taps a finger on the desktop. “I definitely have to give him credit for that.”
“Then tell me those slivers of truth,” Ron says.
I’m surprised by how calm this lawyer is after hearing all this. But maybe he’s seen a lot worse, dealing with family court all the time.
“I have used recreational drugs before. I lied to my parents about being at Princeton for the summer program. I haven’t shown up for anything. I’ve been working in New York and living in an apartment with twenty other guys,” Eddie rattles off. “And the mother of my child is very threatened by the fact that I won’t sign away my rights, and both our parents forbid us to see each other, but even without that, I’d say there’s a good chance she’d rather not be around me. I’m making her decision more difficult. I hate that it’s like that, but there is no other way.”
Ron folds his hands on top of the desk and looks right at Eddie. “When was the last time you used drugs?”
I open my mouth to protest him answering that question, but I don’t get a chance.
“Last winter,” he says right away. “In January.”
“Alcohol use?”
Eddie glances at me and then back at Ron. “Six or so weeks ago.”
The night we met. Great. I’m a contributing factor to that. But he wasn’t drunk. Does that matter? It’s amazing how terrible our lives can seem when presented in this manner.
“You’ve been attending the parenting classes I recommended?” Ron asks.
“Yes.”
He hasn’t missed a single one. Not even the class right after the dinner debacle. I’ve caught him reading the material they hand out on his free time as well as tons of online articles on parenting. After looking over some of the material myself, I’ve concluded that both my dad and I suck at parenting by this course’s standards.
“I assume you’ve been taught the course motto?” Ron prompts. “What is said to be the most important rule about parenting?”
“Emotional and physical safety of the child is always the number one priority, and parents must put the child’s needs above their own,” Eddie recites.
I applaud him silently. That was pretty impressive memorization. Maybe he should go to Princeton.
“Exactly,” Ron says with a nod. “And do you think your father’s efforts to sabotage your paternity and custody case were done with those guidelines in mind?”
Eddie stifles a laugh. “Uh, no.”
“Do you want to know what I think?” Ron asks, and both Eddie and I nod. “I think your father is terrified of this child being legally deemed his grandson because”—he hesitates—“correct me if I’m wrong, but your family is bound by old money, which means he probably can’t undo any trust accounts or—”
Eddie sinks back in his chair, his eyes wide. “Inheritance. Jesus. Why didn’t I think of that? That’s why he’s been so against my name being attached to this kid. Even with an adoption.”
“And the thing is,” Ron says, “adoption, for the most part, removes any trace of surname from any records for the child. And also removes any right to inheritance from the birth family once it’s finalized. But there are a few very rare and very unlikely scenarios where that could be overridden. He must really want to cover all his bases.”
“Does this mean you’re still willing to represent me?” Eddie asks tentatively. “I can find another lawyer, but I don’t think it’s going to look very good, honestly.”
Ron shifts some papers on his desk and then glances at Eddie. “I’m still willing. This is the first time I’ve ever been bribed by a client’s parent, and I can’t help it—I get fired up for a win with bribery on the t
able.”
“So you think he can win?” I ask.
“I think it’s possible. But unlikely,” Ron admits. Eddie deflates a little beside me. “I also firmly believe he has a right to try and should indeed do just that. I wouldn’t be here helping you if I thought you had an agenda other than doing what you feel is right for your kid. If this was a selfish, ‘I want control over the girl I got pregnant’ situation, I’d have told you no thanks.”
“But do you think it’s best?” Eddie asks so quietly it’s almost a whisper. “For the kid, I mean. For my kid.”
“Hard to say. You or a loving, established family, desperate for a child to parent, hand-selected by the best adoption agency in the country…”
Eddie deflates even more.
“On the other hand,” Ron continues, “I was raised by eighteen-year-old parents, and my childhood not only lacked traumatic events, but was also full of healthy and happy memories. And being young and hip, they raised me in a way that welcomed collaborative decision making, and they were too sharp and in-the-know for me to get away with anything rebellious. Who’s to say you won’t create a home like that? I hope you do.”
“Me too,” Eddie mumbles quietly.
I reach for his hand, giving it a squeeze. Eddie could be that type of parent. I believe that wholeheartedly. Seeing him with my brothers, watching him watch them, listen to them when they voice their opinions, the way he shut off the TV and found other things for them to do. I mean, he was just watching them for a couple hours. It wasn’t his job to be concerned with their long-term health. And he treats them like real people, like adults in the making.
But it won’t be easy. None of it will be easy, and he still has so much to learn. The real test, the ‘are you ready be a parent?’ test, happens after you realize that your kid will always be your kid. Forever. My dad told me that years ago, and I’ve never forgotten it.
Ron grins like he’s satisfied with Eddie’s response. “The good news is that the second you become a potential parent, your own parents lose any control over you whatsoever. Family court isn’t traditional trial court. None of the judges will give a flying fuck who your father is or what he might do for them. Or to them. They are there to rule on behalf of the child. That’s it. I don’t agree with every ruling a family court judge has made on behalf of my clients, but I trust the system. I trust that the pros and cons are weighed carefully and that the judge believes they’ve made the best choice for the child.”
Eddie releases a breath. “Okay, that helps.”
“Now,” Ron says, “try and forget about your father. Work on you and your child—home, support system, list of items an infant needs that you plan to purchase, expected income for the next year, a pediatrician, plans for health care, and that includes yourself.” He tosses a sheet of paper Eddie’s way that lists everything he’s listing off. “It would be wise to assume your father will pull all the rugs out from under you, including medical insurance. And if you haven’t made your own health a priority, then a judge is likely to assume that you will do the same for your child.”
He gives Eddie a minute to look over the paper, then says, “Now, do you have anyone we could list as support for you? An aunt or grandparent within a reasonable distance of where you plan to live, to help check on you and the baby?”
Eddie looks at me, and I give him a small nod. You can say me. I’ll do it. Of course I’ll be there.
Ron catches on without Eddie saying anything. “Another teenager. That might not be enough.” Still, he writes my name down in his notebook.
“Finley has experience raising her brothers.” Eddie quickly explains about my family situation.
Ron lifts an eyebrow. “A father of three, certified guidance counselor, and public school teacher nearby to offer help is definitely something worth bringing up to a judge.”
“I don’t know if we can—” Eddie starts.
“I’m sure my dad would be happy to offer support,” I say.
Eddie looks over at me, a question in his eyes. It’s fine. We’ll talk to him soon. He likes Eddie. He really likes him. Especially after hearing about the swim meet drama. I know he’ll want to help out.
“Okay then.” Rod gives a nod. “Things are looking up for you, Eddie Wellington. Keep up the good work.”
We both thank him, and Ron adds, “Make me proud. I turned down fifty grand for you.”
When we exit the lawyer’s office and head outside, Eddie says, “You think your dad will be okay with this? I don’t want to put him in a position he’s not comfortable with.”
“Relax,” I assure him. “It’ll be fine.”
CHAPTER 41
Eddie
I barely say a word the whole time Finley is going on about the apartments nearby that we looked at earlier today. I’m hanging in midair—not literally—watching Sam to get an idea of what he thinks about everything. Based on the fact that she jumped right into apartments and baby gear, Fin must have given him the basics before we arrived this morning.
“Don’t we still have tons of baby stuff in storage?” Finley asks her dad.
Sam takes a bite of the pork chops he grilled for dinner and nods. “Two of everything.”
“My dad is a hoarder,” Finley explains.
Sam interrupts. “Recovering hoarder.”
“Right. Forgot. You went to all those meetings.” Fin rolls her eyes. “Anyway, a couple years ago, my grandma rented him a storage unit to pile all his old albums, baby stuff, thousands of pages of sheet music…we should go check it out before you buy anything.”
Beside me, Braden sighs. “Babies are gross.”
“Yeah?” I smile at him. “You used to be one, you know? Me too.”
He shrugs. “I don’t remember.”
“I don’t remember either,” I tell him. “But I heard it’s true.”
On my other side, Connor tugs on my sleeve and waits for me to lean down so he can whisper to me. “What are you gonna call your baby?”
“That’s a good question.”
Fin and Sam look at me, but I ask Connor if it’s okay before I say anything. When he nods, I tell them.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” Braden asks, then he glances at Finley, his forehead wrinkled. “You don’t look like you have a baby in your tummy. Are you adoptioning it?”
“Adopting,” Finley corrects. “And I’m not having a baby. Eddie is…wait—” She turns bright red.
Sam laughs and then leans on one elbow. “Go on, Fin. I am so going to enjoy hearing you explain this one.”
Finley is desperately grappling for words, so I decide to rescue her. “Only girls can have babies, older girls. But all babies have a mom and a dad. No matter what. And the mom of my baby is someone I’ve known for a long time, way before I met your sister. But we don’t really get along anymore.”
Maybe that was too frank for their ears. I watch closely for any reaction.
Braden is busy drowning his pork chop in ketchup, but he manages to nod and say, “Cool. Is it a boy or a girl baby?”
“Boy,” I say. “But I don’t know what to call him.”
“Darth Vader,” Braden says. “Or Luke.”
“Or Spider-Man,” Connor offers, barely audible.
I hadn’t really thought about the fact that naming this kid something other than Edward will be ruining a four-generation tradition in my family. Will that piss my father off more than naming him Edward? Doesn’t matter. I’m not having a kid with V tacked onto his name.
I offer to help Fin with the dishes at the same time as Connor asks me to check out the puzzle he’s been working on. Finley and Sam shove me out of the kitchen. I follow Connor into the living room to see the massive five-thousand-piece puzzle of the Sydney harbor and opera house in Australia.
I sit down on the floor and study the sections he’s completed. “Wow…you
must have worked really hard on this.”
Connor nods, and Braden charges into the room and adds, “He did almost the whole thing at day camp, and then Riley stomped on it. So the counselors let him take it home.”
Connor looks down at the pieces, sliding two around on the rubber mats covering the floor.
“Riley, huh?” I say. I glance at Braden.
He immediately says, “I didn’t see it, ’cause I’m in a different group since the camp people can’t tell us apart. But Riley even tolded me he did it.”
“On purpose,” Connor adds, whispering the words.
I already want to beat this Riley kid’s ass. “He sounds like a bully.”
Connor shrugs, but Braden says, “Duh.”
“I had bullies at my school too.” I dig through the box for a piece to connect. “I tried ignoring them, but that never really works. You know what does work sometimes?”
“What?” Braden says.
“Next time Riley does something that you don’t like, just ask, ‘why’d you do that?’” I tell them. “It makes them so uncomfortable. Well, not everyone. Some kids will probably be, like, because I can, or because I wanted to. But every once in a while, you’ll get to them.”
“I already know why Riley did it,” Braden says. “’Cause he’s mean and ’cause Connor doesn’t tell him to stop.”
Connor glares at his brother but doesn’t object. I put a hand on his back. “It’s okay. Riley probably isn’t easy to stop.”
Bored with the puzzle, Braden heads over to the piano and attempts to play the song from the sheet music in front of him. I help Connor with the puzzle for a few minutes, until he can’t seem to handle Braden tripping over the keys. He sits beside his brother at the piano.
“You’re doing it wrong,” he tells Braden. “Like this.”
I watch Connor play through the music perfectly. He’s really impressive for his age. Beside him, Braden is fuming. Eventually, he shoves Connor’s hands off the keys. “I know how to do it.”
But he continues to mess up with Connor trying to correct him. When Braden looks close to tears, I pick up Connor off the bench and send him back to the puzzle pieces.