One and Only Boxed Set

by Melanie Harlow

  I took it down and brought it over to the desk. A layer of dust covered the top, and I sent motes swirling when I lifted it off. Inside were relics from my childhood—I’d looked through this box many times and knew its contents. Our first pairs of shoes, bronzed, which we’d always thought was so weird but my mother claimed was a tradition in her family. Little velvet bags containing our baby teeth. Hats and gloves that had been knitted for us by relatives we’d never met. Childish drawings in crayon. School pictures. Adam’s stuffed bear. My Batman cape. And there toward the bottom was the item I wanted—his joke book. I took it out and thumbed through it. Its pages were yellowed and it smelled musty, like a basement. Inside the front cover, he’d printed his name in blue ink. Adam Pearson. Beneath that, he’d written a note:

  KEEP OUT! THIS MEANS YOU. This book is my personl proprty and the only other person alowd to read it is my brothr Nate Pearson.

  Despite the tightness in my chest, I smiled. Not once had I ever wanted to read his stupid joke book. But it meant something to me now that he would have let me. I should have been nicer. I should have laughed more. I should have appreciated being his big brother.

  I’d been planning to ask my mother if I could have the book, but holding it in my hands only made the pain in my heart worse. Setting it back in the box, I replaced the top and put it back on the shelf in the closet and shut the door. Fucking feelings. You had to bury them, or they’d suffocate you.

  I’d forgotten that.

  Downstairs, the scene in the living room surprised me. My mother sat on the couch holding Paisley while Emme, sitting right beside her, held the bottle as Paisley drank. Both of them looked up when I came into the room.

  “I hope it’s okay that I’m holding her,” my mother said nervously, her eyes dropping back to her granddaughter’s face. “I scrubbed my hands really well, and I’m not touching the bottle at all. So I don’t think the germs will endanger her.”

  “It’s fine.”

  I made eye contact with Emme. She smiled at me, her eyes shining, a beautiful, calming presence in this house full of ghosts, and my heart about exploded in my chest. My legs nearly gave out. My breath stopped.

  Because I loved her. I loved her. For being here with me, for understanding me, for making me feel like I wasn’t alone.

  Except I would end up alone, wouldn’t I? When she was gone, when she’d given up on me, when she’d realized I couldn’t give her everything she wanted and deserved.

  You couldn’t control everything in life, maybe not even your feelings, but you could control your actions. I had to walk away, or I had to push her away. The thought of doing either one made me sick to my stomach, but I told myself to be a fucking man and get over it. Harden my heart. Take control.

  Make the choice.

  Seventeen

  Emme

  “So I know the beginning was a little difficult, but overall that went okay, don’t you think?” I asked hopefully as we drove away from the house.

  “I guess.” He glanced in the rearview mirror at his daughter, who was sleeping peacefully, but even that didn’t get rid of the worry lines creasing his forehead.

  “At least your mom held her for a little while.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And she said maybe she would drive down in a couple weeks for another visit.”

  “I heard her.” His tone said, but I don’t believe her.

  “And wasn’t Paisley good today? I wonder if she’s saving it all up for a meltdown tonight.”

  Nate frowned. “Probably.”

  “Well, no worries. I’ll be there to help you. Maybe we can get takeout or something. Have a cocktail and watch a movie, just like the old days.” I wiggled happily in my seat. “It’s so nice to have a Saturday night off.”

  Nate didn’t say anything.

  “Hello? Does that sound like a plan?”

  “What? Sure, whatever you want to do is fine with me.”

  Clearly, he was too distracted to look forward to an evening together, and maybe he needed time to process the visit home. It was obvious to me that all the memories there, both good and bad, affected him deeply, as did his mother’s anxiety. If I’d thought he would talk to me about it, I would’ve asked him to. But even though he’d been more open with me over the last week—and especially last night—I didn’t get the feeling he was in the mood for conversation right now. Seemed like he wanted to brood for a bit.

  I didn’t blame him for being upset. Painful memories aside, no parent wants to hear a list of all the harmful genetic conditions their child might be predisposed to, and it had to be even worse for Nate because of his brother. I’d seen the look on his face as his mother was talking, and at the word cancer, he’d gone completely white. He’d seemed a little better upstairs, but still on edge. Quiet and tense the rest of the afternoon.

  But I wouldn’t push. Instead, I reached over and put my hand on his leg, hoping he’d get the message—I know that was hard for you, and I’m here if you need me.

  I don’t even think he noticed it.

  By the time we were in the elevator going up to our floor, I was starting to get concerned. Nate still hadn’t spoken to me, other than answering my questions with short, vague responses, and his expression remained grim.

  “You feeling okay?” I asked him.

  “I’m fine.”

  But he wasn’t.

  The doors opened, and as we began to walk down the hall, I tried again. “So what kind of food do you feel like having? We could—”

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  I looked up at Nate in surprise and saw that his eyes were focused on something farther down the hall. I followed his line of vision and spotted a woman knocking on his door. She looked about my age. Dark ponytail. Blunt bangs. Jeans, boots, a light brown sweater.

  “Who is that?” I asked, although in my gut I already knew.

  Nate didn’t answer, but he strode forward with huge, angry steps, carrying the car seat with one hand. I hurried to catch up.

  “Now you decide to knock?” he demanded.

  “Paisley!” After catching sight of the baby, the woman crouched down with her hands on her knees, smiling widely as Nate approached. “My baby girl! Mommy’s missed you so much.” She sniffed, her eyes tearing up.

  “If you missed her so much, why haven’t you called for two weeks?” Nate kept the car seat handle in his grip and angled away from Rachel, who moved around him trying to see her daughter.

  “Because I needed the time alone to work on myself. I was in an intensive therapy program. And I wanted you to have time to get to know her.”

  By then, I’d caught up to them and probably should have gone inside my apartment to give them some privacy, but I felt rooted to the spot.

  “What kind of program?” Nate demanded. “Are you an addict?”

  “No!” She looked appalled, but softened her voice. “I have postpartum depression, Nate. I couldn’t sleep or eat or find the energy to do anything. All I did was cry and feel like my life was over, and all my doctor did was prescribe sleeping pills, which didn’t help. Now I’m finally getting real treatment. I have new medication that’s actually working, and I’m going to therapy.”

  Hearing her story, I actually felt sorry for her, but Nate wouldn’t bend. “We said one month. It’s only been two weeks.”

  “Please, Nate, can’t I just see her?” Rachel asked tearfully. She was pretty, with high cheekbones, a dimple in her chin, and straight white teeth. Self-consciously, I poked at my slightly crooked bottom teeth with the tip of my tongue. Dammit, why hadn’t I worn my retainer more often?

  “That’s all you want? To see her?”

  “Well, can’t I hold her a little? I’ve missed her so much. You have no idea.”

  “You have no idea what it did to me learning I had a two-month-old baby. You should have told me.”

  She held up both hands in surrender. “You’re right. I should have told you. Like I said in my n
ote, I’d totally planned to give her up for adoption, but—”

  “Without even asking me!” Nate yelled. “That was fucking not okay!”

  “I know,” Rachel said, weeping openly. “I’m sorry, Nate. I wasn’t thinking straight. And we barely knew each other. I didn’t plan on any of this.”

  “Me either.” He glared at her. “You can come in for a few minutes and hold her, but then you have to leave.”

  “Um, I think I’ll head home,” I said quietly. “Nate, I’ll see you later.”

  “No, Emme.” Nate made eye contact with me for what felt like the first time in hours. “You don’t have to go home. We have plans tonight, and we’re not canceling them.” He gave Rachel one last angry look before opening the door to his apartment.

  I was torn between wanting to stay out of their business and fearing I’d miss something dramatic if I left. Also, and this is so stupid I’m ashamed I even thought it, I was kind of jealous. This beautiful, sad woman had a baby with Nate. He’d slept with her. He’d obviously found her attractive last year. What if she tried to seduce him or something? As soon as I had the thought, I felt guilty about it. I trusted Nate. But I still followed them into his apartment.

  Nate set the car seat on the floor, and Rachel dropped her purse and hurried over to it. Kneeling down, she unstrapped her daughter and lifted her out, snuggling her close. Paisley woke up and started to fuss.

  “She needs to be changed.” Nate stood aside, arms folded across his chest, feet planted wide.

  “I’ll do it.” Rachel stood up and looked around his apartment. “Wow, you’ve got a lot of baby stuff. Did you buy all this in the last two weeks?”

  “No, I’ve always decorated my apartment this way.” Nate rolled his eyes. “Of course I just bought it all. I had nothing here for her when you left her at my door. Not that you cared.”

  “I did care, Nate. I just couldn’t think straight.” She took Paisley over to the changing table, talking softly to her, asking her questions, telling her how much she missed her. By the look on Nate’s face, I could tell he was getting angrier with every word. I went over and stood next to him.

  “Hey,” I whispered. “Are you sure you want me here?”

  “Yes.” He didn’t take his eyes off them, almost like he didn’t trust Rachel with his daughter.

  When Paisley had been changed, Rachel picked her up and kissed her pudgy cheek. “She looks good.”

  “Of course she looks good,” he snapped. “Did you think I wouldn’t take care of my own child?”

  “I meant it as a compliment. I wouldn’t have left her with you if I thought you wouldn’t take care of her.”

  “Thanks,” he said flatly.

  “Give me a break, will you? I came here to do you a favor.”

  He tilted his head. “What favor is that?”

  Rachel stood a little taller. “You don’t have to keep her for the full month. I came to take her back.”

  Nate moved fast. In two seconds he’d covered the ten feet between himself and Rachel and taken the baby from her arms. Rachel was so stunned she let it happen.

  “No way,” Nate said, circling around the couch to stand next to me again. “If that’s what you came here for, you can forget about it. You’re not taking her out of this apartment.”

  “Come on. You didn’t even want her for a week, remember?” Rachel stuck her hands on her hips.

  “Well, things have changed. And I have rights.”

  “Says who?” Rachel’s tone turned antagonistic. “How do you even know she’s really yours?”

  My mouth fell open and I looked at Nate, expecting him to blow. But he didn’t.

  “I just do,” he said calmly. “Want me to take a paternity test?”

  “No.” Rachel’s shoulders slumped and she closed her eyes. “She’s yours.” A moment later she opened them, tears spilling over again. “But please let me have her back. She’s everything to me. I feel so guilty for leaving her.”

  “No. After the month is up, we’ll negotiate custody. You owe me this time with her.” He paused. “Where do you live?”

  Rachel wiped her eyes. “Battle Creek.”

  “What’s your last name?”

  “Brown.”

  “Did you give her my last name or yours?”

  “Mine.”

  “What’s her middle name?”

  “Ann.”

  The authoritative way he was grilling her reminded me of a lawyer cross-examining a witness, or a detective questioning a suspect.

  “I need your information and signature on the Affidavit of Parentage. Once paternity is established, I want my name on the birth certificate. And I want joint physical and legal custody.”

  “Fine, we’ll work it out. But Nate, can I please hold her again?” asked Rachel. “Then I’ll go. You can have the rest of your month, and I’ll come back in two weeks. I thought you’d be glad to give her back early.”

  At first I didn’t think Nate was going to give in, because he didn’t move a muscle. But then he slowly walked toward her and allowed her to take the baby from his arms. “I’ll be right down with the affidavit. You can fill out part of it now.” He went directly to the stairs and headed up into his bedroom.

  Rachel and I made eye contact for one brief, uncomfortable second before she looked down at Paisley again. “So are you his girlfriend?” she asked.

  I didn’t even know how to answer that question, not that it was any of her business.

  “I think it’s only fair to know who he’s bringing around my child.”

  “I’m Emme. I live across the hall.”

  She looked up at me, eyebrows raised. “Interesting.”

  My temper sparked, and I reminded myself I wouldn’t be doing Nate any favors by causing trouble with the mother of his child. It was better if everyone got along.

  “I didn’t figure Nate for the type to have a girlfriend,” she said.

  “I guess you don’t know him very well.”

  She shrugged. “Or he’s got you fooled.”

  Channeling my inner Maren, I took a few deep breaths and searched for a peaceful place within myself. There had to be one in there somewhere.

  “I’ll admit, he’s taken to this whole fatherhood thing much better than I thought he would.” She looked around at all the baby gear. “I figured he’d be desperate to get rid of her by now.”

  “You figured wrong. He adores her.”

  Nate came down the stairs with papers in his hand. “I’ll get a pen.”

  “I’ve got one,” I said, glad to be useful in any capacity that sent this woman on her way. From my purse I dug out a Devine Events pen and handed it to him.

  “Thanks.” He went over to the counter separating the kitchen from the living room and set the pen and papers down. “You can do it right here,” he said to Rachel. It was clear the matter was not up for discussion.

  Rachel walked slowly to the counter. After reluctantly handing Paisley over to Nate, she filled out the paperwork. After a moment, she said to him, “We need a notary for the signatures.”

  “I know that.” He paused. “How long are you in town? We have one at my firm. We could get it done on Monday.”

  “I can stay in town until then. I took a leave of absence from work.”

  “Fine.” He walked to the door and opened it. “I’ll text you a time and the address.”

  Biting her lip, she set the pen down. “Are you sure I can’t take her with me? I’m not trying to keep her from you permanently.”

  “I’m sure. You’ll see her on Monday. And then two weeks after that.”

  Rachel looked defeated, but she nodded. “Can I kiss her goodbye?”

  “No.”

  “Nate,” I said softly. Not because I liked Rachel or was remotely on her side, but because as a child of divorce I appreciated the effort to compromise where children were concerned.

  He met my eyes, and for a moment I thought he was going to tell me this was none of my busin
ess—he’d have been right, too. But instead he closed his eyes and sighed. “Fine.”

  Once more, he handed Paisley over to her mother. The poor little thing was probably wondering what the heck was going on the way she was being passed like a basketball back and forth between them, although she wasn’t fussing about it.

  Rachel hugged and kissed her, promised to see her the day after tomorrow, and gave her back to Nate. Then she picked up her purse from the floor and walked out.

  Nate shut the door behind her and stood facing it.

  I felt like I’d been holding my breath for hours. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That was…a surprise.”

  “Yeah.” He held his daughter close, kissed her head.

  “Want me to get a bath going for her?” I asked.

  “Sure. Thanks.” All the life had gone out of his voice.

  We bathed and fed Paisley, ordered dinner in, and ate it sitting on the floor while she played on a blanket—although Nate didn’t eat much, and he still wasn’t very talkative. When Paisley started to get tired and crabby, Nate took her upstairs while I put the leftovers away and loaded the dishwasher. I kept telling myself not to read too much into Nate’s mood, that it had nothing to do with me, but it was hard not to internalize it at least a little.

  When he came down, he made us each a cocktail, and we spent the evening watching Bond on the couch like we used to. Only…it wasn’t as much fun.

  Nate was shutting down on me—I could sense it. He remained silent the entire time. He didn’t laugh at any jokes or comment on Connery’s superior Bondness or make any attempt to touch me. Half the time, he wasn’t even looking at the screen. I’d look over and see him staring into space, his expression troubled. Something was really wrong.

  When the movie was over, I turned off the television and scooted closer to him, slipping my arm through his and laying my head on his shoulder.