For the millionth time, his eyes meet mine and my heart gallops in my chest. The image of him already doting on the little girl in his arms reaffirms my beliefs. He’s going to be an amazing husband and an even better father, and I want to be there to witness it.
MY HANDS TREMBLE AS I knock on the screen door, balancing the pan of store-bought banana pudding in my hands. I should’ve picked a dessert with a better track record, but I figured I was safe since I didn’t actually make it.
Footsteps pound on the floor from the other side of the door and I hear a young boy’s voice call out. “Got it,” he yells, opening the door. “Hi!”
“Hi,” I say, smiling in greeting. “You must be Danny.”
He nods enthusiastically. “And you’re Kaley, Jackson’s new sister. Not my sister,” he clarifies, pointing a thumb at his chest.
Paula has watched Danny since he was a baby while his mom works at an overnight clinic. They live next door so Jackson and Danny have literally spent their whole lives together. From my understanding, they sometimes forget they’re not actually related.
“Technically, no,” I say. “But we can still be friends, right?”
“Cool,” he says, swinging open the screen door.
More footsteps pound down the hallway and Paula comes into view. “I told you not to answer the door if I’m not around,” she admonishes him.
“It’s just Kaley,” he says, defensive. “We knew she was coming.”
She pulls him back from the doorway by the collar of his shirt. “I don’t care. Unless I give you permission, don’t open this door. Not even for the president. Got it?”
He nods, pouting.
“Go set the table,” she says, scuffing his hair. Finally, able to greet me, she knocks her hair out of her eyes, smiling. “I’m so sorry. He never listens”
“It’s okay. I completely understand. I mean, I’m not a mom, but I get it.”
Holding open the door, she takes the dessert from my hands and hugs me. “It’s nice to meet you after all this time.”
“You too.”
“Come in. Jackson is still upstairs getting dressed, but dinner’s almost ready.”
The house is shotgun style, each room leading into the next with a staircase lining one side of the hallway. I follow her through the living room, through the dining room where Daniel is shuffling around plates, and into the kitchen. The furniture is sparse and the carpet is worn to the plywood underneath in some areas, but it’s as well maintained as possible. Other than the few random toys strewn about, the house is immaculate.
“Smells good,” I say, trying for small talk.
“Is spaghetti okay? I guess I should have asked if you were allergic to anything.”
“No, spaghetti is perfect. Can I help with anything?”
She deposits the pan in the fridge. “Oh, no. You’re a guest. Besides, there’s not really anything left to do.”
Paula and I wrote back and forth a lot over the past year, so there’s a level of familiarity between us. I wasn’t sure what to expect meeting her would be like because my main worry was always Jackson, but I’m glad there’s not any awkwardness.
She smiles big. “He’s so nervous.”
Her words bring such relief. “Really?” I say, not caring that I’m giving away just how anxious I am.
“Really. He won’t admit to it,” she says, resuming her stirring. “But he’s spent all day playing video games.”
I give her a confused look, leaning against the counter next to her.
“He only plays video games when he doesn’t want to think about something. Almost every time we have to leave for IPV, he spends the night playing them. It’s mindless.”
“IPV?”
“Intrapulmonary Percussive Ventilator. It’s a type of therapy to help release the mucus from his lungs and airways. It’s never fun.”
“Does he have to do that often?”
“Not too often. We do most of his therapies at home.”
Danny comes barreling back into the kitchen, screeching to a halt at Paula’s feet. “I’m done setting the table. Can I go outside?”
“We’re about to eat. Why don’t you go see what’s taking Jackson so long? Tell him it’s not nice to keep guests waiting.”
Danny doesn’t look particularly happy about Paula’s instructions, but he manages to keep his expression in check as he spins on a heel and runs back to the mouth of the stairs.
“Danny has one speed and it’s full throttle. If he’s awake, he’s running or jumping or trying to fly,” she says with a laugh.
I smile. “Something tells me Jackson is the opposite.”
She nods. “That boy could read his life away and wouldn’t think twice about it.”
My eyes travel to the medical supplies stacked on the kitchen counter next to the pantry. There’s bottles upon bottles of vitamins and supplements, tissues, and prescriptions. There’s an obvious attempt to keep it all organized in plastic containers and daily pill reminders. A clip board hangs on the wall to keep track of what medications need to be taken when and how much. Most of today’s prescriptions are already accounted for but the laundry list of prescriptions for tonight still takes up a quarter of the page.
Two sets of footsteps pound down the stairs, one noticeably quicker than the other, and it’s to no surprise Danny emerges first. Jackson follows not far behind, but at a much more leisurely pace. His eyes immediately find mine.
“Hi,” I say, doing my best to smile through my nervousness.
He waves. “Hey,” he says, eyeing me.
The kitchen is quiet as he stares at me and I try not to fidget under his gaze. It’s assessing, but not in a bad way.
“We share the same dad.”
“We do,” I say.
“Do you like him?”
Caught off guard, I look to Paula and she looks just as taken aback as I am. Jackson understands we have the same father who is now in jail because he’s done bad things, but I was not expecting to be asked my opinion on the matter right off the bat.
“I think…I think it depends on the day. Sometimes I’ll remember a good memory of him and I’ll catch myself missing him. Other times I feel like I can’t remember a single good thing about him. So...I’m not entirely sure,” I answer truthfully.
“What about today?” he says, inquisitive.
Paula opens her mouth to speak, but I give her a look to let her know I’m okay with his questioning. I have a feeling Jackson isn’t looking for a particular question, but he’s looking for an openness from me. Maybe these are things he’s conflicted about himself and he wants to compare thoughts on the matter. All I know is however I react is going to determine how much he feels like he can trust me.
“Today,” I say on a sigh, releasing the tension from my body. “I kind of like him because he made us siblings and that’s pretty cool.”
He barely tilts his head to the side, a peek of an approving smile in his eyes. “After we eat, do you want to play Mario Kart?”
“I haven’t played in years so I doubt I’m any good.”
“It’s okay, neither is Jackson,” Danny says, a smirk already in place.
“I beat you once,” Jackson says in defense, moving towards the dining room.
“I had a broken foot, it doesn’t count.”
Jackson gives him a dumb look. “What does that have to do with anything?”
They’re voices trail off as they discuss the difficulties of playing video games while injured.
I take a sigh of relief. “That went well,” I say.
Her eyes are round as she meets my eyes. “I had no idea he was going to ask you those questions, I swear.”
I laugh. “It’s okay. I think I passed.”
She nods in agreement. “I think you did, too.”
I help Paula carry the food to the kitchen counter and dish out the food for the four of us. Paula says grace and the conversation moves from video games to books and onto school work. Jacks
on is home schooled, in part due to the risks he’d face in public school due to germs and infections. Danny seems to think Jackson does nothing but read all day, but Paula assures him Jackson does the same work from home.
Jackson asks me what kind of books I like and his face screws up in disgust when I tell him I’ve been on a romance kick for the past year. He prefers sci-fi and dystopian, but he’ll read an occasional Western if he’s feeling up to it. We agree to trade books and I promise Paula to keep my recommendation PG. Throughout dinner, I notice Jackson doesn’t eat much. He pushes his spaghetti around and picks apart the noodles with his fork. As we’re finishing up, Paula tries to get him to take a few more bites, but is met with resistance.
“I’m really not hungry.”
“Two more bites,” she insists.
“Paula,” he draws out, sulking in his chair.
I can tell Paula wants to push him and probably normally would, but for the sake of not arguing while I’m here, she lets it go. “Fine. You two can clean the dishes and I’ll put Mario Kart on in the living room.”
I follow Paula up the stairs to grab the gaming system. Jackson’s bedroom is small but it looks even smaller with all the medical supplies stacked along an entire wall. It’s so much, way more than I realized he needed in the first place. There’s different machines and tubes. A device is mounted to the wall above his bed with a bag of some type of fluid connected to it.
Paula’s eyes follow mine. “Sometimes I forget what it looks like,” she says. “This is everyday life for us, but through new eyes, I’m sure it’s overwhelming.”
“It’s weird, because he doesn’t even look that sick.”
“No, he doesn’t. But CF is sometimes hidden that way. Some days I forget he’s sick at all, and others it’s all I can think about.”
The weight of Jackson’s disease seems to sit on her in this moment, almost like it wants to pull her under.
“It’s not easy doing it on your own,” I say.
She shrugs, a sad smile on her face. “It’s not my disease, it’s his, and he still manages to wake up every day with a smile.”
“But he’s your responsibility. That’s scary enough with a healthy kid, let alone one who needs constant monitoring.”
She looks at me, like really looks at me, and gives a tiny shake of her head. “You’re not going anywhere, are you?”
Not sure how to answer, I say, “Right now? This instant?”
“No, I mean ever. You’re not going to disappear.”
It’s not a question this time and I give her a genuine smile. “No.”
She nods once and turns around to gather the gaming system. I’ve never hooked up a gaming system in my life—I can barely hook up my DVD player—but Paula is an expert and has it up and running by the time the boys are done with the dishes.
We play Mario Kart way past their bedtimes, but Paula doesn’t complain. She even joins in for a couple of rounds. No one is a match for Danny, but he humors us and loses a few. I spend the majority of my time learning who Jackson is and how he interacts with the people closest to him. He’s doesn’t laugh much, and in a way, it reminds me of Kip. His smiles tell everything. Especially when Danny says something Jackson finds completely idiotic, his smile reveals everything.
It’s close to midnight before Paula suggests it’s time to say goodnight, but neither of the boys complain. I watch Jackson do his nighttime ritual and hook his feeding tube to his port before bed. There’s a level of maturity in him that I’m sure is a product of his upbringing. Once they’re in bed, I help Paula pick up the living room. We’d used the couch cushions to sit on the floor, closer to the TV, and there’s popcorn and snacks strewn about.
Paula plops down on the sofa as I call for a taxi, lounging next to her. I didn’t realize how tired I was until just now, and I fight to stay alert.
“Why does Jackson call you by your first name and not Mom?”
She smiles. “I kept Danny from a really early age and he always called me Paula, so Jackson just repeated what he heard. It kind of stuck.”
“He seems so level headed.”
“He is,” she agrees. “I don’t know where he got it from because God knows I’m not.”
I laugh. “And there’s no way he gets it from his father.”
She shakes her head, smiling. “That’s for sure.”
We’re quiet for a few minutes before I find the courage to speak. “You never mentioned how you met my dad.”
“Why do you ask?” she says.
“I’ve just been wondering,” I say with a shrug. “And if I’m being honest, I don’t see you as being the type to have an affair with a married man. You’re so…nice.”
She laughs out loud. “I’m sure there’s lots of people who would dispute that.” There’s a beat of silence before she continues. “If I tell you, it stays between us. I don’t want Jackson to know. At least, not until he’s older.”
“Okay,” I drawl, suspicious.
Sighing, she gives me a knowing look. “I amassed a lot of student debt after college. I come from a fairly poor family, and I wasn’t prepared for the interest to start rolling in so quickly after graduation. I wasn’t able to make ends meet on a teacher’s salary and pay off school loans.” She swallows down an emotion I can’t pinpoint. “An old classmate of mine recommended working at a bar downtown. She said she’d been doing it for years, all the way through college, and she was debt free. She convinced me it was safe.”
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where she’s going with this, and my heart lodges firmly in my throat. I frequented a counselor, Sanya, in prison to help me organize my feelings and guilt I had accumulated inside of me. I hadn’t realized the extent of damage sleeping with men did to me until I was forced to. Sometimes I feel like I’ll never be able to distance myself from my past, but Sanya had helped me figure out how to balance putting it behind me, while still being okay with it being a part of who I am today. It’s obvious Paula has held the same struggles.
“I didn’t hate it,” Paula continues. “And I loved the money. I had only been working there a few weeks when I met your father. He was handsome and charming, very affectionate. It didn’t take me long before I fell in love with him, or at least, the lifestyle he afforded me.”
“And then you got pregnant,” I say.
“So the story goes,” she says, smiling. “John wanted me to get an abortion, but I just couldn’t. Once he realized I wasn’t going to terminate the pregnancy, he agreed to pay for everything I needed as long as I kept my mouth shut. And he did for a long time.”
“Until he went to jail?”
“Correct.”
“But…that doesn’t make any sense. He still has money. I know because he paid my legal fees.”
She shakes her head. “It wasn’t ever about supplying for us or taking care of Jackson’s medical bills,” she says.
It dawns on me. “It was about saving face, more particularly, saving you from spilling information about Hudson’s.”
She nods. “At least, that’s my guess.”
I lean back, staring at the blank screen of the TV. It’s funny how my opinion of my father can change from minute to minute. I hadn’t lied when I told Jackson I wasn’t sure as to my opinion on my father. Sometimes I think he did things out of the goodness of his heart, and then something will remind me of the terrible things he’s done. He’s in jail for killing people, selling drugs which probably killed more people and ruined lives, but it’s so conflicting with the man I knew all of my life.
I still remember him taking me out to eat when I brought home good grades and how excited he was to gift me something I really wanted for Christmas or my birthday. He used to help me with my math homework and teased my mother for lack of cooking skills.
I don’t like him as a person. I don’t like what he’s done to people or to Jackson, his own son. Everything was always with conditions with him. Maybe I’ll never figure him out or maybe I’ll visit him
one day to ask him why he’s so shitty face-to-face. Or maybe I’ll leave all the questions behind and forget he exists. For now, I’ll just focus on building a relationship with Jackson and be grateful for what my father has given me.
IT’S BEEN A COUPLE of weeks since I’ve seen Kip. Every time I’ve visited baby Rosie, he hasn’t been around. Even though I never asked, Lilly assured me he was just busy with the shop and filling an order for Marty. I’ve stayed away from our spot on the hill, afraid I’ll push him away if I don’t give him space. Kip’s not one who responds to pressure well. He has to come to a conclusion on his own before he’ll act on it. He needs to decide how he feels about me without me there to muddle with his feelings.
And I get it. When I’m by myself, my feelings are all over the place. I miss him even more in the real world than I did in prison. He feels so close, yet so far away at the same time. I pretty much spend the entirety of my days thinking about him and trying not to. I’m able to distract myself in small spurts, but my thoughts always find a way of reminding me how much I want to see him.
I slouch in my seat, trying to relax on my day off. The sun is shining and it’s almost mid-sixties outside, signaling winter is almost over. All the windows are open, letting in the fresh air. Breathing deep, I try to dispel the restlessness inside me. I must not be doing a good job because Beck and Mondo both laugh at my sour mood.
“Why don’t you just freaking call him?” Beck says, lounging against the couch. Mondo is busy doing push-ups on the terrace. They coordinate their days off to spend them together. They’re not particularly affectionate, because they don’t feel a need to reaffirm their feelings for one another by constantly touching. Sometimes I wish Lilly and Justin had the same outlook.
“I don’t want to smother him,” I say, absentmindedly flipping through a tabloid magazine.
Mondo hefts his body into a sitting position, breathing heavy. “Maybe he’s waiting on you to make the first move.”
“I don’t want to have to feel like I have to persuade him to want to see me. If he wanted to be with me, he would.”
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