All the Good Parts

by Loretta Nyhan

  “Er, thank you,” he managed, trying not to stare.

  I looked up and spotted the very pregnant Sophia Carver-Wittelstein, dressed as a very pregnant, pink-suited Jackie Kennedy, staring at Garrett as though he were steak on a platter.

  “Let’s grab our drinks and head inside,” I said quickly, and Garrett agreed, features straining with nerves when he realized how many more people were in the garage. I knew this was probably difficult for him, and the last thing he needed was Sophia Carver-Wittelstein asking pointed questions. Garrett deserved his privacy, and I didn’t want him to feel forced into giving it up simply because he was a guest at Donal’s party.

  We grabbed drinks and dumped food on our plates, then tucked ourselves into the side entrance to my basement apartment. “Want to see where I live?” My voice was embarrassingly husky.

  “Yeah.”

  I hadn’t cleaned. Half the contents of my closet lay in piles on my unmade bed. Harsh afternoon light filtered in through the blinds, and I turned them down, flicking on the sconce above my bed, adding softness to everything.

  “You’re going to do great on Wednesday,” I said, hoping I wasn’t overdoing the confidence building.

  “Yeah?” Garrett tipped his cup and gulped down some beer. “I don’t know.”

  I took a drink of my own and sat down next to him on the bed. “I do.”

  “Are you going to tell me to just be myself?”

  I moved closer, infinitesimally. I always felt like a predator with Garrett, the cat inching toward the canary. His moving toward me should have made me feel better, but it didn’t. I wanted to do more for him, this man who’d done so much to hurt himself. I moved closer, and he did the same, and our thighs touched, his denim rough against my tights. “Of course I think you should just be yourself,” I said softly. “Yourself is pretty good stuff.”

  He threaded his fingers through mine. “You almost have me believing it,” he said, but his voice sounded far away, like part of him had already given up and gone home.

  I wanted to kiss him, to bring him back. It felt right, the softness in the room, the hum of voices outside, being closed up in our basement cocoon. We owned this moment; it was something we could have—it was something he could have—this man who had so very little. I shifted, nuzzling the side of his jaw with my chin. Garrett took blessed action. He caught my mouth with his, lips moving against mine, and Carly was wrong, there was no desperation, only a brief hesitancy, then a promise, then a slow infusion of confidence, a remembrance of how things could be.

  “Leona?” he said, after breaking away, his voice a whisper. “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t present you with a box of chocolates. You don’t have to thank me.”

  “No, don’t—” Garrett ran a shaky hand through his dark hair. Tufts of it stuck out in different directions, and I fought the urge to smooth it down. “I wouldn’t have been able to do that if I hadn’t known,” he said, gazing at his beat-to-shit shoes. “Maura told me about the baby. About what you want to ask me.”

  I sat back. Damn it, Maura! “She told you that?”

  “She’s been hinting at some big favor you wanted to discuss, but she didn’t give specifics until she felt comfortable with me. I believe she’s of the age to find romance in everything. Or maybe she thought she was being helpful?”

  Did he think I was delusional, fueled by fantasy? Humiliation brought heat to my face, but I couldn’t stop looking at him, waiting for his reaction. When he realized I wasn’t going to take over, he swallowed audibly and went on.

  “I don’t know if anyone has ever thought that much of me, to ask something like that. To trust me like that.” He turned to me, bright blue eyes burning into mine. “I want to help you. I do.”

  “But?”

  He sighed and gently placed his hand on the back of my neck, long fingers toying with the elastic on my shower cap. “It’s just that I don’t think I can be a dad. I wondered, after she’d told me, if I had it in me, but I don’t think that I do.”

  “I’m not asking for you to be a dad, I’m asking you to help me be a mom.” It sounded almost harsh when I said it, but it was true. I didn’t know how it would affect the idea of him and me, but I said it because in that moment I realized what was most important. It felt both good and sour, the possibilities intermingling, struggling in the water, one coming up and pressing the other’s head under.

  “My future is a jumble of possibilities and potential failures,” Garrett continued, “and the thought of it scares me deep. Living moment to moment is the only way I can live right now. I’d like to give you something you want, because you’re a good person, and because I’m mystified by why you’d choose someone like me. It feels good to be chosen, and it feels good to kiss you, and that’s all I can think about without my nervous system smashing every thought in my head into a million pieces I’ve got to scramble to put back together, frantic and miserable.”

  He took a ragged breath. “What it comes down to is, you’ve helped me and I’d like to help you, and those are good impulses and that’s what I’d like my life to be about right now. That’s what I can handle.”

  “You’re not upset at all?” I sat up to look him squarely in the eye. “Getting to know you—getting to like you—was separate from the baby idea. I want you to understand that.”

  He smiled. “The thing is, it doesn’t bother me one way or the other. When Maura said what you wanted, I felt so flattered. This whole thing has been so flattering.”

  I ignored the disappointment gnawing at the back of my brain. Flattering? My thirty-nine years to his twenty-seven. Of course he’d use that word. Of course. But this was what I wanted. This would work out. “We’ll talk about it after your interview, okay? You let me help you, and then we’ll talk about how you can help me.”

  “For right now,” he said, urging me back into his arms, “can we kiss for a while longer?”

  “Yes,” I said, lips tingling in anticipation, head leaning toward his.

  But I never got my kiss, because all we heard was the scream.

  “Maura,” I said, and we both bolted up the stairs. She screamed again, the sound piercing the air, dropping onto our heads like stones. I made it to the upstairs landing first. Maura stood in front of the bathroom, bathed in the cold afternoon light slanting in from the half-closed blinds, striping her milky skin. Her eyes were round, hands clenched into fists.

  “What is it?” I said through the beats of my pounding heart. “Are you hurt?”

  It was then I noticed her expression, resplendent and satisfied, curling her lips into something I hadn’t seen in a long time—a confident smile.

  She grabbed my hand and pulled me into the bathroom. I noticed the maxipad wrapper curling on the counter. “Oh, my God,” I whispered.

  “Nature is my bitch, Auntie Lee,” Maura said triumphantly. “I’m an official woman!”

  “Nature is a goddess, not a bitch,” I scolded, pulling her into a fierce hug. “Are you okay? Do you need help with anything?”

  “I’m a little crampy,” she said into my ear. “Not bad, though. I was scared to use a tampon.”

  “Everyone is at first,” I assured her. “Did you tell your mother?”

  “I will,” she said, disentangling herself from my arms. “I just need a minute before she turns this into the biggest deal ever.”

  “But it is a big deal!”

  “I know, but . . .”

  “I understand,” I said. “Do you want me to stay here with you, or would you rather be alone?”

  “Stay, please.”

  I stuck my head into the hallway. Garrett stood on the landing, looking terrified. “Everything all right?” he asked.

  “Perfectly fine. I might be a minute. You can wait if you want.”

  “I’ll wait right here,” he said, obviously relieved I wasn’t ordering him back to the party.

  I closed the door and sat myself on the rim of the tub. Maura put the toilet seat down a
nd sat across from me. “Are you mad at me?” she asked.

  “Why would I be mad?”

  “I figured Garrett told you that I opened my big mouth.”

  I couldn’t help smiling. “I wish you’d asked me, but I don’t mind that you took matters into your own hands. It might just work out, and I’ll have you to thank for it.”

  Maura grinned broadly. “Will you name the baby after me?”

  “Actually, I was thinking of going with Kale, or maybe Broccoli. What would you think about having a little cousin called Brussels Sprouts? We could call him BS for short.”

  She stuck her tongue out at me. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You’re funny, Auntie Lee. I hope the baby gets your sense of humor.”

  I thought of the genetic squares. Big F for (F)unny. Little f for (f)earful. Or (f)ailure. Or maybe, just maybe, for (f)uture.

  “You know, I can have a baby now,” Maura said, interrupting my thoughts, her tone growing serious. “There was a girl in eighth grade last year who did. I knew who she was.”

  I thought of that girl and the anxiety she must have felt, the dread. I hated to think of Maura in that position. “I’d like to say you’re too young to even think about pregnancy, but that’s not realistic,” I said. “Just know you can talk to your mom or me about anything. We’ll listen. We might be annoying or not agree with you, but we’ll do our best to help you make good choices. I wish there was a cooler way to say that, but there isn’t.”

  Maura nodded, her expression serious. “Thanks,” she murmured.

  “Do you have any questions right now, or would you rather wait for your mom?”

  Maura fished her phone out of her pocket. “Will you take a picture of me? I want to remember this day. Does that sound stupid?”

  I took the phone from her. “No, not at all.” She held up the maxipad wrapper and smiled. “You’re not going to post this on Instagram or one of those sites,” I said before snapping the shot.

  “Are you kidding? Of course I am. This changes everything, and I want everyone to know.”

  “Aren’t some things meant to be private?”

  “Why?” Maura said, looking completely perplexed. “Now, hold the phone up a little so you can get the best angle.”

  She smiled again, broader this time. I thought of the photo I took of her when she got her first haircut, when she lost her front tooth, when we all followed her to the mall last year to watch her get her ears pierced. “Fine. One photo. Say gigglefart!”

  “Oh, Auntie Lee.”

  I took it and passed the phone over for her approval. Maura couldn’t stop staring at the photographic evidence of her transformation to womanhood. “Wow,” she said. “I kind of do look different. I thought it would never happen.”

  “Are you ready to tell your mom now?”

  She nodded and reached for my hand. “Thanks for not being annoying.”

  “You had better be thankful. When you’re my age, it’s very hard work to avoid being annoying.”

  Laughing, we opened the door and headed back to the party, which Maura claimed had turned “epic” while we were gone. The keg emptied, the food disappeared, and there were sparklers, much to Garrett’s delight. When Maura spoke to Carly, her tipsy mother insisted we toast to the two major Brophy milestones, and we raised a glass to birthdays and becoming-a-woman days.

  It was almost too easy to forget our troubles, and for one beautiful fall night, that’s exactly what we did.

  CHAPTER 24

  Our familial bliss didn’t last very long.

  “I hate you!”

  “You have a right to be angry,” Carly said to the door Maura had just slammed in our faces.

  “I hope they put you in jail!”

  “It’s not that kind of court, Maur,” Donal said soothingly.

  “It should be!”

  Carly nudged my shoulder. “Say something. Maybe she’ll listen to you.”

  “You should have told them yesterday, like you’d planned,” I hissed. “You shouldn’t have waited until the last minute.”

  “You’re going to lecture me on procrastination? Seriously?”

  She had a point. I knocked lightly on Maura’s door. “Sweetie? It’s Auntie Lee. Let’s fight this thing as a family, okay? We need you.”

  The door opened so quickly I nearly tumbled into Maura’s room. She glared at me, eyes wild and accusatory. “You! You’re the worst! You are a betrayer.”

  “It wasn’t my right to tell you.”

  “Who cares about rights? You all obviously don’t!” Maura took off her ballet flats and tossed them into the hall. “I am not going to any court. I’m old enough to stay here and you can’t make me go.” She turned to me and spat, “You said you would help me make good choices. How can I trust you when you make such bad ones?”

  “That’s enough, Maur—” Donal started.

  “If she wants to stay home, she can stay home,” Carly interjected. “If she doesn’t want to take her role in this family to defend our right to stay in this home that we built together, then fine. She can turn her back on us.”

  “Guilt only works when I’m wrong,” Maura said with a smirk. “And I’m not wrong. This is your fault! This is all your faults!”

  We didn’t even jump when she slammed the door. We expected it.

  “I’ll pull the van around,” Donal said dejectedly.

  “I’ll get Josie,” I said.

  Carly thought for a moment. “I’ll bring the whiskey.”

  Kara Svenson, immigration attorney, cleaned up well. She wore a stylish gray wool suit to the proceedings, her blonde hair pulled back into a smooth chignon, heels low and black, a strand of pearls circling her neck. Tortoiseshell glasses completed the ensemble. If Grace Kelly and Atticus Finch had a child, Kara would be her.

  “She looks good,” Carly murmured to me. “Professional. Appearances count.”

  Unfortunately for us. We looked like a gang of gypsies next to Kara. Donal’s navy, double-breasted suit was made of cheap material that bunched and wrinkled. Carly attempted the hairstyle Kara had mastered, but her curls, flattened by too much hair spray, sprang out of her head like the spokes on a broken bicycle wheel. The boys wore their too-tight Communion suits, and Josie spit up all over her dress during the ride downtown. No one remembered a backup outfit, so I changed her into striped footie pajamas after we’d parked.

  “This is really only a prehearing, so it should be pretty quick,” Kara said after shaking our hands. She looked from Carly to me, confused for a moment.

  “I’m the wife,” Carly said quickly. “Can you submit this as Exhibit A?” She handed a bag to Kara. “It might help.”

  The night before, Carly and I had stayed up to create a photo album of Donal’s personal Patriot Act party, using some never-before-touched scrapbooking materials we found in the storage part of the basement. It wasn’t great, but it told a definite story, and we thought the judge might see us as more than just a bunch of rule breakers.

  Kara quickly flipped through the pages. “This is lovely,” she said, and I tried very hard to ignore the pity I saw in her eyes. “I’ll see if the judge will allow it.”

  When Judge Randall Hargreave took his vaulted place on the bench, nodding curtly at Kara and ignoring Donal and the rest of us, I had a hard time picturing him laughing delightedly at Donal dressed as Captain America, smooshing a red, white, and blue cupcake in his mouth. It was freezing in the courtroom, but I began to sweat through my dress.

  “Ms. Svenson,” Judge Hargreave said, his tone a mixture of boredom and impatience.

  Kara pleaded for the mercy of the court. She painted Donal exactly as I would have—a hardworking, loving family man who’d made a simple mistake.

  Carly and Donal clutched hands. She motioned to me, and I stretched to give her mine, but what she really wanted was Josie. I passed the baby over, and she buried her face in Carly’s neck. Patrick and Kevin scooted o
ver to their parents, pressing their bodies as close as they could.

  The judge fixed his gaze on Kara. “Are you done, Ms. Svenson?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “And Mr. Miller? Is the government ready?”

  The prosecutor stood and asked to approach the bench. He dropped some papers in front of the judge, who crooked his finger at Kara.

  “I wasn’t aware of this complication,” she said after reading them, her voice wavering slightly. “I need to discuss this with my client.”

  “I will grant you that,” the judge stated. “Lying on the green card application was grounds enough to begin the removal process. Mr. Brophy’s failure to pay his taxes simply worsens the situation.”

  White-faced, Kara returned to her seat. She sat very still until the judge asked everyone to rise.

  “Mr. Brophy,” the judge began, addressing Donal for the first time. “I can understand a man making an honest mistake. It happens to us all. But I’m not convinced your mistake was all that honest. I also can’t condone cheating this government out of its tax revenue. That money is used to educate those children of yours, to pave the roads you drive on, to fill your library with books, and to keep officers patrolling the streets of the tony suburb you live in. You haven’t paid your taxes in three years. Can you write Uncle Sam a check for twelve thousand?”

  “Dollars?” Donal swallowed audibly. Desperate, he turned to Carly for help.

  She hugged Josie so tightly the baby yelped. “We can try, Your Honor—”

  “That’s not how the system works, Mrs. Brophy,” the judge interrupted. “Living here means abiding by the law.”

  Donal put a hand on her arm. “Yes, sir. Of course.”

  He gave Donal a hard look. “Do you have the money to pay your tax bill?”

  “No, sir,” he said quietly. “Not at the moment.”

  “Were you working for Jimmy’s Contracting Service when you sent in your green card application?”

  “No, sir. I wasn’t.”

  The judge pushed his chair away from the bench and addressed Kara Svenson. “Counsel, I assume you’ll use the time until the next hearing to mount a better defense for your client.”