Nip it in the Bud (Bunch-A-Blooms)

by Shyla Colt

  Children deserve the best we can give them. They didn’t ask to be born into this world, especially not the way the twins had entered. My stomach turns at the thought of that night. We were both a part of that disaster in one way or another, but I chose to get off the train track. She’s still speeding toward the locomotive.

  The weekend was more than a boys’ night. It was a time for me to clear my head and make some tough decisions. I’ve put it off for a couple of reasons. I wanted to be fair. I’m scared to go to court, and deep down I’m concerned she has the edge over me. Courts don’t like to permanently sever ties between mothers and their children, and our circumstance are not the norm. I’m going to try to talk some sense into her once more before I pull out the big guns.

  I can’t live worrying what’s around the corner. Being a parent means protecting their future at any cost. I’ve never been a punk, but guilt is a poisonous thing. It seeps into your soul, steals away common sense, and toys with your emotions. I’ve always had mixed feelings when it comes to Monica. It made me hesitate when I shouldn’t. I’m breaking away the chains of culpability. We both made our decisions. I chose the high road, and she chose the low. It’s time that becomes a statement of fact instead of an argument for why I owe her anything.

  At peace with my final decision, I unlatch the gate and push it in.

  “Daddy.”

  Twin balls of energy with springy, coarse, dark curls and large, brown eyes race toward me. I rock back as they reach me and wrap me up in a hug. The sweet smell of coconut hair products, grass, and popsicles fills my nose. Their slender arms wrap around my waist, and I cherish the moment. I never wanted kids. Not after everything my father did. I didn’t believe I was capable of giving a child everything they deserved. But life has a funny way of giving us what we need.

  Those girls lit a fire under me in a way no one else in the world could. I picked back up my pen and paper and went after my career with a renewed hunger, nothing but success would fulfill. I had to because I wanted better for them, and the nine-to-five I was working wouldn’t allow me to hand them the world on a platter.

  “Did you grow while I was gone?” I ask.

  Neomi snorts. “You’re such a dork, Dad.”

  At ten, they’re on the cusp between childhood and tween. I want to slow down time and keep them here. I’m not ready to deal with menstrual cycles, boys, and the loss of my coolness status.

  “Were you good for Nana?”

  “Of course,” Ilana says in a tone that screams duh. The hormones have already begun to change. Their new attitudes are things we’re navigating our way through, one mood swing at a time. My mom swears it’s normal. I choose to ignore her tone as they lead me toward my mom.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “How was your evening, honey?” she asks.

  I bend down and squeeze her. At five foot six inches with a slender build, petite features, and light blonde hair my mother looks more like a cheerleader than a fighter. People let the façade fool them. She’s a fierce warrior who has been through things that would break men twice her size. She’s my rock. The firm kick in the pants, the voice of reason, and the one person who refused to give up on me. Her tough love, tears, prayers, and strength brought me through some dark times. I owe her everything.

  “It was good. I needed it.”

  “Between touring and the girls, you’ve had little time to yourself. You have to make room to take care of yourself, too, bug.”

  I smirk at the nickname. “I know, Ma.”

  “Have you thought more on what we talked about?”

  I nod my head. “Yeah, I’m going to handle it next week.”

  “Good.” She gives a satisfied nod, and I turn my attention to the girls. My mom has been a life saver. She keeps the girls when I’m away, which can be a lot. I used to have a nanny that came in and helped until Mom decided to retire from teaching.

  I take the seat beside her, and the girls return to corn hole. Despite their closeness, they have a competitive streak a mile long when it comes to each other. They’re ruthless when it comes to Monopoly, and I’m seeing their individual personality quirks and tastes emerge more and more as they grow older. I never agreed with Monica’s choice to constantly dress them alike with matching hairstyles and shoes to boot. I was more interested in finding out what they liked. It was one of the million things we didn’t see eye to eye on.

  At times, I wondered if the girls were more like living dolls she could play dress up with. Because as much as she claimed to love them, they were never enough to help her get straight and stay that way. I couldn’t understand it. From the minute I knew they existed, my life revolved around them. All the more reason to make sure she can’t return and throw off their progress once more.

  “You seem deep in thought,” Mom says.

  “I’m trying to figure out the best way to approach her today. She can be obstinate. If you want her to do one thing, she’ll do the exact opposite out of spite and immaturity” I stopped by to see the girls to remind myself what’s at stake.

  “I know you don’t want to hear this, but it may come down to court.”

  The thought of the publicity and the uncertainty it would cause the girls makes my heart ache. “It’s the last thing the girls would need.”

  “Let’s pray she realizes that. Deep down, beyond the layers of bitterness, denial, and addiction, she knows the girls belong with you.”

  I wish I still believed that.

  ***

  Leaning back against the seat of my SUV, I close my eyes. I have a lot riding on this visit and no game plan. The words I attempted to string together don’t feel right. Thirty minutes in front of a video screen is cold and impersonal. It’s no way to talk about serious matters, but it’s the only option we have. I want to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. She’s been handed so many breaks. On probation multiple times, she’s been in and out of the system, getting short stints, and breaks.

  I’m not shocked by her fifteen-year prison sentence. She’s served two so far. The first year, she kept her nose clean. The second year she was punished for drug use. Even behind bars, her addiction got the best of her. That’s when I stopped bringing the girls up to see her. Six months later, we’re at a stalemate. Today I’m taking the King. Lord, give me the words to break through to her. This entire family has been through enough.

  I exit the car, taking only my keys and my wallet to make the search easier. It’s a routine I’ve grown used to. Anger flares in my belly. The late-night phone calls, ambulance rides, ODs, and everything else she’s forced on us has destroyed my ability to be sympathetic to her plight. Her real prison is the one she’s made for herself. All she has to do is unlock the door, step outside, and stay there.

  I walk inside the building and up to the desk. Twenty minutes later, I’m seated at a kiosk with a pane of glass, and a large metal box separating me and Monica. Her dark hair is pulled back from her hair in a French braid, highlighting her overly thin frame. Dark circles stand out on her pale face. She’s a rundown version of the curvy girl with thick, chestnut-colored hair that framed her round face. I miss the full apples of her cheeks and the warmth that once existed in her cold, steel blue eyes. I pick up the phone.

  “You finally done punishing me?” she asks.

  “How am I doing that, Monica?” I sigh as my temples slowly begin to pulse.

  “Staying away. Not giving me updates on the girls.”

  “Do you really care about them?” I counter.

  “Of course I do. They’re my kids, aren’t they?”

  Only when it’s convenient, though, right? I bite my tongue. Arguing won’t change anything. I take a deep breath.

  “As I said before, they don’t want to come here.”

  “You’re the adult. Not them. Make them come.”

  I shake my head. “Why should I, Mon?”

  “Because I’m their mother.”

  “Yes, and you’ve hurt them in a m
illion different ways. I don’t think you realize how your life choices have impacted them.”

  She scoffs. “What, you’re a counselor now?”

  “No, I’m their father. The parent who deals with them every day and sees firsthand the damage you’ve caused. I’m the one who takes them to counseling and hears what the doctor has to recommend,” I say calmly. She’s a button pusher. If she realizes something gets under your skin, she’ll go for it full tilt.

  “You telling me I don’t get a chance to make it up to them?”

  “Monica.” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sigh. “At this point, it’s more traumatic to force them to come. They don’t want to be here or have any contact with you at the moment. I refuse to force them. I did that for years, and I was wrong. I didn’t want to cut you out of their life because, yes, you are their mother, but I can no longer continue to play Russian roulette with their stability, mental health, and self-esteem.”

  She leans closer to the screen. “What are you trying to say?”

  “I think it’s time you sign your rights away.”

  “Fuck you, Drew. You’re not even their real father.”

  The words are well-aimed missiles that go straight to my heart. “It takes more than genetic make-up to be a father, Monica.”

  “You think any court is going to keep their only biological parent away from them permanently?”

  “When said parent is locked away doing fifteen, yes. By the time you get out, they’ll both be adults capable of making their own decision about associating with you.”

  “You want to act so holier than thou since you found God. Let me remind you, you’re an addict, too.”

  “Yes, but I’ve been in recovery for over ten years,” I say quietly.

  “You found money and fame, and you want to rid yourself of your embarrassing past. I’m not something you can sweep under the rug.”

  I ignore her taunts.

  “No, I’ve done everything I can to help you. Hell, I paid for your lawyers, Monica. I have to put the girls’ welfare first.”

  “And signing the papers will do that how?”

  “Because it gives me total control over what happens to my girls. It’s time. You’ve used up all your chances. We can do this the hard way or the easy way. I can take you to court, or you can show how much you really care about those girls and sign of your own free will. The last thing they need is to be interviewed, cross-examined, and put through the wringer by the press.”

  Her jaw ticks. I hold my breath. She hangs up the phone, ending out conversation. The hard way it is.

  Chapter Two

  Willow

  I can’t stop my giggle as I walk into Hangover Easy and spot Olive in a pair of shades, a messy bun, and a casual outfit. The colorful floral print tights and an oversized white T-shirt are tame for her. Which means one of two things.

  “Are you hungover from drinking or your new husband?” I ask as I sit next to her.

  She snickers. “A bit of both?”

  I laugh. “Still waters certainly run deep. He seems so reserved most of the time.”

  “I know. Don’t believe the face he presents to the world. I’m still working on loosening him up some more.”

  The sweet smile that appears on her lips is adorable, and the inner light making her skin look downright luminous is undeniable. She’s truly happy. Her business is booming, and she’s found the love of her life. After the struggle she had to the top, I’m overjoyed for her. Owning your own business is tough, but when you have a Y chromosome, it’s even tougher. You have to demand respect, guard your dreams, and let the wagging tongues go in one ear and out the other. At least here in the Midwest where people were still stuck in an era long gone by. Conservative and traditional, the older generation were having a hard time grasping how much things had changed.

  In the past ten years, the entire face of downtown had been drastically altered. New, hip businesses line the clean and well-maintained streets, and new and interesting places are popping up left and right. Cincinnati had crept up into the top ten affordable places to live like a thief in the night. Never in a million years could anyone have predicted the growth and development waiting around the corner.

  “If anyone can do it, it’s you, O.”

  She smiles. “I think so, too.”

  I lean forward in the bright orange plastic chair that looks like it came from the seventies with its thin silver legs and curved shape. The décor is a mixture of modern and vintage. The white brick accent walls and the black and white photo collaged back wall mesh well with the bright pops of color from the red vinyl booths and brightly colored plastic chairs paired with silver tables. I toy with the empty wooden beer carriers that house the condiments.

  “This place is amazing,” I remark.

  “I know. I wish we’d had spots like these when we were in our twenties.”

  “Man, we weren’t down here then,” I say.

  “Not at night at least. Nothing good was happening downtown after the sunset back then.”

  “Right? Now the rent is sky high. Funny how things change.” I can’t help but think about the different paths we’re taking.

  “Speaking of change, what happened with the cutie from the bar?”

  “It’s been less than twenty-four hours. I haven’t talked to him.”

  “Yet. I saw his face … trust me. He’s going to call you,” Olive states.

  “Maybe.”

  “What are we talking about?” Petunia asks, appearing to my right.

  My eyebrows shoot up as I take in her appearance.

  “I’m pretty sure we should be the hungover one,” I say as she takes a seat beside O. Her hair has been slicked back into a low hanging ponytail, and her skin looks washed out.

  “About that.”

  “Oh my God—”

  “You’re pregnant,” I whisper, finishing Olive’s sentence.

  She chuckles. “Yeah, I am.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us last night?” Olive squeaks.

  “I wasn’t one-hundred percent. We took the test first thing this morning.”

  “Congratulations, Mommy,” I say, awed. Finally, someone in my close circle was entering parenthood. Holy crap.

  “Thank you. We’re super excited.”

  “What are you doing here? You should be celebrating with him,” Olive says.

  “No, I wanted to have this last weekend with you guys. Soon, I’ll be more than just Petunia or even Petunia, Mason’s wife. I’m going to be Petunia the baby vessel. I’ve seen it happen enough to know how it’ll go. This allows me to have those last fleeting moment of selfishness.”

  “Aww, hon. You know we’ll love baby bit, but you’re always going to be our main concern,” I say.

  She gives a shaky smile. “You don’t know how relieved I am to hear that. Our families are going to be so suffocating.”

  “Are you going to tell them now?” Olive asks.

  “Not for a while.”

  “I don’t blame you,” I reply, thinking of how excited her parents will be to have their first grandchild, and her in-laws will be to see Mason finally settling down.

  “Yeah, I think the morning sickness is hitting. So we’ll see how long I can keep this to myself.”

  “Well, our lips are sealed,” I say.

  Olive zips her lips shut, and I laugh.

  Petunia giggles and the moment passes.

  “Enough of the sappiness. What conversation was I walking in on earlier?”

  “Nothing,” I say.

  “Ha. I was talking about her new boo, Drew.”

  “Ahhh Mr. sexy with manners. Did he call already?” Petunia asks.

  “No.”

  Petunia shrugs. “A couple more days then.”

  I roll my eyes. “Can we order? I’m starving.”

  They exchange a look, but let the topic drop as we pour over the menu. I love the themed plates. From Sloppy Seconds to Struggling to Get Up, the tongue-in-cheek styled mea
ls are all delicious and affordable. I blow my healthy eating habits out the window with Frog Eyes, two homemade biscuits topped with sausage gravy and two eggs. At least I’m hydrating. I drain another glass of water and smile at the cute brunette hipster with black-rimmed square glasses and dark brown hair that falls across his forehead and over one of his dark brown eyes.

  We owe him a nice tip. He’s been keeping the entire table happy. I can’t help but feel like this is the end of an era. This time next week, Olive will be in Europe with her husband, and Petunia will be settling into her recently acquired role of mommy-to-be. I take in all the details, committing the moment to memory.

  ***

  The sound of the phone ringing makes me groan. Odd Thomas was just about to stumble into a new set of issues. I’d been trying to finish the series for months, but between my social life and my work schedule, it was slow going. I placed my magnetic bookmark to save my space and glance down at the screen. It’s Drew!

  I’m shocked. It’s only been two days. A day and a half if you want to get technical. The men I know never call before at least three. Intrigued, I answer the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “You sound surprised to hear from me,” he says. I can hear the amusement in his voice, and my mind instantly brings up an image of his dimpled smile.

  “I am. I thought three days was the rule,” I reply, probing him for more information. Is this an act or is he just different?

  “Maybe, but figured there was no point in pretending I wasn’t interested when I am.”

  I can’t stop the smile that curves my lips upward. I appreciate his straightforward approach. We’re too old to play games “I like your honesty.”

  “It’s all I deal in. You were on my mind, so I thought I’d give you a call.”