by Lila Felix
“We’ll see, ok?”
The doorbell rang, saving me from the ‘wabbit’ discussion once again. Owen and Nellie walked in, finished with their Friday night date.
“Where’s Cyrus,” Nellie asked Scout.
“That kid is narcoteptic.”
“What?” We all chimed in at once.
“Narcoteptic.” She repeated, confident in her new vocabulary word, no matter how incorrect it was.
“What do you think that means,” I dried my hands on a towel and crouched to her level, attempting to get her to explain.
“He sleeps a lot, just passes out while we’re playing.”
I wonder what regular three year olds are doing right now?
“Narcoleptic, Scout.”
“Oh, that.”
Nellie crouched down to get to her level, trying desperately not to laugh. “Do you want to spend the night with us, Scout? We can watch Monster High movies. I bought you the one about the roller derby monsters,” she ticked Scout’s sides as she said monsters.
“I just want to stay home.” She answered and then left the room, probably to rouse Cyrus from his narco state.
“I tried,” Nellie said, giving me an apologetic glance and shrugged.
“It’s fine. Aunt Sylvia is picking her up tomorrow morning for shopping or something and we’re going to pick her out a new bed.
“Ok, we’ll get going.”
Cyrus zombie walked into the room pushed from behind by an annoyed Scout. Owen picked him up and they filed out for the night. Scout and I watched Brave for the umpteenth time; she took a bath and then was sung to sleep by Bon Iver. I snuck into my room to call my other girl; I’d grown tired of the texting.
The phone rang endlessly and then finally went to voicemail. I groaned into the pillow next to me and then my phone rang a few minutes later.
“Hello?”
“Hey! I’m sorry, I was in the shower. Is Scout spending the night somewhere?”
I grinned, loving how concerned she was about Scout’s well being, “No, she’s asleep. There’s just so much texting I can take. I needed to hear you.”
“I’m glad you did. I miss the hell out of you. Are we still on for tomorrow?”
I shifted to sit up in the bed, “Absolutely. Although, I don’t know how much fun it will be.”
I heard some fumbling on the other line, “What in the world are you doing?”
“I just got out of the shower; I’m putting a t-shirt on.”
I fell silent and dropped my voice an octave, hoping I still retained some of my devilish charms, “And what were you wearing before?”
She cleared her throat, “A towel. I’m changing the subject now Nixon, what are you watching on TV?”
“Um, some mountain people hunting.”
Silence ensued again for a few seconds and I just couldn’t help myself, “What kind of t-shirt?”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“It’s yours from when you made it to State Cross Country something or other. It’s a gray shirt with black writing. It says Black on the back.”
I heard her wrong. That had to be it. There’s no possible way. There’s no way she had one of my shirts from high school. There was just no damned way.
“You’re shittin’ me.” Not the most gentlemanly reply, but it was what it was.
“No, I am not. I have a whole collection of Nixon shirts and boxers, though most of them are nearly shreds now. It—uh—it kept a piece of you close to me.”
I exhaled. Didn’t she know how much it meant to me that a piece of me had been with her all this time? Some random piece of clothing that had once touched my body was now touching hers.
“If I could, I would be in my truck on my way to see you.”
She chuckled, “For wearing your shirt? I didn’t know how well that would work. I should’ve saved that trick for desperate times.”
“I’m thinking about moving back into the house.” It popped out of my mouth before I could stop it. Craving her that badly had me thinking all sorts of things, including moving to a place where we could be together.
“One day you’re gonna have to tell me about your Mom. My mom didn’t tell me about it until after the funeral—I’m so sorry. You must’ve thought I was horrible for not showing up. If I’d known; I would’ve been there.” What I would’ve given to have her there with me during the most hellacious period of my life.
“One day I will. What are we doing tomorrow night?”
I heard more shuffling, “How do you feel about art?”
“Art is good. Is there a showing or something?”
“Yeah, Silver is having a show. She creates some weird stuff but I want to go support her. What do you think?”
“That’s fine with me. What do you mean by weird?”
She let out a muffled giggle, “You’ll see.”
~~~
Just once on a Saturday morning, I would’ve liked to be woken up by the sunlight or even an alarm but instead there was a toddler using my bed as a trampoline all but demanding biscuits and sausage—loudly.
“Daddy! Hurry up! I have shopping to do.”
I pulled my hand down my face, trying to scrub away the lethargy, “Ok, I’m up.”
I looked at her and then had to pull my lips between my teeth in order to cease the words from exiting. The kid was hilarious. She was wearing a shirt that read Roller Derby Baby. She’d coupled it with some green tutu looking thing and polka dot rubber boots. I couldn’t have gotten a tomboy, nope, that would’ve been too easy.
I dragged myself from the comfort of my bed and threw on a t-shirt while Scout babbled about shopping with Aunt Sylvia and about how Cyrus was so silly because he didn’t know every single detail about bugs.
I slumped into the kitchen and had just begun the coffee maker when the doorbell rang, followed by a knock that could trump any policeman. I opened it quickly and was met with a man in a black three piece suit with dark sunglasses. He looked like Mr. Clean, headed to Hitman training.
“Nixon Montgomery Black,” he asked and stated at the same time, reading my name from a clipboard.
“Yes?”
He reached inside his raven suit and then pulled out a large manila envelope and handed it to me. Then he stuck the clipboard in my face, pen dangling from a chain and my name was there, and the page demanded a signature. I scratched out my name. He nodded once and said firmly, “You’ve been served.”
I laughed at his statement, were we in some kind of pop-locking contest? You’ve been served, what an ass.
I threw the envelope on the counter and made Scout’s breakfast and then I carried her to the bathroom and tried to do something with her mess of curls. I’d forgotten to put whatever stuff I was supposed to in her hair after her bath and now it resembled little orphan Annie on steroids.
“Pigtails!” Scout squealed. Pigtails were the worst in terms of Daddy hair duty difficulty, but they looked so damned cute, so I obliged.
She got on the couch with the remains of her strawberry milk and resumed her recorded episode of Sam and Cat. I went into the kitchen and filled up on coffee. The envelope on the counter beckoned my attention again, so I gave it what it wanted. I tore the edge off and pulled out a stack of what had to be twenty pages of legal sized papers.
I began to read the words on the pages and with every syllable, a panic vined through the threads of my body, taking all comfort and safety with it. I’d been scared many times in my life. When my parents used to fight, when my mother tried to kill herself, when my mother did kill herself, and when Brandy knocked on my door years ago.
But the words in front of me carried with them a terror like I’ve never known.
I tried to make sense of the jargon, reading it over and over to make sure it meant what I thought it meant. I kept coming back to the same conclusion.
Brandy was suing me for custody of Scout.
She wanted to take my baby girl.
The next
twenty minutes were spent in a time warp. Aunt Sylvia arrived to pick up Scout. She asked why I was so pale and my brain made up an excuse that my heart just couldn’t conjure. I said goodbye to Scout and hugged her so tight she complained.
“Daddy, you’re squeezing my guts out.”
I put in a phone call to my father but it went straight to his voicemail. He would know what to do. Until then, I now had a solid reason for moving back into my childhood home—maybe more stability would help my case.
I picked up Journey after getting dressed and after numerous stores, we picked out not only a bed but an entire bedroom set for Scout. I arranged for it to be delivered to the house the next Friday afternoon. My mind ran frantic scenarios through my head for most of the day. Journey must’ve asked me a dozen times why I was acting weird but I just couldn’t tell her yet.
I was afraid she’d run—again. I would run if I was her. Custody battles at any age were enough to make anyone run. Hell, I wanted to turn the truck around, find Scout and high tail it for any foreign country that didn’t have extradition laws.
The thought of both of my girls leaving consumed me until I had to pull over on the side of the road halfway to the place where we were supposed to have lunch. Almost non-existent stomach contents rose up until I was doubled over, spilling them onto the roadside. Journey got out of the truck with a bottle of water and eventually I was able to stop the lurching and get back into the cab.
“I knew you were acting funny. You only puke when you’re nervous. Spill it—I mean, you already spilled it. You know what I mean.”
She knew me so well and didn’t at the same time. That is what I was so completely shaken about. Brandy had concrete evidence of what a douche I’d once been. The drinking, the drugging—all strikes against me. And I had to admit that there was always a small part of me that whispered, ‘the girl needs a mother’.
“I was served with custody papers this morning. Brandy,” the words choked me, “Brandy wants to take Scout away from me.”
She was across the bench seat before I knew it. The irony of the situation was not lost on me as I’d consoled her in life so many times and now she was holding onto me. And I needed it—needed her consolation more than anything. I wrapped my arms around her waist and barely registered the phrases she used to try to comfort and reassure. They were lost, buried in the grief wrapped thoughts of losing the most precious thing in my life.
“There’s no way, Nix. There’s just no way. You’re the best father I’ve ever seen and Scout’s so happy. She can’t do this. It’s been four years; she’s never even laid eyes on Scout. Your Dad, did you call your Dad?”
“Yeah, he didn’t answer. I’m sure it will be fine. She doesn’t have a leg to stand on.” I didn’t believe a word of it. She had two sturdy, meant for motherhood, just what Scout needed legs, I knew it and she did too.
“What can I do, Nixon? What can I do to help you? Let’s just skip lunch and go back to my place.”
I turned on the next street without a word, towards her apartment complex. I could hardly think straight enough to drive us there. I parked in front and we went inside. She put on some coffee and for hours we sat. Every once in a while we’d spout out some fact or some reason that manifested in our heads, backing our hope that Scout wasn’t in danger of being taken from me.
Aunt Sylvia called in the afternoon and ran through her shopping trip with Scout. She’d dropped some serious cash on the tike and they loved every minute of it.
“What time is the art show? I need to go get ready.”
She turned to me and started her revolt, “No, Nixon, we are not going anywhere worried like this.”
“I need to get away from it. Let’s go and try to have a good time. I want to see what kind of weird art your friend makes, anyway.”
“Ok, ok, if you think that will help, then we have about two hours until it starts. You need to eat something. I know you haven’t eaten all day.”
“Why don’t you get ready and then we can go to my place and I can get dressed and then we’ll go,” eating was the very last thing on my mind.
She got up and left the room and I was left with my thoughts. My phone rang and the relief I felt at seeing my Dad’s name on the screen was incomparable.
We talked for thirty minutes and the conversation ended with him reassuring me that Scout was not going anywhere and that he was dropping everything else on his plate so that he and his partners could tear her custody demands to shreds.
My father had always taken this aloof attitude towards Scout. He didn’t spend time with her. He barely held her as a baby. He certainly hadn’t played out the typical grandfather commercials where the man brings his granddaughter fishing or hiking. It was the same stand-offish relationship I’d had with him growing up. But when you needed him, he was there.
And for that, I was thankful.
Chapter 17
Journey
I’d give up anything for him.
He was more worried than he was letting on. He and I both cut the silence with reassurances, empty but heartfelt.
I got dressed in a hurry and at one point heard him on the phone in the next room. By the end of the conversation, I knew it was his Dad and I hoped he’d provided Nixon some solace. I also began to worry about my part in the situation. I wondered if Nixon and I dating would be detrimental to his role as a father.
If it came between me and Scout, I’d bow out without a second thought.
I slipped the post of my diamond earrings through the holes and a thought occurred to me. This wouldn’t be so easy if Nixon was married. What if I proposed—well, a proposal? Yes, we’d only been dating a few weeks but I’d known him my whole life. He’d think I was only doing it for Scout.
I entered the living room and cleared my throat, snapping him out of his thoughts.
“You look beautiful, Journey. But you always do.”
“Thank you. Let’s go—if you still want to.”
“Yeah, my dad called. He kinda reassured me. I think we’re gonna be ok.” He faked a smile my way.
“If you say so, I’m ready.”
The thing about Nixon was, if he wasn’t joking around or being perverted, you knew something was wrong with him. Some people used comedy as camouflage, to deflect from their own pain. Nixon was just funny, sarcastic and anytime he could get in an innuendo, he would. So the absence of it clued me in immediately.
We arrived at the Coward’s Apricot only a few minutes before the opening. I could see Silver, soaking in all the praise already, before her work was even revealed.
“So, are you gonna tell me now?” He bent down and whispered in my ear.
“No, this is definitely something you have to see to believe. Don’t judge, ok? She’s really into this stuff.”
He put his palms out and began to back away before I grabbed his hands and pulled him back beside me. I wanted to feel the tension in his hand when he saw what she meant by art.
We began to walk through the exhibit once the ropes had been removed.
“Um,” I loved that he couldn’t find the words, “This is like—what the hell is this?”
“Erotic sculptures made from soda cans?”
He choked a little at my description, “Yeah—that.”
“I tried to warn you,” I sang at him.
“You said it was weird, not pornographic. Good grief Journey, that Coke man is touching that Sprite girl’s...”
“Wow, you’re such a prude. You’ve got a kid and have been with tons of women and yet—such a prude.”
“I am not a prude. I’m just not a—ok, that one takes it a little too far.” He nodded towards one particular piece which made the word tangled come to mind.
“Well, Silver loves it and makes a killing off of them.”
We browsed around the rest of the exhibit and I loved to see Nixon squirm. Silver joined us and if I thought Nixon was uncomfortable before, I knew he was now. Silver told us the back story of every piece and
he would just nod.
Before long we said our goodbyes to my friend and got back into his truck. But as soon as we did, he was back to stressed out. He drove me back to my apartment and walked me to my door. He wasn’t really with me, he was somewhere else altogether.
“Goodnight, Nixon. Call me if you need me. I’m here anytime. Don’t worry about the time, ok?”
“I wanna tell her,” he looked to me for approval.
“Tell who what?”
“I want to tell Scout about me and you. I know we said we’d wait, but I’m torn in two all the time. When I’m with you, I’m worried about her and whether she’s safe in bed or having fun. And when I’m at home, I think about you being with us and…”
He stepped closer to me, the tip of his nose barely grazing my own, “I think about how much better I would feel if you were safe—in my bed. But I won’t do that to Scout. It wouldn’t be right if we’re not married.”
I heard his words but more than that, I felt them spoken in tufts of warm breath hinted by the smell of cinnamon, from the gum that was once in his mouth.
And I would, if he asked me right this minute, on the stoop of my apartment—I wouldn’t hesitate.
“Are you sure you want to tell her? We’ve only been together a few weeks.”
I was giving him a chance to back out, I still felt unworthy of his time after all I’d put him through.
Hands, gruff yet gentle, reached my hips and tugged them towards his own, “I’ve been with you, here,” he brought my hand over his heart, “all my life. Are you backin’ out darlin’?”
“I thought we’d covered this Nix, I’m with you and Scout, for as long as you’ll have me.”
“Scout’s gone for the night. I can call and make sure she’s asleep. Let me stay. I’m not ready to let go of you tonight.”
“She’s spending the night away from home? I would think you’d want her with you after—after the scare today.”
“I don’t want to alert her that anything is wrong. She’s spent Saturday nights with Storey since she started to walk. She’d know something was up. I can go if you don’t want me to stay.”