by CL Walters
I study my feet. “I don’t mean it like that. Like I get what you’re saying, and you decided you wanted to keep the baby. That means I should get a say now, right?” I look up at her.
She finally meets my gaze and holds it. I’m not sure what I expect to see on her features, but it isn’t the mixture of fear and insecurity. Bella hasn’t ever seemed that kind of girl to me. Walking the halls of high school with her bevy of friends trailing her, I just always saw her as larger than life. Confident. Beautiful. Now, she looks as insecure as I feel, muted.
“I–” She stops, and her light eyebrows move about on her face as she processes what I’ve said. “To be honest, Griff, I didn’t think you’d have an opinion. I thought by giving you an out, you’d just be relieved.”
“How come?” I ask it, but I’m not sure I want to know.
She turns away and resumes walking.
I follow, but I’m content to remain behind her.
She stops, turns, and waits for me to catch up. “I thought that’s what you’d want because of how you were in high school. You seemed like you didn’t care about anything or anyone. Like you just wanted to party. Sleep around.” She pauses and adds, “I thought you wouldn’t want the responsibility.”
It sucks to hear it, but it isn’t knowledge about myself I haven’t already faced in the last few months. That is the black hole I created. Even with all its gravity, however, I’m thinking I’ve got a means to escape even if it tears me apart. Maybe that’s exactly what has to happen when you’ve made a black hole.
We keep walking in the same direction.
“What do you want?” she asks when I don’t respond to her observation.
“I want to be a dad. A good one.” I notice she turns her head to look at me, and I meet her gaze. She’s surprised. “I need to be better than my own dad,” I say. “I don’t want to be hands off in my own kid’s life; I want to share the responsibility.”
We continue in silence.
It’s her turn to stop. She turns and looks behind her, then she looks forward, and then she looks straight at me. “I don’t think there’s an us, though.”
While it sucks not to be wanted, this observation doesn’t hurt as much as I think it might have at one time. I can honestly assess the hurt she heaped on me, and I can honestly assess the hurt I heaped on others. My worship of the idea of Bella paired with my own damage isn’t what we should be bringing a kid into anyway. “I don’t think we’d work,” I tell her.
This admission isn’t what she’s expecting because her eyebrows draw together. “Why?”
“Do you really want to get into that? I’m agreeing with you.”
“Kind of.”
“Were you thinking you wanted to try and have a relationship? Because I’m not sure you and I have ever had a relationship beyond alcohol and chemistry. Whatever got us to this spot wasn’t because there was some great love story between us. We had sex, accidentally got pregnant, and now we’re here.”
She sighs and nods. “You’re right. It’s why I said we shouldn’t be an us.” She must recall what she’d said at the Quarry because she adds, “Not because of you, though, Griff. I didn’t mean it like that.”
I shrug. “Okay.”
“I might understand that here,” she points at her head and then replaces her hand in her pocket. “But I’m afraid to do this alone.” She’s tucked her chin into the collar of her jacket, her eyes downcast.
I swallow and then test out the words in my head. Then I admit them. “I’m afraid too.”
Her eyes rise to meet mine. She lifts her chin. “I guess we can be afraid together then.”
I offer her a small smile. “Yeah.”
We turn around to walk back the way we came. The silence between us is strange as we crunch over the broken-down sidewalk and refrozen slush of dirty snow, but the hushed sounds aren’t unwelcome over meaningless chatter. I’m thinking about how much better I feel having shared with her how I feel about this baby. Our baby. It’s almost a feeling of elation even if it’s weighted with angst.
“The ultrasound is next month,” Bella says. “Would you like to come?”
I look up from the sidewalk at her. “Really?” I can hear the hope in my own voice. I feel like maybe I should be embarrassed by it, but I’m not. The hope is authentic. She smiles. A few months ago, it would have made me feel defensive because I might have assumed she was mocking my vulnerability. Now, however, I see the truth of her smile. The shine in her eyes communicates she appreciates my honesty.
We’ve reached my car.
“Yes. I’ll text you the details,” Bella says as she turns up the walkway back to the house.
“Okay,” I tell her and pull my phone from my pocket to make sure I have it as if she’s about to text me right then. My gaze catches on the cracks that run across the screen. I need to replace this. That’s something a good dad would do, I think. He’d make sure everything was working.
I look up at Bella’s house as she walks up the walk and see the work again through a different lens. My child will live here. There are things that need to be fixed. That is something I can do, I think.
Because of Cal.
My heart slams up into my ribs.
I need to talk to him.
Bella waves and disappears into the house as I get into my car.
I know I need to face Cal, but I avoid it a little longer by making one more stop. Inside one of those phone-fix-it places, I get the screen on the phone replaced. When I walk out of the store, the screen of my phone smooth and new, it’s almost like I’m new, too.
I text Max after: I fixed my phone’s screen. No more cracks.
No response.
Me to Max: I should have started with I’m sorry.
No response.
Me to Max: I miss you.
No response.
I take a deep breath, start the car, and drive to the one place where I feel like the real Griffin was excavated.
4
Cal’s rusty truck is parked outside the workshop. I knock on the front door of the farmhouse first, thinking he may be working inside. My knock goes unanswered. I turn away from the doorway and walk to the top stair of the porch, noticing there’s smoke puffing from the little stovepipe chimney in the outbuilding where Cal stores his tools and supplies.
I walk across the driveway to the shop door, take a deep breath before knocking.
His footsteps thump against the wooden floor, and the door opens. He looks as he always does, calm, cool, and exactly who I want to be. “Griffin.” He turns, leaving the door open. “Long time no see,” he observes aloud as he disappears into the belly of the building.
I follow.
“Shut that door so the heat doesn’t escape. Now, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?” He’s standing at the workbench moving things about, stops and puts a hand in his back pocket as if to assess what he was doing, then moves again, lifts a giant toolbox, and sets it on the counter with a thud.
“An apology,” I say. The admission sounds muted in the space, as if the acoustics have pressed in on it and held it out like a piece of artwork hanging for study.
He stops, turns, and leans against the counter’s edge. He’s got a cloth in one hand now and a giant metal tool he’s rubbing with the cloth in the other. “About?”
I have the fleeting thought he could beat me up with that tool, kill me even, and I might even deserve it for what happened with Max and him. “Lots of things.”
He cleans the tool and waits.
“For not calling. I was going through something, but I should have called you.”
He continues cleaning, his eyes drifting up from his concentration on the cleaning to meet my gaze.
“And Max.” I can’t hang onto his scrutiny, so my eyes and my heart, trip about trying to find some place to land. “I’m sorry.”
He clears his throat, then I hear him move.
When I look up, he’s got his back to me again, and the now
clean tool drops with a clank into its spot in the metal box.
I take a shallow breath.
“Technically, Griffin, I’m your boss. One has nothing to do with the other.” I focus on the details. Those are distant from the content of this talk. His head is bowed as he looks at whatever has his attention. His red shirt stretches across his back, and I notice the way the fabric moves as he does. His hair, that dark brown color—darker than Max’s—is a little long and curls against his neck.
He continues. “What happens between you and your girlfriend isn’t my business unless it impacts your work. So, let’s talk about the work. I should fire you,” he finishes as another tool clanks into the box.
“Yes sir, and with all due respect, the second point—Max—who really should be the first, not the second—is connected to my not calling you.”
He turns to look at me again. Leans again. Crosses his arms instead of cleaning this time, maybe to offer me his undivided attention.
“And you’re right. You should fire me. And I will accept that consequence if that’s what you want, sir.”
I stop. Unable to stand still under his examination, measuring my character, which I know is shit, I shift my weight back and forth from one foot to another. I cross and uncross my arms. I shove my hands into my pockets.
“I’m listening,” he finally says.
“I hurt Max, not because I wanted to or anything,” I add as if it will lessen the blow of what’s about to drop from my mouth. “I hurt her because I didn’t trust her to decide for herself what to do with some news I’d learned. It seemed too big to overcome. So, I pushed her away, thinking that was the right way to face it.”
“You’re talking in abstracts, Griffin.”
He’s right. I’m trying to talk around it. I take a deep breath, and then rush through it. “I found out that a girl I was seeing before Max is pregnant.” I hang my head, ashamed.
Cal sighs.
I look up expecting to see anger, but he’s setting the cloth on the workbench.
“Come on up to the house. Let’s get a cup of coffee.” He leads me from the workshop into the warm kitchen of the farmhouse. “Sit.” I follow his instructions and sit at the island to watch him prepare a fresh pot. “So, tell me.”
“Everything?”
He glances at me. “Within reason, son. I’d rather not have the details.”
I smile despite myself. He sounds like Max. “I was drunk on my birthday—back in September. Hooked up with this girl who said she was on the pill. Didn’t follow my own rule to use a condom and now am going to be a dad.”
He closes the cap on the pot after filling the reservoir with water. “Well, I can see how that might have impacted your ability to think clearly.”
“I wasn’t sure how to break the news to Max. I knew I had to be honest, but–” I pause. I hadn’t been. I mean, she found out, and I told her, but I’d been a coward and martyr about it. “I pushed her away.”
He snaps the filter into place and pushes the start button on the coffee pot. It bubbles to life as Cal turns at the counter. He leans against it, hands folded over his chest, and crosses his legs at the ankle. “As I see it, I’ve got two responses.” He holds up two fingers. “One as your boss, and one as Max’s dad.” He switches to holding up just his index finger. “First, as your boss, I can see how the stress might have impacted your ability to communicate openly and honestly with me, because you linked boss and dad together. That’s reasonable and understandable. And because I think everyone deserves the opportunity for a second chance in the face of mistakes, I’d like you to return to work, since we have a house to finish.”
I nod. I’m relieved, but I don’t have time to process it, because he adds the second finger.
“As Max’s dad, I don’t have a right to make a decision for her now that she’s an adult. All I’ve got is opinions, as she so frequently reminds me. If you want my opinion, I’m willing to share it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir, what?”
“I’d like your opinion.”
The coffee pot gurgles behind him, and the scent of fresh coffee is comforting. He moves to a stool at the island perpendicular to me, sits, and then folds his hands on the counter in front of him.
“Here it is then,” he begins. He takes a deep breath. “Shit happens.”
I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t.
The coffee pot beeps, telling us the cycle is finished. Cal gets up and removes two cups from the hooks inside the cupboard and pours some for each of us then carries the mugs over. He sets one down in front of me and retakes his seat.
I look at it, a red mug with white writing: Failin’ means yer playin! I rub my thumb across the writing. “That’s it?” I ask.
“Pretty much.” He sips from his cup and sets it down. “It’s the easiest way to recognize that we can’t control life. We can try, but ultimately, it happens despite our best efforts and never adheres to our best intentions. It often hijacks our plans, and we must figure out how to respond. We don’t always make the best choices. I haven’t. And yet, I have Max.”
“Max is awesome,” I say.
“Not because of me. Okay, I might have had a little influence, but Max is great because she’s just that kind of person.” He spins his green cup, so the handle is where he wants it. “Truth is, Griffin, life throws shit at us. We all have to dodge and weave, pivot, move forward through it. You’ll mostly get hit, but sometimes you’ll get lucky and dodge the big ones. Lots of times you won’t. Making those mistakes is all part of the journey, and our life is defined by how we respond to them. Those are the choices we have.”
“Max deserves someone better than me,” I say.
“Who are you to decide that for someone?” he asks.
I shrug. “That’s why she’s mad.”
He nods. “Yeah. That’s a bullshit excuse to keep people at arm’s length. It’s weak.”
My throat closes around that word. Weak. Everything I’ve tried to hide in the bluster of Griff. In the Bro Code. In the drinking. In the sex. The fear of people seeing me as weak. I glance up from the cup to look at him, hating that he’s called me out on it.
Cal’s staring at me with an intense look on his face.
“But she doesn’t deserve to be with a guy who has a kid. She–”
“Again. Who are you to decide that for anyone? Who made you the decider?”
And he’s right, again. Max is right. Tanner is right. Phoenix is right. Danny is right. I’ve decided for everyone, and I wonder if it has been less about them and more about me. That self-protection rather than the claim I was trying to save others. I wanted a choice about the baby with Bella, but I haven’t been extending choices to others. I didn’t offer that choice to Max. “I see.”
He nods.
“Shit happens.”
Cal smiles. “Now, what are you going to do about it?”
“Come back to work.”
He makes a humming noise of agreement and takes a sip of coffee. “And?”
“Apologize to Max.”
He smiles. “Probably a great place to begin.” He slaps my back.
“Thanks, Cal.”
He smiles and nods.
Cal’s kindness, generosity, and wisdom are enough to give me hope that perhaps no matter the outcome of others’ choices—including Max’s—and the shit life throws at me, I will still be okay.
5
I text Max:
I talked to two people I need to talk to, and it wasn’t easy.
The first one was Bella.
I told her I wanted to be involved in my kid’s life.
Like co-parents or whatever they call it. I told her I didn’t want to be like my dad and not be involved. She’s agreed and invited me to the ultrasound next month.
This DOESN’T mean there’s a Bella and me, like a couple.
Nope.
We both agreed on that.
The second person—and the more ter
rifying of the two—was Cal.
I haven’t gone to work, and I knew I needed to face him about stuff.
I told him about the baby. He was really helpful.
And he called me out on some of my shit, which is definitely something I needed. He always knows exactly what to say.
I still have one more person I need to talk to: you. Max.
I need to talk to you.
No response.
* * *
1
I’m in my room after spending the day at Bella’s working on some fix-it projects inside her house when I hear voices in the living room. Phoenix. And… Tanner? When I emerge from the hallway, Tanner is in the living room, inside the door with my brother. He turns his head toward me, acknowledges me with a head nod, and a subtle shift of his eyebrows.
“Are you enjoying it?” Tanner asks Phoenix with a smile. “Dad’s a task master.”
“He’s cool.” Phoenix’s arms are crossed over his chest. “He took a chance on me.”
Tanner says something about a recent project that Phoenix responds to, and I lose sense of the conversation, observing my real brother interact with my chosen brother. Tanner and Phoenix have never really known one another, and Tanner took Phoenix’s place. They’re so different. Tanner is taller, darker. Phoenix is a shorter version of me. He’s rugged in a way that I am not, tattooed, and harder. He makes me think of the outlaws from those Westerns we used to watch, only now he’s trying to go straight. Tanner is still, and will always be, the favorite sheriff.
They’re both looking at me, expectant for a response.
I shake my head. “Sorry. Zoned out. I was bored.”
They both swear with smiles, and Phoenix sideswipes me with an arm around my neck, as I walk deeper into the living room. We engage in a short wrestling match, just enough for Phoenix to emerge as the older-brother victor, then he leaves us for the kitchen where he’s working on some new concoction, since he’s taken up experimenting in the kitchen. He’s been talking about going to culinary school.