by Kris Ripper
“Really?” Singer looked at Lisa, wondering if she saw that. He’d never thought of Mother as anxious. He thought of her as well-mannered to the point that her entire personality sometimes felt like stitched-together one-liners interspersed with the branch of passive aggression that sounded like humor and felt like thorns.
Lisa looked a little surprised, too. “I kind of thought that was my role.”
“Important difference, chickadee. Your kind of anxiety pulls you in on yourself. Your mom’s is the kind that stains everything she touches.”
Emery shifted in his seat. “Alice, come on. She’s their mom.”
“I’m just offering an opinion. Miles, you know what they say about opinions, right?”
Miles brought both fists down again, and lentils jumped from the plate. He laughed.
“Should we be doing colors with him yet?” Jake asked. “Or, like, temperature? I guess I feel like we should be doing educational junk with him.”
Yet. The word triggered the little ache in Singer’s gut that never went away these days. He was forever tripping over words. And it wasn’t always the same word. It clearly grated on Jake, how he refused to speak of the future, but trying to live in the present already felt like too much. How could he add the future to that, too?
“If Mom thought you should be doing any of that, his whole bedroom would be full of toys marketed for learning.” Carey shook his head. “I’d enjoy hanging out with him and playing. Mom will have her day. Just wait.”
Frankie looked up from whatever she’d been doing on her phone to add, “Yeah, Cathy isn’t gonna be the uninvolved grandma, for sure. You’ll only wish she was.”
Except Singer was providing his family with one uninvolved grandma already. Even now she was probably looking out the window at them, wondering how everything had gone so wrong. Lisa, not wearing makeup; Singer, gay; and his boyfriend’s extended family, with Alice (not skinny), and Emery (who had to have Italian blood or something; that black hair/blue eyed combination screamed “ethnic European”), and the little black baby they were trying to adopt.
Had Mother pictured this table surrounded by his blond wife and blond children, and Lisa’s blond husband and blond children? Singer thought she probably had, maybe without knowing it. If Miles stayed with them, if they raised him, who would he bring home someday? What surprises would he have in store for his parents, the way his parents had surprised theirs?
If they raised him. Chills stole over his shoulders, down his back. The fantasy, the vision, was potent. He knew exactly why Jake allowed himself to believe. They’d been talking about having a family for years, and now it was so damn close, but Singer still couldn’t quite touch it without the fear it would be yanked away.
“So, Frank,” Carey said. Meaningfully.
Singer refocused on his guests. Derrie drama was always good for a distraction.
Frankie continued texting. “Shut your face.”
“So.”
“Seriously, boss man. I will get the kid to kick your ass.”
“He can’t even crawl.”
“I’m a patient woman. I’ll wait.”
Carey eyed her for a long moment before shrugging. He looked at Jake first, then Singer, a silent enquiry.
Singer shook his head. Jake looked away.
“Huh,” Carey said.
Jake knew who Frankie was obsessively texting? Curve ball.
Singer exchanged another look with Carey, both of them silently promising to dig for intel later.
“I will fucking kill you all,” Frankie mumbled without looking up.
Carey started to reply, but the door opened to the house and he stopped.
“Lisa? May I see you for a minute?”
The table froze. All except for Miles, who was now eating the lentils he’d been playing with, scooping them into his mouth and making delighted “ba da pah” sounds when they dropped away.
“Sure, Mother.” For a second Lisa didn’t move, and Singer held his breath.
“Want me to do something really fucked up and draw her attention?” Frankie asked, voice too low for Mother to hear.
“No. But, uh, thanks for the offer.”
“Anytime.”
Lisa got up and went in, and the sound of the slider shutting was more final than it should have been, as if she were cut off and alone, as sure as she had been with her cult.
“You think she’s ever going to eat with us again?” Jake asked.
“And why is your mom so threatened by the idea of Lisa having friends?” Carey made a gesture that Singer assumed referred to the past. “She always had friends in high school.”
Alice snorted. “Let me guess: skinny blonde girls with one black girl and one brunette, right?”
“Actually, one Asian girl and one brunette,” Singer said. “Though I’m not sure any of those people liked Lisa, so much as what she projected.”
“Which, to be fair, was a total bitch skank from hell. Ow!” Frankie looked up from her phone long enough to dodge another elbow from Jake. “Dude, you know I speak the truth. Lisa was a bitch.”
“Yeah, it’s weird she doesn’t hang out with us much, Frank, you asshole.”
“Like you can blame me for that—”
Before the whole thing could deteriorate into yet another episode of Derries Do Drama, Singer cleared his throat. When that didn’t work, Alice said, “You guys, shut the fuck up.”
Magic.
He looked back at the kitchen windows, but he couldn’t see anything. “I don’t think Lisa wants to go back to being that person any more than you want to go back to knowing her, Frankie. But Mother is bound and determined. It’d be nice if—” What? If you gave her a chance to change. Not that Frankie seemed to need it spelled out.
“Sure, Singer, you got it. We can offer her the uniquely Derrie brand of love and acceptance we offer everyone else.”
“God help her,” Jake muttered. Then: “Ow, Frankie!”
Singer started cleaning up around Alice and Miles’s plate. He couldn’t help but notice that Emery, untouched by drama and memory, kept glancing toward the kitchen.
Good luck, Singer thought at him. You’ll definitely need it.
18
Lisa
61 days since leaving Grace
Apparently the social worker lady had to come periodically to make sure they weren’t screwing up Miles too badly. Mother, at least, was out. But Lisa was in, and therefore got to experience every awkward minute of the visit.
“It’s so nice that Singer has a sister willing to come help out with his expanding family,” the lady, Brandi, said to her.
Singer and Jake both did wide eyes in her direction, so she focused on Miles instead, straightening his funny little onesie. “Uh, yeah. Miles is pretty cool.”
Which was the right answer, or at least wasn’t the wrong one; the lady smiled and made small talk for a minute about Miles’s age group and something about food, but Lisa wasn’t really listening. Or rather, she was listening more to the things that weren’t being said. This Brandi lady was asking them a lot of questions while not answering any of their questions.
“So is there a date for the next hearing?” Singer asked.
“Not yet, but it’s gotta happen within the next two months, so I’ll keep you posted.”
“Any word from Miles’s mom?”
“I swear, Singer, I will call you if anything changes. It looks like you guys are pretty much handling things here.” Brandi’s hair was professionally highlighted, but Lisa wasn’t impressed with the job. Also, her makeup was a bit much. Was she trying to look older? She was probably thirty. Maybe makeup that aged her up to late-thirties-with-a-bad-makeover helped her get taken seriously?
Stop being so judgmental.
Probably true, but she still couldn’t stop. By the t
ime Brandi asked them how they were managing their stress levels (and who the hell says it like that?), Lisa had to bite her tongue and poke Miles until he giggled to keep from recommending a new hair stylist.
Singer shut the door after she left and slumped against it. “Tell me when she drives away.”
“Did we decide getting drunk was a no-go?” Jake asked.
“We could call Brandi back and see what she says.”
“God, don’t even think that. I know it wasn’t that big a deal, but I feel kind of gross.”
“Did you notice she said nothing about Marie at all? That makes me nervous.”
Jake checked the front windows. “She’s gone. Yeah, I noticed. But I mean, what’s she gonna say?”
“I was hoping for something along the lines of, ‘Health problems make it so there’s absolutely no way Marie can ever take Miles again, so don’t worry about it.’”
“Oh damn.”
Lisa looked up in time to catch the stricken look on Singer’s face.
“Oh my god, I can’t believe I just said that. I didn’t— I didn’t mean— I like Marie. I don’t want her to get more sick, I meant—”
“Singer, it’s okay. I know. I want to have it all be decided too. I mean, I’m not wishing ill health on little old ladies or anything—”
Singer winced. “I can’t believe I said that.”
“Seriously, it’s okay.” Jake stepped in closer and touched his arm. “Hey, you want security and stability for your family. That’s totally all right.”
“But I was willing to sacrifice Miles’s grandmother’s health in order to get it. I feel sick.”
“Don’t feel sick. I know we can’t get drunk, but do you want a glass of wine?”
“It’s four p.m.”
“Four is almost five. Anyway, I’m having one. Lisa? Wine?”
“No, thank you.” Jake walked into the kitchen, and Singer just stood there, still looking upset. She caught his eye. “Hey. I can hang out with Miles for a few minutes if you want. You two could, I don’t know, sit in the spa or something.”
“Probably right in time for Mother to get home.”
She shrugged. “Or take some time alone, you know? You could go out to dinner, probably, if you think he’d be cool with me watching him.”
“Oh, no, Lisa. I don’t want to inconvenience you—”
“It’s not—”
Jake came back in with two glasses and a sippy cup. “For you,” he said to Singer. “And diluted grape juice for you, but don’t get used to it because your Grandma Cathy will lecture me about the dangers of sugar again, Miles, and I just can’t right now.” He flopped back onto the sofa. “God. I could use a hot shower. A long one.”
Perfect. She opened her mouth to offer, again, to watch Miles so both of them could take a shower (was that something people did?), but Singer beat her to it.
“Go ahead, Jake. We’re good here for a while. I think I can manage not to do anything too boneheaded while you’re gone.”
“When are you ever boneheaded?”
“Never mind. It’s fine. Go take your shower.”
Jake started to shake his head, still frowning, then stopped. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Because I’m serious. Having Brandi in the house feels weird. You think we’ll get used to it?”
“God, I hope not. I mean I guess we should, but is it too optimistic to hope everything is resolved before it comes to that?”
“Probably.” Jake glanced over, double-checked Miles (lying on his back playing with a mirror thing Jake’s mom had gotten him), then stood up. “I’ll be back.”
“Take your time,” Singer said, tone a little too cheerful.
When the door to their bedroom closed, Singer sat down. Then he poured his wine down his throat.
She frowned. “What just happened?”
“Nothing. What?”
“I don’t get why you don’t want me to watch Miles. I’ve done that before, Singer. I’m not gonna hurt him.”
“Oh, god, no. No, that wasn’t— I know he would have been fine.”
“So then why?”
“Because. Because every time we’re alone together I’m afraid he’s going to see how hard I have to try to be half the father he is.” He sighed and set his wine glass down, looking at Miles.
“Singer…” She had no idea what to say. She could tell, even when they were annoyed with each other, that they loved one another more than she’d ever loved (or been loved by) anyone.
“It’s okay. The visit wore me out, that’s all. I’ll be okay in a couple of minutes. And with another glass of wine. Sounds good, doesn’t it, Miles? I wonder if you have alcoholism in your genes. I guess that’s not something I can really ask.” He shook his head. “I have to get it together before he comes back.”
Lisa wanted to say more, say something, but Miles finally lost interest in the mirror and started doing the squawking thing that meant he was going to start crying if someone didn’t distract him.
“You want to try crawling again?” She felt silly talking to him. Not as silly as she felt when she got down on her stomach and looked at him upside down. “Hi, Miles. Can you roll over?”
Miles could roll over. He could roll over and lift his whole body up, head and everything. (He had a big head. That was a baby thing, right? Big heads?) He still couldn’t quite coordinate his movements to actually move, but when he figured out he was right next to the sofa, he pulled himself all the way up to standing.
Lisa realized she was clapping for him, like a fool. But when he let go in order to clap, then fell back on his fluffy diapered butt, both of them laughed. “Oh no, Miles. You just took a celebratory fall, there.”
She looked up to catch Singer’s eye, but he looked away, blinking, like he was crying or something. Except Singer didn’t cry. And nothing sad had happened.
He should be with Jake. Lisa couldn’t even get her own head on straight, let alone figure out what was wrong with Singer’s, but if he was crying—that was bad.
“Try it again, Miles,” she said. Miles climbed back up, clapped, fell on his butt, and laughed.
Really, though, this kid thing? Kind of cool.
19
Singer
40 days with Miles
Singer insisted on helping with the dishes. He stood with Kara at the windows peering over the side yard of her lovely renovated flat in San Francisco, watching Victor and Jake play with the kids.
“They’re very sweet with Miles,” he said. “I can’t imagine having more than one right now.” One of the boys was circling a giggling Miles around on the grass, while Miles tried desperately to stay up on hands and knees. Every few laps he collapsed, and five-year-old Ty would pick him up again.
“I felt like that each time. And then, I don’t know. We’d start looking at each other, and…” Kara smiled, a little wryly. “Then we’d get back on the roller coaster. How’s the psychological side of adoption going for you?”
“It doesn’t feel … real, yet. I guess because it isn’t.”
She nodded. Kara, contrary to his expectations of a white woman in linen casual with a small cross at her throat, was Asian and appeared to prefer black skirts and blouses. Judge less, he scolded himself.
“I remember that. I remember every awful second of it.” She glanced over, a little guarded. “A friend of mine says the same thing about labor. Everyone tells you you’ll forget this terrible trauma, that you’ll look at your child and forget all of it, but she never has. I think it’s similar. With adoption. But then, I don’t know. I think Victor forgets.”
Layers and layers there, Singer thought. “Sometimes it feels like Jake doesn’t take it seriously. That we haven’t met his mother, that there is no TPR, that nothing can be finalized until some court date months
down the road, and that’s if everything goes incredibly smoothly and Mom plays along.” He tensed. “That makes me sound like … like I disregard her role, and I don’t, but—”
“It’s your life on pause,” Kara said.
“Yes. Yes, that’s exactly how it feels. Like I’m running in place, and I can’t get off this treadmill until something is finalized.”
Outside, Rachel, who was painting something, called Victor over to look at it. Ronnie, the older boy, zoomed past and knocked her easel over. Rachel spun on him, raising her hand, but Victor smoothly inserted himself between them and squeezed her shoulder as he righted the easel.
“Then again, single children are nice, too,” Kara said, and if Singer hadn’t looked over, he wouldn’t have seen the flash of edged humor.
“I have an older sister. Though I’m not sure we were ever as friendly as your three.”
“Do you get along now? At moments when they are—less than kind to one another, I tell myself they’ll all get along as adults.”
A month or two ago, his answer would not have been at all reassuring. But today? Today Singer smiled and said, “I think we’re working on it. But yes. I value Lisa’s presence. As the only other person who understands how crazy our parents are, if for nothing else.” Then he realized that might sound strange and added, “Not that you and Victor are crazy—”
“No, no, I understand completely. I have a sister, too. And Victor—though I love him very much—will never understand what it’s like to be the oldest daughter in a Chinese home.”
They smiled at each other, and Singer reflected that he hadn’t put any effort into making friends, probably not since encountering Jake on a street corner in the Castro and reintroducing himself. (“I, uh, remember you, Singer,” Jake had said, blushing intensely. It had felt like the start of every bad romance novel, like bells should be ringing all around them, fireworks exploding in the background. He’d kept all that to himself and said, “I remember you, too.”)
Jake had come with an entire ecosystem of family and relationships; Singer hardly needed more. But now, watching him play catch with Victor and Ronnie while Miles picked at something in the grass—this could be good, too.
