Crush Me

by Black, Stasia

  The ladybugs slow and the ride comes to a stop.

  “I don’t know,” I finally say, rubbing my temple quickly. “Maybe you’re right.” I move to go grab Charlie but Shannon puts a hand on my arm.

  “Are you serious?”

  I shake my arm out of her grasp. “Don’t look so surprised. Look, none of it matters right now. We just have to get through the custody hearing on Monday. Everything else can be figured out after that.”

  She nods and I see her brows pinch together in worry. She walks with me to grab Charlie. “I’ve started doing guided meditation my doctor suggested for stress,” she murmurs. “It’s the only way I’ve been able to manage all week, I’m so freaked out about Monday.”

  We get to Charlie and there’s no more time for talk.

  “Hey buddy,” I unlatch the little seatbelt and lift a grinning Charlie out of the ladybug car. I prop him on my hip.

  “Again!”

  I laugh and snuggle my face into his neck. Best smell in the world. Sunlight and my little boy. “We gotta give all the other girls and boys waiting in line a chance to go.”

  He rubs his eyes and I can tell the afternoon is finally starting to wear on him. I know he’s about to object loudly and probably with a fair share of whining, so I interject before he can, “How about some ice cream to cap off this lovely afternoon?”

  “Ice cweam!”

  Distraction managed.

  He starts bouncing up and down on my hip, his strong muscles all but jostling him out of my arms. “Down. Down!”

  All right. I guess his energy reserves aren’t completely gone yet.

  I set him down and Shannon and I both take one of his hands.

  The snack station is close to the rides, so soon we’re in line for ice cream. Charlie hugs my leg and leans his head against my knee. Gah. Heart explode. How on earth did I create such an amazing little human being? It still blows my mind sometimes that I carried him in my belly and now he’s out in the world walking and talking and growing up more and more every day.

  I run a hand through his dark silky curls. When I glance up at Shannon, her eyes are soft as she watches me with Charlie. Which makes me soften toward her. She might have said some things that were hard to hear today, but she’s not necessarily wrong. No more jumping into things without considering every angle. I’m not letting my past determine my future anymore. I refuse to keep mindlessly repeating the same patterns. I’m not going to be that girl.

  “So it’s yoga or meditation or whatever that’s got you in such a good mood?”

  A slight smile tilts Shannon’s lips. “Yes, I have discovered the Zen way of life.”

  I nod, impressed. I’ve never really managed to be able to sit still for more than five minutes at a time the few attempts I’ve made at meditating.

  “Of course,” she leans in, “it helps that Sunil, the guy who leads the guided meditation class at the Zen center I’ve been going to, asked me out on a date tonight.”

  It takes a second for her words to register, but then I grin like a fool. “Way to go, Zen master.”

  “Ha. Far from it.” A slight blush rises on her cheeks. “The only reason we got to talking is because I was having so much trouble emptying my mind even during the ten-minute period at the end of the introduction classes. I went up to him after class and explained my doctor basically prescribed meditation to help my stress levels, but I didn’t think I had a hope in hell of it working on me.”

  “You didn’t!”

  She nods ruefully. “He offered to give me a private session. I thought it was something the center just offered. Nope. He was just taking pity on me.”

  “Or he saw how great your legs are in yoga pants.”

  “Shut up!” She smacks me on the shoulder. “That wasn’t it at all. He said he could see how stressed out I was. That I had a sickly cloudy blue aura.”

  I clap a hand over my mouth but still can’t stifle my laugh.

  Shannon cuffs my shoulder again, with a lot more force this time.

  “Ouch. Sorry, sorry,” I hold up one hand, grabbing Charlie with the other since he’s let go of my leg and is about to make a break for it into the crowd. “What does a cloudy blue aura mean?”

  Shannon rolls her eyes a little bit. That’s more like her. I don’t see her buying into auras or new-agey stuff. She’s so logical and numbers-oriented. It’s what makes her a good graphic designer. Her designs are complex, structural, and precise.

  “Supposedly that I have a fear of the future, and I’m bad at self-expression.”

  My eyebrows pop up. “Maybe there’s something to this after all.”

  This earns me another smack.

  “You’re setting a bad example for Charlie. Charlie,” I look down at my little half-pint. “Tell Auntie Shannon whether hitting is good or bad.”

  His whole body tips back, not just his head, as he looks up at us. If Shan and I weren’t holding his hand, he’d be on his butt.

  “Hitting baaaaaaaaaaaad!” he exclaims.

  I look over at my sister with mock chastisement, shaking my head. “From the mouth of babes.”

  “Anyway,” she does the half-eye roll thing again, “supposedly with meditation, positive thinking, and eliminating toxins and extraneous sugars from my diet, I’ll feel like a whole new woman.”

  “Is it working?”

  “I’ll tell you after I eat this delicious sugary ice cream.”

  I laugh and move forward. We’re finally to the front of the line.

  Shannon and Charlie get chocolate ice cream and I get strawberry. We manage to snag an empty bench right as another family leaves. I eat mine so quickly I get a brain freeze, but damn, it’s good ice cream. Meanwhile, Charlie ends up a complete chocolatey mess. No matter how many times I run back for extra napkins, more has dripped down his face. It covers his cheeks, is underneath his chin, and of course, some from his hand ends up in his hair.

  But he’s laughing and enjoying the goopy treat the whole time, so screw it. My face hurts from smiling by the end of the afternoon.

  My little chocolatey-faced angel falls asleep in the Uber we splurge on to get home. I’m sandwiched in the middle between the car seat and Shannon. She leans over me to look at Charlie and smiles.

  “You did good,” she whispers and gives my hand a quick squeeze. Then anxiety draws her eyebrows together. “You’re sure you and the lawyer have everything ready for Monday?”

  Really, I’m impressed she hasn’t been harping on me about it all day. Or all week, for that matter. Maybe there really is something to the meditation stuff after all. “My lawyer’s got it covered. I’m meeting with him tomorrow for one last strategy session, but from email and talks we’ve had over the phone, he’s confident we’ll win. There’s no way David’s getting full custody.”

  Her hand squeezes mine again and she leans her head back against the seat, breathing out in relief. “You’re doing good, Callie.”

  From my sister, this is high praise.

  CHAPTER 15

  “Have you eaten this morning?” Don asks as we walk into the courthouse together on Monday morning.

  I nod even though it verges on a lie. Really, I just barely managed to get down a cup of Calm & Soothe tea and half a piece of toast. I wasn’t very hungry anyway. I stress ate my weight in bagels and pastries yesterday afternoon at the last three-hour strategy session Don and I had at his office.

  Don coached me on what to expect and how to react—or rather, not react—through all of it. But no matter how nauseous I feel, I’m ready, Goddammit. Even if my body feels as tight as overly-strung guitar strings. I’ve got to keep it together and manage not to snap, no matter what bullshit David and Regina’s lawyers put out there today.

  “Don’t forget to breathe,” Don pats my shoulder, offering what I assume is meant to be a reassuring smile. Even though he’s dressed in a fairly sharp suit, with his unruly graying hair, he always reminds me of a sit-com dad. I’ve seen him put on his attack lawyer
-mode before, though, so when he says, “Come on, we’re ready. You know they have no case to push for full custody. You’re a great mom. Don’t let them get in your head and make you second-guess that,” I relax.

  I release the breath I’ve been holding. Yes. Of course, he’s right. The courts aren’t the boogeyman. I believe in justice, don’t I? No matter how much they pay their attorney, the facts are on my side. I didn’t know what I was doing last time and I let them steamroll me.

  I set my jaw. Not today. Besides, I’ve got my own bulldog lawyer this time. I nod at Don and he smiles again as he holds open the door to the courthouse.

  The courthouse is a newer building. My heels clack clack on the black and white tiles once we’re inside. Don consults with a uniformed man who points us down one of the hallways branching from the large open area.

  “We’ll be meeting in courtroom three,” Don says.

  I swallow and follow him. Last time it was so informal. We met in the Judge’s chambers around a table. But when we step into the courtroom, the judge is wearing the full robes. The same judge that heard our case the first time. Shit. I hate that he already has preconceived notions of me based on my abysmal presentation at the initial hearing.

  No. Don’t overthink it. Today is a new day.

  I try to focus on other details. The courtroom isn’t large. It doesn’t look like one of those rooms where you’d see a trial like on TV. No beautifully finished bench up front or rows of pews for the public. Nope, just fluorescent lights overhead and a bunch of desks arranged in a large rectangle. Then again, Don told me that this isn’t a real trial yet, that family court cases often don’t actually make it to trial. Like less than ten percent of them. This is what’s called a motion. It’s where cases are argued to a judge and then he makes a decision.

  No one’s sitting in the desks that make up the long sides of the rectangle. But at one end, David and his wife are already in their seats. I hold my shaking hands behind my back. The last thing I want them to see is how much this gets to me. That any part of me is scared that they could actually succeed in taking Charlie away.

  I internally shake my head no. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let that happen. I think of him at the park with Shannon. She wanted to be here, but neither of us liked the idea of Charlie staying with some unknown babysitter today. No, instead, Shannon planned a day full of his favorite things. First, they’re going to the park. Then they’ll head to the children’s museum with the giant foam blocks Charlie that likes to make a life-sized fortress out of, which then gets bull-dozed with their bodies. God, Charlie laughs so hard every time he throws himself into the walls and it all comes down in a soft tumble of blocks. Charlie giggles and—

  Don holds his hand out, putting gentle pressure on my arm to urge me forward.

  Oh God. My baby. I can’t lose him.

  I stand up straighter and then walk to our seats beside David and Regina, our lawyers between us. Not before their lawyer looks me up and down with a smirk, though.

  It probably won’t set a good tone if I flip them all off.

  No. Control, Cals. This has to be about projecting the perfect aura of total control and calm. I sit down and stamp the most placid expression possible on my face.

  The judge sits impassively at the other end of the rectangle from us. Even though he’s not sitting behind a bench, the distance between us and his robes make it feel just as imposing.

  “The honorable Judge Casey presiding,” says the bailiff.

  The judge nods and then we’re off. The lawyers argue through each affidavit they’ve prepared. An affidavit is the large document with all the evidence they’ve previously filed with the judge. I’ve learned all kinds of lawyer-speak over the past few weeks. Don and I talked through each individual piece of so-called ‘evidence’—aka exhibits—David’s side produced and it takes every ounce of control not to lose my shit when they trot out all the crap they have lined up for today.

  “If you’ll look at exhibit twenty-three to my affidavit, Judge Casey,” David’s lawyer says, “you’ll see evidence of Miss Cruise’s history of drug addiction.”

  It’s only because Don coached me through this yesterday that I don’t stand up and start yelling about what a hypocrite David is. Exhibit twenty-three is a picture of me doing a line of coke off David’s glass coffee table, my hair all disheveled and makeup smeared. And oh yeah, I’m in my underwear—a leopard print bra and thong set David bought me that barely covers anything. Great first impression for the judge.

  It’s the next one that really sets my teeth on edge, though.

  “Mr. Kinnock also noticed symptoms of drug use while picking up his son for his weekly custody visits.” He looks down and reads from a piece of paper. “Dilated pupils. Traces of powder around her nostril. She was agitated and paranoid.”

  As he reads, I grow more and more incensed. Seeing all of this in their evidence pile yesterday made me feel sick. A small part of me still couldn’t believe that David took a picture of me in that moment in the first place… and now was not only planning to use it against me like this, but that he planned to tell even more lies about me. And such horrible lies. Saying that I do drugs regularly and get high at all is bad enough, but that I’d do it while I had Charlie in the house? I want to reach over the aisle, grab David’s too-fine featured face, and smash his nose into the table. I want fucking blood.

  “It’s on the basis of her continued drug usage,” David’s attorney goes on, “and fears of child endangerment, that Mr. Kinnock requests full custody. Effective immediately.” He sits down.

  Thank God I was prepared ahead of time. It’s only because I knew all this was coming that I’m able to sit without twitching a single feature as Don stands and objects on my behalf.

  “Your honor, that’s a picture from three years ago before my client was even pregnant. Whatever bad decisions my client might have made in the past—before the responsibility of motherhood, no less—have no bearing on the current circumstances. As for the word of his client,” Don inclines his head toward David and gives the judge a look that conveys, seriously? “it’s a clear case of he said, she said. My client does not currently use narcotics of any kind whatsoever. Mr. Kinnock’s charge of child endangerment is completely unfounded. My client is so adamant about proving this, she’s insisted on voluntarily taking a drug test to shut down this line of questioning.”

  I smile over at David’s side of the room. Their lawyer blocks my sight of him and the Shrew but I can only imagine their faces. They never thought I’d actually call their bluff, did they?

  As soon as Don showed me their exhibits yesterday, he made it clear how much they were banking on pushing the drug angle. “They are going to try their hardest to make you look like an unstable drug user. They don’t have facts, so they’ll go hard with this. You saw the picture and your ex-boyfriend’s testimony. That, coupled with the other things they’re presenting…” he rubbed his temple. We were sitting in a large conference room at his law office, papers spread out all over the long table. “It’s all specious, of course.”

  Specious. That’s when you know you have a good lawyer. When they use words you try to remember so you can google them when you get home to find out what the hell they mean. I could guess enough from context here, though. It’s all specious, i.e. bullshit.

  “But?” I pressed, stuffing another bite of muffin into my mouth as I waited anxiously for him to continue.

  “But,” he continued, looking apologetic and anxious at the same time, “what I worry about is that, in the end, it all comes down to a human element. The judge. He won’t unsee what they’re presenting. It’s the same judge who presided over your case the first time and gave David initial custody. He might not have forgotten how unstable you came off during that initial meeting.”

  I cringed.

  “Don’t worry, though,” Don was quick to assure me. “The facts are on our side. They don’t have any real proof. Just an old picture and h
earsay from your ex.”

  I shoved the empty plate of pastries away, crumbs and tiny seeds from the muffins littering it. “You just said the judge can’t unsee what they show him.” I shook my head, mind spinning. Then I sat up straight in my chair. “Wait, I know. I’ll just take a drug test to prove it’s all crap.”

  Don immediately shook his head. “They can’t make you take a drug test. I just said they don’t have any proof—”

  I waved a hand. “No, I mean I’ll volunteer for one.”

  He kept shaking his head. “It’s never a good idea to offer something the court isn’t forcing you to do.”

  “But it will show them. The judge can’t think I’m a druggie if the results are right there in his face.” I got more and more animated as I thought about it. “And it will show what a liar David is too.”

  Don paused even though he looked like he still wanted to argue back. His eyebrows were drawn, but he huffed out a breath. “I guess if it’s what you really want… I could call my friend who’s a social worker and she could set it up. We could even make it happen tomorrow at the courthouse so the judge will see we’re serious about it, if you really want to make it a statement. And he’ll have the results within the week.”

  I nodded adamantly. “The sooner the better.”

  Don still looked reluctant but finally agreed. “I’ll set it up.”

  So it’s with great satisfaction that I see David’s lawyer startle as Don makes his pronouncement.

  “Miss Cruise,” the judge addresses me directly, stern eyes laser focused, “is it correct that you are volunteering for a drug test?”

  I sit up straighter in my chair, feeling like I’m in the principal’s office. Though of course, this is way, way more serious and making a good impression has never been more important. Charlie’s face flashes across my mind and my gut clenches. “Yes. My lawyer has arranged for it to be done today by a social worker if that’s oka— um, acceptable.” I swallow and want to kick myself for stumbling over my words like that.