by Dani Collins
So different.
Still, it was only one month. Three weeks, really. Once Atlas was in the all-day preschool, Quincy figured he could handle most of the daily stuff. Other parents did. At that point, they could settle for having a housekeeper come in once or twice a week.
He just needed help through December, while they got settled and he finished up some work projects.
He needed time to get used to all of this.
But he wasn’t even given time to decide if he should introduce her to his father. The swing door near the bottom of the stairs squeaked. Pops and Atlas came through from the kitchen.
“Oh. I didn’t realize we had company.” Pops redirected Atlas from the bottom of the stairs into the living room. “We were going to find a clean shirt, but hello.”
“Hello.” Nicki Darren stood.
Pops was carrying too much weight, which contributed to the diabetes, but he came forward with enthusiasm.
“Maurice Ryan. Call me Maury.”
“Nicki.” She shook his hand and offered a big smile.
House, meet fire. His father had spent most of his life in sales and got along with everyone. Quincy had already noted that Ms. Darren didn’t exactly hold back, either. They quickly covered the weather, driving conditions, and the ‘excitement’ of a big move.
Atlas hung back, his blue shirt stained with a few dribbles of tomato soup. The battered stuffed dog he liked to cart around hung from his grip.
“You have a son,” the lawyer had said, after asking if Quincy had once dated Karen Ackerman.
“Five years ago,” he replied. He didn’t like to talk about it because he still felt blindsided by the entire thing. After they met online, things had progressed more quickly than he had expected. He had thought that meant they were serious and started looking for rings.
They had burned out just as fast—on her side, anyway. He hadn’t understood the break up. It had been a slap when he thought things were going well.
They definitely didn’t have a son, though.
They hadn’t, maybe, but she had.
“He’s staying with his maternal grandparents,” the lawyer said. “But you’re identified as the father on his birth certificate. No one else has been designated for custody.”
One paternity test later, Quincy knew his Y chromosome had created this boy, but being a biological father hadn’t made him feel like a dad. He didn’t know how to be a parent.
That hadn’t mattered to Karen’s parents. They were finished raising their own children. They hadn’t approved of their adopted daughter having a child out of wedlock and keeping Quincy in the dark about him. They had not only insisted he be informed, but that he take responsibility.
Quincy privately believed they were holding him to account for something he hadn’t even known he’d done.
He had been sleepwalking ever since. This wasn’t real. How could it be?
Now he was trying to hire some help and his best shot was a failed actress. Nicki Darren was way too freshly minted with her ‘new’ career to take this job seriously.
He started to cut short the conversation before Pops took too much for granted, but Pops was already drawing Atlas forward.
“And this is Atlas.”
Pops was so proud to have a grandson, so taken with him. Quincy had gone to his father with the news the moment he’d hung up from the lawyer. Where else would he go with a shocker like that? He hadn’t known what to do, how to react.
His father had stared at him as if he couldn’t believe he had to spell it out for him. “You take him and raise him, son.”
Quincy was damned grateful he had his father, a man who knew the ropes of parenting, since he didn’t have a clue what to do with a boy that age himself. On the other hand, his father’s reaction put so much pressure on him. Love him, Pops seemed to urge relentlessly.
How? Quincy could barely stand himself, let alone anyone else. His father was the only person he would admit—internally, mind you, and without any flowery language—that he loved outright. He couldn’t simply look into a pair of brown eyes that yes, were disconcertingly similar to the ones he saw in the mirror every day, and fall in love. It was narcissistic, for starters.
He wasn’t dad material. He had never intended to become one. Karen had known that. Which put another wrinkle of confusion into how this had come about.
“Hello, Atlas.” Nicki knelt in front of him and shot a quick glance up at Quincy. “You look just like your father.”
A jolt went through Quincy each time he met her gaze. The zing carried the adolescent pow of electric excitement that used to happen when the head cheerleader tossed a surprise smile at the trig nerd he’d been.
He definitely couldn’t hire her. She was way too pretty. Pretty enough to be an actress, for sure, and definitely too pretty to be a nurse. She was noisy, too. Not just chatty, but he could already tell her personality was loud. She had been wearing a tacky hat when she first came in, a knitted pink-and-yellow thing with a big yellow pom-pom and earflaps that had trailed down into a pair of Technicolor Pocahontas braids.
She had popped it off and rich brown waves had tumbled around her face, hints of caramel and dark coffee giving the mass some depth. Fine strands had lifted with static and she had smiled so big his stomach had tightened with male reaction.
Now her jacket was on the sofa, allowing him to take in the snug pink turtleneck she wore. Her chest was as perfect as a woman could be made. Little glints of dark bronze caught the light as her hair shifted around her shoulders. Her hips flared above narrow thighs encased in skinny jeans. Her face had a sun-kissed California tone, or maybe she had some Latina heritage that gave her that soft glow. She wasn’t wearing makeup and didn’t need it. Those blackstrap molasses eyes of hers were sticky enough, practically gluing his gaze to her features, mesmerizing him.
Maybe he was using her as an excuse not to look at his son.
Son, son, son. He had to get over the shock and deal with it. He knew he did. But how? Hiring this woman couldn’t be the answer. He needed a miracle.
“It sounds like a lot of things have changed for you lately,” Nicki was saying to the boy. “Does it feel strange to be in a new house?”
Atlas brought the stuffed dog up to his chest and hugged it close. His expression grew even more shy than it usually was.
Who named a kid Atlas? He was a boy, not a titan. It made Quincy think the kid was being forced to carry too much. Damn it, if he could only have five minutes with Karen to ask how she’d become pregnant. Why?
He watched Atlas shift his little eyeballs up and down, between Nicki and him, weighing. Like he knew Quincy was making a decision that would affect him.
He’d been giving Quincy that same look since his grandparents had said, “This is your father. You’ll be living with him now.”
Quincy probably wore one just like it. He hated change, too, and always wanted some kind of warning.
“I’m Nicki.” She offered her hand. “Nice to meet you.” After a second, she said, “You’re supposed to shake my hand.”
Atlas did, gingerly.
“Good job.” Nicki’s voice held a warmth that made Quincy uncomfortable. It eased the tension in him a few notches. He needed resistance against her, not reassurance. He didn’t know why, but he did.
The barest hint of a smile touched Atlas’s mouth. Apparently, he wasn’t immune to her star power either.
“I’m excited for Christmas. Are you?”
Atlas shrugged his bony shoulder.
Quincy bit back a groan. He didn’t care about the holiday one way or another. After his mother had passed, he and his father always spent the day together, exchanging a gift of game tickets or hand tools and going out for a decent meal, but that was as far as either of their investment in celebrating went.
This year, Pops seemed to think it all had to be a big hoopla. Atlas didn’t even know his days of the week, as far as Quincy could tell. Did he even understand what Christm
as was, let alone why he should be counting days in anticipation?
“My favorite part is making cookies and decorating them. What do you like to do?”
“Pops is diabetic,” Quincy reminded her.
His father shot him a look that told him to ease up, knotting Quincy’s shoulders even further.
“I would love for this house to be full of the smell of ginger snaps and shortbread. My wife used to make them this time of year. So did my mother, come to think of it.”
Nicki rose. “Quincy said you grew up here.”
“I did. I left to make my fortune, as young men do, but I’ve always missed Marietta. When I saw the house had been restored and was for sale, I decided to buy it and move back. That was before we knew about Atlas. I thought I’d be living here alone. Now I have both my boys with me.”
Quincy saw Nicki Darren’s expression sharpen with curiosity, but Pops didn’t give her a chance to ask what he meant by, Before we knew.
“We’ll have to get a tree,” Pops said. “You’ll have to take us shopping, help us with the wrapping. Are you up to all of that?”
“Of course. Does that mean…?” Nicki clasped her hands under her chin. “Do I have the job?” She seemed to have more teeth than normal people. They were straight, pearly, and couldn’t stand not to be seen because there they were again.
“Pops—”
“What? Did I get that wrong? I thought you were hiring her?”
“There’s a lot of unpacking still to finish,” Quincy warned her. “I have to work. That’s why we need someone to…” He nodded at Atlas.
I don’t know what to do with him.
In his periphery, he saw his father’s chest rise and fall in subtle disappointment. It hit Quincy hard, every single time.
“If you’re up to that, fine.” Desperate times called for desperate measures. Maybe, given what she’d said about her own mom, and how she’d grown so sad and wistful mentioning it, maybe she understood where Atlas was at and could help the boy settle in. “Start as soon as you can. I need to finish building my desk.”
He went back to the living room.
December 1st
Despite three days of driving across the country, Quincy’s body clock was still on East Coast time. He was up at five and fine with it. Better to get something done before—
Was that the toilet flushing? Pops?
He finished pulling on his T-shirt and sweats and opened his bedroom door, catching Atlas standing at the top of the stairs, peering through the uprights in the rail, down into the dark.
Atlas glanced back at him and shrank a little, like he thought he was in trouble.
Quincy wasn’t used to looking out for anyone but himself. As far as being intuitive, reading body language and other subtle social cues, he had always been a little on the slow side. Math and structure were his bailiwick.
But since his own stomach was growling, Quincy had an idea what Atlas was looking for.
“Are you hungry? Do you want some breakfast?”
Atlas’s nod was barely perceptible. He wore blue-and-red pajamas with a superhero emblem on the chest. Quincy hadn’t really taken stock of what Karen’s parents had packed for the kid, but the pajamas were tight and showed his ankles and wrists. His feet were bare, one stacked on the other while his toes curled. He looked expectantly up at Quincy, making Quincy even more aware of the void in his stockpile of life skills.
How did you take care of someone else, especially a child?
“Are you cold? Do you have a robe? Slippers?”
Atlas shook his head.
“Put on socks then. And a sweater.” He would turn up the heat, but it would take a while for the house to warm up.
Atlas scooted back to his room. Quincy fetched his own plaid, shrugging it on and returning to the top of the stairs.
As he stood there, he could see Atlas sitting on the floor of his bedroom, working a pair of socks onto his feet. It was a bit of a process. Quincy almost went in to help, but he held back. He just wasn’t sure.
He hated not being sure. Once he’d found his confidence in work and his handful of social relationships, he had stuck to his lane until it was rock solid. Now he was slogging around in uneven terrain, tripping and stumbling with every step. It was a horrible feeling.
Atlas tugged on the pullover he’d been wearing yesterday, the one stained with soup. His head popped through and his fine brown hair stuck up with static as he walked toward the door.
It made Quincy think of rubbing a balloon on his head as a kid, trying to make his own hair stand on end. Maybe he smiled at the memory because Atlas’s mouth pulled in a very quick, very tentative little smile.
At that moment, Pops let out a giant snore behind his bedroom door across the hall, startling them both.
Atlas’s eyes widened, and Quincy found himself chuckling.
“It’s easier to sleep when we’re not sharing a room with that, isn’t it?” Quincy was referring to the hotel rooms from their cross-country trip, but Atlas only gave him a wary look and started down the stairs, looking back at Pops’ door like he was afraid another dinosaur noise would emerge.
Quincy bit back a sigh. He was not used to being the one to carry a conversation. On the flip side, if he’d had any doubts that Atlas was his son, the kid’s reticence pretty much clinched it.
In the kitchen, which was a painfully cheerful yellow with white Shaker cupboards and a backsplash in robin’s egg blue, Quincy set out the boxes of cereal he’d grabbed on a quick grocery run when they’d arrived in town.
“Which one do you like?” They were all adult and boring, Quincy realized. Not that he should feed a kid chocolate and marshmallows first thing, but maybe something with raisins?
He reached to start a grocery list and saw Nicki had already written ‘supplies for cookies’ and ‘xmas lights’ on the little pad of sticky notes. She had stuck around quite a while yesterday, unpacking Atlas’s room and cooking breakfast for dinner. She had eaten with Pops and Atlas while Quincy had brought his own into the dining room where he was assembling his new desk.
Her handwriting was the opposite of his own. Hers was cursive and feminine, slanting this way and that, not quite closing her Os, and she crossed her T well after the upright line. Quincy added ‘cereal’ with the precision of the draftsman he was. Then added slippers, robe, and pajamas.
Atlas picked a flavor.
Quincy poured two bowls, then sat across from the boy to eat. Crunch, munch, crunch. Clink. Slurp. Munch.
Don’t talk my ear off, kid.
“Listen.” Quincy felt like an idiot having an adult conversation with a boy this young, but he had to get it off his chest. He realized with a start this was the first time he’d been alone with the boy. He’d been keeping Pops as close as Atlas kept his toy dog.
“I, uh, didn’t know I had a son. That’s why I didn’t come to see you before. Before you had to go live with your granny and gramps, I mean.”
Karen’s parents had said Karen wanted to be a single mother. He knew she’d been adopted, but she had told him she didn’t want kids. That was how they’d been matched by the online site.
Had she targeted him deliberately? Had her plan been to find herself an unwitting donor? Not a conversation he had wanted to have with her parents while they were grieving, but that was the impression he formed from the few details they had volunteered.
He frowned into his cereal.
Maybe she’d accidentally turned up pregnant and made the choice not to tell him. Maybe she simply hadn’t wanted the complication of a man in her life.
Maybe she hadn’t wanted him.
He cleared his throat. “I know this is strange. It’s hard for both of us, but I’m sure we’ll get to know each other. I didn’t know Pops when I first met him, but we get along great now.”
The joke was lost on the kid. Atlas only finished chewing, then licked the milk from his lips and finally spoke directly to Quincy for the very first time.
*
Nicki had stayed at the house until seven last night, putting away Atlas’s clothes and noting that his collection of toys was sparse.
Christmas was coming, though, and it sounded like Maury intended to be generous.
She didn’t remember her own grandparents very well. They had passed when she’d been quite young. She hoped Atlas had Maury for a long time. The older man was obviously eager to dote on him.
Which was great since Quincy seemed rather withdrawn. He’d said he and Atlas’s mother weren’t together, and she’d caught that strange comment from Maury.
Before we knew about Atlas.
He couldn’t mean that Quincy had only discovered he had a son when Atlas’s mother had died, could he? It would explain why he was so closed off and distant—from everything, it seemed. The move. His son.
She got the impression he was turned off and tuned out. Maybe he was still upset about Atlas’s mom’s death, too.
Whatever the reason, the dynamic was off. It made her feel for the boy all the more. As ill equipped as her father had been to console her, at least she’d stayed in her old bedroom and saw her friends at school every day.
Poor Atlas. His entire life had been shaken up like a snow globe. Things were only now starting to settle and allow him to see the picture again.
After a bath and getting him into his pajamas, she had sat on his bed with him to read a story. He’d fallen asleep halfway through, but as she had started to leave the bed, he had jerked awake and tried to hang onto her, only letting go as he realized she wasn’t his mom.
He had welled up and she had gathered him into her lap where she had held him and rocked him, heart breaking into a thousand pieces as he sobbed inconsolably against her.
“I know, little man,” she had crooned, rubbing his back, transported to the endless nights when she had cried alone in her own bed. “I know you miss her. It will be okay. I promise you.”
It was a lie. She had never been okay with the loss of her mother, but she had learned to live with the absence. When the grief had been fresh, however, she had needed hope and hadn’t had any.
