by Noir, Roxie
“What?” I hear in the background.
“Dad wants to talk to you!”
“Tell him I’m busy.”
“You’re just watching TV.”
“I can’t talk to him right now, Rusty, okay?”
There’s some rustling, then Rusty’s back on the line.
“She can’t talk to you right now,” she says.
“Thanks for trying,” I tell her. “All right, kiddo. See you tomorrow. Love you.”
“Love you, Dad!” she says, and the line goes dead.
I stand there, on the landing outside Charlie’s apartment, for a long, long time, taking deep breaths and resisting the urge to throw my phone off her balcony and watch it smash on the pavement below.
I fantasize about ways to get Crystal out of my life for good that don’t go quite as far as murder. I imagine the judge handing down a new custody agreement: I get all physical and legal custody forever and ever and Crystal relinquishes her parental rights, then moves to Siberia and I never have to see her again.
It’s not what I really want. What I really want is for Crystal to love Rusty back, for her to want to be a good parent and treat Rusty like her own child, not a fun prop one weekend a month at most. Rusty deserves to have two parents, but God knows I can’t make Crystal do anything she doesn’t want to.
There’s a creak behind me, and I turn. Charlie comes out onto the landing, her eyebrows furrowed in concern, and leans on the railing next to me.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Crystal,” I say, finally putting my phone back in my pocket. “Apparently she told Rusty that they’re all going to move to Colorado.”
Charlie sucks in a quick breath, her eyes going wide.
“That motherfucking hose beast,” she whispers. “Do you want me to help you hide the body?”
I half-crack a smile.
“She took her to the waterpark and bought her ice cream,” I say. “Charlie, I fucking hate her. I can’t believe I ever stuck my dick in that.”
She snorts.
“No one was all that smart at twenty-two,” she says. “You just got hit with particularly dire consequences.”
“Rusty’s not really dire,” I say.
“Crystal is,” Charlie says.
I tell her about the rest of the conversation: the waterpark, the fifty-five-mile-per-hour slide, though that part doesn’t really seem to concern her, the ice cream, the fact that Crystal refused to talk to me.
When I finish, I hesitate for a second.
“I haven’t even told Rusty about us,” I say.
“Have you tried, ‘Hey, sweetheart, Charlie and I are fake engaged but banging for real’?” she asks.
I laugh, still looking out at the parking lot below her apartment.
“Hey, honey, Charlie and I aren’t actually engaged but I’m absolutely tapping that ass,” I say, and Charlie snort-laughs.
“We’re hitting it super hard every time you go to ballet class,” Charlie adds.
“I might explain it to my second grader in slightly more PG terms,” I say, then lean over and kiss the top of Charlie’s head. “Like with the word girlfriend or something.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Charlie says, tilting her head up for a kiss on the lips.
* * *
Our sex fest weekend mellows a bit on Sunday, when we only fuck twice before finally heading out, back to my mom’s house for Sunday dinner. Crystal is bringing Rusty back at five — in theory — so we’ll all be there when she arrives.
We don’t even have sex the first time until after breakfast. I’d say that it’s because I’m showing restraint, but the truth is that I’m sore in muscles I didn’t even know I had.
The first is on the couch, one of Charlie’s legs thrown over my shoulders, the other around my waist, taking me so deep it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I fuck her slowly, lazily, wanting to stretch this moment out as long as possible.
Then, right as we’re leaving, she kisses me and suddenly I need her again, just one more time, so I toss her over my shoulder and carry her to the bedroom while she squeals.
I toss her on the bed, pull her shorts down, bend her over. Two seconds later I’m pressing her vibrator to her clit, five seconds later she’s moaning my name, and ten seconds later I’m balls-deep in her tight channel, vibrator still pressed to her clit as she arches her back, shouts my name, gasps make me come with her head thrown back.
I do. Twice. Then I come hard, pressing myself inside her like I’m trying to meld our bodies together.
When we’re finished, we’re both gasping for air. We’re both still wearing all our clothes, and before I pull out, I lean forward, plant a kiss on the back of her neck.
We’re only ten minutes late to my mom’s house.
* * *
There’s no Rusty, so there’s more drinking than usual. Seth and Caleb get into some red wine and hassle Levi about calling June ma’am at Riverfest. Levi has slightly more bourbon than usual and asks Eli when he’s going to make an honest woman of Violet. Eli has some gin and tonics and asks Caleb if an algorithm can predict when your brother should stay out of your damn business.
Charlie and I more or less stay out of it, though of course we get dragged into the fray a few times. There’s no avoiding it.
We eat dinner and dessert. We clean up. Five o’clock comes and goes, then five-thirty. At six o’clock a silver BMW finally pulls into the bottom of my mom’s driveway, then inches its way up to the house.
Every single time she comes back, I’m relieved, weirdly giddy to see Rusty again. She’s my daughter and I love her, but I also like her. She’s a pretty cool kid, no matter how much she drives me crazy.
As soon as the car stops, the back door opens and Rusty bursts out, hopping from her booster seat and onto the gravel. I note that apparently Crystal doesn’t have the child locks activated on her car, but then Rusty’s running toward me and I pick her up and whirl her around before giving her a giant hug.
“Hi, Dad,” she says, leaning her head against my shoulder.
“Hi, kiddo,” I say, kissing the top of her head.
She squirms. I put her down and she’s up the porch stairs like a shot, and as she opens the door I can hear her shout, “Charlie! My mom gave me a piranha—”
I can only pray it’s not a real live piranha as Crystal finally heaves herself out of the car and comes toward me, carrying Rusty’s duffel bag. She hands it to me like I’m the bellboy.
“Fun weekend?” I ask, determined to be civil.
“We took her to a water park,” she says, and starts to walk toward the house, sort of rolling her eyes. “At least she had fun, I’m too pregnant to do shit. I can’t believe I have two more months of this. Jesus, I have to move to Denver in this state.”
I hoist the bag over my shoulder and stop right below the porch steps, turning toward her.
“You told Rusty she was moving to Colorado?” I say, quietly.
Crystal doesn’t stop, but she’s slow as hell.
“Sure, why not?” she asks.
“Because that’s a long way from decided.”
She gives me one of her you must be the dumbest person on earth looks.
“She’ll be there some of the time,” Crystal scoffs. “The court’s not going to revoke my visitation rights. Hell, I think I’ve got a pretty good chance of getting custody back.”
My entire body flashes cold, then hot.
“Baby!” she calls, opening the door. “Mommy’s gotta go, come say goodbye.”
Whirlwind footsteps come clomping through the house, and I see Rusty’s arms wrap around Crystal’s legs.
“Careful there,” Crystal says. “Okay. Mommy loves you.”
“Bye,” Rusty says, suddenly serious.
“Bye, honey,” Crystal says, patting Rusty’s head. Then Rusty detaches and Crystal smiles at her, distantly, walks back through the door, comes down the steps.
“Crystal, we need
to talk about this,” I say. “We can’t each be telling her different things, she’s seven years old and she doesn’t understand—”
“It’s fine, she’s smart,” Crystal says, walking past me. “I have to go.”
I follow her.
“It’s not fine just because she’s smart,” I say, my voice lowering to a growl. “She’s sensitive. She notices more than you think, and I don’t want her to feel like this is because of anything she—"
“Seriously, it’s fine,” Crystal says, opening her car door and dropping herself in.
I’m at the end of my fucking rope with this woman.
“Don’t just drive away,” I threaten, even though I know I’ve got nothing to back it up with.
Crystal closes the door. The car starts. I’m itching to wrench the door open, turn the thing off, get in her face until she listens to me, but I can only imagine how that would go over in court.
“I fucking hate you so much,” I whisper under my breath.
The window slides down, noiselessly, and for one thrilling moment I think she heard me. Good. I’ve been nice to her for years.
“I know you’re not really getting married,” she says. “Nice try.”
Then she stomps on the gas pedal and gravel goes flying as she backs up, nearly hits a tree, executes a sloppy three-point turn, and drives back down the driveway.
I’m left standing there like an asshole, stomach churning, fury burning right through me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Charlie
“Piranhas are like sharks,” Rusty is telling me. “They have infinity teeth, but they have to replace them a quarter-mouth at a time, so it’s like if—”
She opens her mouth and points at the lower right half of her jaw.
“—ahh eez eef were missing but then they came back even sharper.”
“What do they do while their teeth are missing?” I ask. “Do they get dentures?”
Rusty giggles, still waving her new stuffed piranha around the living room. I think Crystal must have injected sugar straight into her veins or something, because this kid is hyped up beyond hyped.
“They just use the other side,” she says. “A school of piranhas can eat a whole person in one minute.”
“Well, I’d imagine that depends on the size of the school and the size of the person,” Seth says from a couch. “It might take them two minutes if it’s a big person and a small school. There’s probably some sort of linear regression—"
“AHHHHH CHOMP!” Rusty shouts, ramming the fish’s mouth into Seth’s leg.
“Nooooooo my knee!” he yells, flailing both arms.
“OM NOM NOM MUNCH MUNCH—"
“—Not my leg, my beautiful leg—”
“—CRUNCH CRUNCH CHOMP—”
“That’s my foot, I need that to walk!”
“GULP. Ahhhhhh.”
Seth’s now slumped over sideways on the couch, moaning softly but dramatically as Rusty grins and giggles, two feet away.
“Best not to question piranhas,” I tell Seth, laughing on the other couch.
“I regret everything,” he says.
“He’s still hungry,” Rusty announces, waving the fish again.
“Your uncle Seth has another leg,” I point out, just as the front door opens again and Daniel comes inside.
He looks pissed, his mouth a straight line, his cheeks flushed the faintest pink, the line of his body rigid and controlled, like he wants to slam the door but closes it gently instead.
“Dad!” Rusty yelps, then skips over to him. “This is Sparkles, he just ate Uncle Seth’s leg.”
She throws both arms around Daniel, stuffed fish flopping in one hand, her face turned against his middle, and I can see his body relax as he hugs her back.
“That wasn’t very nice of him,” Daniel points out.
“I’ll get better,” Seth calls from the couch.
“Well, he’s just a fish and he was hungry,” Rusty says.
“I still think that Sparkles should apologize,” Daniel says, and shoots me a quick, meaningful glance.
My stomach tightens right away, because that was a something has gone awry glance.
“Piranhas have very primitive brains,” Rusty says, detaching from her dad. He ruffles her hair with one hand, not letting go just yet.
“My leg,” Seth moans, and Rusty sighs. Then she pulls away from Daniel and sticks her head over the back of the couch, looking down at Seth.
“Sparkles says he’s sorry,” she informs him.
“Tell Sparkles thank you,” Seth says graciously.
* * *
Rusty tells us about her weekend for an hour, then re-tells us about her weekend when Levi and Caleb replace Seth, and then even after I head into the kitchen for some water and find myself discussing undiscovered Amazonian tribes with Eli for thirty minutes, I can hear her telling everyone about her weekend yet again.
Like I said, I think she may have had some sugar.
Finally, it’s her bedtime. Daniel herds her around to everyone, and when it’s my turn she throws her arms around me dramatically and squeezes for a long time. Then, just as quickly, she’s moved on to Eli.
“Can you stay after I get her to bed?” Daniel asks quietly.
I raise one eyebrow, but he smiles and shakes his head.
“Sadly, no,” he says. “I gotta tell you something.”
Then Rusty’s scampering upstairs, he’s hustling after her, and Eli and I go back to debating whether or not there are still undiscovered indigenous tribes anywhere on earth. It’s unclear who’s on which side here, but I can tell it’s definitely a debate.
Though, then again, it might just be because that’s how Eli interacts with the world. He debates it.
Forty-five minutes later, Daniel finally reappears. By now I’m sitting in the living room with just Clara, Caleb, and Seth, all of whom are discussing who’s going to win the current season of The Bachelor.
I’m just listening, having never seen an episode, and Daniel nods toward the kitchen, then disappears. When I come in, he’s pouring himself a glass of whiskey from the sideboard where his mom keeps it, then holds up the bottle.
“Want some?” he asks.
I eye his glass, which is at least three fingers full. Daniel’s not usually much of a drinker, despite owning a brewery, so I wonder what the hell Crystal said to him out there.
“I gotta drive home, but thanks,” I say, and he just nods and corks the bottle, then takes a good long sip.
“I hate her,” he murmurs, almost inaudible, swirling the brown liquid in the glass. “Charlie, I try so fucking hard not to, but I do. I hate her.”
“What happened?” I ask, and he takes another drink.
“She says she knows that we’re faking it,” he says.
* * *
“I don’t understand what she wants,” Daniel says, his eyes closed, his head in my lap as we rock gently. It’s thirty minutes later, his whiskey glass is drained, and we’re sitting on the porch swing.
Or, rather, I’m sitting and he’s lying across me, legs splayed off the side as we swing gently through the warm night air. The porch light is off to keep the bugs away, and the only light is from a sliver of moon and the stars above.
“I mean, why try to get custody when she never actually wants to see Rusty?” he asks, rhetorically, his eyes closed. “She’s cancelled so many visits, Charlie.”
“I know,” I say, stroking his hair back from his forehead.
“I think Rusty knows,” he says. “I try not to make a big deal out of it when Crystal cancels, but there’s no way to not tell her. She gets so disappointed, and I feel so fucking awful.”
My left hand is on his chest, and he finds it in one of his, closes his fingers around mine.
“I don’t even want full custody,” he says. “I’d love to split it fifty-fifty. I don’t want to keep her from her mom, I just want Crystal to want to be her mom and I don’t think she ever will.”
“I know,” I say softly.
It’s not the first time this has happened. Once or twice a year for the past five or so years, Daniel’s gotten tipsy after Rusty comes back from a visit and told me all this: how much he hates Crystal, how he wishes she were different, how he’s afraid that he’s screwed his kid up for life.
“I almost married her,” he says. “You want to know the craziest fucking thing, Charlie?”
My heart trips in my chest, takes a moment, beats again. I thought I knew everything, but I didn’t know that, though it makes sense. Sprucevale is small, Southern, conservative; if you knock a girl up, you best marry her.
“You did?” I ask.
“Yeah, and I wondered for years if I should have,” he says. “I swear I heard it a thousand fucking times, do the right thing.”
It hits me like lightning turning sand to glass; he says it and I harden, brittle, afraid that if I breathe, I’ll break.
For years? How many years?
“Maybe it would have been,” he goes on, his eyes still closed. “Maybe if I’d done the right thing like everyone said I should, Rusty would have a dog and a picket fence and a little sister and we’d be doing whatever the fuck happy married couples are supposed to do. I don’t know. Bowl on a league or some shit.”
I swallow. I make myself breathe, brush his hair back again.
“I couldn’t make myself go through with it,” he says. “I looked at rings exactly once and I had to leave the store to puke on the sidewalk outside because I couldn’t stomach the thought of marrying someone I didn’t love.”
I had no idea. We weren’t as close for a little while after he found out about Rusty — he suddenly had a child, I was working two jobs and trying to get my shit together — but he’s never told me this before.
I look down at the ring on my finger, the light inside it moving with the rocking of the porch swing. I know he doesn’t like Crystal. I know he’s never liked Crystal, but I know he loves Rusty and I know his guilt over her is deep and real.
“Do you even like bowling?” I ask. It’s the first thing that pops into my head that I can say out loud.
