by Frankie Love
With Etta asleep in my arms, I reach for my phone and call my mom. “Hey, Mom,” I say, my voice quiet. “You have time to talk?”
“Jude, I’ve been worried about you. I want to see my granddaughter. I think you’ve been avoiding me for weeks.”
My mom’s right; I have been avoiding her. I’ve been avoiding anything that would call out whatever is happening with my life. I need to talk to her. Maybe she can help me find a way to forgive myself for the things I did that made me into the man I am.
“Want to come over for dinner? I’ve got a lot on my mind and could really use the company.”
She’s happy I called, happier that I asked. She comes over, and I tell her everything about Rachel leaving, about the way Evie and Holden called me out and told me I have some hero complex.
She says it’s not my fault, that none of it is my fault. The stuff that happened when I was a kid, or the stuff that’s happening now.
But shouldn’t I own some of it? Any of it? At what point do you become the hero of your own story, and at what point do you admit to self-sabotage?
Mom holds Etta in her arms, wiping away tears. “Jude, you have to forgive yourself. You were just a little boy.”
“But he was just a little boy too, Mom. Your little boy.”
“Accidents happen, and that’s what happened. An accident.”
“I don’t know why you forgave me. If something ever happened to Etta, I’d never be able to accept someone’s apology.”
“But Jude, I may have lost a son, but I still had you. Still have you.”
“I want Rachel to get help, but I don’t want her back in my life. That makes me feel like a monster, Mom. Because she’s Etta’s mother.”
“What is a mother? What is a father?” Mom asks. “You never had a dad, but you became a man. Etta is lucky to have a father like you. If you’re the only parent she has, that will be enough.” She pats Etta’s back, pacing my living room.
“Evangeline’s pissed off at me.”
“Evangeline loves you, she loves Etta, she hasn’t walked in your shoes. You know what Evangeline’s life has been. She’s been sheltered, coddled—”
“Until she hooked up with Cassius. She’s not sheltered anymore. Her life changed, her eyes opened. Yet she still doesn’t understand that I’m not the enemy, that I’m not trying to do anything wrong here. I’m trying to make sure everyone is okay.”
“I know you are, sweetie, but sometimes trying to prove yourself is just going to leave you exhausted.”
“I’m already tired, Mom,” I tell her, taking Etta from her arms. “I’m going to go put her to bed and pass out myself.”
She leaves, kissing my cheek and Etta’s forehead. “I love you, Jude. Try to find a way to forgive yourself. You need to in order to move on.”
I know she’s right—but fuck, just add it to the list of things easier said than done.
Days pass, and I keep busy with the things I can control. Taking care of my daughter, taking care of my house, figuring out my script, and making to-do lists for when filming starts a few months from now.
Besides that, I try to keep my mind off things that give me so much trouble.
Rachel. Catalina. Holden. Evangeline.
I try not to get upset at the fact that Catalina hasn’t called. She sends a few one line texts, stuff like, Thinking of you.
I respond just as noncommittally: I send back a thumbs-up emoji like a fucking asshole. But what am I supposed to say?
She texts asking if Etta is doing okay. If she’s sleeping well. If I’m sleeping well.
Those ones are easier to respond to. I tell her, Yeah, she’s sleeping well. Or Just took a three-hour nap. Or just got back from a long walk. Etta is some safe middle ground, and I’m willing to take what I can get. Because if I don’t take that, I’ll be left with nothing.
Catalina is, without a doubt, in the forefront of my mind. I call Holden, but our conversation is short. There isn’t much to say, really. Sometimes guys just have to get over their shit before they can get back to normal.
I’m sure my mom has talked to Evangeline, because my cousin calls, emotional and flustered. Apologizing again for being a bitch when were at the beach, for being rude to Catalina. She says she tried to call Cat and fix things.
“I even offered to take her out to dinner,” Evie says.
“Oh yeah? What did she say?”
“She said she wasn’t interested.”
I smile to myself at that, liking that Catalina plays hard to get. Liking that she’s not going to take shit from anyone and doesn’t need apology dinners. Still, I appreciate Evangeline’s gesture, even if it isn’t one Catalina wanted to take her up on.
But when a few weeks pass, and Rachel shows up at my door, it’s the last thing I fucking expect.
Part of me thought, maybe in some twisted fucked-up way, that Rachel would never return. Not that it would exactly solve my problems, but it would at least give me space to move on.
Still, she’s knocking on my door. Time stops as I see who it is. All my energy drains the moment I see her familiar face.
When I pull open the door, Etta’s in my arms.
Rachel’s been gone a month, and even one month in the life of an infant is fucking huge. I know that, because I watch the way Etta changes every day.
I see her eyes deepen in color, her lashes lengthen, her toes unfurl a little bit more each day as she crawls across my hardwood floor.
Rachel doesn’t know these things. Because Rachel chose to leave.
And now, here she is.
“Hey, Jude,” she says. There’s a car parked in the driveway and I crane my neck to see if anyone else is with her. She’s alone. I don’t know if that makes me more nervous, or less. I guess it depends on if she’s sober or not.
Her eyes are clear and her hair is washed, and that gives me a little bit of hope for her.
“So, you back in town for a while?” I ask.
“I don’t know yet. But I’m here right now. Can I come in?”
I open the door, and Rachel walks back into the house she used to call her home.
“Where did you go?” I ask her.
“God, it’s always that line with you. Where did I go? Am I drunk? Am I high? Always so many damn questions, Jude.” She sighs dramatically, sauntering over to the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of white wine. She pours herself a glass without even looking at Etta, and takes a long drink.
“I’m not going to let you drink at my house if you’re planning on driving.” I take the glass from her hand, not caring if it pisses her off. Her behavior is pissing me off plenty.
“You’re such a fucking buzzkill, Jude. Just let me have a drink, and then let me hang out with my daughter. That’s what I came here for.”
“No, you can’t come here and act like this,” I say, knowing my tone is tight. I pour her wine down the sink. “But I’m glad you came here for Etta.”
“Great.” Rachel smiles insincerely, rolling her eyes at me. “Because that’s exactly who I came here for. God knows it’s not you, Jude.”
“What the fuck is your problem with me?” I ask her.
“Can I just hold my daughter?” Rachel walks toward us.
I feel myself pulling Etta closer to me, not quite knowing how this is all going to play out. Wanting to keep Etta close, but wanting Rachel to stay, because her staying is the only chance I can actually get this woman some help.
“Of course, come sit down on the floor,” I tell her. “Let Etta show you how she can crawl.”
“You can crawl?” Rachel asks in a high-pitched voice, reaching her arms out for her daughter.
Etta immediately starts crying—like, full-on bawling. She never acts this way around people. Hell, Catalina’s mom took her for the night and she didn’t so much as fuss one single second. Five minutes in her mother’s presence and she’s already sobbing.
“Why don’t we just sit?” I say, not wanting Rachel to reach for Etta if E
tta doesn’t want her to.
The three of us settle on the carpet and I place Etta between us. She immediately starts maneuvering around the coffee table, pumping her legs as quickly as she can go.
“She’s so fast.” Rachel looks at her for a moment before pulling out her phone, which is apparently more important. “Damn.” She starts typing on her screen with her thumbs. “I’m not going to be able to stay long.”
I give her a terse nod, wishing she never came. If she was just going to come for ten minutes and then leave, what’s the fucking point?
“This isn’t cool,” I say, “coming here like this. You disappear for a month, and then just think you can stop by for a few minutes?”
“Jude, I don’t have time for a lecture from you. Mr. holier than thou, always got his shit together, St. Jude. I’m so glad to have you in my life. You know, there’s nothing like hanging out with someone who makes you feel like shit within five minutes of seeing them.”
“That’s not fair, Rachel. Making sure that you’re okay, wanting to help you, does not make me the bad guy.”
“Of course it doesn’t. I’m the bad parent in this family unit,” Rachel says, waving her finger in a circle between her, Etta and I.
We stand.
Her words are so heated. “It’s such bullshit, anyways. You know as well as I do that none of this is real. Why are you even doing this? Why didn’t you force me take Etta when I left a month ago? You’re just so damn weak, Jude.”
I don’t want to talk about this, not right now, because I already feel my chest tighten and my fists clench. I don’t want to hear the words I know she’s so close to saying. Words she’s been waiting to spew for months. The one sentence she’s been holding hostage, knowing it’s the one sentence that’s going to cut me to the motherfucking core.
“Just say it—I know you want to. But it doesn’t change a thing,” I say, even though I’m scared it changes everything.
Etta has found a basket of blocks and is gnawing on the corner of one. I stand face-to-face with Etta’s mother, knowing she’s ready to drive away, but first she plans to drive her point home.
“You know you’re not Etta’s father,” Rachel says throwing her purse over her shoulder and reaching for a pack of cigarettes in her bag.
“Who is her father?” I say calmly.
“I don’t know.” Rachel shrugs, her eyes hollow and blank, and in that moment I know I will never see this woman’s eyes again. There’s no way she can look at me straight on after this. “I must’ve slept with a different guy every other night the month I got pregnant with Etta. I know for a fact I never slept with you. You weren’t even in town then; you were shooting in New Mexico.”
This isn’t news to me. I’ve done the math.
“But what the fuck do the numbers mean?” I ask. “None of it adds up to something that matters. Because all that matters is Etta having a family. A parent, maybe two, who care about her. Choose her. Love her. Forever. And right now? She has that in me.”
“Sounds like you’re kicking me out of this goddamn family.” Rachel’s mouth is tightly drawn, her head shaking. And I see her fingers shaking, too.
“You know I’m not kicking you out of anything. I would do anything for you, Rachel. And it’s not because I’m weak. It’s because I hate to see you hurt if I know that I can help. I want more for you, and more for Etta.”
“And you, Jude? What exactly do you want for yourself? Because it takes a real fucking piece of work of a man to choose to have a daughter that isn’t even his.”
I push back. “My name is on her birth certificate. As far she knows, as far as the law knows, she’s mine.”
“Is that enough for you?”
I blink back tears, scared Rachel’s going to try to pull Etta away from me right here, right now.
“Etta is more than enough.”
Rachel shakes her head, as if she’s disappointed that I’m not giving her a fight, that I’m not yelling or shouting or storming away.
My honesty seems to give her space to let go of some of the things she’s been withholding.
“I’m getting my shit together,” she says. “I have a place here in LA that I might rent. I have a few jobs that might come together. I’m hoping I get a spot in the new Calvin Klein campaign. And that means I’m going to be coming back. For good. For Etta.”
“You can’t just take her from me. I’m her father.”
“You don’t have any rights here, Jude. I can run a paternity test.”
“Why would you do that?” I ask. “Why would you put Etta through that?”
“Because I’m her mother. And I just need a chance to get my shit together, and then I’ll be ready.”
“Ready for what? Raising a child isn’t something you can do on the side. It’s a day-in, day-out job. Is that something you even want?”
She doesn’t answer, and I know the answer is no. Rachel never wanted to be a mother, and that hasn’t changed with the birth of her daughter. This is more than she bargained for.
But Etta is everything I never knew I wanted.
I don’t trust myself right now. I swear to God I’m going to lose it. “You need to leave, Rachel. Now.”
“I’m coming back for her.” Rachel walks to the door and swings it open.
“Why?” I demand. “Why are you coming back?”
“Because she’s all I have, Jude. You know how fucked up my life was. I want to do something right.”
I feel for her, I do. Rachel’s mom is an addict, and Rachel has fought for everything she has. But somewhere along the line, I swear she gave up.
“It’s too much to put on a baby, Rachel—to think that she’s going to save you.”
“She’s all I have,” she says again. “I don’t have any other choice.”
She leaves without kissing Etta good-bye. She drives away, and I think how wrong she is.
We always have a choice.
Chapter 22
My mind is made up. I’m going to get my act together. I’m going to be a better person, not a lost cause.
I start by calling a last-minute family meeting. Mom, Holden, and Bexley are invited to the patio where I have a veggie tray and sparkling water waiting for them.
“I got snacks you’d eat, Holden,” I tell him.
“Wow, look at you, so thoughtful,” he says, rolling his eyes.
I take it in stride. Bexley gives me a hug, and I try not to compare myself to her effortlessly perfect wardrobe, impeccable red lips and flawless hair swept into a perfect bun, not a single strand loose.
I managed the carrots sticks, but looking down at myself, I realize I scrimped on using my time to make myself look like a grown-up. Once again I’m rocking cut-offs and a tank top, flip flops, and my unbrushed hair in a loose braid.
I take a deep breath, not wanting to be rattled.
Of course, that’s when Mom arrives.
With a date.
“Hey, Mr. Kendrick,” Holden says shaking his hand.
Mr. Kendrick? Evangeline’s father?
What the hell?
“What’s going on?” I ask, no longer insecure about my clothes.
“Hey, baby,” Mom says, pulling me into a hug. “Sorry about this, but I just got the message about your … umm, impromptu meeting, and I was already out with Marshall.”
“Um. Hello?” I raise my eyes, looking at him. “Are you guys like, together?
Mom smiles, and Marshall’s arm reaches around her shoulders. Oh, my God. They are.
“Well,” I say, biting back any words that might be unnecessarily sharp. “This is unexpected.”
Mom never dates. Well, I take that back—when I left for college, she told me she started an online dating profile, and I know she moved to LA hoping to meet someone. But this is not what I expected.
“We met at Holden and Bexley’s Oscar nomination party. Remember, he was there with Cassius and Evangeline?”
“I remember.” I smile tightly and watch
as he shakes Bexley’s hand warmly, then stands on the perimeter of the tight circle I’ve created for my meeting.
“Trish,” Marshall says. “I’m going to give your family some privacy. Could you call me when you’re ready for me to get you?”
“Okay, Marshall,” Mom says, patting his arm. “Thanks for understanding.”
After Marshall leans down and kisses Mom good-bye on the cheek, Holden and I share a look, the kind we would have shared when we were kids. Like, we know the special kind of crazy our mom is. Claw-your-face-off protective, loyal, and worth her weight in gold. Marshall must be okay if Mom is bringing him here.
He leaves, and then all eyes are on me. Right. I called this meeting.
“So,” I begin. “I wanted everyone to come over so I could apologize. Mostly for not being honest about Yuri, and causing so much trouble because I hid that from you.”
Mom immediately reaches for my hand. “We love you, and hate that you felt like you had to hide that from us.”
“I appreciate it—but, like, I’m not looking for sympathy. For the longest time I’ve felt like I was in Holden’s shadow. And the last thing I wanted to do was let everyone know that not only had I flunked out of college, but I also had a creepy boyfriend who liked to threaten me. Not exactly news you write home about.”
“But we’re your family, Cat,” Holden says. “If not us, who?”
“Well, for the past six months, clearly my only outlet has been Netflix marathons.”
“What do you want to do about that?” Bexley asks.
“That’s the thing. I don’t know exactly.”
I see a collective sigh of disappointment wash over Mom, Holden, and Bex.
“Wait,” I say. “Hear me out. I don’t know exactly, but … okay, and I know this is the part that is going to fire everyone all up, but I want to see where Jude fits into my life.”
“Seriously?” Holden shakes his head. “That is such a bad idea. You’ve been hanging out with him for a few weeks, while you’re both on the rebound, and now you’re gonna make life plans with the dude? That’s so fucked up, Cat.”
“Why?” I ask. “Why is it so effed up? I mean, I know his life is complicated—”
