by Lisa Lace
“She’s never met you.” My voice is incredulous. I look from one lawyer in the room to the next, searching for a reaction. Am I the only one who thinks this is insane?
James holds up a hand to quieten me. “Enough, Mr. Everest. You’ll have your turn. Please, Mrs. Rosenthal, continue.”
“This is my proposal, which I will present to the judge if we cannot come to an agreement during mediation.” She folds her hands in her lap, her eyes on James.
“Very well.” James nods then turns to me. “Your proposal, Mr. Everest?”
I make a big display over opening my file and shuffling my papers. I pretend to read from the first page. “My proposal is”—I raise my voice—“go fuck yourself, Margot.”
Bill puts his head in his hand and lets out a long sigh. When he raises his head, he grabs hold of my arm and gives me a warning squeeze. “What my client means to say is that he’s not happy with the terms presented by Mrs. Rosenthal. Mr. Everest has had full physical custody of Grace since she was born, and he thinks to change that now would be only to her detriment.”
“So, your client wants full physical custody?”
“You’re damned right I do.”
Bill squeezes my arm again. “That’s right.”
“And what’s his proposal for visitation?”
I open my mouth to tell her where she can shove her visitation rights, but Bill answers before I can speak. “It is our belief that establishing visitation after this long with no contact between Grace and Mrs. Rosenthal would be emotionally disturbing for the child. We propose a no-contact order until the child’s eighteenth birthday, at which time she can decide whether to initiate contact with Mrs. Rosenthal.”
Margot purses her lips.
“You should consider yourself lucky I’d even let her know your name,” I tell her. “We both know what kind of mother you’d be.”
Margot taps her lawyer on the shoulder and whispers something in his ear.
“Ah, yes,” Terence says. “We have a counter-argument to Mr. Everest’s claim that establishing contact with my client now would be emotionally disturbing to the child.” He looks at me sternly. “It is our understanding that you are recently engaged, Mr. Everest.”
“That’s right.”
“To a woman you’ve known for a few weeks?”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”
Terence turns to James and raises his hands. “It seems Mr. Everest has a prejudice against my client rather than a wish to protect his daughter. He’s happy for Grace to form a relationship with a different woman she hardly knows.”
“Elise isn’t a heroin addict.”
Margot lifts her chin. “I’ve never touched a drug in my life.”
“Bullshit.”
“Mr. Everest, please. If you can’t control your temper, I’ll have no choice but to refer this hearing straight to the court.”
“You might as well. There’s no chance in hell I’m going to agree to any of this. I get full custody of Grace. Margot doesn’t get to see so much as the back of her head as she goes into school.”
“That brings us to our next proposal,” Terence says. “Supervised visitation during the custody hearing. Margot would like to see her daughter once a week while this trial is underway.”
“Hell, no.”
Bill touches my arm again. “Your reasoning?”
“If my client does win custody, she wants a relationship with Grace to have already been re-established.”
Bill leans into me and speaks softly in my ear. “You should agree.”
“What? Fuck that.”
“Trust me, Rory. It will look good to a judge. It will show you’re thinking of Grace and not just trying to screw over your ex.”
“I wouldn’t let Margot within a mile of my daughter.”
“Supervised visits, Rory. She won’t be able to do her any harm.” He meets my eye meaningfully. “I promise it will help your case.”
I let out a low, frustrated growl. “Once a week. Supervised.”
Margot grins, and I find it physically sickening. You may have won this battle, but I am not giving in.
“Are there any terms by which this dispute could be settled today, Mrs. Rosenthal?” James looks at her.
“No.” Margot’s gaze is on James. “It’s all or nothing.”
“Mr. Everest?”
“There’s no fucking way.” Again, Bill squeezes my arm.
“Very well.” James folds his hands on the table. “I will be contacting both lawyers as soon as the court date is set. Until then, Mrs. Rosenthal gets once weekly supervised visits with Grace.
I glare openly at Margot. She is smiling smugly.
When I get home, Grace can tell that something’s on my mind. She tiptoes into the library quietly and slips her little fingers into my hand.
“What’s wrong, Daddy?” Her voice is quiet and scared. “You didn’t eat dinner with me and Alice today.”
I close my fingers around her small hand and squeeze. “Daddy had a difficult day, Princess.” I close my eyes and try to find the strength to explain what’s happening to her. “Sit on my lap, Grace. I need to talk to you about something.”
Grace clambers up onto my lap and looks up into my face expectantly.
“I know you’ve never met your mom, but you have one, just like everyone else.”
Her face creases in confusion. She listens.
“Your mom’s been in touch with Daddy.” I refuse to call her Mommy. “She wants to see you.”
“Why?”
“Why?” I swallow. “She wants to see how you’ve grown.”
“You can send her a picture, Daddy.”
“Do you want to meet your mom, Grace?”
She shrugs. “I don’t mind. Alice is kind of like my mom, isn’t she? And now I’ve got Elise, too. I don’t really need another mom.”
Jesus Christ, she’s tugging at my heartstrings.
“Well, she really wanted to see you, Princess, so you’re going to spend a bit of time with her, okay?”
Grace tilts her head to one side, thinking, then shrugs. “Okay.”
“Are you excited?”
Mature beyond her years, as always, Grace shrugs dolefully. “She never wanted to meet me before.”
I don’t know what else to say. I pull Grace into a tight, close hug and squeeze her. “I love you. You know that, right?”
“I love you too, Daddy.”
Elise places her hand on my arm to stop my pacing. “It’s okay, Rory.”
“It’s not okay. That bitch is taking my daughter today.”
“A court-appointed supervisor will be with her.”
“I don’t trust her. She’s up to something.”
She lowers her voice and whispers in my ear. “You’re scaring Grace.”
I look over my shoulder, and she’s right. Grace is sitting ready to go on the sofa, her backpack on her knees. She looks anxious and unsure.
I sit down on one side of her, Elise the other.
Elise strokes back her hair kindly. “You look a bit shook up, Grace,” she says. “Are you feeling all right?”
“What if I don’t want to go?”
“We promised your mom, sweetheart,” I say. The words feel like rocks in my mouth.
“I’m not going to call her ‘Mom.’”
“That’s okay, honey.” Thank God.
“What’s her name, anyway?”
Elise’s face crumples in sadness. My little girl doesn’t even know the name of her own mother.
“Margot,” I reply. “Her name is Margot.”
There’s a knock at the door. My stomach feels like it’s dropped down into my shoes. I’m sick with worry. I feel clammy and cold, but I flush hot with anger when I open the door and see Margot standing there with the court-appointed supervisor a step behind her.
I hold onto Grace’s shoulder protectively, as Margot crouches down to say hello to her.
“Hi there, Grace. I
’m your mom.”
“Daddy says I can call you Margot.”
Margot glares at me. “That’s okay. We don’t know each other very well yet.” She gives me a satisfied smile. “But we will.”
I kneel down in front of Grace and straighten her cardigan, then pull her into a hug. “You have that cell phone I gave you with you?”
“Yes.”
“Daddy’s number is in there. You call me if you want to come home, okay? You call me if you need me.” I stand up and look at the supervisor, a forty-something woman who holds herself like an ex-cop: back straight, shoulders back, head held high. Regardless, it does not make me any calmer. “Promise me you won’t take your eyes off them.”
She offers me a reassuring smile. “I’ll never be more than a few steps behind. Don’t worry, sir. Your daughter will be fine.” I’m still going to be worried sick.
I fix Margot with an intent stare. “If you try anything, Margot…”
“You’ll what?” She lets the challenge hang in the air, then leans in to whisper venomously, just inches from my face. “Oh yes, that’s right. You’ve got nothing. The court is simply waiting to see you flip, and when you do, this is all over.” I look down at Grace, who is standing nervously to the side.
“Be good, Grace.”
I close the door, then return to the living room, leaning my forehead against the wall and slamming my fists into the plaster. My daughter’s face just before I closed the door haunts me.
Elise comes and lays her hands on my shoulders, but I tear myself away from her.
“I need a drink.”
“Rory, no. That won’t help anything.”
“I’m just meant to sit around here, worrying about what she's doing to her? What if she kidnaps her for ransom? What if she exposes her to drugs? What if her husband is there? I’ve never met the man. I’ve got no guarantee my daughter is safe with that woman.”
“She’s not alone with her,” Elise replies calmly. “They’re watching her for that very reason. It’s going to be all right.”
“You don’t know that woman.”
“It won’t do her any favors to harm Grace.”
“What about what she might be saying to her, though, hmm?” I pace in angry circles, my hands clenched into fists. “I don’t want her poisoning Grace’s mind. I don’t want my little girl knowing who I used to be…”
Elise stands on her tiptoes to pull my face down toward her and kisses me gently. “Grace is a smart girl. She knows who her father is.”
“Fuck, I need a whiskey. A shot. Something.”
“No. You need to be the father your daughter needs right now. Sober. Ready to fight for her.” Elise pulls me after her to sit down on the sofa. “I’m been reading about AA and NA. Do you have a sponsor?”
“Greg.”
She smiles. “Maybe you should give Greg a call, hmm?”
Her words draw a smile from me. While my world is revolving around Grace, it’s good to know someone is still looking out for me.
I hold out my arm so Elise can nestle against me, and hold her tight. I take a deep breath. “No. It’s okay. I can ride this out.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Just help me not to lose my mind while she’s gone.”
Elise leans over toward the side table, picking up a book. I glance at the cover as she opens it. I grin. It’s Grace’s copy of The Witches. We finished reading it a few days ago. Elise begins to read it from the beginning.
There is a knock at the door, and I spring up. Elise and I have been switching off every chapter as we read The Witches. I couldn’t help but note how close Margot resembles the Grand High Witch. Reading has kept my attention focused, but my anxiety over what Margot has been up to with Grace has not eased for a second.
I make my way to the door, throwing it open. My daughter beams when she sees me.
“Daddy!” she says, opening her arms. I kneel down, my arms open to catch my daughter in a hug. I lean back, placing my hands on her shoulders. My eyes find hers.
“How are you, Grace?”
She shrugs. “Okay.”
“What did you do with…your mother?”
“We went to the park. Didn’t we, honey?” Margot’s voice is dripping with honey. No amount of sweetness will cover the venom at its core. Grace nods.
“Well,” I say. “Why don’t you go and get ready for dinner?” Grace walks past me, clearly ready to be out of the situation. I stand, giving Margot a look. My gaze goes to the supervisor. “Everything was fine?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” I step back, closing the door.
“See you next week.” Margot is gloating. Instead of rising to take her bait, I turn the deadbolt in the door as I exhale. Grace is home safe, I remind myself. Nothing happened. Yet.
Elise
Stepping into Kleinfeld’s bridal store, a wave of emotion sweeps over me. It’s almost unreal. I’ve dreamed of my wedding day ever since I was a little girl, and now I’m almost there; and not at all in the way I imagined.
The store is beautiful. Rack after rack of dresses are lined up around the room, packaged carefully, their long trains swinging. I see glitter and lace in ivory, white, and cream. In the cases by the cash register are all kinds of bridal jewelry—diamonds and pearls, tiaras. Mannequins wear the most gorgeous veils, unbelievable in their detail and intricacy.
Dayna walks a step behind me as we step into the store. She’s clutching onto her purse with her lips drawn into a stern frown. There are lines of worry creasing her forehead. Even when the bright-eyed and friendly store assistant offers us each a flute of champagne, Dayna’s look of concern doesn’t budge.
I link my arm with hers. “What’s on your mind, Dayna?”
“Wedding dress shopping…I mean, doesn’t it hit you how crazy fast this all is?”
“I know it’s fast.” I stroke her arm comfortingly. “But I’m a big girl. I know what I’m doing. Come on, help me find someone that’s going to suit me.”
This morning before I left, Rory put a platinum card in my hand.
“Remember, we’re painting a picture. Money is not an issue. As a matter of fact, get something extravagant—all of the bells and whistles. Designer. Bespoke. I’m a billionaire, and I am dying to spoil the love of my life, Elise.”
“All right,” I’d said, even though I felt odd about it. He’d placed his hands on my shoulders.
“Promise me, Elise. Make me the happiest of men.”
“I promise.” He’d kissed me, his lips lingering on mine.
As I stare at all the stunning designer gowns, I’m filled with girlish glee. This is any young woman’s dream, to be surrounded by wedding dresses with no budget. I try to hold onto that excitement, rather than the sense of disappointment that none of it is truly real.
Dayna stands beside me, rifling through the gowns on the nearest rack. “So…how has it been, living with the Emperor?”
“Don’t call him that.” I make a face. “I’ve told you. He’s a really sweet guy.”
“I thought you called him ‘the most insufferable jerk I’ve ever met.’”
“That was before I knew him.”
“You still don’t know him.” She casts me a sideways glance and tuts, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “You’re throwing yourself in the deep end here.”
I nudge her playfully with my hip. “Stop judging me and start helping me choose. We’ve talked about this so many times, and I’ve told you my mind is made up. I’m marrying Rory.”
I can tell she wants to say more, but she holds her tongue and instead pulls out a long, ivory gown to examine. “What are you thinking, Elise—mermaid tail, trumpet, ballgown, A-line?”
“I don’t know. I love the idea of a fairytale dress. Something with a huge skirt and a bodice, like Cinderella. But I don’t want to be too over-the-top. Maybe something classic and sophisticated like Kate Middleton or Meghan Markle. I don’t want masses of glitter
and sparkle, but I want a little something, you know? The dress needs to look special, but I don’t want to look like I’m going to prom. Or maybe something completely fitted…”
Dayna shakes her head and chuckles. “You have no idea, do you?”
“None whatsoever.” We both laugh. “I guess I’m just going to have to try a few.”
The store assistant shows us where we can hang the dresses I want to try on. I pick out a sleeveless A-line gown, a mermaid dress with detailed embroidery, a fairytale ballgown to make a princess jealous, a dress with a halter neckline, and a fishtail dress with ruffles.
“That’s a good range, right?” I ask Dayna, examining my selection. “One of these should at least give me an idea of what shape to go for.”
“All you can do is try.” Dayna throws back the last of her champagne and takes a seat outside the fitting room.
The fitting area of the store consists of a fitting room with a heavy velour drape, and a reveal area with a podium and trio of mirrors. Dayna is sitting right in front of that podium, waiting for my first reveal.
I pick up the fishtail dress and go into the fitting room with the assistant. She helps me squeeze myself into it. It’s kind of like trying to stuff sausage meat into its casing. The dress is tight as tight can be, and when I have it on, I can only giggle at myself in the mirror.
“Let me see!” Dayna insists, hearing me laugh.
I shuffle out from behind the drape. I’m only capable of waddling in a dress that completely pins my knees together. The neckline is straight and shows off nothing of my chest; it makes it looks like my chest has been bandaged down. The dress makes me look flat and boyish and causes me to walk like I’ve had an accident in my panties.
Dayna somehow manages to keep a perfectly straight face when I walk out and swing my leg awkwardly up onto the podium. I stand and turn in front of the mirror, creasing up with laughter.
“I look like a paintbrush.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“Rory would probably wet himself laughing if I came down the aisle in this.”
“What would Rory like?”
