Mending Michael

by J. P. Grider

  Mick nods, a frown on his face.

  A tiny smile finds its way to my face, despite my anger. "Are you going to miss me, Michael Ross?"

  He smiles, but shrugs.

  "What?" I ask him.

  "You...I like when you call me Michael," he says bashfully.

  Then it occurs to me that I'd called him Mick before. "It's a nice name."

  He steps closer to me and takes my hand. "Can't you just tell your dad you don't want the job?"

  "No. He'll just out-talk me and prove I'm wrong...as usual."

  With my hand still in his, Mick says, "I understand about controlling parents, but you seem so strong and all, I'm surprised you can't just speak your mind. I mean, you do it with me all the time. No offense."

  "None taken. But yeah, with my dad, it's...I...he just seems always right, you know? He says he has my best interests at heart, and he really has never steered me wrong, and I guess, I just...well I always think he's right, you know? I'm...maybe if I knew what I wanted to do with my life, I'd have a strong argument against him, but...I don't so..."

  "So you're gonna start the job? When?"

  "He'd like me to come in tomorrow at three."

  "Really. Really?" Mick looks concerned. His eyebrows are dipping low above the bridge of his nose, and he's biting that cheek again.

  The Malibu drink isn't having the effect I was hoping for. I still feel painfully miserable.

  "You gonna do it?"

  "I don't think I have any other choice."

  He nods. "I guess you don't." Mick takes the glass out of my hand and grabs hold of my other hand now. Stepping closer to me, he quirks his mouth. "You gonna be okay?"

  "I guess. Bored out of my mind, but...okay."

  I miss his hands for, like, a tenth of a second when he lets go of mine, because he right away wraps his arms around me and runs his hands up and down my back to comfort me. "I'll miss you," he says into my hair.

  I let out a moan, because I'll be missing him too. It may be only three days a week I'm in New York, but I won't be able to work here anymore. If I do, I'd never get any studying done. I may be failing my finance classes, but I'm acing my other classes. I definitely don't want those grades to slip. Then I'll be kicked right out of college altogether.

  As Mick smoothes my hair with his palm, I feel his breath expel. "Will you still be...coming in?"

  I lean back and look at him. "Of course. I didn't even tell my father yes yet. I've been ignoring him. Should I say no? I'm so confused."

  "Holiday, you have to do what your gut is telling you to do. No one, not me, not your father, can tell you what to do."

  I know he's right. He is. But telling my father no right now probably isn't an option for me. Maybe when I'm older, but not right now. I just nod. "We better finish up. I have an early class tomorrow, and I'm gonna have to find something businessy to wear."

  Mick pulls away and unties his apron, hanging it up on the hook after he takes it off. "So you're taking the job then," he says, not looking at me.

  "Yeah," I whisper.

  43

  MICK

  Today's visit with Kenna didn't go as well as Tuesday's. She wasn't as happy as she had been last time. Kenna was mad at me this morning, and as much as I tried to make her smile, she wouldn't break one.

  Madeline, whose name I finally remembered, said it's normal for children who are ripped from their homes unexpectedly to act both unresponsive and aggressive, which is exactly how Kenna behaved with me. By the time I got Kenna to even look at me today, the only thing she said to me was that she hated vanilla ice cream with rainbow sprinkles. She loves vanilla ice cream with rainbow sprinkles. I hate seeing her this way. Kenna is a happy girl. Despite her mother's slight attention, Kenna always remains happy. I can't stand to see her like this.

  Six more days.

  In six more days, I'll be in court and hopefully have my Kenna back home. And she'll return to her usual cheerful self. Hopefully.

  When I ask Madeline if I can meet with Kenna again before Friday, she says no, that she wasn't even supposed to let me see her without a court order in the first place, but she did it as a favor to the chief of police. Now I'd have to wait until I get a judge's ruling on whether or not I can have or even see my own niece. And according to my lawyer, I'm not going to have an easy time of getting either.

  Yes, it sucks.

  This week has sucked.

  And not just where Kenna is concerned.

  Since Tuesday night, I have not seen or spoken to Holly. I sent her a text on Wednesday wishing her good luck, but all I received back was a sad face. I know she was indicating that she wasn't happy about going to work on Wall Street, but I guess I was hoping for something more. Maybe even a text afterward telling me how her day had gone.

  Nothing.

  And every time I think about sending her another text, or even picking up the phone to call her, I chicken out—I'm not sure how I'd handle another snide or sarcastic comment. Holiday Eliza Sabrina Buchanan still intimidates me. Yet she is the only one that can comfort me the way she does. She's smart, she's sassy, sarcastic, unbelievably wicked, and unexpectedly sweet. She's everything I never knew I wanted in a girl. When I think about it too much, I realize...

  She's everything I ever really wanted.

  But now is not the time.

  And I know that.

  I keep reminding myself that.

  Kenna is my first priority, Charity, my second. Getting my life in order comes somewhere in-between. I have no time, nor do I have the right to entertain a relationship. Not when I can't make that relationship a priority. And even though I know Holly can help me through this whole custody ordeal, is it fair to her to use her for my own solace? When I have nothing to offer her in return?

  The answer is no. And that is why I haven't attempted to contact her again. She has her own issues right now. Dropping mine on her shoulders would only make things worse for her. Maybe, just maybe, one day, when I have Kenna back and Charity is recovered, then I can consider adding Holly to my life. But until then, it's best I keep my problems to myself, and hold Holly at a distance. I don't have to work with her anymore, so it shouldn't be a problem. She's probably not even giving me a second thought, so all my contemplating is probably for naught anyway.

  Later, at the bar, Holly's friends walk in laughing. For an instant, I get excited, hoping that she will be walking in with them. When she doesn't, I feel disappointed and relieved at the same time. Disappointed, because I'd love to see her right now. Relieved, because I don't think I could keep my distance from her had she shown up.

  Then I feel another emotion quickly thereafter—uncertainty. Would she want me to keep my distance? How real were her feelings last weekend? The fact that she hasn't contacted me in four days indicates that maybe she was into me because of the physical proximity working together allowed. Maybe once she was given a break from me, she'd stopped thinking about me. Out of sight, out of mind, right? If absence made the heart grow fonder, she'd have contacted me.

  Watching her friends, though, throughout the night, laughing and drinking and having a good ole time, makes me wonder where she is. They're all here. Griffin, Cali, Braden, Rose, Cali's friend Tabitha, even Hurley stopped by for a drink before he'd run out again. But no Holly. I thought about asking Griffin, since he's the friendliest and most outgoing of the bunch, and since he'd helped me two weeks ago when Charity lost Kenna, but I changed my mind. Asking about her would only lead him into telling her I'd asked, and then that would be sending her the wrong message. So I refrain, and wonder for the rest of Saturday night when I'd get to see Holly again. Even though I have no right wondering.

  About eleven thirty, I turn toward the door after hearing the cow bells clang, signaling another patron entering the bar. I haven't done all that well on my keeping-away-from-the-alcohol bit, and that is especially true tonight. As soon as I'd clocked in tonight, I'd poured myself a Grey Goose. Since I hadn't wanted to drink all Donny's
profits, I'd switched to the cheap stuff by the third glass. After that, I hadn't really paid much attention to how many drinks I'd consumed, so when the door to the bar opens, and I see the girl who walks in, I'm almost grateful.

  Almost.

  "Hey, Mickey."

  "Lara. What are you doing here?" I ask, half happy to see someone I can talk to about my discouraging day with Kenna. Not that I'd forgiven her yet for cheating on me with my former best friend, but she did try to help with babysitting little K and well, I can use an ear, and possibly two warm arms, tonight.

  "Just came to see you," she says smiling, looking concerned. "Wondering what's going on with Kenna and T." She shrugs, her smile disappearing.

  "Not good."

  "Wanna talk about it?"

  Do I wanna talk about it? I do. With Lara. Because there needs no explaining with her. She knows my past. She grew up with me. Lara knows about my parents, knows about Frankie. She knows about my record. These are things I'm not ready for Holly to know. They're things that may scare her away or something she may judge me for. With Lara, I can just...

  Cry.

  I so need to cry right now.

  With Lara, I can bring her up to date quickly, without all the backstory, and then let out the scream I've been holding in. And then the cry.

  Is it fair to Lara? Probably not. Is it fair to Holly, to assume she'd judge me or run? Definitely not. Am I a coward who has drunk way too much for someone still clocked in on the job? Yes. Will I listen to reason tonight? Most likely not.

  "Mickey? You wanna talk about it?"

  "Can you meet me upstairs?"

  "Yup. Still got my key. How 'bout I go get us Chinese, like old times, and I'll set it all up?"

  Old times. "I won't be done 'til at least three."

  "Okay. I'll sit and have a few drinks."

  She sits at the far end of the bar and I give her her usual—a gin and tonic with three slices of lime.

  When her smile lights up, I'm all of a sudden sick to my stomach. What am I doing?

  As the night drags on, I regret more and more asking Lara to stay. Plus, I know it's going to give her the wrong idea. This is why I should have kept drinking the rest of the night. Sobering up is causing me to think too much.

  When the bar empties, I turn to Lara. Sipping her third drink and playing some game on her phone. "You mind if I take a rain check on Chinese tonight? I'm kinda beat and just wanna go to sleep."

  "I can come up with you. Maybe rub your back or something to help settle you down."

  "I'm not a toddler," I joke, using Holly's sarcasm to deflect the message I realize Lara is sending.

  "You know what I mean." She raises her brow, her voice soft yet deep—a flirtatious whisper.

  Yes, I know what she means, and I'm pretty sure I'd get more than a back rub. Would I love her to jack me off or give me a blow job? Of course. She's beautiful, smart, deliciously lean and sexy, but it'd lead to more. And not just sex. She'd want us to go back to the way things used to be. Before she broke my trust.

  And I don't want that.

  Even if I could learn to trust her again.

  I want Holly.

  And though I can't have her, won't have her, until I'm fixed—put back together—then I don't want anyone else either.

  "I think I just need to be alone, Lara. I'm sorry."

  She sighs, losing her smile, and pushes a twenty toward me.

  "It's on me. Thanks for caring, Lara. It means a lot."

  It does. Not too many people in my life do care. It's nice to know Lara is on my side.

  **

  Sunday, I move into the house in North Haledon. I take what little I have in my studio apartment, move it into the house, and move my mother's old living room and kitchen sets to the apartment above the garage. I also replace my childhood bedroom set with the bed I'd bought for my apartment. Though I'd prefer to stay above Donny's, if I want to get Kenna back, I need to face the unwelcome memories of my past and move back into my childhood home. Where I can't even remember ever being happy.

  The huge house is lonely, and besides the time I spend inside covering the walls with fresh paint, I don't spend much time in it. My days are spent working at the bar. My nights are spent at the library searching the web for an IT job. Fortunately, there are many available opportunities in the information technology field. Let's just hope one of them calls me.

  By Friday morning, I am a wreck.

  Outwardly, my black streamlined two-button suit, complete with black silk tie and white athletic-fit shirt, along with my lightly-gelled hair, screams, "This guy has got his shit together," but inwardly, I feel cluttered and out of control. Ready to lash out at any moment. And we know where that got me the last time I lashed out.

  When my cell vibrates, I expect it to be Lara, since she's been sending inviting messages to me all week. I weakly decline her invitations to meet with her, saying I'm tired, stressed, what-not, instead of being honest and telling her I'm sorry if I'd led her on, but I am not interested in starting things up again. I just don't know how to tell her that now that I may have made her believe that.

  However, this text is not from Lara. It's from Holly.

  HOLLY: Good luck today, Michael. Been super busy, but thinking about you a lot. What time's court today?

  ME: 10am. Thanks. Hope your job is going okay. :)

  HOLLY: Yes and No. I'll be thinking about you at 10. Hopefully we'll see each other soon. I miss you.

  ME: Miss you too, Holiday. Xo

  I don't receive a text after that, but that's okay. Just hearing from her today did a world of good for my nerves. I hadn't realized how much of my pent-up uneasiness had been due to not seeing Holly. I should have asked her if she could be there with me today, but if I had, and she could, then she'd hear all the reasons I may not get Kenna back. And although I should trust that she would handle it all in stride, part of me isn't ready to find out if that is the case.

  The parking garage of the municipal complex is packed. I need to drive all the way to the top level before I find an open spot. Following signs that lead me to the court house, I finally make it to the building, where I'm poked, prodded, and scanned for anything remotely useful as a weapon. Once I'm cleared, I locate the sign that reads Courtroom. Standing just outside the door, is not only Carmine, my lawyer, but Lara as well.

  "Lar...what? Why?"

  Carmine opens his mouth. "She says she's your fiancé? I told her I had to check with you if you wanted her here."

  I look at Carmine, then at Lara, then back at Carmine. "Yeah. It's fine." I sigh in resignation.

  Carmine opens the door for me, and as I wait for Lara to step in front of me, I whisper, "Fiancé?"

  She shrugs. "What should I have said?"

  I shake my head, saying, "Never mind," to myself. I don't bother saying it out loud.

  Inside, the courtroom is a mad house. Kids screaming, mothers crying, men dressed in suits looking bored. Probably the lawyers who have been through this kind of stuff repeatedly. To the front left of the room, stern-looking women were going through their briefcases, their lips pursed, their eyes narrowed.

  Child services.

  Where were they when I was a kid?

  The irony in today is I'm on the other side of the law than I would have been as a child. Where are my parents now? Clueless, partying it up in Florida.

  Carmine instructs me to stay quiet unless the judge asks me specifically to answer. Otherwise, let Carmine do the talking. That's what I'm paying him for, I guess. But it nags at me while I sit there. He's not getting paid, so what is the impetus that will drive Carmine to win this fight for me?

  Does he want me to get Kenna back so badly he can taste it?

  Is it killing him every. Single. Moment. Of every. Day. Because his little three year-old is living with complete strangers?

  Does it physically hurt him to breathe, knowing that Kenna has no idea why she was thrust out of her home so abruptly?

 
Does he blame himself for not forcing his sister to get help when she might have been less resistant, when he first saw signs that Kenna was in danger of neglect and harm? And within arm’s reach of drugs that could kill her?

  What will drive my lawyer to prove how much I love and cherish Kenna, and how much I need her back?

  To hear the cases of some these families makes me more depressed. So many of these children need to be taken from their homes and put into foster care. It's evident in hearing their parents' speech— slurred, almost incoherent. The nastiness in which they backhand their children right there in court in front of the judge.

  But some of them, like me, seem desperate in their plea to have their child returned to them or kept with them just a little longer.

  But who am I to make judgments as I sit here listening to these appalling stories? Who is telling the truth? Who is so nervous that they fumble and stutter over their words that they appear inebriated? Who has the right to guard these children?

  Who has the right to DECIDE who has the right?

  At the end of the day, will the judge be confident in the decisions he makes?

  Will the right guardian be granted custody?

  Will the WRONG one?

  My mind is in utter chaos by the time my case is called to the stand. I try to present a convincing presence as I stand beside my lawyer, praying for, hoping for, expecting that he finds me a suitable guardian for my niece. I hear his words amidst my prayers, but they're muffled, as if the judge is speaking into his hand. Only he isn't.

  I hear intermittent words, like criminal record and aggravated assault. Other words spin around in my head—death, drowning, alcohol abuse, drug addict. I hear these words, but nothing coheres. The walls start moving, closing in. The judge in front of me comes in and out of focus. The thunderous banging of his gavel sets the walls back in their place, and for a moment, I see the bald man in black looking at me warmly. Sympathetically. Intuitively, I turn to Carmine, who has the same condoling expression on his face. My shoulders drop.