by Isabel Jolie
“Daddy’s home!” Kara squeals.
This right here is my favorite part of the day. I drop to my knees and open my arms, and she runs into them and I crush her to me.
“Daddy, too tight.” She pushes away then leans up and lays a wet kiss on my cheek. This little girl is my everything.
My mom walks into the room, and I stand. “Hey. What’re you doing here?” She’s welcome anytime she wants, but she and Amber don’t have the best relationship.
Kara’s small fingers wrap around my index finger and squeeze.
“Amber called me to come over this afternoon. She got a call about an audition. She mentioned that she thought Kara would be fine by herself until you got home, but that last time you weren’t happy with her when she did that.”
I close my eyes and raise my head to the ceiling. I knew it. Only a matter of time. After a long, loud, calming exhale, I hang up my coat and scarf, put away my gloves, and address my daughter.
“What have you and Ama been doing?”
The large crayon box sits on the table, and crayons are scattered all over. Several of her favorite coloring books are stacked to one side.
“We’ve been coloring.” She climbs into a chair, tucks her legs up under her, and resumes work on her masterpiece.
“Thanks for coming over. I wish you would have said something. I wouldn’t have stayed at the clinic so long today.”
“I was happy to come over and spend time with Kara.”
Mom follows me into the kitchen. I open the refrigerator door as I ask, “Have you guys eaten?”
“Yeah. I’ve been over here since around four. I fixed us a tuna casserole.”
I pull out a round glass dish of leftover chili and place it in the microwave. “Did she say if she’s planning on picking Kara up from school tomorrow?”
“I think she’s gone, honey. You’ll have to ask her, but it sounded like the audition is for a band in Chicago. A friend of a friend kind of thing for a band that has a chance to go on tour as an opening act for a well-known band. She talks so fast.”
I tap the counter, staring at the dull light of the microwave. “Did she say goodbye to Kara?”
“She hugged her. Said she’d be back to hang out soon.”
I lean back onto the edge of the counter. “Mom, I’m getting a lawyer. I’m going to seek full custody. Once the lawyer gives me the go-ahead, I’ll call Amber and tell her. It’s possible she won’t fight me on it.”
Mom tenderly squeezes my arm. “I don’t expect she’ll fight you, honey. You are doing the right thing.”
“Did Dad fight you when you sought full custody?”
Mom slides past me to open the refrigerator and pulls out two beers. She carries them over to a drawer and snaps the tops off with a bottle opener.
“I didn’t have full custody. We had joint.” She pushes an open bottle of beer on the counter to me.
“You didn’t? And you didn’t make him pay you child support?” We’ve never discussed specifics, but I know we struggled at times. Mom’s brother helped us out more than once.
Ever so slowly, she shakes her head, her lips wrinkled together forlornly.
I take a long swallow of the cold beer.
“Honey, a custody agreement doesn’t necessarily mean a parent will or won’t be involved. I think what you’re doing is the right thing, though. Amber’s too self-absorbed. And she’s too flighty. I don’t trust her. It wouldn’t shock me if she showed up when Kara’s fourteen and tried to take her to help out at a club she’s playing at or if she tried to take her away for weeks to some random city where she has a gig. Maybe tried to talk her into creating a band. She’s openly experimental too.” Mom jerks her nose up, defensive. “I’m not being judgmental. I experimented some myself back in the day. But she’s open about it, and it’s been going on for years. At the very least, it’s risky. If she becomes an addict, you’re much better off having clear legal rights to Kara.”
“I’m not necessarily worried about Amber becoming an addict.” I say the words slowly. “I am worried about her coming in and out of Kara’s life. Going a year or two without a word. How do I prevent that?”
“You can’t, honey. You can’t control Amber or force her to be an involved parent. But you can talk to her. Beg her to either remain in touch, or to stay away until she’s ready to commit to being a more reliable presence in Kara’s life.”
The microwave beeps, and the hot glass bowl sears my hand as I pull it out, and send it clattering along my tile countertop. “Fuck.”
Mom leans against the kitchen wall, sipping her beer. “How’s Delilah?”
I take out a fork and stir the chili, letting the steam escape. “Fine, I guess. She’s another one who’s chosen to walk away.”
“Well, she didn’t really have a choice. How’s her dad doing?”
“Oh, Mom. She has a choice. Her dad’s fine. He has MS. It’s not a death sentence. She’s choosing to stay in New Orleans.”
“Have you given her a reason to come back here? A real reason?”
“For what? So she can leave again if he gets sicker?”
“Honey, she can come back here and you two can figure out if what you have is worth making some tough choices for. No parent wants their child to give up their life. From what you’ve told me, her parents are financially secure and can hire nurses if it comes to that. And you and Kara could move to New Orleans.”
“Mom. I’m a part-owner in a veterinary clinic.” An almost overextended veterinary clinic with a mountain of debt and too few practicing veterinarians.
“Yes, you are. And if it comes to it, you can sell your share to another vet and buy into a practice in New Orleans. There are always solutions if you open your mind to possibilities.”
“She’s out of my league. Used to a lifestyle I could never provide.”
“Maybe. You’ll never know until you talk to her.” She pats me on my back and leaves the kitchen.
I eat my chili standing over the counter. In some ways, she’s right. The problem is that Delilah and I never got our relationship to the point where we could decide if it was worth making sacrifices. We jumped right in and were hot and heavy in a nanosecond. We were so new when all of this came about. Leaving New York had been something I wasn’t willing to consider because of Amber. Now, I suppose that’s changing. But selling my share of the business won’t make sense until we’ve built the new locations into thriving practices, and moving for someone I just met would be the definition of insanity. But Delilah doesn’t have to be in New Orleans right now. She can come back.
Mom’s question reverberates in my head. Have I given her a reason to come back? The last time I gave someone a reason to stay, she backed out the door. I clean my dish and leave the kitchen to join Mom and Kara in the living room. I hear a soft southern twang, and my heart clinches.
My mom’s phone leans against a stack of coloring books, and Delilah’s sun-kissed face and bright blue eyes shine through the screen. I stop and stare. Kara beams as she dabs her brush into paint, mixing hues of yellow and red, then holds up her white plastic palette to share the results with Delilah.
“Oh, that’s looking good. Maybe add a little white in the mix to lighten it up?”
Mom comes to stand beside me. “Kara asked to speak to her. I hope you don’t mind.”
“How’d you get Delilah’s number?”
“Oh, sweetie. She and I talk almost every day.”
“You do?”
She swallows her beer. “Yes. And when I have Kara, we FaceTime. But it hasn’t been too much lately. I think she’s suspected you and Amber might be rekindling something.”
“Why would she think that?”
“Honey. You have been spending a lot of time with her. And have you looked at Amber’s Instagram?”
I shake my head as I recall Delilah’s email, but before she can say anything else, I step forward and stand behind my daughter.
Within seconds, Delilah’s mom’s voi
ce rings through the background. “Delilah, come back outside, dear. Tom came to visit.”
It’s almost 8:00 p.m. her time. Who is Tom?
“I’ve got to run. Kara, tomorrow afternoon, we’ll finish the painting, okay?” Kara and Delilah both kiss their palms and blow kisses off to each other. Delilah doesn’t acknowledge me before the screen disconnects.
Mom announces it’s time for her to go home. As I hold the door for her to leave, she shoves her phone into my hand.
“Look at the photos she’s been posting.” Mom has Amber’s Instagram open on her phone. Photo after photo of Kara and me, and some selfies of the three of us. I remember her telling us to smile, but it never occurred to me she was posting these. There are also a lot of pictures of my backside with captions like “Nice ass.” and “Yum yum.” Unreal.
After saying goodbye to Mom, I usher Kara to the bath. On the way there, Kara points out the new art she’s recently completed with Delilah while on FaceTime. It seems the two of them have a system going, with Delilah as instructor and Kara as pupil. She’s still there for Kara but stonewalling me. Once Kara’s asleep, I call Delilah. Of course, her voicemail picks up, so I text her.
Mason: Hey there. I want to be clear. Nothing is going on with Amber and me. Nothing has happened at any point with us romantically. She has been spending more time with Kara, which I encouraged. She was also helping us out by spending time with her when I was at work. I plan to get a lawyer to work on getting sole custody. Can we talk?
Chapter 21
Delilah
I stare at the phone.
Type, “Hey there.” Then delete it.
Toy with the home button. Check the weather. Click back to the text. Re-read it. Type, “Hi.” Then delete. Repeat typing “Hey” or “Hi” about twenty times, deleting each, then toss the phone on the coffee table and hit the floor for some yoga. I stretch out the muscles in my back in the downward dog pose then flex each leg as I walk the dog, my favorite full body stretch.
It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen him, yet I can’t get him out of my mind. The only time I am remotely happy is when I’m stoned sitting in the back yard. Or after dinner when a buzz from my third glass of wine kicks in. I haven’t gone to the office yet because I’m waiting for all the men to decide if they want me to. I spend my days working out in the morning, having lunch with my mom, reading, then my afternoon sitting my ass in a chair smoking weed. And, of course, the dinners.
There was Clayton, who showed up on a Tuesday for dinner with a pink bowtie. Matthew, with a bulbous belly that would allow him to play the role of Santa with ease. John, who also went to Tulane and would not drop the name game, even though we weren’t at the school at the same time. There was another guy with a thick mustache. The pornstache isn’t the way to my heart.
Oh, and Tim. He took the cake with his, “Don’t you think you’re a little old for a nose ring?”
I pushed my shoulders back so my breasts shifted upward and responded, “You have nose hairs. Don’t you think you should get those waxed?”
My mother had not been pleased. I should really try to steal Mom’s planner, because she must have gone to rotary club and penciled in every single male deemed eligible between the ages of twenty-five and forty-five on a visiting rotation. If I could nab that book, there’s no way she’d remember who she invited over, and she’d be running around the house, flapping her arms in panic mode.
My friends from high school have either moved away or have moved into another stage of life. The happily married with baby stage that means lunch consists of in-depth conversations about what the baby eats, motor development status, and area Kinder Care programs and options. And, in a lot of ways, those high school friends and I grew apart during college. The ties that bound us have loosened and frayed.
I finish stretching and stare at my phone. He’s not dating Amber. Just do it.
I pick up my phone and press his name. It rings several times, and as my thumb hovers near the red circle, he answers.
“Hello. Delilah?” His deep timbre winds me, and I suck air in through my mouth.
“Hi.”
“Did you get my email?”
“Yeah...and yeah, I did think you and Amber might be reconnecting. I didn’t want to get in the way of that, you know?”
“She and I are long done, Delilah. I should have made that clearer to you. Even if she becomes a regular part of Kara’s life, she and I have grown apart. I mean, we were never together, together. Not really.”
“Well, Kara must be so happy to have her back in her life.”
“No. No, actually, she’s gone again. Chicago.”
“Really? How’s Kara taking it?”
“Okay. She’s been quiet at random times. Spent a lot of time playing by herself or flipping through her picture books. Last night she asked me if she did something wrong. I hate that she believes any of it’s her fault.”
“Oh, my goodness. Poor baby girl. Has Amber been in touch since she left?”
“No. I don’t expect to hear from her. Not until this gig ends. When she’s on the road, I don’t usually hear from her.”
“What’s wrong with her? Doesn’t she care about her daughter?”
The sound of a door closing comes through the line. “She’s pursuing her dream. She didn’t want a daughter. I can’t get too angry at her when she wanted to put her up for adoption, and I blocked her.”
“You’re doing the right thing by seeking sole custody. I hate the idea of Kara hurting. You know, when you first told me about Amber wanting to put the baby up for adoption, I thought she was horrible. But I’ve thought about it a lot, and what she did was incredibly brave. And full of love.”
“Love? That’s how you define love?”
“Yeah, it is. Think about it. She was nineteen. Nowhere near ready to be a mom, and she had dreams. I have to believe it was a difficult decision. But she recognized she wouldn’t be a good mother. Not at that stage in her life. Not if she resented her daughter. She recognized it and sought out the best option, the best life, for her daughter. I think that qualifies as love.”
“I think she was selfish. Only putting herself first.”
“Maybe. But I don’t think self-love is all bad. We can sit here and debate if she did it for herself or for Kara, but at the end of the day, her choice was the best thing for Kara. Can you imagine what it would’ve been like if Kara grew to love her mom, and then she popped in and out of her life? She’d be a different kid right now, with a lot of emotional issues. Whether you approve or not, her choice was ultimately the best choice for Kara. I admire her for having the strength to make that decision.”
He mumbles something I can’t quite catch. Then he asks, “How’re things there?”
“Other than feeling like I’ve been stuffed inside an aquarium, it’s fine. We’re leaving for Paris tomorrow. Maybe that’s what I need. To get away.”
“Your dad must really be doing good if he can travel to Paris.”
“He’s not going. Oh, no. This is Mom’s trip. She loves Paris. It’s supposedly my welcome home trip, but it’s a thinly veiled holiday shopping excursion. It’ll be fine. My Aunt Josie’s going, and I adore her. She’s the coolest.”
“I guess your mom isn’t so concerned about your dad, then?”
It’s my turn to sigh. “She is, but right now things are tense between them. I think they need a break from each other. How’re things there?”
“I miss you.”
The desperation in his voice shouldn’t make me happy, but I smile. “Miss you too. But this is my home now. Sometimes, it’s as if I’m living that Shin’s song. Trapped in a town I outgrew so long ago. But this has always been the plan.”
“Have you started work at your dad’s company yet?”
“No. I expect to after this trip. Or maybe after Christmas.”
“What happens if your dad needs you, and all of you are in Paris?”
“We’d get a flight home.”
“It wouldn’t be the same. If I’m responsible for a staff and for multiple accounts, it wouldn’t be easy to just take off.” Folks at our ad agency plan vacations weeks out, and there’s also the matter of me only having two weeks of vacation time. “And, anyway, think about Kara. If I moved back to New York, and we got close, and then Dad took a turn for the worse and I needed to move home, I’d be the person disappearing in her life.”
“But you’d call. You wouldn’t disappear. We’d work it out. And she’d understand.”
“No, Mason. You’re missing it. I was always supposed to move back home. This whole thing sped the timeline up, that’s all.”
“We haven’t seen each other in weeks. We haven’t really given long distance a chance. You don’t answer my calls. Let me come visit. Let’s spend more time together, talk to your parents together. I have to believe we can find a solution.”
My muscles tense. “Wait. It sounds like your solution is to talk to my parents and get them to agree to me moving back to New York. Is that why you asked about talking to my parents?”
“Well, yes. I can’t imagine your parents really want you to give up your life in New York. You shouldn’t have to sacrifice your life.”
“Well, shiitake. You know, I’m not sure how to respond. It sounds like your idea of a solution is for me to change my life.” And why does everyone expect me to be the one who gives everything up?
“Change? No, my idea for a solution is for you to not change your life. Not yet, at least.”
“No? You want me to come back and stay until it really will break me to uproot. That’s what you want? And for what? So we can date? You want me to change my life plans, the plans I have had for years, the agreement I have had in place with my parents for years, so we can date?” By the time I finish my diatribe, I’m shouting into the phone.
