Everything I Want

by MacMillan, Jerica

I still can’t believe that she changed her mind and didn’t tell me.

  Forcing my jaw to unclench, I slide into the opposite side of the booth and offer the best smile I can muster under the circumstances. “Hey.”

  Sam looks up from breaking a hamburger in half for the little girl—Madison, I remind myself. Her name is Madison. Seeing her face-to-face makes this even more real. I have a daughter. Holy shit.

  “Hey,” Sam says, pulling my attention from the little girl with shoulder-length hair, brushing wisps of it out of her face while she eats her burger one handed, her wide gray eyes staring at me.

  Gray eyes just like mine.

  I spare Sam a glance, far too fascinated by this tiny person. “Hey.”

  The little girl gives me a smile. “Are you friends with my mom?”

  That question has me looking at Sam for longer, wondering what she’s told Madison about me. “Uhhh …”

  Sam gives me a tight smile. “Yes. Aaron was one of my best friends when I was a teenager.”

  I flatten my lips at her answer, but before I can contradict her or protest that story, Madison’s eyes go wide and round. “Ooh. When were you a teenager?”

  The question is obviously directed at me. “A few years ago. Just like your mom. We were teenagers together.”

  “Did you play together?”

  I nod solemnly. “A lot.” My eyes flick to Sam again, and she’s wearing a sardonic smile. Clearly she’s thinking about the same kind of “playtime” that I am.

  “Stop,” she mouths at me.

  I widen my eyes in an expression of angelic innocence. She shakes her head, her face telling me she knows too well that I’m no innocent. And for a second, we’re back to how we used to be, in sync enough that we can communicate with looks as much as words. A bond arcing between us, linking us together, bridging the distance created by time and space apart.

  But then Madison breaks the spell. “Where do you live?”

  Blinking, I refocus on her, remembering why I’m here at this grubby McDonald’s play place with the shrieks and squeals of other children echoing in the background. “Well, right now I’m on tour with my band, so I spend a lot of time in hotels. But when I’m not touring, I have a place in LA. Do you know where that is?”

  She shakes her head slowly, eyes still round, clutching her half a hamburger in front of her face. “What’s on tour?” she asks around a mouthful of food.

  I glance at Sam again, but she just raises her eyebrows as if to say it’s your show, dude. Answer her question. “It means that I go to different cities and play music for people on stage.”

  “Cool!” She plops her burger down on the paper wrapper, grabs a fry and stuffs it into her mouth, then looks at Sam and says, “Done! Can I go play now?”

  Sam’s brow wrinkles as she surveys the crust of half the burger, the untouched other half, and the mostly full carton of fries. “Are you sure? You didn’t eat much.”

  Madison nods so hard her hair flies all around. Sam smooths it out of her face. “Alright. I’ll save it so if you get hungry again, you can come back and eat.”

  “Thanks, Mommy!” She scrambles down out of her seat and takes off running to an opening in a vertical plastic tube. I can see stairs inside, and she disappears to climb through the hamster maze running around the ceiling.

  I stare after her for a long moment, something twisting in my chest at the brief interaction. Sam chose this place to meet, knowing that the little girl would run off to play after only talking to me for a few minutes. I’m not sure how I feel about that. On the one hand, I’m not sure what to talk to a four-year-old about for very long. But on the other hand, it feels like this was orchestrated to keep my daughter away from me. Still. And she clearly doesn’t even know that I’m more to her than just some old friend of her mom’s.

  Turning to look at Sam, my face must give away my frustration, because she drops her gaze and fiddles with a napkin in front of her, launching into an explanation without prompting.

  “I’m sorry,” she says.

  I lean back against the hard bench, crossing my arms over my chest, keeping my mouth shut and waiting to see what exactly she’s sorry for. There are so many options to choose from.

  She looks at the play structure, though there’s no sign of Madison, then back at the napkin on the table. “I thought meeting in a neutral place would be best. I don’t have a lot of people over to our apartment, especially not men. I didn’t want her to think …”

  “You didn’t want her to think what?” I prompt when it’s clear she’s not going to finish the sentence.

  She raises her fathomless green eyes to mine, a fierceness lingering in their depths that I don’t remember being there when we were in high school. “I didn’t want her think you were going to be an important part of our life when I don’t know what your plans are.”

  I grunt as if struck, coldness spreading from that twisted place in my chest down to my gut. “My plan,” I enunciate carefully, looking at a spot over her shoulder and shaking my head. “I can’t say I have a clear plan at this point. This all came out of nowhere for me. You’ll have to excuse me if I haven’t mapped out a clear and concise schedule for how having a daughter will fit into my life now.”

  When I look at her, she at least has the grace to look chagrined. But her spine is still straight, and her gaze is unflinching.

  “I’ve always done what I thought was best for everyone. I know you’re angry, and I’m sorry for that. But keeping her from you was so that you could live your own life without interference from us. We don’t need anything from you. We do fine on our own.”

  I have to grind my teeth to keep my anger in check. After taking several deep breaths to make sure I can keep my voice even, I drawl, “How nice for you to have the privilege of making choices for everyone.”

  My barb hits its mark. She drops her eyes again, her shoulders slumping slightly. But she recovers quickly, lifting her chin and clenching her own jaw, even if she can’t bring herself to meet my eyes again. “I can’t change the past, Aaron. All we can do is move forward. I have no idea what your intentions are. All you said last night before storming out was that you wanted to meet her. So now you’ve met her.”

  “Mommy!” calls a shrill voice, muffled by the plastic tubing, and Sam and I both look up to see Madison waving wildly from a clear window overhead. Sam waves back with a smile. I wave too when it’s clear that she’s also waving at me.

  Refocusing on me, Sam gestures at the play structure. “That’s Maddie.”

  I straighten. “Maddie?”

  She nods. “That’s what we call her, usually. I only pull out Madison when she’s in trouble.” She gives me another tight smile.

  Maddie. I test the name in my head. I’ve spent all the time since I found out about her trying to force myself to think of her as a her, as Madison instead of “the baby.” And now I find out that she goes by Maddie. Somehow it just feels like another betrayal, not being told her nickname in the first place. Maybe it’s stupid, but I’m still so angry about everything to do with this situation, that any extra thing just makes it that much worse.

  But I force myself not to react visibly. If I want to see Madison—Maddie—again, I need to not piss off Sam.

  I refocus on Sam’s clear green eyes. Her even brows. Her straight nose and full lips.

  “Now you’ve met her. What do you intend to do?” She sits stiffly, bracing herself for my answer. And I don’t know what she wants to hear. Maybe once I would’ve been able to figure that out, but it’s been too long. Too much has happened in the meantime. She’s had a child for chrissakes. She’s a mom.

  That fact alone is mind-blowing.

  And I’m a dad.

  There goes my brain leaking out my ears.

  Even if I knew what Sam wanted my answer to be, I’m not sure I care very much right now. Not after what she’s done.

  I inhale through my nose, and let the breath out slowly through my lips. Keeping my
voice low, I outline the most important things I’ve been thinking since last night. “I want to get to know her. I want her to know that I’m her dad. I want to see her regularly. And I fully intend to participate in her life as she grows up. I’ll have a family lawyer figure out how much I owe you for back child support and we’ll draw up an agreement.”

  Sam’s shaking her head, her lips pale, but the color high in her cheeks. “No. I don’t want your money.”

  I fix her with a glare. “Too bad. You’ve denied me everything for the last four years. It’s my right and my responsibility to make sure she has what she needs.”

  “She has what she needs.” Her voice is firm, once again unflinching.

  I ignore that assertion. I’m sure they’re both getting on just fine. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to claim my rights, though. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the little box holding the DNA test kit and return envelope and slide it across the table. “We’ll need a DNA test to confirm paternity.”

  Sam’s mouth tightens and her eyes fly to mine. “Are you serious?” she hisses.

  Turning one hand palm up, I shrug. “It’s a formality. I believe you. But the band’s PR and legal teams need a DNA test before they’ll agree to move forward with a child support and visitation plan.”

  She doesn’t move for a long moment, locked in a staring contest with me. “And if I refuse?”

  “You would do that? Why? Just out of spite?”

  “Aren’t you asking out of spite?”

  I shake my head slowly. “No. Like I said, I believe you. I have no reason not to. You’re obviously not here to shake me down. You’ve made it abundantly clear that you don’t even want me around. That’s too bad, though. Because once this leg of the tour is over, we have a two-month break, and I fully intend to come here instead of heading to LA like I’d planned.” Even though here is the last place I want to be. I’ve barely spent any time here since my dad died if I could help it. But here is where my daughter is. Where Sam is. So here is where I’ll be spending all my free time for the foreseeable future.

  I lean forward, planting one arm on the table. “You can refuse, of course. But that’ll be worse for everyone, because then I’ll have to get the courts involved, and they can compel you to provide a sample. On top of that, it’ll be all over the media. Is that really what you want?”

  Her lips compress even more, but she drops her eyes and gives her head a tiny shake. “No,” she whispers, her eyes falling closed. “You don’t need to do that.”

  Chapter Ten

  Samantha

  The mention of that tiny word—courts—makes my heart shrivel in my chest and my mouth run dry.

  He would. He’d take me to court.

  And then my worst nightmares would come to life. Because if he’s taking me to court, he’ll ask for even more, won’t he? I mean, that’s the way it works, right? You push for extra, assuming the judge will make a fair ruling. Or your attorney tells you that’s what you need to do.

  Rubbing my fingers across my forehead, I hide my face from him, forcing myself not to freak out.

  I knew he’d probably want to see Maddie. Set up a schedule. Have more than just this one meeting.

  But some part of me held out hope that he wouldn’t want to be a father—not in any real way—and that he’d leave us alone. That his actions would justify my decision to leave him out of it.

  Now, though, the choice is no longer mine to make. I can’t make him leave us alone again. Not if he’s willing to take me to court.

  The DNA test is a surprise, though. And while it makes sense from a logical standpoint—his lawyers must think I’m some kind of opportunist showing up now claiming he has a child. Especially since something similar happened to one of his bandmates already.

  But it hurts. Despite Aaron’s claim that he believes me about Maddie being his, it stings that he’s still asking for confirmation.

  Pulling in a lungful of air, I straighten my spine and raise my eyes to his once again. I reach for the little box in the middle of the table. “Do we have to do this here? Now?”

  He shakes his head. “You can do it at home. There’s a prepaid envelope in there. Just drop it in the mail once you’re done.”

  I nod, tucking the box into my bag.

  “Sam?” His face is serious when I look back up. “I’m willing to do it this way because I trust you. But if you take too long, we will be getting a court order.”

  I clench my jaw and my nostrils flare, but I force myself not to react with more than a nod. “I’ll do it right away.”

  “Mommy, Mommy, watch! Mommy’s friend, watch me!” Maddie’s shrill voice distracts me from the anger building in my chest, and my gut sinks at the look on Aaron’s face at her name for him. I’m sure for him it’s a slap in the face, a reminder that she has no idea who he is to her.

  “I’m watching, sweet girl,” I call back. “Show me what you got.”

  She grins and scampers over to the climbing wall, where she pulls herself up on the first row of grips and reaches for the next handhold. She can’t quite get the leverage to get higher, though.

  I clap and cheer. “Good job, Maddie! You’re getting so big and strong.”

  She beams at my praise, then turns to Aaron, waiting for his reaction. “Yeah, great job,” he says. False brightness echoes in his voice as he tries to sound enthusiastic, but the gruff edges give away the suppressed emotions he doesn’t want to let out.

  Maddie bounces over and climbs back onto the bench next to me, stuffing a french fry into her mouth and staring at Aaron, her feet swinging underneath her. She reaches a hand across the table and pats his arm. “Mommy’s friend? I have something to tell you.”

  He glances at me, then gives Maddie his undivided attention. “What’s that?”

  “I got to spend the night with my grammy and papa, and I got to help Grammy make waffles!”

  “Wow, that sounds good. Were they yummy?”

  She nods, her hair flying forward. “We put blueberries in them.” She mimes sprinkling something on the table, then picks up another fry.

  “Yum.” He leans closer. “Wanna know something?” Her eyes, so like Aaron’s, spark with curiosity—does he realize they’re the mirror image of his? If so, how can he still insist on a DNA test?—and she nods, her mouth working furiously as she chews. “I like blueberries in my waffles too,” he whispers. “Have you ever had them with blueberry syrup too?”

  She shakes her head, her eyes wide with wonder. “No. Is it good?”

  “So good.”

  “Guess what else?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I got to jump on the trampoween!”

  “Trampoline,” I supply at the puzzled look on his face. “My parents have a little rebounder trampoline in their basement, and they let her bounce on it sometimes. With close supervision, of course.” Now that he’s invoked the threat of taking me to court, I feel like I need to justify all my parenting decisions.

  Meeting him at a fast food restaurant doesn’t seem like a such a great idea after all. What if he thinks that I feed her junk all the time? And earlier I was pressuring her to eat more … I’m not sure if that makes me look bad because it’s not the greatest food or not so bad because I’m worried about making sure she eats enough.

  I suppress a groan while Maddie chatters on about something that happened at preschool this last week, then launches into singing her ABCs. Aaron looks suitably impressed. When she starts over, she only gets through the first few letters before stopping and giving him a disgruntled look. “You’re s’posed to sing it wif me. I said next time won’t you sing wif me. It’s next time.”

  “Oh, uh. Sorry. Of course.”

  She gives him a long look to make sure he’s ready, then starts singing again. This time he joins in, his warm baritone carrying to the far corner of the play place where I see another mom smiling at us while her kids run around and dart up the plastic tubes.

  I imagine ho
w we must look from the outside. A young couple with an adorable daughter. The cute dad singing along with his preschooler. The picture-perfect family.

  Little do they know, we’re anything but.

  Sighing, I look down at my bag, the corner of the DNA test box peeking out. Yeah, not even close to the picture-perfect family.

  After singing through the ABCs two more times, Maddie scampers back to the play structure.

  I watch her go, unwilling to face Aaron head-on right now. “This is kind of a treat for her,” I say, the need to explain myself still pressing on the back of my mind. “We don’t come here often, but when it’s cold out it’s nice to have an indoor play space where she can burn off some energy.”

  “Makes sense,” he says quietly. “Danny has a son. He’s younger than Maddie,” he sounds almost hesitant as he says her name, “but he’s like the Energizer bunny. They say he sleeps, but I swear that kid never runs out of energy.”

  I smile when he shakes his head like he can’t believe it. “Yeah. Kids are like that. They go, go, go until they crash, pretty much. It’s ugly, and when they get overtired, it’s actually harder to make them stop, which doesn’t make much sense, but that seems to be the way it goes. Maddie will run herself ragged and then scream like a banshee when I tell her it’s bedtime. Once I wrestle her into her PJs and hold her and rock her in the chair, she conks out in no time, though. Between staying the night at my parents and now this today, tonight might be kinda rough, actually.”

  A wince flits across his face. “Sorry. I’m not trying to make your life more difficult. I just …”

  With a sigh, I shake my head. “No. It’s fine. Don’t apologize. You’re not being unreasonable.” Ducking my head, my gaze snags on that DNA test again, and even though it smarts, I get it. “You’re actually handling this better than you have any right to.”

  “Yeah, well …”

  I don’t push when he lets that sentence hang. I don’t really want to know how he might’ve ended it.

  With a deep breath, I pull out my phone and open the calendar. “You mentioned that you want to be involved. I’m assuming you want to set up some kind of visitation schedule?”