Chapter 7
chapter seven
Jude
Today's vocabulary word: transition
I could admit when mistakes were made.
Returning to Hartford, showing up at that reunion, asking Audrey to help me out—I knew I was chasing trouble going in but the enormity of it didn't register until her first series of panicked texts came through.
Audrey: I'm sorry but I still don't understand how your very observant mother is going to believe that we've reconnected to the point that we're ENGAGED.
Audrey: When did this relationship occur? How did it happen? Are there stories to tell? Photos to share? Anything?
Audrey: I don't even know where you live!
Audrey: How are we supposed to get the story straight if we're pulling it out of thin air?
Audrey: We'll screw up and she'll know!
I glared at my phone as I shuffled through the rental car line at Detroit Metro.
I had a drive ahead of me to Brenda's place up in Saginaw and I'd planned on making the most of the time I had before seeing my boy.
First, I was going to rant at my attorney about the custody agreement.
It wouldn't solve anything other than adding an hour to my tab but there was no one else willing to listen while I complained about a grieving grandmother.
Then, I'd run some mental lock-picking drills on how I intended to fake loving bliss with Audrey next week. She was worried we wouldn't be able to pull it off. I was worried I wouldn't be able to stop.
She was the reason I'd wasted the entire flight from Hartford.
I'd sat down with the intention of clearing out my email inbox and then returning to my research into private schools for Percy in the Alexandria area.
But then I blinked and the wheels touched down, and I'd lost that time to replaying every minute I'd spent with Audrey, examining every inch of the woman she was now.
Of how she felt against me. Of how difficult it'd been to watch her walk away.
Jude: Don't worry about my mother. She's been too busy getting well to be observant these past 2 years
Audrey: Right, about that: how does this make any sense? Your mother goes through CANCER treatment, almost DIES, and I don't check in on her even ONCE? She must think I'm a horrible, callous person
Jude: You have a problem with people thinking that now? Wouldn't have guessed that about you
I knew better than to take a shot like that, but knowing better had always been my problem when it came to Audrey Saunders. Sense and self-preservation had never stood a chance when she was involved.
Jude: I live in northern Virginia. Alexandria. Outside of DC.
Audrey: …okay?
Jude: you said you didn't know where I lived. I'm telling you I live outside of DC.
I watched the screen for a minute, waiting for a response, but nothing came through.
I probably deserved her silence. At least I had a reprieve from more questions I couldn't answer.
Those questions were why I'd put this off for months and they were why there was no way we'd make it through a full week together without some fatal wounds.
Not when those careful, studious glances of hers had felt like she was peeling back my skin and finding all the rotten and hollowed-out things inside me.
And that was my problem. I had all the years and miles and scars separating us from the past, and the most raw, fragile parts of me—the ones that fucking knew better—still ended up leading me back to her.
It was wrong but that old, reckless streak of mine still believed there was no one safer to claim than the one person who could actually ruin me—and had done it twice.
For a long time, I'd nursed an unhinged little theory that I could put all the things that'd broken between us back together if she'd just let me get close enough to pick up the pieces.
To show her that there was nothing we couldn't fix together.
Another mistake, but that hadn't stopped me from circling the wreckage when I wanted to remind myself of the damage she could do to me.
And here I was, waiting in line for more.
As I saw it, my options were limited. I could break my mother's heart.
I'd considered that more than once, and every time I'd tried to walk back this phantom love story, she'd make an offhand comment about how thrilled she was that I'd found Audrey again.
How excited she was for us to get a fresh start.
After "all that mess." How much she wanted to throw us forty different parties to celebrate.
How she'd wanted this for me, and now Percy too, for so long.
Which meant no, I actually could not break my mother's heart.
That left me to forge ahead with Audrey and this half-cocked plan of mine. Sure, it would all come crashing down eventually, but my mother had spent the last two years fighting for her life. She'd earned some uncomplicated joy, even if it was built on a massive lie. I'd deal with the fallout later.
But god help me, I wasn't sure I'd survive a trip to Arizona with Audrey. The plan had made sense at first, but even texting with her now was like trying to outrun a serial killer by hiding in a basement. She was going to unravel my every defense and I wouldn't even try to stop her.
That was the real problem—not that she'd break me again, but that I'd let her.
"I don't know what you're worried about. We're gettin' on just fine," Brenda drawled, a pointed stare hiding right behind her smile. "You really didn't have to come all the way up here to check on us."
"I had some down time between meetings," I lied. "Figured I'd swing by."
She packed a dozen different emotions into her quick response of, "Isn't that nice for you."
If there was one person who hated sharing custody of Percy more than I did, it was Brenda.
Most of the time, I didn't blame her. For fuck's sake, I was the one-night stand and Penny hadn't gone looking for me until after Percy was born.
She'd spent the entire pregnancy planning to raise him on her own—same as my mother raised me—and Brenda had been right there with her every step of the way.
Brenda didn't know me, and as far as she was concerned, my involvement here had been a gift granted to me by her daughter, which I'd damn well better remember.
The least I could do was let her resent me.
"It's good for him to be here," Brenda said. She didn't try to hide the defensiveness in her words. "It's good for him to be outside and play like the other kids. He shouldn't be cooped up inside all the time."
Was it possible for my jaw to permanently clench? Could it lock up and stay this way for the rest of my life? Felt like it. "He's not cooped up inside all the time."
"He needs to run around more and spend less time on that tablet," she went on. "All the experts say screen time is terrible for children."
"Unless those children are using the screens as assistive technology," I said, but Brenda wasn't listening to me.
She was as stubborn as they came. Set in her ways to no end. I didn't know how much of that was a coping mechanism, like she'd frozen in place when the worst happened and was still there. But it was as though she was on fire and couldn't bring herself to let me hose her off.
Percy wandered toward us from across the grassy yard, his feet bare, a bucket hat hiding most of his face and a worn hardcover book tucked under his arm. He walked straight into me, his little face mashed against my leg and his free hand curled around my belt.
"Hey, man," I said, rubbing his back. "I'm digging this hat. Good look for you."
He tipped his head back, his eyes wide and owlish behind his glasses. Passing me the book to free up his hands, he signed, "Are you taking me home?"
One thing that'd blindsided me in this parenting journey was the brutal pain of watching my child struggle and not being able to do anything about it.
He loved Brenda and he generally liked visiting her but the transition here was always tough.
Getting out of step with the preschool schedule, his regular therapies, and the routine we had at home didn't make this any easier.
I cut a glance at Brenda. She'd dropped into a rocking chair on the porch, her face pinched and her gaze fixed on Percy.
But she only knew the bare basics of ASL.
She'd tried to learn when we realized this was more than a speech delay but she never got the hang of it.
And since he had communication tools on his tablet, it didn't seem like a major issue to her.
"I'm just dropping in for the night," I signed, "And I'll straighten things out with Grandma."
His shoulders sagged. "Nothing's ever straight with Grandma."
I had to swallow a laugh at that. He was a cranky geezer with a soul as old as dirt in the body of a four-year-old. "We'll figure this out," I signed. "And we'll get the good waffles too."
He tugged on my belt and I scooped him up. His arms went around my neck and his head settled on my shoulder, and I finally exhaled all the way.
"We went to the playground this morning," Brenda called. "Did Percy mention that? He made two new friends."
"That sounds fun," I said to him.
"All they did was run around and scream," he signed.
"They played a game for an hour," she added. "All three of them together."
He rolled his eyes. "The rules didn't make any sense and they forgot all about them after five minutes."
"That's what kids do," I said. "You know that. Because you're a kid."
"Then I don't like kids," he replied.
"I didn't like a lot of kids when I was younger," I said, low enough that Brenda wouldn't hear. "But then I realized I just hadn't met the right ones."
"I don't think I'm going to meet the right ones when Grandma follows me around saying 'This is Percy. Can he play with you?' I look like a dumb baby."
Despite his complaints, Percy could hold his own with other kids and they tended to be cool with him too.
It was the adults who invented the problems. Either they wanted to structure the hell out of every minute or they felt the need to overexplain his communication differences.
All of it backed him into a corner where people talked at him and not to him, and he became more of an object than a participant.
Or—this one really fucked me up—they felt entitled to the details of his story.
It didn't make me popular in the playdates-and-birthday-party circles but I had a lot of experience educating other parents on how to treat my kid like a human being.
Brenda…was a different situation.
She wanted the best for Percy but she didn't trust most of the information I gave her.
Accommodations, adaptive tech, unconventional systems—it all sounded like overcomplication to her.
Her way had worked before when Penny was young, so in her mind, it was still the right way, even if it meant bypassing what Percy needed now.
I had to tread lightly with her. I had to respect the glass foundation our relationship had been built on and the weight of her grief resting upon it. She was a link to a history I'd never be able to fill in for him.
"Didn't you have a great time?" Brenda asked him. Without waiting for a response, she said to me, "Percy had a great time. We're gonna set up a playdate for next week."
Another eye roll from my son. "All they're going to do is run around and scream."
An hour spent running and screaming would probably solve a minimum of fifty percent of my problems. The freedoms of childhood were wasted on children.
Before I could convince Percy this wasn't the worst thing in the world, Brenda let out a long, noisy yawn. "It's been a day," she said through another yawn. "We're going to sleep well tonight, aren't we, Percy? And a good breeze too. Nice night to have all the windows open."
Percy glanced up at me, his eyes saying, See what I'm dealing with here?
If the past few days had been any indication, Brenda would be zonked out within the hour. I gave him a nod before saying, "The summer sunsets fool you into thinking it's earlier than it is."
"Sure do," Brenda said. "But my sweet Percy knows right when it's time for bed. Just like his mama."
Her words broke on a sob, and a moment later she bustled into the house, the screen door snapping behind her.
I sucked in a breath and slowly let it out. "Let's take a walk along the water," I said to Percy.
"Why does it make Grandma sad that I'm like my mom?"
I took his hand and led him down the slight hill of Brenda's yard to the shores of Saginaw Bay. The house was postage stamp small but the location couldn't be better. A gentle tide lapped against a narrow strip of sandy beach as night saturated the horizon.
"You don't make her sad," I said. "She's sad that your mom isn't here anymore. She misses your mom a whole lot."
"But I remind her of my mom and that hurts her feelings."
I wanted there to be a quick, clean explanation that would remove this burden from his young shoulders. But I knew there wasn't one because I'd searched for it many times before. "Grandma loves that she sees parts of your mom in you. It's special for her, even if it's hard."
He considered this for a moment, the bucket hat bobbing as he nodded. Then, "What if I do things that don't remind her of my mom anymore? Will that hurt her feelings too?"
"No, my dude, that won't happen. Grandma loves you exactly as you are. Seeing those pieces of your mom in you is a special gift."
"Like an extra chicken nugget in the bottom of the bag."
"Yes, precisely that."
"But I don't cry when I get an extra nugget. Nuggets make me happy."
"Sorry, man. It's not a perfect metaphor."
"What's a metaphor?"
I rubbed the back of my neck. There was no limit to this kid's questions. "Are there any cool rocks on this beach?"
Old souls loved a good rock.
"Yeah, so many, over here, let me show you, come on," he signed all at once.