Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
GRIFFIN
I sit on Jim’s purple velvet brothel sofa, staring at my phone screen while my heart gallops around my chest like a whole herd of rampaging moose. I really wish I hadn’t asked Beckett to go, and that knowledge only makes me more anxious.
If you’d told me a week ago that I’d spend the last twenty-four-ish hours doing a scavenger hunt with my nemesis, getting hot and heavy against a restaurant fence, helping prep dinner for said nemesis’s brother, nearly decapitating myself with a circular saw—slightly dramatic, I know, but go with me—and then embarking on a magical adventure through the treetops to discover a secret treasure room… I’d have laughed in your face.
Now, if you’d told eight-year-old Griffin, I probably would’ve said, “Cool! When do we start?” Because that’s exactly what I thought adulthood was going to be like—one epic adventure after another, with mysterious rope bridges, hidden rooms, white knights to guide you through the forest, and maybe even a few sword fights thrown in for good measure.
I know better now. I know adulthood is all about spreadsheets and health insurance and trying to plump up your 401(k).
It’s about trying to be the absolute best at your career so that you never have to worry that you won’t make rent.
It’s less about adventure and more about trying to avert disaster.
But today… today felt like something kid-Griffin would’ve dreamed up.
At least up until the part where I got those cryptic texts from my mothers.
We need to talk.
Soonish.
My mothers have never been cryptic people.
Ever. In my thirty years of life, Lainey and Tish Mercer have been relentlessly, exhaustively transparent about everything.
They’ve made sure I know more than I need to about their finances.
When I chose to major in business, they’d been forthcoming with their opinions—But you used to want to be Indiana Jones, Griffy!
What about archaeology? Do you really want to spend your life working for The Man?
One summer, when I was eighteen or nineteen, they even initiated a discussion about which lubes were the best depending on what kind of sex you’re having.
And no, to answer your question, I have not forgiven them for that.
So this careful, measured response to my question about Jim’s books? It’s unprecedented. It’s weird.
And because I seem to have become incapable of keeping a handle on my emotions since hitting the Winsome town line, the weirdness has transmuted into fear… though I can’t imagine what the fuck I’m afraid of.
I hit the FaceTime button before I can lose my nerve.
Both of my mothers appear on screen almost immediately, sitting side by side on the floral couch in their cozy sitting room at the B&B.
Mama Laine’s graying auburn curls are pulled back in her usual messy bun, and she’s wearing one of her paint-splattered cardigans over a Planned Parenthood T-shirt.
Mama Tish, as always, looks more put together—her silver hair’s cut short, and she’s wearing a crisp button-down with the little dragonfly earrings I got her for her birthday a few years ago.
But they both look strained. Like they’re holding their breath. Even during their worst financial struggles, I don’t think I’ve seen them this tense.
“Griffin!” Mama Tish says with forced brightness. “How are you settling in, sweetheart? How’s Vermont treating you? We’ve been eager to hear.”
“I’ve heard it’s beautiful up there this time of year,” Mama Laine agrees. “My friend Daina—you remember Daina, who helped us organize that big protest a couple years ago?”
“Against Derwin Sherwin—” Mama Tish interjects hotly.
“Derwin Simpkins,” Mama Laine corrects.
Mama Tish eyes her. “You sure?”
“Positive, baby.”
She waves a hand. “Fine, then. Derwin Simpkins, the shady developer who tried to pave our paradise and put up a half-baked ‘luxury eco resort’ parking lot.”
Mama Laine pats her knee. “In any case, Griffin, Daina moved to Vermont and built a yurt. Not quite as exciting as your little treehouse in the woods, but still so fun! We’ll have to come visit both of you once things settle down here.”
“If Griffin’s still there and only if he’d like us to visit,” Mama Tish reminds her. “We know you’re planning to move on soon, Griff. And we recognize that you’re an adult now. We respect your autonomy, and we never want to cross your boundaries.”
She sounds like she’s been watching therapy Instagram reels again or reading a self-help book called Mothering Independent Children Whose Life Choices You Don’t Understand. For a second, I feel this overwhelming wave of affection for her. For both of them.
But then I remember the point of this call. “So you did know Jim built a treehouse, then? You stayed in touch.”
They exchange a look—one of those wordless conversations that come from thirty-plus years together.
“Griffin,” Mama Laine begins carefully, “we—”
“Then did you know he wrote these children’s books?
” I hold up the book I brought down from the pickle turret.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I asked you what you remembered about him when I told you I inherited this place, and you said you hadn’t talked in years.
I didn’t think we did secrets in our family. ”
I’m a little hurt, but mostly confused.
“We don’t.” Mama Tish rubs a spot between her eyebrows. “We certainly never set out to.”
“It wasn’t entirely our choice,” Mama Laine says. Then her face twists. “Except that everything’s a choice, isn’t it?”
This time, Mama Tish pats her knee.
“Could you clue me in on what the heck we’re talking about here?” I demand. “Why was it some deep secret that Jim wrote books and built a treehouse? Why not tell me? Warn me?”
“We didn’t want to tell you, because…” Mama Laine nods at Mama Tish, who takes a deep breath, then continues. “We knew if we did, we’d also have to tell you Jim wasn’t just an old neighbor, baby. He was our friend.”
“I know that. I remember it, sort of. So?” It feels like my mothers are hoping I’ll pick up some thread they’re laying down, but… I’m sitting here threadless.
Mama Laine wets her lips and takes up the story.
“Jim moved into our building when we were living on Prospect Park. He moved around a lot—he used to say he was like a mushroom, and he could pop up anywhere—but Brooklyn was his home base for a while. He knew we were struggling financially, and he knew we wanted a child, so—” She spreads her hands. Tilts her head. Screws up her mouth.
I still don’t get it… and then suddenly, I do.
“Oh, no.” I laugh. “No way. You can’t seriously mean…”
In no realm did I expect this to turn into some soap opera confessional situation. Griffin, your real father is… That shit never happens to me.
Then again, I also never got fired or inherited treehouses, so maybe it’s time I stop being so surprised by the twists and turns life takes.
“Jim didn’t want you to know that he was your sperm donor,” Mama Tish says.
“He loved his adventures. His freedom. And that was fine with us since we’d planned to use an anonymous donor in the first place.
But later… it became hard, having him in your life as an uncle.
It started to feel like we were lying to you every day.
And I think it was hard for Jim too. You were…
an adventure he never expected to have, sweetheart.
But he truly believed he wasn’t meant to settle down.
So he decided it was time to leave New York. ”
Mama Laine nods. “He didn’t want to hurt you by being half in and half out of your life, Griffin.
He stayed in touch with your mother and me here and there for a few years after he left.
We knew he was writing some books. We knew he’d gotten his hands on some land and built himself a treehouse.
But I promise you, we haven’t heard from him in at least fifteen years, and we had no idea he planned to leave the place to you.
I think the fact that he did shows that he loved you in his own way. ”
The world is tilting sideways. I grip the edge of the sofa so hard my knuckles go white.
I stare at them, these two women who raised me, who taught me everything I know about love and family and honesty. Who are now telling me they’ve been lying to me my entire life about something fundamental.
“We told ourselves that if you ever tried to find your biological father, if you ever even hinted that you were interested, we’d tell you everything. Your well-being has always been our highest priority, Griffin.” Mama Laine’s voice is pleading.
“But I did ask,” I say softly. “About Jim. About why he would’ve left me this treehouse. You said nothing.”
They exchange another look. “That’s… that’s true,” Mama Tish admits.
“But you’d just been through the wringer, losing your job.
We thought—” She takes a deep breath and blows it out.
“Okay, I thought—that was enough upheaval for a man who loves stability. I thought you didn’t need another difficult thing to deal with.
” She gives me a tremulous smile. “I’d hoped when you’d figured things out with your career, when you’d processed your grief over that, you’d be in a stronger place.
I hoped we could explain in person. Maybe at Christmas… ”
Mama Laine nudges their shoulders together.
“Full honesty, honey? We avoided it. We knew you’d be upset—rightfully so—and we left it too long.
We messed up. And we are truly sorry, baby.
That you’re hurt. That we kept this from you.
Our only excuse is that we made what we thought were the best choices at the time.
The ones we thought would keep your heart safe.
But we forgot safety isn’t always the answer. ”
Both of my mothers are crying now, which makes my own eyes burn.