Chapter 17 #2
I open the envelope of photos so we can arrange them on the posterboard to give an idea of where to draw the tree and all the lines joining each person.
Henry’s picture is meant to be right in the middle.
We were told to use a baby photo, and I chose one of him as a toddler walking on the beach.
He’s wearing a big hat loosely tied under his chubby little chin, and he has the biggest smile on his face.
It was one of those rare perfect moments.
Henry had woken up around five a.m., so I took him for a long walk along the shore.
It was calm and peaceful and he was so happy, picking things up and exploring.
Vivian takes a piece of yellow construction paper and writes HENRY JAMES FAMILY TREE on it, then cuts it out so we’ll have a title like in the example. I grab a pencil from the drawer and draw a huge tree that takes up the bulk of the page.
I stop and let out a sigh, trying to figure out what to do about his mother’s side of the family. I have a picture of Cressida, but no one else. “How do I do this?” I mutter.
Vivian glances over at me. “You’re muttering. Word on the street is that when you mutter, it means you’re upset about something.”
Letting out a little chuckle, I say, “Yeah, that’s some good intel. I’m trying to figure out what the hell to do about his mum’s family? I only have one picture of her, and I don’t know anything about the rest of them.”
“You never met her parents?”
I shake my head. “They were not close at all. She’s from England, and the entire time I was with her, I don’t think she called them even once. And they didn’t call her.” I stare into Vivian’s beautiful brown eyes for a second, then add, “I don’t think they know they have a grandson.”
Vivian’s head snaps back. “Wow. That’s … something.”
Nodding, I look back down at Cressida’s photo.
It was the only one I had that was appropriate for children.
She’s not drinking, smoking, dancing on a bar top, or doing that fish-lips kissy face thing.
I took this one on our second date. We were mini-golfing, and she’s smiling because I just told her she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
And for a long time, that was true. But it’s funny how someone can become more or less attractive the more you get to know them.
In her case, the unpredictability caused her beauty to fade in my eyes.
“Yeah, I missed all the red flags, but then again, I wasn’t looking.
Our relationship was this whirlwind of fun and partying and chaos. My mum definitely didn’t like her.”
“Really? I can’t imagine Jo not liking anyone.”
“Well, she didn’t like her. In fact, Cressida was the only girlfriend she ever tried to talk me out of dating.”
Vivian gives me a small smile. “Good thing she didn’t manage to convince you.”
I pick up Henry’s photo. “Yes, it’s a very good thing,” I answer, my words filled with emotion. I put her picture next to Henry’s, my heart squeezing at the fact that one entire side of the tree is going to be empty.
Vivian must be thinking what I’m thinking because she says, “Doesn’t this whole assignment feel completely tone deaf to you?”
“Totally,” I answer. “Shouldn’t they know that not all kids have both parents?” I ask, a righteous sense of anger coming over me to replace the sadness I feel for my son. “What about kids in foster care? How the hell are they supposed to do this?”
Scoffing, Vivian says, “Right? This would be totally impossible for some kids.”
A wave of emotion hits me again and I have to clear my throat. “Honestly, this sucks because it’s the first of a thousand things that are going to remind him he doesn’t have a mother.”
Placing her hand on mine, Vivian says, “As someone who had to finish growing up without a father, I think I get it. Dad and daughter dances, making Father’s Day cards in class.
It’s not only the gaping hole they leave behind in your heart, it’s that being different is the worst, especially when you’re a kid. ”
I feel the warmth of her skin on mine, and there’s a comfort there I didn’t know I needed. When I look at her, I see her eyes are shining with sadness—the same sadness I feel for my son. “That must have been awful.”
Her eyes fill with tears and she says, “I think the worst part was the shame, you know? My dad didn’t love me enough to stick around, which must have meant there was something wrong with me.”
My nose starts to tingle and much to my surprise, my eyes fill with tears too.
I’m filled with sorrow for her as a young girl, and I’m filled with pain for Henry as he ventures out into this great big world and discovers that being abandoned by your mum means you’re different, and you’re missing out on a whole lot of wonderful things in life.
“Shit, now I’m getting emotional,” I tell her.
“Sorry,” she says, blinking quickly.
“Don’t be. Apparently, crying is healthy,” I say, wiping my eyes.
“I’m sorry that your dad turned out to be such a disappointment, but can I just say there is literally nothing wrong with you.
Nothing. And there certainly isn’t ever something so wrong with a child that a parent should abandon them.
Him leaving was all about him, just like Cressida leaving had nothing to do with that perfect baby she left at my door. ”
Vivian nods and sniffles. “I know. I mean, logically I get that, but there will probably always be this little voice inside me that tells me different.”
Forgetting myself, I reach up and wipe a tear off her cheek with the pad of my thumb.
“You tell that little voice to fuck right off. You’re perfect, Vivian Whitlock.
Exactly the way you are. And you deserve to be loved unconditionally.
” And dammit if at this very moment, I don’t want to be the guy to give her that.
She places her hand on mine, keeping it on her face, then she glances at my lips and swallows hard.
I know what that look means. It means she’s feeling what I’m feeling.
The pull. The attraction. I lean in a little, then wait for her to close the tiny space between our lips.
I have never, in my entire life, wanted to kiss a woman so badly.
A horrible, wonderful, thrilling ache flows through me as I feel her lips brush against mine ever so slightly.
But the instant that we touch, her phone pings, interrupting the moment. We both snap out of whatever spell we were under and she sits back, dropping her hand. I let go of her cheek and get up quickly. “Can I get you a beer or a water or anything?”
“Water would be great,” she says, sounding a little shell-shocked. “I have to keep a clear head. I have a big homework assignment due tomorrow.”
I chuckle while I open the fridge and take out two waters. “Good point.”
When I get back to the table, I hand her the water, then stare at the posterboard. “Now, how do we deal with the tree being so lopsided?”
She sits back and stares at it, chewing on her bottom lip for a second. “Well, in construction, you build supports when something is too heavy on one side, yes?”
“Ideally, you balance everything out, but sure, you could prop up one side if you have to.”
“In that case, I say we find support people to go on this side. Like Dominic, and Mr. and Mrs. Wilson. We could draw direct lines from Henry to them,” she says.
“Oh! And we can put a subtitle that says: There Are All Sorts of Families in the World, So Suck it, Mrs. Kahn, You Old Bag Who Should Stop Making People Do These Ridiculous Assignments. Or something like that.”
I let out a laugh. “No, that’s perfect. Let’s go with that.”
It’s well after midnight when I crawl into bed.
By the time Vivian and I finished the family tree (which required a second trip to the store to print photos), and I managed to get through all the paperwork, sign up on the stupid app (why are these things so damn complicated?), and write Mrs. Kahn a note to let her know I’ll be checking Henry’s backpack daily from now on, it was already close to twelve and I still hadn’t showered from being in the ocean before supper.
I stood under the spray of the hot water, my mind spiraling through thoughts of Henry and how to protect him from the pain of being abandoned to Vivian sitting next to me, helping me get through what would have otherwise been an overwhelming project.
I think about what she’s brought to us already—the kindness and laughter and that feminine touch that I have to admit I’ve missed, and my son really has never known.
I think about how easy it feels with her, how raw and unfiltered I let myself be around her, and how supportive and caring she has been in exchange.
And now as I lay here, longing for sleep, there’s a thought in my head that I can’t shake, no matter how hard I try.
She’s the missing piece of the puzzle. She’s the one we’ve always needed.
Only I can’t have her. Not the way I want, anyway.