17. Daire
17
DAIRE
A couple of months ago, I never could have imagined I’d be perusing the baby care aisles of Target on a Saturday, much less with Rosie at my side.
Tucking a piece of dark hair behind one ear, she scans the lineup of pacifiers with a furrowed brow, her lips parted.
I stare at the choices as well, appalled. “Why are there so many choose to from? And why are they all shaped differently?”
She plucks one off the shelf and shakes the plastic package, like maybe it’ll change form or something.
Lips pursed, she tilts her head, appraising them. “I don’t have an answer for you.”
With a sigh, she drops it into the cart, then she proceeds to add one of each kind.
I wince as each one hits the plastic cart, my eyes locked on Rosie.
“What?” she asks. “We don’t know which one Junior will prefer, and you can afford it.”
My chest goes so tight it’s hard to breathe. “I can’t do this,” I say, clutching at the collar of my T-shirt.
She turns slowly and takes me in with a surprisingly gentle expression. “You can. You’re his dad. You’ll figure it out.”
I haven’t voiced this part out loud. I’ve barely even been able to think it. “I’m scared.”
“Good.”
My stomach drops. I can’t have heard her right.
“Good?”
“Yeah.” She turns back to the smorgasbord of baby stuff. “I’d be concerned if you weren’t. This is a human being, not an old toaster you inherited.”
My lips quirk. “An old toaster?”
She flicks her fingers lazily, moving down the aisle toward the bottles. “It was the first thing that popped into my head. Sue me.”
She did that all the time when we were young. She’d come out with the most random explanations and scenarios. I think I missed that.
I think I missed her.
“Jesus. This is ridiculous.” She huffs. “One of each,” she declares, grabbing one bottle after another and tossing them into the cart. “Once we know what he likes, we can return what we didn’t open or donate it and get him more of what he does like.”
“All right,” I agree. Down another aisle, she leaves me to pick a camera monitor for his bedroom while she picks out crib bedding.
Babies need a lot of crap. More than I ever realized.
I’m still looking at specs when Rosie waddles back to me with an armful of sheets and blankets and God only knows what else.
Hands on her hips she surveys the overflowing cart. “I better go get another.”
Before I can protest, she’s flouncing down the aisle, dark hair disappearing around the corner when she turns.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I go over the list I made after I spent hours on the internet researching, then I cross off the things I know we’ve put in the cart. I was going to order a crib and stuff for his room, but Rosie gave me a look and said she’d handle it—then she started muttering about wallpaper and paint. I don’t have the first clue what she’ll turn the nursery into, but I’ll let her have her fun.
I peruse the aisles, adding items to my overflowing cart and crossing them off on my phone as I go. I smile in satisfaction at all the checked bubbles. I’m finally starting to get somewhere.
Except I haven’t gotten to meet my son yet.
What if he hates me?
That thought has plagued me since the moment I decided to pursue custody. I have no experience with babies. What if he senses that right off the bat?
Rosie steers an empty cart down the aisle. “What’s put that look on your face?”
I almost don’t answer her, but regardless of the distance we’ve maintained for years, regardless of our falling out, she’s once again become the one person I feel like I can share my fears with. “What if he doesn’t like me?”
“Who?”
I rub at my chest, hoping to dull the ache behind my ribs. “Sammy.”
“Oh.” She nods, appraising an aisle filled with diapers. “Junior. Got it. He’s a baby, and babies can be weird… I think. I have no experience.” With one hand still on the cart, she waves the other in circles in front of her. “It might take him a bit to warm up to you, but I’m pretty sure that’s normal. You can’t expect everything to be rainbows and sunshine from the get-go.”
“I know,” I grumble. “Jesus.” I let out a low breath, overwhelmed by all the diaper choices. Every package is a different size, and they’re all labeled with numbers that make no sense to me. “I don’t know which one he needs.”
With a sigh, she shrugs. “We’ll just keep doing what we’ve been doing and get a few different kinds.”
“All right.”
By the time we check out, I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of money. I say a silent prayer of thanks that I have access to my own trust and that my dad can’t monitor the money that goes in and out of it. If he could, he’d be calling before the end of the day with questions about why I dropped several grand at Target.
In the parking lot, I load up Rosie’s Mercedes. Thank fuck we had the forethought to bring it. There’s no way all this stuff would fit into my Porsche. I’m already mourning the loss of my motorcycle, and my beloved car is the next to go. I have a kid now. It’s time to be responsible. Sports cars and motorcycles aren’t safe, and I plan to be around a good long while.
My phone rings, and when I pull it from my pocket, my lawyer’s name flashes on the screen. “I need to take this,” I tell Rosie.
“I can finish this up.”
I nod in thanks and slide into the passenger side of the SUV before I answer the call.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Mr. Hendricks,” Nina croons over the line. Nina Voss is incredible at what she does. In the end, it’ll be worth every penny I’ve given her. I have no doubt she’ll do all she can to make sure I have rights to my son. “I have some good news.”
My heart lurches. I’ve never heard that phrase—I have some good news—from her. “Really?” I straighten in the seat. “What about?”
“Now that the DNA is back and I’ve shown the court documentation that proves you’ve been working toward meeting your son for months, they’ve granted you a supervised visit.”
Hand shaking, I press the phone closer to my ear. “Is that normal?”
“I might’ve pulled a few strings to make a visit happen this early.”
I run my fingers through my hair. “When?”
“Tomorrow.”
Despite how desperate I am to meet Sammy, my stomach drops out from under me. “Tomorrow?”
She laughs softly. “Yes. I’ll text you the address. I’ll be there. A social worker will be in attendance too.”
“Okay, okay,” I chant, on the verge of hysterical laughter. Fuck, my emotions are thrown all out of whack. I finally get to meet him. Hold him.
I don’t want to fuck this up.
“Thank you.”
“Sure thing.” She clears her throat. “Bring your… wife.”
Nina was disgusted after she saw the video of my drunken tirade, but she expertly handled all damage control, and she has been working with me to figure out the best way to explain it if it comes up in court. So far, our best defense is that it was a massive lapse in judgment, mixed with too much alcohol, because I was coping with the unexpected news of finding out I had a son. It’s mostly true. And the court doesn’t need to know that I knew about it before that day.
As far as my comments about Rosie, we’re blaming that on the alcohol as well. They won’t likely view me in the best light. They’ll probably see me as a dumb college kid, and they’d be right, but it’s the best excuse I’ve got. Now I have to prove in other ways that I’m serious about this. I don’t want to take Sammy away from Danielle out of spite. I simply want the right to know and help raise my son.
“I’ll ask her.”
“Bring her,” she reiterates, and with that, she ends the call.
Rosie returns from putting the cart away and climbs in. When she turns the ignition, the dash lights up with a pink hue that amused me the first time I saw it.
“Is everything okay?” she asks, putting the SUV in reverse.
Woodenly, I turn to her. “I get to meet him tomorrow.”
She stomps on the brake, forcing my head to hit the seat behind me. Behind us, a horn blares. “What?”
“I know.” I rub at the back of my head. “I’m surprised too. My lawyer…” I pull in a deep breath and let it out. “She wants you there.”
With a nod, she murmurs, “Okay.”
My stomach does a damn somersault in response. I was sure she’d argue. “Okay?”
Laughing, she navigates the oversized SUV into the Starbucks drive-thru. “Well, yeah. That’s why we did this whole thing, right?” She flashes me her ring, the movement making it glitter in the sunlight. “The whole point is to help you get custody.”
“Right.”
So why do I keep forgetting that?
If I’d even had the forethought to imagine the moment I’d get to meet my son, my vision wouldn’t have been anything like this. The room they put us in is fitted with dark paneling and dingy linoleum floors. It smells of antiseptic, and the chairs and table look to be relics from the eighties.
Rosie looks around, trying not to frown. The iced coffee she picked up on the way leaves a ring of condensation on the particle board table.
There’s a scattering of toys in the corner, but they look like they’re meant for toddlers or older kids.
My heart is racing. It has been all morning. There are dark shadows under Rosie’s eyes, and her face is pale, like she didn’t sleep at all. I certainly didn’t.
Nina paces on the other side of the room. Her fingers fly aggressively across the screen of her phone, making it look like she’s chewing someone out.
“Take a breath.”
At the sound of Rosie’s voice, I turn to her and exhale loudly, only then realizing that my lungs are burning.
We’ve been here for twenty minutes already. I wanted to arrive early. But Sammy was supposed to be here five minutes ago.
Are they in the building? Or are they not coming at all?
Stupidly, that thought hasn’t occurred to me until now.
When Nina’s fingers slow and she holds her phone at her side, I clear my throat for her attention. “What happens if Danielle doesn’t show up with him?”
Out of the corner of my eye, Rosie stiffens.
Nina slides her phone into her purse. “It would count against her.”
At that moment, the door opens, and a social worker enters, holding a baby in her arms.
Big blue eyes the same color as my own study me. He’s small, but he’s already so much bigger than he was when I saw him at the start of the school year. He doesn’t have much hair, and what he does have is blond.
Standing slowly, I approach the social worker carefully. “Can I…” I extend my arms. “Can I hold him?”
She smiles. “Yes. He’s yours.”
He’s yours.
I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat. My hands shake and my heart races, but then Rosie’s hand is at my back, instantly calming me.
I’ll think about that detail later.
For now, I take my son from the social worker and hold him to my chest.
I wait with bated breath for him to cry or scream or try to get away from me. Instead, he settles against me, his tiny hands gripping the fabric of my shirt, and watches me with those eyes that already have the power to gut me to my core.
Rosie stands at my elbow, leaning in and running a gentle finger over his head. “He’s so cute,” she says, her tone full of reverence. “He looks just like you.”
I’m racked with nerves, because holy shit, I’m holding my son. Even so, I grin at her. “You think I’m cute?”
Rolling her eyes, she huffs a laugh. “Sure.” She turns to the social worker. “He’s almost six months, right?”
The social worker studies her, then me, curious. “You don’t know?”
“The information we’ve been given is limited.” I look down at my son. I’ve been fighting hard for him, and he doesn’t even know it. Months. It’s taken me months and hours upon hours of work to even get to hold him.
Fuck Danielle.
“He was born July first.”
“A little cancer baby,” Rosie croons, gliding a gentle finger over his pink cheek.
He giggles in response.
“When did you first think he was yours?” The social worker asks me. I’m not sure whether it’s out of curiosity or some sort of other motive. Regardless, I’m more than happy to answer honestly.
“I knew he was mine the moment I saw him. It was at the beginning of the school year. Classes had just started and I saw… I saw his mom on campus with her husband. She was showing him off to some other professors. It was like gravity pulled me closer. I knew even before I looked at him that he was mine.”
I feel Rosie’s eyes on me, but I don’t dare look at her.
Before Danielle could notice me, I turned a corner and threw up in a cluster of bushes. It earned me some dirty, questioning looks from other students who probably thought I was drunk in the middle of the day.
After getting sick, I locked myself in the nearest bathroom and hyperventilated for what felt like hours. I was terrified out of my mind. I wasn’t ready to be a dad, but suddenly I knew I was a dad, and whether I was prepared for it or not didn’t matter. Then I started to spiral. I sent Danielle God only knows how many texts. She never answered a single one.
I left that restroom with resolve, though, set on doing whatever it took to be in my son’s life.
When Sammy fusses a bit, I adjust my hold on him, bringing him to the crook of my neck. Closing my eyes, I inhale his scent and let the calmness that comes with having him so close wash over me. He smells perfect.
“Look at you.” Rosie smiles at us. “You’re a natural.”
“Do you want to hold him?” I ask her.
“Me? I… no, that’s okay.” Her cheeks flush, and she takes half a step back. “This is your time.”
“He’s yours too,” I remind her. “In a way.”
She exhales a shaky breath. “Right.”
She holds her arms out, and I gently transfer Sammy to her. Immediately, he tangles his small hand in one of her dark curls and tugs.
“Ow.” She winces through a laugh. “You’re strong, buddy.”
I help her extract his hand from her hair and let out a low whistle. “Kid’s strong.”
With him in her arms, it allows me a chance to get a better look at him.
He’s so beautiful, so perfect, that he takes my breath away.
“This isn’t so bad.” She rocks from side to side gently and smiles down at him. “I thought he wouldn’t like me. That I’d be terrible at this.”
On instinct, I reach out and gently tuck her hair behind her ear. “You’re a natural.”
To the two ladies in the room, Rosie explains, “I’ve never been around babies before.”
“What about Grace?” I ask, keeping my voice low so Nina and the social worker can’t hear me.
“I was ten,” she says by way of explanation. “I was excited to have a sister, but I wasn’t into the whole baby thing. Besides, we had nannies.”
“Ah, makes sense.”
“Here, take him.” She passes Sammy back to me with an encouraging smile. “Enjoy your time with him.”
We only have another forty-five minutes with him, but it’s better than nothing. I won’t take a second of it for granted.
I look down at my son, doing my best to memorize every detail. I might not have been prepared for any of this, but already, I know that I was always meant to be a dad.