Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Maggie
True to form, Kyle texts me the next morning letting me know he’s dropping Liam off at ten. Sighing, I read his text several times, typing and deleting multiple responses before just sending back
Okay
It sucks. He sucks. Since I’m at work, I call my mom so she’ll meet Liam at our place because trying to get Kyle to take him to my parents’ is as futile as trying to get him to keep his son until I’m done with work.
But also, what if I had plans for after work today?
What if my mom weren’t available? He’d said he’d keep Liam until six o’clock this evening.
Weren’t they going to go swimming or something?
Go to a beach somewhere? Why can’t this man who tried to make himself look like the best dad ever do the most basic shit with his kid who worships the ground he walks on?
Every time Liam interacts with his dad, even if it’s only a video call a couple times a week, he’s telling me about how Dad loves this, Dad loves that, Dad’s favorite team is the Golden State Warriors, that’s why it’s my favorite team too.
Dad says if I work hard at practice, he’ll take me to a basketball game. Dad says, Dad says, Dad says …
It’s all bullshit, of course, but telling Liam that will just break his heart and make him mad at me. So I nod and smile and say, “That sounds great, honey,” and sweep up the pieces of his broken heart when his dad inevitably crushes it once again.
Everyone assures me that he’ll figure it out eventually, and probably he will, but that means my sweet little boy will have his heart broken over and over and over again until he does, and I hate that for him.
I’m supposed to be editing clips to post on shorts and reels throughout Brock’s socials, but instead I stare blankly at the screen, trying to figure out how to salvage this day.
By the time I get off work, it’ll be too late to drive to a beach.
But I could take him this weekend, that way he has something to look forward to.
What could we do tonight?
The paint and sip last night pops into my head, and I can’t help smiling at the memory, both of the event and the horrible artwork I produced.
Could I do something like that with Liam?
Not the full blown thing like that, but maybe we could go to the art store and pick up some supplies and find a video online walking us through how to do something?
But I discard that idea as soon as it takes shape.
Liam likes drawing, but I don’t think he’d be into that.
Maybe I’ll just see if he wants to go shoot hoops.
He’s convinced he’ll earn his dad’s love and attention if he can play basketball well enough.
I know that’s not possible—or reasonable—but playing makes him happy, at least. And then maybe we can go out for ice cream after? That might work.
Problem solved—as much as I can, at least—I set it aside for now, focusing on work, pointing out that I’m not his assistant to Brock for the thousandth time and dropping another pile of resumes I printed off on his desk.
“Find someone. Interview them. You have until next week, then I’ll start scheduling interviews with people I think are good. ”
It’s the same threat I’ve been making for weeks, but I haven’t given him a timeline.
“Would you really?” he answers, surprising me. “That’d be amazing. See? You’re practically acting like my assistant anyway!”
Suppressing a growl, but unable to stop my nostrils from flaring, I pick up the stack of resumes and take them with me. “I’m leaving!” I call over my shoulder.
“Wait!” he shouts, then follows me out of his office. “I have someone coming in half an hour for an interview. You can’t leave now .”
Turning, I face him with my hand on my hip.
“Brock, I am your social media manager. Not your assistant. If you wanted an assistant to be here to bring you drinks and fawn all over you while you give an interview, you should’ve hired one already.
Or better yet, not fired Kaedie! Just so you know,” I add, ducking into my office and gathering my things, “I’m only setting up interviews for the assistant position with men.
If for no other reason than to save you from a lawsuit.
” At least an employment related one. “And can you stick to the plan with this interview please? No need to go off script and try to ruin another athlete’s life. ”
He scoffs. “Are you still hung up on that Bouchard thing? What’s it to you, anyway? It’s not like you even like hockey.”
“I don’t have a problem with hockey. I have a problem with slandering athletes. You could get sued for that too, you know.”
Another scoff. “Please. All publicity is good publicity. Everyone’s watching Bouchard right now because of me. He should be grateful.”
I have to close my eyes and take a deep breath, remembering how angry Jack was when we had drinks that first time, and how he mentioned his sponsorships possibly falling through because of it.
“And anyway,” Brock adds, “it’s probably not that far from the truth. Dude parties harder than I do.”
“Okay, well, I’m leaving anyway. Good luck with your interview. If you want to get picked up by a network, pending lawsuits for defamation won’t be attractive is all I’m saying.”
“Whatever, Mags. Just leave then. I see how it is.”
“Do you? Finally . That’s a relief. So tomorrow I’ll start setting up interviews for you, and that’s the last thing I’m doing for you that doesn’t fall under my job description.”
“I could just fire you, you know,” he threatens.
I roll my eyes. “And then where will you be, Brock? You need me, and you know it.”
He scowls, and I worry I might’ve pushed him too far. He’s an asshole, and he knows it. I think he thinks I’m almost flirting with him when I talk back like I do, but pointing out that he’d sink on his own pricks his ego.
But before he can say anything, I wave and push my way out the door. I have an actual child I need to comfort. That man-child can handle his own feelings. That is definitely not part of my job description.
Liam’s glum when I get home and won’t take his eyes off the video game he’s playing on the TV.
“Thanks for hanging out with him today, Mom.” I’d given her a head’s up that I might need her today, so it wasn’t a complete surprise.
She gives me a hug. “You know I’m happy to help.
” Lips compressed, she shakes her head. “When are you taking that deadbeat back to court?” she whispers, glancing over her shoulder at Liam, who gives every appearance of paying zero attention to us, but we both know that looks can be deceiving where that’s concerned.
Sparing him a quick glance, I tug her into the kitchen. “I called my attorney, but she’s on vacation, so I have to wait a couple weeks. I have months of documentation of him ducking his time and doing things like this, though.”
“Good,” Mom says, a little too loud, and I make shushing motions. “Good,” she repeats in a whisper. “He’s an asshole. He’s strung you on long enough. I hope a judge throws his ass in jail.”
Snickering at my mom’s reaction, I shake my head. “Being a deadbeat dad isn’t a criminal matter.”
Mom sniffs. “So? He’s flakier than a croissant. He could very easily miss the hearing, thinking it’s not important, and be held in contempt.”
“I still don’t think they’d put him in jail for missing a hearing. The judge would definitely rule in my favor, though.”
“Maybe so,” she concedes, “but he deserves to spend a few nights in jail for how he’s breaking that poor little boy’s heart.
He’s been moping all day. I’ve tried my best to cheer him up, but he won’t talk, barely ate lunch, and has spent all day either staring out the window or sitting on his bed throwing a tennis ball at the wall and catching it again until I let him play a video game an hour ago.
And he’s been glued to that ever since.” She shakes her head, her arms crossed and her shoulders hunched like she’s trying to hold herself together in the face of Liam’s sadness and hurt.
“He’s getting too big for making cookies with Grandma to be enough to cheer him up like it used to when he was younger.
Honestly, and I know you don’t want me to just buy him things every time I see him, I almost offered to buy him a new video game if he hadn’t decided to play one he has. ”
“I know why you want do to that, Mom?—”
“I know, Maggie.” She holds up a hand to stop me from explaining my reasoning again.
“I know. You don’t have to keep telling me.
I agree that he should know that we’re here for him without having to buy him something every time we see him.
And I know you don’t want him to attach feeling loved to someone buying him things since his dad always does that.
But …” She lifts her hands and lets them flop to her thighs.
“I hate seeing him like this, and it’s hard to feel helpless to do anything to make it better. ”
“I know, Mom.” I feel this way every time he spends any time with his dad.
As awful as it sounds, I almost wish his dad would just leave us alone entirely.
Hell, I’d even deal with him not even bothering to give me child support if it meant Liam could get off this emotional roller coaster Kyle has him on.
I don’t know, really, but it seems like wholesale abandonment would be easier to deal with than this death by a thousand cuts.
“I know you do,” she whispers, giving me a look so full of sympathy that tears start forming in my eyes.
She takes a deep breath and lets it out again.
“Okay. Well, I need to get home. Why don’t you bring him to our house tomorrow, then you can stay for dinner after work.
Your dad’s going to be fixing a spot on the deck.
Maybe Liam can help him, get his mind off things. ”
“That sounds good, Mom. Thanks again.”
She gives me another hug, says goodbye to Liam who glances at her and lifts a hand in response, which is better than nothing, I suppose. With one last wave and smile in my direction, Mom leaves.
When the door closes behind her, Liam pauses his game, and we both stare at each other for a few moments. Then he stands up and walks over to me, his steps slow and heavy, and he leans into my torso. I wrap my arms around him and just hold him, doing my best to hold back my own tears.
After a moment, I rub his back. “What do you think, dude? Wanna go to the park and play basketball then get some ice cream after?” He shakes his head, and that’s when I know this time’s really bad. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” I ask quietly, and he shakes his head again.
I think for a second, trying to decide what to do.
“Wanna order a pizza, have a living room picnic, and watch a movie—your choice—then we can either ride our bikes for ice cream afterward, or we can do a grocery delivery order with all the ice cream sundae ingredients we want.” Yeah, sure, I don’t want him to think gifts are the only expression of love, but pizza, a movie, and ice cream is different, right?
I’m not going to think about the possibility that it’s teaching him to eat his feelings. It’s an excuse for us to spend time together in a non-demanding activity. We can chill with a movie he wants and cuddle on the couch until he feels better.
“Can we have popcorn too?” he asks in a small voice.
“Of course. Why don’t you go pick the movie, I’ll start the popcorn and order the pizza, okay?”
He pulls back and nods, giving me the saddest smile I’ve ever seen. “Thanks, Mom.”