Chapter 17 #2
Back on the couch, with casserole and juice boxes, I sat and tried to stay awake as British-accented pigs snorted through adventures on the screen.
The accent briefly reminded me of my time in London.
Flyboarding, white-water rafting, fish and chips.
I squeezed my grape juice, the closest thing to merlot I’d had in months, drinking it in one gulp.
I blew out my cheeks just as a sparkling giggle sprang to my ears from next to me.
I’d trade any fine wine to hear that sound.
Still thirsty, I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. Leaning against the counter, I enjoyed a few sips. Suddenly, my ringtone blared to life from the living room, and Abi shouted, trying to talk over it. “What spells A-S-S-W—”
Oh shit. When did she learn to spell? She literally just had her first day of school.
As I raced to her, my cup of water sloshing and dripping on my hand, Abi spoke again. This time, in her prim and professional voice, she asked, “May I ask who’s calling?”
I held out my hand for my phone. Completely ignored.
“That’s not what the name says on the phone screen. It says your name is A-S-S—” Shit. There she went with the spelling again! Sign this kid up for the spelling bee.
Snatching the phone out of her little grip, I plopped next to her on the couch. “Hey, man.”
Abi pouted but was quickly pulled back into the annoying pig show.
Joel’s voice was amused as he questioned, “What exactly does it say on the caller ID, Reed?”
“I’m sure you could give it a few guesses, asswipe.”
Abi’s eyes grew wide. There was a five-year-old scolding in my future. Fuck, I’m failing at this shit. I prayed that she wouldn’t use her fresh vocab in front of the caseworker.
“I got your message, man, and I’ve got Brooke here to talk to you if you have a minute.”
I texted him earlier for legal help from his sister since my parental world got flipped on its head today. The shock of seeing Cienna this morning should have been the most eventful part of my day. Nope.
Don’t get me wrong. The minute I caught her arm and her face turned to mine, I internally lost my ever-loving mind and prayed that it didn’t show.
Those fucking chocolate-colored eyes and plump lips that I longed to lick and bite.
In that single moment, all of the chaos that had encapsulated my life paused.
And there we were, back on the beach, splashing and laughing.
Back in the cabana, breathing and touching.
Her laugh, her taste, and the ease of knowing there was more to come.
During our conference, I got a whiff of her creamy vanilla scent and had to tune out my bodily responses to gain some control.
But all of that longing and confusion was nothing compared to the call I received midday.
The social services representative for Abigail’s custody case informed me there had been another claim for guardianship.
My motherfucking parents. Well, if you could even call them that.
My mother and the son of a bitch she married.
They lived across the country and didn’t even have the decency to attend Caroline’s funeral. My mother couldn’t see past the bad blood in our family to say her goodbyes to her own daughter, and now she wanted custody of her granddaughter.
“Thanks, man,” I huffed into the receiver. I had worked myself up and needed a good, long breath to chill. “It’s so fucked up.”
Abigail’s glare shot back to me, and she wagged a finger my way. Shaking my head, I moved into the kitchen, braced my elbows on the counter, and rubbed my eyes. “Any words of wisdom are appreciated. I’m lost here.”
“We got you.” The sincerity in his voice squeezed my chest. “Brooke and I will help however we can. And if you need a night off from parenting to get your head straight, just let us know. Brooke has been eager for an excuse to bust out her old Barbie dolls from our parents’ attic.”
I let out a snort. Joel handed the phone over to Brooke, and I gave her a rundown of my custody situation so far, including what I knew about the newest development.
In a couple weeks, I would have to sit through a mediation meeting with my parents and listen to their bogus-ass reasons for wanting to raise Abi, let alone be part of her life at all.
Brooke and I made plans for dinner, and she agreed to check in with her peers who worked in family affairs for any helpful information.
Before she hung up, her voice softened from its business tone.
“Reed, we will make sure you’re equipped for this meeting. It’ll be okay.”
When we hung up, I plopped on the couch with a loud exhale, setting my phone to the side.
A little head suddenly pressed against my arm, warming it.
I peeked down at Abi resting against me.
She had a blanket over her lap and had made sure to pull it over enough to cover her little fox sitting next to her.
Her empty casserole bowl was next to her on the couch, along with a half-empty, dripping juice box.
Relief washed through me. She was comfortable.
She was fed. And her little toes were wiggling under her blanket, so I’d say she was content.
At least I could say this day had successes too.
Abi lifted her head and lowered her brows at me. Her lips squished together as she crossed her arms pointedly. Serious business. “Uncle Reed, you need a swear jar.”
I squeezed her into my side as an unexpected chortle escaped from my throat.
“Why do I get the feeling my niece is about to be the richest young lady in class K1B?” With a giggle, she nuzzled in and went back to watching her show.
The stupid pigs were still on, but regardless, I fell asleep on the couch next to Abi. Snorts and all.