Chapter 48 #2
My hands gestured as I spoke, but my feet stayed planted, and I could feel Cici’s beaming pride behind me.
“I’m working remotely as a photography editor.
I’m actually home more often than not. My office is situated in the room right next to Abigail’s.
So close I can hear her humming as she plays when I’m touching up photos.
” I smiled at the thought, and I might have imagined it, but I thought I saw the judge’s lip tip up a tiny bit too.
“My employment and ability to be accessible to her at all times is something I value as a parent.” Yes.
Parent. A word that was so hard to swallow months ago.
“As for my support system…” I took a deep breath, glanced my mother’s way, then back to the judge.
“My parents aren’t involved, obviously, but when people say ‘it takes a village,’ that is exactly what Abigail has.
Our neighbor, Daisy, helps me with rideshares, Abigail’s annoying homework”—I turned and met Cici’s rueful nod—“and sometimes even meals.”
My charm kicked in a bit, and I was starting to find my confidence.
“She makes a mean tater tot casserole.” A few chortles sounded from the back.
The poor people who had to witness this charade as they waited for their own hearing.
At least I could provide them some entertainment.
“I have amazing support from PTA parents, and being one of the members helps me stay active in Abigail’s education.
” This time, I did look at Bruce glowering in his seat, arms folded. “Her brilliant education, I might add.”
I locked eyes with him for a second more before turning my attention to the judge.
“At the school Caroline worked hard to get Abi into before…” My shoulders dipped slightly.
Will it ever not wrench my heart to say these words?
“Before she passed.” I closed my eyes, giving myself a brief reprieve, a moment to settle. I tapped my pocket. She was with me.
“And my strongest support”—I turned my body toward Cici—“is my caring, nurturing girlfriend.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bruce shifting in his seat, sitting taller. Did he think she would be my downfall?
“While we met prior, she is Abigail’s teacher, and we are lucky to have her guiding Abigail’s learning as well as her day-to-day love and support to us both.
” Putting my hands on my heart, I turned back to Cici.
“Without her, rapidly becoming a parent would have been much harder.” I paused, ensuring I had the judge's full attention, my face set with all seriousness, despite the lighthearted testimony. “However, I can and would do it on my own.” I gestured toward Cici. “But I don’t have to.”
The judge turned one of her sheets of paper front to back and squinted through her glasses. She nodded my way. “Does that complete your statement, Mr. Marsh?”
“I’d just like to close by acknowledging Mr. Foster’s last assertion about my relationship with my sister.
Let’s be clear, I always did everything I could to support her, including helping her when her stepfather—” With the lift of a brow on the word step, and air quotes when I said the word father, I made it clear what I thought about him using that title in any capacity.
“—disowned her publicly, cut off all contact, and moved across the country.” I nodded the judge’s way one last time, wanting to say more, but knowing the briefer I kept it, the less likely I was to make myself look bad. “Thank you.”
When I went to take my seat, the first thing I saw was Cici holding back a bursting smile, her cheeks huge bubbles ready to explode. I exhaled, probably too loudly, as I sat. She leaned into me, her voice tickling my already heightened senses. “You were outstanding, Mr. Marsh.”
I turned my attention back to the front of the room, my hand and hers set on the table, fingers laced together, united.
As the judge flipped through her pages, the courtroom fell silent, other than a few quiet coughs and murmurs from those seated behind us.
“It seems there are some new factors to take into consideration, beyond the notes and recommendations of your social worker. I will ask for a short recess to review. We will resume in twenty-five minutes.”
And just like that, the bailiff called “All rise,” the judge disappeared, and Cici and I sat quietly as those around us rose, exiting or stretching. Bruce approached our table and patted it as he walked by with a smug “There ya go, Champ.” Then he lined up with the crowd on his way out.
Cici turned in her chair and grabbed my hands, pulling them to her lap. Her eyes shone with confidence, so assured as her thumb swiped along the top of my hands, and I tried to home in on the comfort of that small graze.
We sat for the entire recess, giving each other reassuring touches as we checked our emails and scrolled aimlessly through our social media feeds.
The volume level in the room rose as people began to filter back in.
Exactly at the twenty-five-minute mark, we heard “All rise” from the front of the room once again, and I sprung up, as if the sooner I stood, the sooner we could get this over with.
The judge sat, placed her file on her stand, and clasped her hands on top. “I’ve reviewed your case, including the new statements and information provided here today.” She nodded to both sides as I sucked in a breath.
She looked back at her file under her hands, then spoke the words we were waiting for.
“In the case of Marsh vs. Foster, the full physical and legal custody is awarded to Mr. Marsh.” I nearly collapsed with relief.
Cici melted into my body from next to me.
She reached around my waist, and I felt her chest heave as I ran my hands down her hair and held her tight.
“That’s absurd.” Bruce’s snarl came from the other side of the room, and I turned around to see a familiar sight. Bruce in true form. Face beet red. Arms swinging and pointing. “He’s a degenerate!”
The judge spoke, quieting the entire room. “Mr. Foster, you are free to appeal. This case is dismissed.” She stood and flipped through the files for her next case as Bruce spat and tantrumed, being escorted out of the courtroom.
Cici looked up at me, tears pooled in her eyes, but her smile was so bright. We walked out of the courtroom and into the lobby hand in hand and stood just outside the doors, giving it a moment to sink in that this disaster was finally over.
“We freaking did it,” she squealed, standing on her tiptoes and wrapping her arms around my shoulders before crashing her mouth to mine.
I lifted her off her feet. I wanted to get carried away in this moment, in her kiss, in this celebration.
But after a too-brief moment, I guided Cici back down when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
Turning, I came face-to-face with my mother. Her eyes glistened. Of course this moment would be ruined, but she could only take away so much of the joy.
“Mother.” A curt nod. That was all she would get from me.
“Reed.” She placed her hand on my wrist lightly. Something in her voice was unexpected. Vulnerable. I lifted my head, meeting her stare. “I know I’ve made mistakes…” She steeled her features, but I saw the tears forming.
“You have.”
“Abigail is so precious and”—her lip trembled—“I know emotions are high right now.” She took a deep breath, and seeing her like this twisted me in places it shouldn’t.
Like a string that connected her to me. She was so raw, and so her, that the thread pulled hard.
Part of me wanted to put my hand up and stop her right there, but the tug forced me to let her continue.
“If you’d consider, sometime, anytime, letting me visit, giving me updates, anything… I’d…”
Cici reached into my pocket, and I felt her pull out the bracelet and place it in my hand. I squeezed it tight and summoned the strength that saw me through today. Before I could respond, a holler rang through the crowd as they parted for a loud and angry Bruce.
“For fuck’s sake, there you are.” He jabbed a finger at my mother, and my jaw clenched. Then he pointed his finger in my face. “And you. You can expect to hear from my lawyer. We will be appealing.” He yelled this so loudly that people surrounding the lobby turned to him.
My mom snatched his hand, yanking it down roughly. “No, we will not,” she screamed. “No.” It was like nothing I could’ve ever expected, and everything I’d ever hoped for when I was younger and watched him talk to her like that. Watched him talk to Caroline like that.
“What the hell do you mean by that?” Bruce snarled, nose-to-nose with my mother.
“Get out of her face,” I hissed out as I edged between them. My voice was calm, but my eyes were nothing but threatening. A hand nudged me out of the way. My mother’s. She stepped in front of me. Toe-to-toe with Bruce.
“What I mean is”—she lifted her chin in indignation—“we will not be appealing. Abigail is going to her rightful parent. And tomorrow, you will receive my divorce papers. They are already filed and ready for your lawyer.”
My jaw dropped. No appeal. Rightful parent. Divorce. I couldn’t register any of these words.
Bruce snarled, “You don’t mean that, Bethany.”
My mother crossed her arms and shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, I mean it. And you will stay away from my son and my granddaughter.” Then she called for security and walked away. Before Bruce could chase after her, security had him in their grasp and was guiding him out of the building.
I heaved a breath and turned to Cici, but she was gone.
I twirled around, looking for her, and found her racing toward my mother.
She grabbed her arm, surprising my mom as she turned around.
My mother’s eyes were soft as she listened to Cici, who handed her something.
It looked like… garbage, actually. My mother patted Cici’s arm and turned and walked out of the courthouse.
Cici looked around skeptically before wrapping herself back into my arms. She rubbed her hands through my hair, adding to the wave of calm falling over me like a waterfall of relief. Grabbing my hands, she pulled me toward the exit.
When we reached the car, I asked, “What did you hand my mother?”
“Something Abigail wanted me to give her.”
Surprisingly, this didn’t make me feel threatened. Just curious. “What was it?”
We reached the passenger side of my super manly minivan, and Cici smirked up at me. “A picture. Of her family. I was actually very proud that she wrote ‘Family’ across the top of her little stick people.”
“Oh. I see.” Abigail drew pictures all the time. Stick figures with dresses and hats and sometimes rainbow farts blowing out of them.
“What people were in the picture?” I asked, cornering her against the door.
She braced her hands on my chest, looking nervous to deliver news about a simple child’s drawing.
“Well, it appeared to be you.” She poked my tummy playfully, tickling me, causing me to bend over with a chuckle.
“Me.” With a cackle, she pointed at herself, then hesitated before saying, “And her grandmother.” Her gaze was filled with apprehension as she gauged my reaction.
“Okay.” That was all I could answer. I opened her car door, quietly taking in that little tidbit of information. Taking in the entire day. When I walked around and plopped into the driver’s side, Cici added, “Oh, and we were eating pizza.”
This made me smile big, probably more on the inside than out. Pizza was also a prominent piece in Abigail’s artwork, and I wasn’t sure what that said about her nutritional habits and me as a parent.
Cici leaned over the center console and tucked her nose in that place on my neck that she called her favorite spot. She took a deep breath in and sighed contently. Her nose trailed up, and her lips found my earlobe. She nibbled, then whispered, “And it had pineapple on it.”