4. Lillian
“Mommy, watch this,”a sweet little voice calls from the living room.
“Hold on, sweetie,” I call back, cutting the strawberries and plating them with the chocolate chip pancakes she requested for breakfast this morning. I would have cooked her anything she wanted. A mountain of bacon, a hamburger, even a plate of buffalo wings if she asked for it this morning. Anything to make her day just a little better. To keep her mind off of what she’s doing later for just a little longer.
“Mommy!” she yells. “Mommy, watch!” Her tone is impatient and demanding. The little shithead. But it brings a smile to my face. What other parents would call annoying or tiresome, I don’t. Not when I know how precious it is. These moments.
“MOMMY—”
“Okay, okay,” I laugh. “Don’t yell. Mommy was busy, and we use our inside voices. Remember?” I explain patiently, walking over and bringing her plate to the table.
“Sowwy,” she mutters, dejected.
“It’s okay, baby girl. We just need to be patient sometimes. Now show me,” I grin at her to show I’m not mad. And it works. Her face lights up in that adorable smile that melts me every time.
“Otay, watch,” she says for the thousandth time before a look of concentration crosses her face, and then she jumps and spins in a one-eighty. Then, she jumps and spins once more to complete her three-sixty and face me again.
I laugh at the incredibly proud look on her face. “Good job. Now hop up here and eat your breakfast.”
A shake of her head. “I’m not hungry anymore.”
Oh, here we go. It’s been the same battle every day this week. She’s hungry, and then she’s not hungry anymore. She wants the dino nuggies but then doesn’t like one of the dinosaurs. The ketchup touched her mac and cheese, so she doesn’t want any of the food on her plate.
“Nope. I made you the breakfast you asked for. You’re going to eat at least half of it. Come on, let’s go.” She pouts at me as I pat the chair for her to take. But she listens, nonetheless. I swear she’s just testing to see what she can get away with because she digs into the cut-up pieces of pancake and syrup with a hungry fervor.
I sit down with her just to keep her company since I snacked on some of the food as I was making hers. Pulling out my phone, I scroll through the few emails I got after I logged off last night. Since going freelance with my graphic design business, things have really taken off. The first few years were a struggle of trying to make ends meet as I was building a diverse and impressive enough portfolio to land large clients with repeat business.
But all the hard work, long days, and even later nights paid off. Now I’m turning away work because I’m too busy.
“Knock, knock!” my sister’s voice calls out from the front door as she pushes through without waiting for an invitation. Not that she needs to. She’s been my rock these last four years, and I wouldn’t have my baby girl without her.
She waddles in, seven months pregnant, and her six-year-old barrels after her.
“Aunt Kimmy!” my four-year-old shouts with a mouth full of pancake and hair plastered to her forehead by the syrup she managed to get up there somehow.
“Hey, munchkin,” Kim laughs as Grace wraps her sticky body around her aunt’s leg. Not being able to bend down and pick her up like she normally would, my sister sticks to placing a hand on Grace’s head in greeting.
“Gracie, look what I got!” her cousin Nick says, proudly holding up a soccer ball. “Mom got it for me. Want to play outside?”
“Can we?” Gracie looks at me with puppy dog eyes. Not that I’d say no. I’d rather her play outside with her cousin than be inside while I gossip with her aunt about things she absolutely does not need to hear.
“Sure. Be careful, and stay in the yard.” I look at Nicky when I say this. He’s old enough to know better than to leave the fenced area of my small backyard. Plus, from the kitchen window, we’ll be able to see at least one of them at all times.
They both give little cheers and then run out the backdoor, slamming the screen behind them.
“So…” My sister starts, looking at me with intent eyes. “Think she’ll show this time?”
“I don’t know. Part of me hopes she doesn’t,” I admit. Then I go on with a grimace, when I hear how that comes across. “And I know that makes me an awful person, but she’s my daughter. Despite what some piece of paper says.”
“It doesn’t make you an awful person. It makes you human,” Kim says with such conviction that it makes me feel a little better for admitting it out loud.
“But the other part of me hopes she does show because that means she went another few weeks picking Gracie over the needle. And she deserves that kind of love, ya know?”
“She has that kind of love, Lil. She’s had that for four years. You’ve given her that,” she says, pointing at me in emphasis, and I’m brought back to that day that completely changed the trajectory of my life. All in less than twenty-four hours.
A fucking baby stares back at me from inside the box. Newborn, by the looks of it. Premature even. Wrapped in what looks like the white blanket they swaddle babies in at the hospital. Who the ever loving fuck leaves a baby in a box on the sidewalk?
I look up and around to check if anyone else is seeing this shit. But my eyes snag on the fire department doors. I was so caught up in my own head, in the drama with Lincoln, that I didn’t even realize where I was.
The fire department. Of course. The fire department with the safe haven drop box. They could have at least made it twenty more yards to place the child in the box itself. The warm, safe box, away from any manic depressive drivers. Where the baby would have been tended to immediately.
Part of my brain is trying hard not to judge the mother—or father—of this sweet baby. To tell myself at least they got this far. But the bigger part of me is so beyond frustrated that anyone could abandon…her? Him?
I kneel down next to the box and gently, so gently, place one hand under the neck to stabilize the head and the other around its back and pull it out. She. Definitely a beautiful baby girl.
“Hey, sweet girl. What a mess, huh?” I murmur to the little girl whose eyes are switching from open to closed like she’s still learning. This baby has to be no more than a few days old. And shaking hard.
It’s not a particularly cold fall day. I’m sweating a little in my long sleeves and jeans. “You’re all bundled up, too. Are you cold?” Hugging her close to my chest, I bend down to see if there is an extra blanket or clothes or anything in the box. There’s not. Just a piece of paper.
My brow furrows, but I pick it up with one hand, open it, and read:
Her name is Grace.
That’s it. Four words. The handwriting is messy, hurried. There is no apology for abandoning her baby or instructions of any kind. No background information. Nothing.
“Well, Grace,” I coo to the baby, who has slipped into sleep. It really is a beautiful name. I’ll give the mother that. “Let’s get you inside where it’s nice and warm.”
Leaving my car, which is kind of haphazardly parked on the road and a tiny bit on the sidewalk, I swoop down, grab the box in one hand, and walk toward the fire department doors.
A bell chimes as I walk in, and a man pops his head around from what looks like a break-room before coming to stand behind the small front desk.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” He seems a little young to be a firefighter with his boyish features but friendly all the same.
“Um… How do I start?” I huff a half-laugh before explaining my sort of car accident out front. Then continue in a much more somber tone. “I got out and saw this box,” I lift it up for emphasis, “and the baby was in it with this note.” I hand that over. “I think she was supposed to be dropped off in the safe haven box, but the mom didn’t make it that far.”
“Jesus fu–,” the kid—man—starts to say. “Fudge. Here. Let’s get the little girl looked over.”
I follow him through a hallway to where a small room is. In it, I see the baby box from the inside. To the left is what looks like a first aid slash changing station. “Set her here?” I ask, nodding to it.
“Please,” he says as he puts on a pair of gloves. As he starts to examine her, he mutters to himself, “Shaking quite a bit. Probably addicted.”
Horror sluices through me. Not cold at all. A budding sort of hatred ignites in me, right along with a fierce need to protect this little girl. Grace.
“You can go if you’d like. We can take it from here,” the firefighter says to me from over his shoulder. The thought of leaving feels incredibly wrong. I pause.
“What’s going to happen to her?” My voice trembles a little, and I bite my lip.
“I’m not really sure. Typically, we’d call one of the adoption agencies we have listed. It’s easier when a baby is abandoned in the safe haven box. He or she can usually go right to an adopted family. But she wasn’t actually dropped off in the box, so I imagine we’ll be calling DCS, and she’ll be put into the system.”
Arizona’s Department of Child Safety. Maybe he reads the sadness on my face because he rushes to reassure me. “Don’t worry. She’ll be placed with a family long-term until she’s able to be adopted. People love babies.”
“Right…” I mutter, mind racing. “Thanks.” I barely hear myself say it as I turn around, plan forming, and pull out my phone. It rings for barely five seconds before she picks up.
“I need your help,” I tell my sister.
That was the start of my new life. My sweet sister, who lived over two hours away in Flagstaff, managed to make it to Phoenix in three after packing a bag and securing a babysitter, ready to do whatever it took to help. Already a licensed foster parent because of her own unique situation, she was able to take Grace while I went through the arduous six-month process of getting my own license.
Kim’s acceptance was conditional, of course, on me moving in with her to take care of Grace in the meantime. She couldn’t take care of a newborn by herself. Not that I would have wanted her to. Little Gracie was mine from the second I made the choice to call my sister. So, within a week, I was dumped, given semi-guardianship of a newborn, quit my job, and moved back to my hometown.
And it was the best thing that ever happened to me.
The first few years were bliss. Nobody knew where Grace’s biological mom was for the first year. When they finally did find her, it was because she’d overdosed and rushed to a hospital for treatment. With a warrant out for her arrest for child endangerment and multiple drug charges, she did end up doing a little time.
But then she got out, got clean, and wanted her daughter back. Which brings us to today. Another one of her supervised visits. They’re given every few weeks. Sometimes she shows, sometimes she doesn’t. But the courts give the mom every chance. The end goal—the hope—is to reunite mom and child. Damn the child’s best interest to hell.
“Lillian!” My sister’s shout pulls me out of my head.
“Hmm? What?” I frown back at her as she snaps her fingers in my face. “What? I’m listening.”
“What did I say then?” she challenges, one brow raised.
“You said, Oh, Lil. I’d love to lend you one hundred dollars to get your nails done while I watch Grace. You deserve it.” I take on a sweet, mimic-y tone for her, which she should appreciate. It is spot on.
She snorts at me. “Not even close. Though… now that you mention it. There is something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
“Why don’t I like the sound of this?” I start slowly, taking in the innocent look in her eye.
“You have been so stressed. And you do deserve a break. Raising a toddler by yourself is no joke. Let alone when you have DCS to deal with, too. But I was thinking of something a little more of a stress relief than a spa day.” So much build-up.
“Kim, I am not going to yoga with you,” I deadpan.
“First of all, that’s not what I was going to suggest. Secondly, I think you’d really enjoy it,” she says, holding up one finger and then a second.
“Okay…” I prod. “Then what?”
“I have this friend. She owns this club in Phoenix, and they’ve got an event coming up next Saturday, and I think it is just what you need to relax and let go of all this stress you’re carrying.”
Well, that doesn’t sound bad. Why does she look a little nervous?
“What kind of club?” I narrow suspicious eyes on her.
“Well…keep an open mind, okay?” she starts. “It’s very high-end. Really classy.”
“What’s the club called?” I ask, leaning back in the chair to stare her down. Arms crossed.
“It’s called Club Ecstasy.” Her voice is calm, reasonable.
“Club…your friend owns a sex club?” I lower my voice at sex so the children can’t hear. “And how do you even have a friend who owns a sex club? Who are you?” I’m appraising my sister now. With her soft features, button nose, and completely innocent, unassuming look about her.
“Yes,” she says nonchalantly.
“Have you been?” My tone isn’t judgmental. More curious and…oddly impressed.
“No,” she laughs back, brushing away some hair that falls into her face. “I met Claire, the owner, because she actually gives fifty percent of the proceeds to a Phoenix foster care charity.”
“Really? That’s generous of her,” I praise. Now, her connection to this person makes sense. Why Kim would befriend the equivalent of a madam. Kim’s got a soft spot a mile long in her heart for anyone who cares about kids. But especially those in our broken foster system.
“I know, right? So we got to talking; she mentioned her club, and I mentioned you in all your single glory. A few forms later, and you’re on the guest list.” Easy peasy. The look on her face is so smugly proud I can’t help but laugh.
“Just like that, huh?” I raise a brow at my pushy, meddling sister. “Wait, what forms?”
“I had to fill out an application on your behalf. They do a background check and whatnot. I gave them your picture. The only thing left for you to do yourself is get a health check and fill out your hard and soft limits form,” she says aloud, looking off into the distance like she’s going through a mental checklist.
“A hard and soft limits form? What kind of kinky, fifty shades party is this?” I groan, covering my face with two hands.
“Oh, would you lighten up? The point is to expand your horizons. Explore new things. Just keep an open mind when you’re filling it out, will you? It’s not like you’re going to be forced into doing things you don’t want to do.” She rolls her eyes at me. Where is this kink-friendly side of my sister coming from?
“Where do I even find it?” I ask, and she grins, hearing the defeat in my voice. The reluctant acceptance.
“It’s online. And I also already made an appointment for you today for a health check. Just a regular med check and STD screening.” Pride lights up her face.
“Today? No, I can’t do it today. I’ve got Grace’s thing. You know that.” I do not need another thing on my plate today. Not when I’m already going to be pulling my hair out, waiting for my child to be done visiting with her egg donor.
“I know. That’s why I made it for during her visit. You’re not allowed to be in there with her anyway. At least this way, you’re keeping occupied and not just sitting in your car for two hours biting your fingernails down to the buds again.” At her words, I glance at my nails. They’ve finally grown back since the last visit, but she’s not wrong. They were raw, bloody messes by the time the last supervised visit was finished.
“What if she needs me? What if her birth mom doesn’t show?” The worry starts to eat at me. All the what ifs.
“Then just take Gracie with you, sis. It’s a regular doctor’s appointment. It’s not a big deal.” My sister: ever the even-tempered, clear-headed superwoman.
“You’re right. Of course, you’re right.” I murmur more to myself in an effort to make myself actually believe it.
“I know. Just sent you the link, by the way,” she chuckles. I didn’t even see her pull her phone out.
There’s a buzz from my face-down phone on the kitchen table. I pick it up, and sure enough, there is a link with a surprisingly tasteful logo. The link has a key on it, which I click, and it brings me straight to the hard and soft limits form Kim was talking about.
Heat builds in my cheeks the more I read. I’ve always considered myself a sexual person. Even experimental. Especially after Lincoln had broken up with me, and I went on a little bit of a spiral in my love life. Trying to prove to myself that I wasn’t someone to be embarrassed by. Looking for love in every relationship. Even if I didn’t love them back, I wanted to be loved by someone. Everyone.
And that led to some…interesting…sexual experiences. The night with the “ball-man”–as Kim has dubbed him–comes to mind, and I shake my head clear of the memory.
But now I’m reading and feel like a thirty-year-old virgin.
Anal
Fisting
Anal fisting
Double penetration
Breath play
Wax play
Flogging
Binding
Choking
Degradation
The list goes on and on, and I have to be impressed with how thorough it is. I immediately go through and mark all my hard limits. Absolutely no way is any fucking blood play happening in my bedroom.
Then I go back through and, with as open a mind as absolutely possible, mark my maybes. Things I haven’t tried yet but am not immediately turned off by.
Finally, I mark the ones I am perfectly fine with.
I hit submit.
There, that wasn’t so bad. As I set my phone down with a sense of accomplishment, I look up to see Kim grinning from ear to ear behind her raised phone. Recording me.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I growl.
She cackles, clicks her screen, and puts her phone down. “That…was hysterical.” She bursts out into a fit of laughter, clutching her stomach, and bent over, banging a fist on my table. Tears are starting to leak out of her beet red face.
It’s not funny, but her laughter makes a small chuckle fall from my own lips.
“What?” I demand again.
It takes a minute for her laughter to subside before she looks back up at me, wipes her eyes, and answers after a big breath. “Oh my gosh. You should have seen your face when you were going through that form. I’ve never seen you express so many emotions within a five-minute period of time.” She takes another breath, finally in control of herself. “Wow. When you marry whoever the hell you get paired with next week, I’m showing this video at your wedding.”
Whoever the hell you get paired with.
What did I get myself into? I don’t even like going on blind dates. Now I’ve just signed up for a literal porno with a complete stranger. Maybe it’s not too late to back out.
“Oh no you don’t. I see that look on your face. I’m way ahead of you. You aren’t backing out. Grace is spending the night with us. You’re going to go get fucked ten ways to Tuesday and then come back feeling like a new woman,” she demands, pointing a finger at me.
Maybe I can say that Grace got sick and then cancel at the last minute.
Just then, Grace and Nicky come barreling through the back door, all sweaty and with big smiles on their faces.
“Mom, guess what,” Grace says excitedly. Her face is red as can be, and she’s huffing and puffing but keeps talking in between breaths. “Nicky says I get to have a sleepover with them next weet-end.”
I look at my sister who has a shit-eating, gotcha grin on her face, and I mouth:
Bitch.