49. What He Said
WHAT HE SAID
PRESENT
Iask Lucas for a week to sort out my feelings and my life.
For some reason, perhaps because I’m too busy feeling completely overwhelmed by what he’s done, it doesn’t initially occur to me that the rest of the world is finding out the news at about the same time I am.
Within the first hour, my inbox is already flooded. There are about as many messages from friends as there are from strangers (and strangers claiming to be friends), and a frightening number of local (and less local) reporters are also interested in the story.
There is an oddly ominous email from Abe, reminding me that though our preprint was accepted, he’s seen no progress on the project since then. He tells me he’s worried about my ability to complete a dissertation, given rumors he’s heard about a recent change in my situation.
It’s honestly kind of hilarious, especially given that the last email I received from Abe asked me to research guinea pig options for his granddaughter.
After years of master-level manipulation from my father, Abe Kleinberg’s evil-mall-Santa efforts feel milquetoast at best. I flag it to answer later.
Brody sends a wall of texts to formally complain that he invested months of allowance to get a measly 2 percent, Aurora links a story about Lucas’s transfer and tags an emoji that’s beyond my ability to interpret, the Grad or Die girls text loving congratulations, and Leno and Levi ask if this means Lucas and I got married and forgot to tell them.
I ignore almost all the noncore friend messages and text Lucas.
ME: I’m not sure I really said thank you. But thank you.
ME: I’ve renamed you from UNKNOWN to Sag-A.
Sag-A: That seems a terrible way to say thank you.
ME: What would you have preferred?
Sag-A: Sex, obviously.
ME: You’ve changed.
Sag-A: Cuddles, if option A is off the table.
ME: That’s more like the old Lucas.
Sag-A: Old and New Lucas both just want to be with you.
ME: I don’t suppose we can dial back the sap?
Sag-A: One of us has to be the romantic.
By the next morning, I have a semi-plausible plan of action, particularly given it’s Tuesday and I’m only teaching Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays this quarter.
My first email is to Maya. Though I’ve only known Maya for a few months, her dissertation was interesting, and more than that, I know from her dedication page that she’s a part-time PA for a well-known therapist. Considering Maya’s stated goal is to better bridge the gap between psychological research and practice, she seemed the logical choice for securing a referral.
I text first to ask if I can call, which seems like such a roundabout way to do things, but I just don’t want to text the more personal details.
Maya is thrilled at the idea of being able to help me.
“Fogleman has a cancellation. Today.”
“I didn’t necessarily mean—”
“No, Lorelai. You’ve got to trust me on this. No one is as good as Kylie Fogleman. You never accepted proper payment from me, so now I get to return the favor and rock your world.”
“I’m not sure editing a dissertation qualifies as—”
“You saved my ass. No one else would have gone through even a full round of edits the way you did. No one else would have accepted payment in the form of coupon clippings.”
I’m silent, because it’s true that I’ve always maintained a rather sliding scale, and I’ve only ever charged students I’m certain can pay me without hardship.
“I’m going to talk to Fogleman and get back to you on whether she’ll give you a discounted rate. She doesn’t accept insurance and—”
“Actually . . .” It’s my turn to interrupt, because clearly Maya hasn’t read the news, and also, even if I don’t plan on selling any shares in Lucas’s company right away, knowing they’re there, knowing money is no longer a concern, has already changed my mindset.
My health is important.
My obsession with being an albatross is unhealthy. I know that.
Years ago, I convinced Lucas to invest in himself. Maybe it really is my turn.
“Actually,” I repeat, because I’m sure a doesn’t-accept-insurance therapist will be crazy stupid expensive, and I don’t want to second-guess myself before I’ve even started, “I can pay out of pocket. I will pay out of pocket.”
True to her word, Maya gets me in on that same day. She emails me a daunting amount of intake paperwork I resolve to do on the bus ride there.
It occurs to me that I can likely afford an Uber now.
Actually, I can probably afford a personal driver. But I’m used to the LA Metro.
I look up the schedules and decide I have just enough time to send one last email.
My hands are almost shaking as I hit send.
Abe will be shocked, and the other members of my committee will be very, very surprised given no one’s seen a single page of my dissertation.
But at this point, I’ve edited enough dissertations to know mine is good.
It might not win dissertation of the year.
But it’s unquestionably good enough to graduate, which is all that matters.
I no longer have a reason to hide behind Abe Kleinberg. Or anyone, really. Meaning even if it’s terrifying, it’s the right thing to do.
ME: I just had my first therapy appointment.
Sag-A: Is it weird if I tell you I’m proud of you?
ME: I’m . . . almost proud of myself.
ME: And because I thought I’d be setting a good example for her, I told Aurora.
Sag-A: Scared to ask, but what did my not-favorite say?
ME: I can’t get the voice right here, so imagine 200% snark: Took you long enough.
ME: It loses something in translation, without the tone.
Sag-A: It’s okay, I’ve met Aurora. I heard the snark.
I could drag it out, could ask him about his day, but I’m done stalling.
ME: Do you want to come over tonight?
Sag-A: Took you long enough.
“I know I asked for a week, but in the interest of trying to be a better potential partner, we should probably start talking . . . now.”
Lucas sets his laptop to the side, angles his body toward mine on the couch.
“I’d like to figure out a way to gain custody of Harper and Wren.”
I wring my hands together, waiting for a reply that never comes. Lucas looks at me and nods once, as if I’ve just shared I’d like Thai for dinner.
“No response?”
“Not until I know what input you’re looking for.”
“Given my new financial situation, I think, or rather, Aurora and I both think—”
“You can buy your mother out. Bribe her to take an extended vacation and sign over all parental rights.” Lucas clearly sees the surprise on my face. “It was part of your original dream, remember?”
“Right. It was a pipe dream then.” I take a deep breath. “If I end up with custody, and we are . . . together, you’d be an instant almost-stepdad to two preteens.”
Lucas nods. “Okay.”
“It’s a big deal.”
“All I’m hearing is that I get two mini Auroras. I’m not seeing the problem here. When we started dating, we had Leno, Levi, Aurora, and the two rugrats. Getting to focus on just Harper and Wren when we have the financial means and time to do so? Sounds like a dream.”
“You know you missed all the years Aurora went through puberty, right?”
“I caught the tail end of everything Aurora, and I also lived through Leno and Levi.”
“You don’t think it’s a terrible idea?”
Instead of answering, Lucas unlocks my phone, because he’s long since seen that my password is still (and always has been) his birthday. “I think Beatrice will be delighted to be of service.”
On Tuesday of the following week, Gwendy comes home and meets Lucas, establishing an almost instant rapport.
By Wednesday, I’ve checked and double-checked with the girls and have confirmed that Harper and Wren are ecstatic about the idea of moving in with me permanently, as long as they a) can finish the school year at their current school and b) are allowed to visit their mother (in some future, still-unspecified manner) if they want.
By Thursday, my mother signs over custodial rights while Beatrice, Brody, and Lucas are all there to help negotiate, to bear witness, and to provide support.
She’ll technically keep the townhouse, but given her desire to travel with her newly acquired funds, she agrees to rent it back to me so the girls only have to move once, after the school year has concluded.
On her way out, my mother stops to lay a hand on me. She doesn’t bother to lower her voice but instead addresses me in Mandarin. “Don’t think you’ve won, to seoi gaa. You won’t be able to raise those girls and keep this man. Eventually, you’ll be alone, just like me.”
I’m about to defend myself, but Lucas gets there first. “Even if your daughter ever chose to leave me, she would still have her work, her sisters, and her friends. Meaning she will always be more than you.”
Brody, who is clearly my former teammate who has not been secretly taking Mandarin lessons, nods in an exaggerated fashion. “Yeah. What he said.”
My mother shakes her head in disgust, and I realize it’s my turn.
If I’m lucky, if I try to communicate through the lawyers I can now afford, there’s hope that this is the last time I’ll need to talk to her.
“The girls can see you whenever they want, but I hope you understand that this . . . payment is the only and last money you’ll get from me. ”
Given all that happens throughout the week, given the seemingly endless decisions and stress, is it any wonder a rash appears by Saturday?