It’s hope—marginal at best—but I cling to it like a life preserver.
“Okay.” I nod and watch as he steps back and then walks out my front door with no promises to call me, no mention of lawyers.
No mention of what’s to happen in the future. All I’m left with is the memory of a man who I’ve loved for as long as I can remember, and a blank uncertainty that I’ll ever truly be able to love him the way I want to.
“This is highly unusual, Kennedy.”
My chin dips at Mary’s scolding. It’s not in her words as much as the frown on her lips and the downward curve of her eyes. Shortly after Grayson left my apartment, I immediately called her for an appointment. I’m here to explain the truth about my child’s true father. I’m hoping that speaking to my counselor at the Cambridge Adoption Agency will help smooth the way for Grayson.
It’s the least I can do.
“I understand.” Wringing my hands together, I take a moment. “The thing is, Grayson didn’t know. And he just found out over the weekend. I truly don’t think he’ll want to fight for rights of the child—I just think he wants to see him. To make sure that his son is okay and healthy.”
At least that’s what I’m hoping. I’ve promised Grayson I will help him, but I can’t see things ending well if he decides to fight for custody. I know that he’s Grayson’s biological son, but Thad has had almost six years with the Matsens. Changing his life now would be disruptive.
“The Matsens will not be as understanding as you assume me to be,” Mary says. Her voice is soft like always, but her words have a biting edge to them that’s new. “This will involve lawyers, and a fight for even a visit. There’s no way they’re going to risk losing their son because of your deceit.”
Tears sting my eyes at the reproach in her tone. My chin quivers and I push my tongue against the roof of my mouth to stop tears from forming. It does little to help. “I know, it’s just, this is my fault, and I need to fix it somehow. I need for Grayson to see that Thad’s okay.”
She peers at me over the top of her square black glasses and twists her lips. “Someone from the agency will contact them and give them this information. But I have to warn you, Kennedy: what you’ve started is going to snowball quickly. If they refuse contact,” she shrugs and sets down her pen, leaning back in her chair, “there’s not a lot we can do.”
“I know, but I appreciate anything you can do.”
I stand from the chair across her desk and reach for my purse. This isn’t something I ever wanted to happen, but I’m lying to myself if I didn’t think someday it would. I just thought it’d be when Thad is older, like eighteen, if he ever wants to meet his birth parents. Now, because of the fact that I didn’t try to contact Grayson when I knew I could, when he still had a choice in how things ended up, that meeting might be happening sooner than I ever dreamed or imagined it would.
As I walk out of Mary’s office and then the building that houses the agency, I can’t even bring myself to smile at the thought of seeing Thad in person.
I’ve had over five years of waiting for photos every April. Five years where I spend one week in misery where I drown my sorrows, remembering when I birthed him and then handed him over to a woman with sweet green eyes and an even sweeter heart. The week my package is delivered, I usually hole up from the world, only coming out to go to work, and I spend the rest of the week in tears, bawling over new photos, over new letters that Patricia handwrites. I spend the week filled with regret and sorrow along with awe of the little boy I created. I know his smile. I know he’s smart and loves to play baseball and soccer. I know he has lots of friends and was reading before he went to kindergarten. I know he has Grayson’s blue eyes and my dark hair and skin coloring.
He looks like my father with a better man’s eyes.
But I don’t know his voice; I don’t know his laugh, and I can’t help but want to know what he sounds like instead of getting a pang in my chest when I hear children running and laughing at a park or at a store, wondering if maybe…just maybe…that’s what my child sounds like.
I’m not sure I can bear knowing, either.
So while Grayson wants to do this, and while I’ve promised him my help in any way I can give it, I’m not sure I can one hundred percent support his plans to see Thad, either.
I’m not sure I could be there if it ever happens. I want it more than I can taste the salty tears dripping onto my lips, but I’m certain it will shatter me more than help me.
Unlocking the door to my car, I slide into the driver’s seat and immediately punch Sarah’s name, needing my friend.
“Hey, chica,” she says with her typical cheerful voice.
I don’t answer right away, and when she says my name I find my own, much more sullen and trembling voice. “So Grayson came to see me today.”
“Shit. Hold on.” I hear a rustling through the phone, muted voices while she covers the receiver, and then she’s back. “Sorry. I’m just leaving the office, but holy crap…Grayson? He came to see you? What happened?”
I tell her everything. I tell her about the letters I’d mailed him earlier this week and I tell her about what he said to me. When I remind her about paternal rights and adoption laws, she sucks in a harsh breath and curses.
“You’ve dug yourself quite a hole, K.”
I sniff, wiping more tears from my eyes. When will I stop crying? “I know. I don’t know what to do now.”
She’s silent while I start my car and then pull into traffic.
“You need ice cream?” she finally asks, the hint of a smile in her voice.
“Yeah. The good stuff.”
She laughs softly and it helps somewhat. This is what friends are for. “I have a better idea for you.”
My lips pull into a frown. Sarah’s ideas generally involve alcohol and men. Not what I need right now. With trepidation, I ask, “Yes?”
“Move in with me.”
“What?”
Her laugh tinkles through the phone. I can imagine her rolling her eyes at me playfully, and I scowl. “Come on. You don’t have a job now and your lease is up in a few months, anyway. Pack your crap and get to Chicago. There are more jobs here.”
“I don’t know.”
Although…what’s the point in staying? She’s right. I stayed in Cambridge because I got the job at Pascal’s immediately following college graduation. Now, I have nothing. Nothing tethering me to southern Illinois.
“Grayson’s in Chicago,” I say mindlessly and cringe.
“Yes. And in a city of eight million, I bet you’ll see him every day.”
“Shut up,” I say, a laugh falling from my dry throat at her sarcasm. My mind is spinning. “Just give me a minute to think about this.”
She’s silent for a moment. A sigh escapes my lips as I pull into my apartment building’s parking lot. The building is worn down and in desperate need of a paint job. My dishwasher works when it feels like it, which is less than I want it to. It’s small and old and messy…
“Come on, Kennedy. What do you have to lose?”
Nothing. For the first time in my life, I have nothing to lose.
My lips spread into a smile. “I’ll be there Saturday.”
Seventeen
Grayson
For the last two weeks, my lawyer, Keith Titon, one of the top family lawyers in Chicago, has hounded the Matsens’ lawyer, Amanda Jones. While her name seems unthreatening, she’s been a complete shark—stonewalling every attempt we’ve made to contact the Matsens about my paternal rights.
I knew going into this that it would take time, but I’ve never been patient.
Waiting for news all week of any new developments has made me want to pull my hair out.
Thankfully, the frustration at having to wait has helped me in the ring. No one can beat me right now. No one wants to spar with me anymore. Even Landon left the ring on Monday with a black eye, something I’ve never done to him before.
When Keith called me this morning and told me to get to his office immediately, I left training, not bothering to change out of my nylon shorts. I just threw on a dirty shirt and hailed a cab to his office in the Loop as fast as I could.
I ignored the looks I got as I stalked through the building’s lobby, looking like someone straight off the streets compared to all the suits milling around the building and outside sidewalks.
“So what now?” My knee bounces and my fingertips thrum on my lawyer’s desktop, but I can’t stop it. There’s too much pent-up emotion in me for me to sit still.
He clasps his hands calmly together and leans forward minutely. The man is old enough to be my dad—probably older—but he looks just a few years older than me. He’s definitely not hitting the alcohol like my old man. With his dark brown hair, equally dark brown eyes, and square chin, the man oozes success and seriousness.
“The Matsens are requesting a paternity test.”
My shoulders slump and I lean back in the chair. “This is good, right?”
My palms swipe down my thighs and I settle a hand on my knee, forcing it to stop bouncing.
Keith pulls his lips to the side. “It’s not a bad thing.”