Twenty-Eight. I’ll Be There for You

TWENTY-EIGHT

I'll Be There for You

Joe

I have woken up to Maren in my bed every morning for eleven days in a row and I'm not sure I'll ever get used to it. It feels like she's always been there but also brand-new. You learn so much about someone when you sleep next to them. For example, Maren snores. These soft little puppy snorts. And her hair is a goddamn hazard, long strands tangling around me like a delicious fishing net. She doesn't like to be cuddled in her sleep, but somehow her feet will find their way to mine, or her fingers will hook in my waistband as if to assure her subconscious I haven't left.

That I'll never leave.

If asked, she's not a fan of morning sex, but she's perfectly happy to wake up to my fingers or mouth teasing out an orgasm first thing and is even more happy to reciprocate. I've always slept in my underwear, adding maybe a tee in the winter, but Maren has a surplus of cute nighties. Cute, not sexy; though on her, with those legs, it's all sexy.

She drinks coffee in the morning, hates running and prefers yoga, likes cooking and reading so-called spicy romances, and loves my kids.

And, unbelievably, she also loves me.

Despite our sleeping together every night, she still has her place. Anders is smart and likely realizes she's been staying over, but he hasn't said anything. It's not that we were hiding it exactly; it's just that, well, I was trying to give him, them , time. Which would probably have been easier to do if Maren was sleeping at her place, but I'm also selfish. It took one night of her accidentally falling asleep at my place after making love before I declared myself addicted to waking up with her warm softness curled beside me. The next night, she brought Rogers's pillow and an overnight bag.

So we decided to tell the kids together. At our early family Christmas. We decided to wake up and do presents just like we would if it was actually Christmas Day, and Maren and Rogers spent the night. For the first time, she didn't shower and rush to get changed and try to make it look like she came over super early. Instead, we left my door open and let the kids barge in and wake us up.

Anders yelped with joy and smashed in between us, hugging us both as we made a cuddle sandwich around him (Maren's words, not mine). Lucy was more reserved and reacted very little. But not like she didn't care. It was more like she couldn't understand the big deal. Like Maren had always belonged.

I'm not sure which reaction I loved more, to be honest.

We spent the morning in our PJs and robes, sipping coffee and (not too) hot cocoa and stuffing our faces with the cinnamon rolls Maren made. We ripped open presents and watched Home Alone for the third time and took naps on the couch. Later, my parents came over and were zero percent surprised by Anders excitedly shouting in their faces that Maren and I were together.

Apparently, we suck at playing it cool.

We stuffed more food in our mouths, opened more presents, and when it came time for bed, Maren didn't hide the fact that she was staying the night when Anders and Lucy asked her to read The Polar Express to them in bed. It was… Simply put, it was the best Christmas I'd ever had.

Followed by today, which will absolutely rank as the worst.

The phone rings at seven P.M. Kiley has had the kids for exactly ten hours and so when I see her name on the screen, I just assume it's the kids calling to say good night. Or maybe Kiley asking about Maren, since I wouldn't be surprised if Anders told her first thing.

I was wrong on both accounts.

"Hello?"

"Thank fuck you answered," Kiley says, and I blink because she isn't the kind of person to cuss, usually. Especially not around the kids. "Hold on." I hear a lot of commotion on the other end and then muffled silence.

"What is it? Are the kids okay?"

"By okay, do you mean safe? Yes. They are safe. Technically. But I'm about to lose my ever-loving shit with Lucy and I just got a phone call from the resort manager, who said if I can't make her be quiet, they'll have to ask us to leave."

I immediately tense and Maren, who is across the room, walks over, settling on the couch beside me, her brow pinched with concern.

"Is she crying?"

"She's… I don't know. What do you call it when she's screaming and crying and flailing like a toddler? She's completely unhinged."

"She's not unhinged, she's autistic. She's probably had a sensory overload. What did you do today?"

"It's a fucking resort, J. What do you mean, what did we do? We did everything. Went swimming and did a ski lesson, ate lunch, swam some more. I was trying to tire them out. Anders was practically asleep in his dinner."

"Jesus, Kiley. Did you listen to anything I said? I sent you her schedule. I told you to take it easy with her. She needs downtime every day. That's too much for a little girl. One activity. One. And a nap, or quiet time with her tablet in a dark room."

"I'm not pandering to a four-year-old, J. You and your new girlfriend might let her run things over at your place, but I refuse. And anyway, it's too late for that now, so what do I do with her?"

I bite back the flurry of responses churning inside me. Kiley loves to throw my schedules in my face, acting like I'm a pushover, letting our child lord over me. For a while, I agreed with her, but then I realized I do what needs to be done for Lucy to be successful now. It might look different as she gets older; in fact, it probably will, but this is the only way I know to give my child peace.

The fact that Kiley refuses to do the same and it turns into an emergency time and time again, well…

(Also, the fact that Kiley just threw my "new girlfriend" into the mix isn't relevant, but I tuck it away anyway for further discussion later, because I don't love her tone.)

"Take her into a cool, dark room where it's quiet. Offer her the tablet. Or let her crawl in your lap. Sometimes she likes to listen to your heartbeat."

"She won't let me near her. No one. Not even Anders. You have to come get her."

My voice strangles in my throat. "What?"

"I can't do this. She's going to ruin our family vacation. I should never have let you talk me into including her."

"Including her?" I can feel my blood pressure rise with my volume. "Including her? She's your child! I shouldn't have to talk you into spending time with your own child."

"I'm not arguing over semantics, J. Just come and pick her up."

"If I pick her up, I'm picking Anders up, too," I tell her, and it's not a suggestion. Maren is already sticking her socked feet into her boots and grabbing our coats.

"You don't have to—"

"Have them packed and ready to go," I tell her. "We'll be there in an hour." I end the call and chuck my phone so hard it skitters across the table and thuds onto the floor. I reach over and pick it up.

Maren holds out my coat, not saying a word. Woodenly, I put it on, and she holds open the door. She holds out the keys, and at my stare she gives me a small smile.

"I don't know where we're going. You'll have to drive." I take the keys, and then tug her hand, gently. She folds into my arms and squeezes me tight. "Let's bring them back home."

I swallow hard and let her go. We round the car, get in, put on our seat belts, and then I sigh. "Thank you," I whisper low. She doesn't respond, just takes my hand in her lap.

I can hear Lucy before I'm even out of the car. Next to me, Maren tenses and curses under her breath. I march up the walk to the villa Kiley told me was theirs, and Maren trots along behind me, catching up as I bang on the door.

It swings open almost immediately.

"Dad!" Anders runs into my arms, burying himself in my coat. "Maren!" he says a moment later, his eyes wide.

"Hey, kid," she says softly, cupping his face. "All packed up? Or do you need help?"

"I'm ready and I packed up Lucy…"

He trails off as his mom comes to the door. Kiley looks frazzled and, by the drink in her hand, maybe a little drunk.

"Well, well, well, Maren Laughlin all grown up." Her smile is cool, but not confrontational, so I let it go.

"Hi, Kiley, you look just the same," Maren says simply. "Can we come in?"

"Not like I have a choice, you're already here."

I swallow my irritation. "Not a good time, Kiley."

She waves her manicured hand in a wide arc, opening the door further and allowing us in while still talking out of her ass. "No, really, it's fine. All day I've heard a thousand stories about Maren this and Maren that . I can't wait to watch the miracle worker in action."

I open my mouth to say something, but Maren gets there first, pressing closer to Kiley, her voice deathly calm and so low I can barely make it out.

"It's not called being a miracle worker, Kiley, it's called paying attention. Giving a shit. Loving. Take your pick. You should really give it a try some time."

My ex narrows her eyes in the sharp glare of the hallway lighting, taking in Maren's full measure. Eventually, she blinks, her lips curling into a practiced Realtor smile, and ges tures with her glass behind her. "Be my guest. See if you have any luck with the unholy terror."

"Christ, Kiley…" I start, but Maren just walks past with a quiet, "Thank you."

We follow the jagged crying to the back of the villa, and I don't bother taking in the surroundings. I just want to get my kids. Maren heads straight for the screaming, but I stop to follow Anders to his room and the bags.

"I tried to calm her down, but she's pretty bad, Dad."

"It's okay, bud. She's just overstimulated. It's happened before."

Suddenly the screaming ratchets up and I drop the bags, sprinting to the last room in the hall. I blink against pure darkness, trying to find my way. There's a freezing-cold breeze like a window is open. Is this why I could hear Lucy from outside?

"What the actual FU—"

"Baby," a low voice soothes. "Baby, it's me. It's Maren."

The screaming stops, but the crying doesn't. I blindly search for a light switch until suddenly a soft glow emanates from Maren's phone. Just her phone, but dimmed. Her fingers are dancing as she pulls up quiet piano music and then tosses the phone to the ground beside her and looks toward a trembling, tear- and sweat-soaked Lucy, who is hiccupping, but no longer screaming.

Maren doesn't reach for her, just settles in front of her on the floor, her legs crisscrossed and her phone lit. I close the window with a soft thud and dig through the bag I packed for Lucy from home. Finding her headphones, I hold them out so she can see them. Then, I squat in front of her, smoothing her sweaty hair from her face and wiping away her tears before placing the noise-canceling headphones over her ears. Her little mouth moves, as if she's still crying, but no sounds come out. She's twitchy and clammy, and I sigh, settling next to Maren on the floor.

"I'll need to change her before we go. Put some clean pajamas on her," I say.

Maren nods, not taking her eyes off Lucy.

"Maybe a bath would be better," I think out loud. "Warm her up."

Maren nods again, but this time it's jerky. She sniffs and swipes at her eye, angrily.

"Are you—"

"No," she whispers harshly. "No, I'm not okay. I'm the furthest thing from okay. What the actual fuck?"

My blood freezes over and the ground swings up in front of me, even though I'm sitting on the floor. My heart crushes in my chest. I knew this could happen, but I really thought Maren could handle it…

"I'm sorry," she's saying. "I know you loved her, but…" Maren swipes at another angry tear. "What kind of monster puts a little girl who is in distress in a pitch-dark room with the fucking window open in fucking December?"

My breath whooshes out in a rush. Not Lucy. She's not angry at Lucy, she's angry for Lucy. "Well, I told her…"

"I know exactly what you told her. I heard every word. She didn't even try to use logic. She's drunk! And demented."

"She's sad. And feels guilty."

"Don't try to make me understand her right now, Josiah Cole. It won't work." She holds out her hand to Lucy, who's calmed down to small hiccupping sighs, and this time Lucy crawls into her lap, curling into her, staring ahead. Maren doesn't try to stem the tears pouring down her own face as she lets her hands fall to the sides of Lucy, closing her in, but not touching her. Not yet.

I get to my feet, pressing a kiss to Maren's head. "I'm going to load us up and then start a bath."

I meet Lucy's eyes and point to my mouth. She can hear with the headphones on, but it's muffled, so eye contact helps.

"Bath, then pajamas, then home with Dad and Anders and Maren," I tell her.

She shakes her head and I'm tempted to let it go, but if she wakes up and she's wet herself or she's sticky with sweat…

"Bath, pajamas, then home," I repeat.

"Because I'm Maren's baby?" she says, not really asking. I'm stunned, but Maren doesn't seem to be.

"She's said it before, usually when she's tired. It's okay," she explains softly, seeming more composed and more than a little exhausted. "Yeah, baby. You're mine. Bath, pajamas, then home with us."

She stands, carrying Lucy, and I lead us to the bathroom. I start to run the bath, but Maren stops me with a hand.

"Go on and get us packed up. I can give her a bath and get her pajamas on."

I nod, feeling at once heavier and lighter than before. "I've left a pair on the vanity."

"Perfect."

And I guess, despite it all, it kind of is.

We make it home late, both the kids and Maren sound asleep. On the other hand, I'm more alert than ever. My brain is racing with everything that's been revealed tonight. Between Kiley's complete failure to even try to accept our daughter, to Maren's furious defense of Lucy, to Lucy saying she's Maren's "baby"… and when did Maren learn all those techniques? With the music and the light and not touching… but I guess I know when she learned it. She learned it from watching us over the last four-plus months. She paid attention and put in the work. She cared enough to learn. I know it hasn't all been smooth going, and it won't always be smooth going, but Maren stayed.

I'm overwhelmed and grateful and profoundly moved by this woman.

I gently rock Maren awake first, and then we move to carry in the kids. I pick up Anders, who is dead to the world, and therefore weighs as much as a ton of bricks, while Maren takes Lucy. Without a word, we carry them to their beds and tuck them in. Then I return to the car to get their bags and Maren walks to the kitchen. "I could use a glass of wine. Want one?"

"Sure."

When I return, closing the door behind me and locking it against the cold, Maren is sitting on my couch, her feet curled up on the seat beside her.

"No Rogers?"

She grins, soft. "He's curled up in Anders's bed."

"I bet he loves that."

"For now. Just wait until he's bigger and they're competing for space."

My chest squeezes at the mere thought of Maren and Rogers being a part of our lives long enough to watch my kids grow. Long enough for them to become our kids, even.

"I'm sorry I lost my cool back there," she says, after a long sip of wine.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

"Has she always been like that?"

"Kiley?" I check. At Maren's nod, I grimace. "Not that bad, no. Had I known she would be that bad, I never would have let the kids stay with her. She's always struggled with Lucy. She was late to speaking, so there was a lot of frustrated screaming on both their parts as Lucy tried to communicate her needs. Meanwhile, Kiley only wanted her perfect newborn."

"She's still perfect."

"Well," I say with a smile, settling beside her and crossing my legs at the ankles. "She's perfectly her , anyway. I won't pretend I haven't lost my cool a time or two with her, but never like that. There have been a few times, though, that I've had to call my mom over just so I can go for a run and clear my head."

"That's reasonable."

"Thank you—it didn't feel that way at the time, but I'm learning to give myself a break." I exhale in a rush. "She's just… it kills me that Kiley won't even try to get to know her kids for who they really are. She doesn't even know Lucy likes to color, let alone that she might be a talented artist."

"Are you kidding?" Maren offers lightly. "I'm about to start selling her handcrafted lures to put aside for her college fund."

I grin, but it's so precarious, it slips just as fast. "And she hates that Anders paints his nails or wears so-called feminine colors. She's always razzing him to dress more masculine. Did you notice his hands?" Maren shakes her head, and I continue, "She made him remove the glitter polish you guys did together. It lasted less than twenty-four hours."

Maren's sigh is heavy, and I can feel the ache in it. The ache for my kids and the mom that won't ever love them the way they deserve.

"You're a really excellent father, Joe."

It's not the first time she's said it, but after tonight, when my nerves are raw after walking into what I walked into, knowing I'd allowed it to happen…

"I'm trying. I'm not sure I would have made it tonight, though, without you."

"I love your kids, you know that. Not the same way I love you, of course. But I love them so intensely, it kind of scares me. I've never reacted to something the way I did tonight. But I honestly feel like if she'd walked in right then, I would have clawed her fucking face off."

"Honestly," I tell her, taking my own sip and letting the wine work its way down and warm my frayed edges, "it was nice to see someone else acknowledge it for a change. I understand why Kiley is the way she is, but that doesn't mean I understand it, if you know what I mean. For years, I've made excuses for her because I left her so much when I was in the military, and she was so angry about that. But I can't make an excuse for tonight. I don't think I know that person anymore. The woman who answered the door, half drunk and letting her child…" I shake my head. "I don't know her."

"What are you going to do?"

I sigh. "I guess call my lawyer. After the new year. I already have full custody, but I don't want her to have vacations with Lucy again."

"Do you think she'll even try after this?"

"For Anders?" I shrug. "Maybe?"

"I'm sorry, Joe," she says, scooting closer and tipping her head onto my shoulder. I tuck my arm around her and kiss the top of her head.

"Me, too."