35. Fallon

Fallon

In general, I try not to be a dramatic person. I try to think things through, to contextualize. To look on the bright side. Practice gratitude.

The air smells like antiseptic. The fluorescent lights overhead are flickering, washing out the room, and the nurses at the station are hustling around, trying to tend to everyone. From my spot, I can just see them meeting and dispersing again, and my heart jumps every time it looks like one of them might come my way

I don't think I'm being dramatic when I say that this day has easily been the worst day of my life. Right now, in the ER waiting room, I can't stop my brain from playing through everything that happened again and again.

After the sweet interaction with Mr. Alde and his daughter, it all started to go downhill.

When I rounded the corner to our house, I saw my mother's old, beat-up yellow Volkswagen bug sitting at the curb, and it was enough to make me sick again. I pulled up in front of it, slamming on the brakes at the last moment. I dove out of my car, leaving it running, the door hanging open as I ran up the front steps.

The door to the house was open, too, and there was shouting coming from inside.

"I'm so sorry," Gerald was saying, when I made it to the front door. "I never would have let her inside, but she said she was your aunt, and looking for you and June—"

"It's okay," I said, putting a hand on his arm, stopping for just a moment. I could hear shouting coming from the living room, and I turned, running in that direction.

I would never blame Gerald for falling for my mom's stunts. I'd known her for twenty-six years, and I was still falling for them.

Sliding around the stack of boxes in the hallway, and nearly knocking them over, I came sprinting into the living room, immediately taking in the scene.

Joey was standing over June's crib, while Chloe was planted in front of my mom, her arms crossed, shaking her head.

"…is my kid!" I heard my mom saying when I walked in. I stopped short, something in my body reacting, putting on the brakes. Seeing her again was like reliving a nightmare that never stopped. A bittersweet ache of thinking, every time, that something would be different. That eventually she would heal herself, or find God, or get on good medication, and become the mom I always wanted.

My mom is a small woman. Shorter than me, her skin wrinkled and weathered from endless tanning and a lifetime of smoking Camel Menthol Lights. Her smell hit me, that insane, somehow comforting mix of her perfume and the lingering scent of smoke transported me back to my childhood.

Every time I saw her, it was like skipping through time. Now, she had more wrinkles, her hair a little finer, a little dryer than the last time. She was wearing jeans that were a little too big, and a T-shirt for a motorcycle club.

Staring at her, I felt the pain of falling for the ploy every time .

Chloe's eyes met mine over Mom's shoulder, and something flashed through them. Of everyone in the house, Chloe knew the most about my mom, and about our relationship. When Chloe showed up at our freshman dorm, her entire family in tow, she'd asked me if my parents had already left.

I'd gotten there as early as possible to avoid that very situation—anyone wondering why I was there alone, moving in all my own things.

"Yeah," I'd said, nodding and swallowing the lump in my throat. "Busy."

After that, as we grew closer, Chloe slowly learned the truth about my situation—that I'd never known my father, and my mom was not a normal mom. That became glaringly obvious the first time she showed up at my dorm, smiling sloppily, already completely wasted and friends with three of the kids on our hall.

"Mom," I'd hissed, as Chloe stood by idly, eyes wide. "You can't be here!"

"I need a place to stay," she'd slurred, falling forward and wrapping her arms around me. "Just one night. Promise."

"You can't stay," I'd said, shaking my head, heart pounding, that familiar mix of guilt and anger boiling through me. Anger that she was here, intruding on the life I'd built for myself. Guilt that I was turning away my own mother.

When I'd glanced over my shoulder, I realized Chloe was gone. We were just starting to become friends, and the sight of the empty dorm made me panic. With the childhood I had, the background I had, it was starting to become obvious that I'd never get to have a normal life.

And that's when the fire alarm went off.

Once we were out on the street, Chloe explained the situation to the people at the desk, describing my mother and saying she was harassing us. I'd never had someone else there to stand up for me before, to act as a buffer between my mother and me.

And standing in the living room of our weird house, arms crossed, her boyfriend— fiancé —standing over the crib, she was doing it all again.

"Fallon!" Mom said, turning around, her voice like finally. "Thank God you're here. Will you please tell these people to let me take my daughter?"

"No," I said, watching as Chloe's face flashed with appreciation. Heart hammering, I'd adopted Chloe's stance, crossing my arms and staring her down. " No . Because she's not your daughter."

"What the hell are you—"

"That's right!" someone announced, appearing to the side, and I turned, mouth falling open as Cassidy walked in, wearing a full suit, her blonde hair pulled back into a sleek bun, a literal briefcase at her side. "Good morning. I'm under federal jurisdiction to—"

"Is that a lawyer?" Mom asked, with the same energy that a demon might have in reaction to holy water. She started to stumble back, her hands flying out, her eyes darting around the room like she was looking for an escape hatch.

"Yes," Cassidy said, standing up straighter. "I am a lawyer. I'm Mrs. Ratcliffe's lawyer, to be more precise. And I'll have you know…" She stopped to slap a paper down on the table, gesturing for my mom to look at it. From my place in the living room, I couldn't make it out, but it looked official.

"That the baby in that crib is officially under Fallon Ratcliffe's custody," Cassidy says. "As per the court order issued by Judge Harriet Thompson of the 7th District Family Court. This order grants full legal and physical custody to Fallon Ratcliffe under section 3020-3032 of the Family Code. Furthermore, the court has issued a restraining order prohibiting you from coming within 500 feet of the child or Mrs. Ratcliffe's residence."

Cassidy paused to take a breath, and every person in the room stared at her. Her cheeks were flushed, and she smiled, turning to my mother more fully.

"Any attempt to violate this order will result in immediate legal action, including but not limited to criminal charges for custodial interference under Penal Code section 278.5, which carries a penalty of up to 3 years in state prison and a fine of up to $10,000."

My mother had already been backing out of the room, but at the mention of prison and fines, she was practically one foot out the door.

"Fine," she said, her gaze skipping to me, her hand flapping out. "You want the damn thing so bad? Take it. Maybe it will give you some appreciation for how fuckin' hard it was to raise you ."

As always, she had to leave with some final, devastating blow. To my shock, my calm, level-headed best friend stepped out, pointing her finger at my mom.

"Get the fuck out of here," Chloe growled, "you selfish, ugly…pigeon-toed bastard !"

My mom scowled and turned on her heel, stalking out into the hallway.

"What was that , babe?" Joey laughed, sounding both amused and on-edge.

"I don't know," Chloe said, more breath than words. "I heard it in a Western."

For some reason, even as my friends were letting out breaths and un-hunching their shoulders, nothing felt resolved to me. I'd squared my shoulders and turned to the hallway, intending to march out there and say something to my mom—what I thought I was going to say, I'm not sure. Something to bring me closure. To be resolute about her never coming back into June's life.

But when I stepped into the hallway, I saw my mom jerking up, pulling her hand out of a drawer in the front hall stand.

"Randall?" she asked, genuine fear in her voice. I froze, looking between my mother and my friend, who was standing at the base of the stairs, a look on his face I'd never seen before.

"Well, hi," he said, a smooth cadence to his tone that didn't match him at all. "What brings you into my home?"

"N-nothing," my mom said, her hands starting to shake. "I'm so s-sorry. I'll leave."

"That would be wise."

I watched, dumbfounded, as my normally obstinate, obnoxious mother apologized and stumbled backward out the door.

"Randall," I said, and watched as he turned and looked at me, his shoulders relaxing into their normal slumped pose. "What the hell was that ?"

"What?" he asked, stepping down off the stairs and peeking past me. "Not sure what you're talking about."

I opened my mouth to ask him how he knew my mother, and why she seemed to be absolutely terrified of him, but at that moment, Chloe let out a panicked sound, calling my name from the living room.

June was struggling to breathe again.

Which is why we're back in the emergency room, waiting to find out what's going on with her. They took her out of my arms when we came in on the ambulance, and I'm waiting to hear about her status. Chloe sits to one side, Randall to the other, and I can't stop thinking that something terrible might be happening to her.

"It's going to be okay," Chloe says, squeezing my hand. There's a certain look on her face, but I don't have the energy to decipher it. She keeps glancing at the door, and I tell myself that she's just waiting for the doctor to come, like me.

The doctor does appear, looking bedraggled and weary. My heart jumps into my throat, and I get to my feet.

"Is she okay?" I ask, immediately walking over to her.

"For now, yes," she says. "She's stable. But she's going to need another surgery—apparently, there was some sort of complication from the last one we didn't catch."

"Another surgery," I echo, feeling numb. "Right."

Chloe squeezes my hand, and the others gather around me, making me feel like I'm the captain of a football team. The doctor looks around at all of them, and I can feel her thinking that it's an odd set-up, a strange family.

But they're my family.

"As for the issue of health insurance," Dr. Hernandez says, wincing a bit. "You'll have to speak with the front desk."

Twenty minutes later, the front desk has informed me that because June doesn't have health insurance, they're going to need the cost of the surgery up front, like last time. My bank account is frozen because of the proceedings, and I wouldn't have access to that kind of money, anyway. Before, I had my inheritance. Now, I'm back to nothing.

"Fal," Chloe says, and I shake my head, taking a step back from her.

"I just need a second," I wheeze. "Sorry, just—a second to breathe."

When I step outside, the fresh air does nothing to make me feel better. Clouds hang heavy in the sky, the dark, foreboding threat of rain in the distance. If I was a poet, I might find some metaphor there for my life.

I find a bench and plop down, dropping my head into my hands and trying to breathe. The harder I try to calm down, the worse it gets, with my breath coming hard and fast.

It feels like this whole thing started at the hospital, and I realize that it did—nearly seven months ago. I put a fist to my chest and rub at it, begging my heart to calm down. We definitely can't afford another medical bill on top of the ones we already have.

"Fallon?"

When I look up, I see Brett standing there, a light, misting drizzle coming down around him. He's holding something in his hand, and he takes a step forward, handing it to me.

"What—" I start, then, when I see what it is, I burst into tears. Loud, body-shaking sobs that make your teeth hurt. A moment later, Brett is there beside me, brushing the hair back from my face, wrapping me in his arms.

"Shit," he breathes, "shit, I'm sorry, I didn't think—I thought it would—"

Through great gasps of air, hiccupping sobs, and the violent contracting of my chest, I look down at the bag in my hand again.

"Thank you," I whisper, laughing a bit and squeezing the peanut butter and cheese sandwich. "It's just what I needed."