Seré Halverson - The Underside of Joy

I grabbed Gwen’s pen and wrote NO!! on her manila folder.

She stood. ‘Your Honour, before we get into a drawn-out investigation, can we each talk to our clients?’

Gwen and I sat in an attorney conference room. I said through clenched teeth, ‘They cannot be separated.’

‘This judge is so over the top, it’s ridiculous. He could be grandstanding. It doesn’t happen often that a judge splits up the children.’

‘You heard him. I cannot take that chance. How is this happening ?’

‘Look. It’s not happening today; he’s speculating. First there has to be an investigation. They’ll look into everything. Everyone will be interviewed. It’s going to be an intense six months. And expensive.’

‘I don’t care about the money. I’ll find the money. It’s just that this is taking its toll on everyone. Marcella… I don’t think she and Joe Sr could live through much more of this. But it’s going to be the hardest on Annie and Zach.’

‘And we’ve barely scratched the surface, compared to what’s coming with an investigation. Ella, right now Paige is offering you joint custody. We can also ask that the court retain jurisdiction for either party to seek a modification, which means it can be revisited in the future.’

‘But she gets physical custody?’

Gwen nodded. ‘We could let this go to a hearing, and the judge could rule that she has full custody and you have nothing. Not even visitation. And that’s possible. Typically, stepparents have no rights when it comes to custody.’ She leaned into the table. ‘Except when you can prove abandonment. Ella, the best-case scenario is that you get Zach but not Annie. And you clearly don’t want them separated.’

How did this happen?

The letters happened.

‘Gwen, what would you do if they were your kids?’

She placed her hand on my arm. ‘Joint custody. I would agree to their stipulation. This may be the best we can do right now. Okay?’

I nodded but couldn’t say the word yes.

She left me in the room so I wouldn’t have to talk to Joe Sr, Marcella, or David, and went to draw up the papers. I sat with my face in my hands, knowing without a doubt that I had tried to do the right thing and instead had failed everyone I loved.

Lizzie answered the front door and hugged me. ‘Frank called. You did an amazing thing.’

My throat clenched. I shook my head, heard Zach’s voice, ‘Mommy’s here! Mommymommymommy!’ He ran to me, holding a stuffed T rex in a Hawaiian shirt, and I picked him up and did not cry. Lizzie looked away. Annie came out and slipped her hand through my belt loop. And I did not cry.

I thanked Lizzie, the kids thanked Lizzie. We drove the four blocks home. I didn’t know how to tell them, because the reality still circled around, like the tip of a shark that would soon eat us alive.

I knew I didn’t want Annie to piece together bits of whispered conversations on my end of late-night telephone calls. I also didn’t want Paige to tell her first. Gwen had insisted that I be the one to tell the kids, and while the judge had agreed, he’d given me only two days.

I didn’t wait that long. I sat them down on our back porch with the lemonade Popsicles we’d made together, Zach spilling a good portion of the lemonade onto the kitchen floor. I squeezed myself between the two of them and said, ‘Something happened today that I need to talk with you about.’

Annie looked up at me. Her fringe was clipped back with a pink barrette — probably the work of Lizzie’s daughter — and she looked more and more like Paige. ‘What?’

‘Well, you know your mama Paige?’

They both nodded, and Annie said, ‘Of course, silly.’

I forced a smile. ‘Of course you do. You see, when Daddy died, she and I had a… disagreement… about where the two of you should live. She thought you should live with her. I wanted you to stay here with me. So when two people can’t agree, sometimes they go to a place called court and talk about it until a decision is made. And this morning? It was decided that both of you should live with Mama Paige right now.’

‘Why?’ Zach said. He’d been swinging his chubby legs, kicking the lattice beneath the porch, and he stopped, searching my face. His Popsicle dripped streaks down his wrist, his arm, and onto his big-boy jeans.

Because I blew it. Because I didn’t fight hard enough for you. Maybe I didn’t do what a real mother would have done.

‘Because,’ I said, ‘since Mama Paige is your… birth mother, she wants to have more time with you than she’s had.’

‘Why? Because I was in her tummy?’

‘Because. She loves you. And she really, really misses you.’

Annie finally spoke. ‘What about you? You love us.’

‘Yes.’ I swallowed. ‘I love you very, very much. And I will miss you.’

‘Are you sad?’

I nodded. ‘ But. You and Zach will have a wonderful new adventure. You’ll get to live in your mama’s big, beautiful house with your own rooms and play with lots of new friends. And I will still get to visit you.’

‘ Visit us? Like Nana Beene visits us?’ Zach asked.

‘Yes. Sort of like that.’

His eyes went wide; his sticky chin crumpled up in a trembling mass of dimples. I pulled him to me and held him in the crook of my arm.

He said, ‘No way, José.’

Annie said, ‘You promised !’ Her voice shook, and a tear traced down her cheek. ‘You said you’d never leave us! You lied. ’

‘Annie, I never wanted this to happen. I love you. I promise. I —’

‘Don’t promise me anything !’ She threw her Popsicle, scrambled up, and started to run into the house, but then she turned around at the door, hands hanging at her sides, tears streaming, eyes on me. ‘You pinkie promised! You said never, ever!’

‘Come here, Banannie.’ She ran into me, and the three of us huddled on the porch, Zach wailing now too.

Annie said through her sobs, ‘I don’t wanna be brave anymore.’ I stroked their hair. Two clouds drifted on the horizon, wispy white as baptism gowns. ‘You can cry,’ I told her. ‘You can be angry. That doesn’t mean you’re not brave.’

Even to this day, when I play it over in my mind, our good-bye happens in the slowest of motion, but in reality it happened quickly. I guess Judge Stanton believed in the fast-ripping-off-the-Band-Aid approach. But people aren’t Band-Aids.

Two days later, the day before Annie’s seventh birthday, the cold morning sky low and grey, Paige stood outside in a teal silk dress and heels, opening the car doors, opening the trunk. Inside, Annie led Zach through their circle of embraces and kisses: Marcella and Joe Sr, David and Gil, Lucy, Frank, Lizzie, Callie, Thing One and Thing Two, until the two of them stood in front of me, looking up, waiting. Marcella turned her wide back to us. Zach clenched his Bubby and picked up his Thomas the Tank Engine suitcase. He insisted on wearing his Thomas slippers that matched the suitcase, and I didn’t have the heart to argue with him, feeling like that was the least I could give him.

But Marcella turned back around and came up to me, and said, ‘You put shoes on him. Right. This. Minute.’

‘Marcella. He wants to wear these. It’s the one thing he asked for. Let’s pick our battles.’

‘What do you know about fighting a battle? You give in. That’s what you do.’ She turned back around.

Annie wore her Birkenstocks and jeans instead of the dress and patent leathers she’d insisted on wearing the first time she’d visited Paige. I toed her toe with my own Birkenstock, then opened the screen door for them. Taking their hands in mine, I led the three of us down the porch steps and across the gravel. Still, I hoped for some divinity or act of nature to intervene, to say, Stop. This was a test. The old Abraham-and-Isaac routine, but forget it, turn around, take them back inside, it’s over now. I concentrated my energy on not feeling, not crying, not looking at Paige, not throwing the kids into the Jeep and racing towards Canada or Mexico.