♪♫••════════CHAPTER 8════════••♬ ♭
CUSTODY SETTLEMENT! A pulse began to loudly pound in her ears, and the sudden lightheartedness was not due to the ingested alcohol.
“Rissa? Are you okay?” Olivia stooped to recover the sheets, which had fluttered to the floor, and swore, although cursing was something they never did around Tristan. “Shit! This is, this is…”
Jolting to her senses, Marissa snatched the paper from her friend’s hand. Protectively, she folded Jack’s name from sight, although, if the swearing was any indication, it sounded like her secret was out.
However, it was the smaller sheath that had Olivia gaping–the mentioned check. Marissa almost fainted in shock.
The amount was generous beyond belief. As dictated by legal jargon, the money remained hers to keep no matter the outcome of the paternity test. Fortunately, it was drawn on the law firm account, and there was no ‘Jack Storm’ signature exposing a secret Marissa would soon be legally bound to keep.
The money was enough to pay for his doctors, surgery, hospital stay, and allow for a top physical therapy program. Yet, if she cashed the check, did that create an obligation to go through with a custody hearing when the paternity test proved Jack to be Tristan’s father?
“Rissa, this is wonderful!”
Was it? It seemed like a curse in disguise of a blessing.
Olivia was dancing around, and she griped because she wanted a celebration drink. Responsibly, in preparation for the drive home, Liv put her glass into the sink, ran water into it, and then turned. One hand settled determinedly on her hip. “It’s past time you give the deets on Russ.”
“What?”
Marissa’s exclamation did not stem from ignorance of the slang. Olivia often used deets for details and totes for totally, along with other talk that kept her a popular dealer with the younger crowd in the casino.
“Give it up, Rissa. Is he the, you know,” dropping her voice to a whisper, Olivia continued, “sperm donor?”
“You read my texts?” There was no alternative way anyone could know that unspoken name.
“Surely you are not going to go ratchet after all this time!”
Marissa continued to stare her friend down.
“Alright, yes! A long time ago, I read your texts. You were asleep at my house and got a text really late. I was still awake and looked at it just in case it was a schedule change. It said, ‘Hi.’” Liv waved her hands. “Big deal.”
Having committed those texts to memory, by reading them to herself so many times over the years, Marissa breathed a little easier. However, the relief she felt at thinking the snooping had stopped before the next text exchange, months later, was short-lived.
“Then you clammed up about the ah, sperm donor. You were napping one day, and I looked at you all huge and prego, and I couldn’t stop myself. I checked your texts and calls for the month it would have happened, and I found that you and Russ had texted, and he sounded personal with you.”
“Liv!” The intrusion of privacy was horrifying, only because of the situation. It wasn’t as if they had never spied in each other’s phones for one reason or another.
“I’m really sorry!” In her friend’s agitation, both hands raised simultaneously tucking loose strands of blonde hair behind her ears. Finally, bringing her eyes to Marissa’s, she whined, “I’m your best friend. Why won’t you tell me who he is?”
Looking away from a gaze that suddenly made her feel guilty for keeping such a secret, Marissa quietly asked, “Why Russ? Why is that your guess?”
Continuing to stare dead on, Olivia solemnly returned, “Because you always tell me about every guy. And never, ever, have you mentioned Russ.”
Or Jack. Marissa’s mind silently retorted.
Jack who? The text replayed in her head, but for some reason, the ‘Jack’ texts in the Russ conversation had gone over or out of Olivia’s head. Maybe her friend had been skimming and had missed that crucial clue. It certainly didn’t sound as if Liv had looked at the dates in the text series since the fateful month would have contained only two from ‘Russ’ and the intimate texts had come months later. Five fat months later to be exact.
From the den, Tristan’s high-pitched laughs while watching his shows became the only break in the stretching silence.
Rounding the bar to the sink, Marissa dumped her glass in and stared after it. Without turning, she spoke, “Liv, if I tell you, you have to swear never to tell a living soul. Not even Michael.”
“Okay.” The response was immediate and bordered on reverent.
“I mean it. I am about to have to sign a legal agreement swearing myself to silence.” Pivoting, she saw her friend’s eyes had slightly rounded at the seriousness tone and words.
“Okay, I promise.”
“The day we went to the Hang Fest, the dog I told you I found…” Picking at a fingernail in bad need of a manicure before her job wrote her up over it, Marissa considered one last time whether it was wise to confess. “The dog belonged to the Russ that you saw on the phone.”
“So who is Russ?” Olivia prompted when Marissa didn’t immediately continue.
“He was one of the musicians that day. I’m sure he is Tristan’s– that it is him.” Nervously, Marissa stuttered and, like Olivia had minutes ago, avoided the word father. Cautiously, she sent a look to the den where Tristan was fitting together a Hot Wheels track. “But that’s all I can tell you right now.”
The evening had become stressful enough without adding to the chain of events, and she halted the attempted confession when envisioning Olivia’s typical overblown reaction.
Marissa’s eyes locked onto her best friend’s fake eyelashes, imploring her to understand. “The letter that came with the check stipulates a paternity test. I will tell you everything soon. And, I’m sorry I didn’t sooner. I don’t know what I would have done, or would do, without you. And you of all people deserve the truth.”
Nodding in acceptance, Olivia moved around gathering her things in preparation to leave. Bending for a hug and kiss, she said her goodbye to Tristan and then spun about to Marissa.
Even from across the room, Marissa could physically feel her friend’s mind spinning like the hamster wheel that had held such fascination for Tristan on one of his shows.
Slowing, stopping, full speed, again and again.
Olivia’s brows puckered. “He was in a band? Or with a band?”
The question was predictable from Olivia, but the reasoning behind it had changed over the years. Five years ago, Olivia would have asked to determine banging status. Tonight, it was to aid her in her Google search later. Marissa almost smiled but felt too guilty at the thought of Olivia wasting the rest of the night attempting to cross-reference ‘Russ’ to the band appearances of that fateful year.
Closing the space between them, she hugged her friend, much tighter than in the usual girly greeting or goodbye. “Thank you for everything.”
The letter and check weighed on her thoughts, and she knew a crying jag would come later in the shower, muffled from tiny ears.
“Momma? Did you eat your fortune cookie? You can have it if you want.”
Olivia waved a last goodbye as Tristan spoke, then let herself out the door.
“No. Do you want it?”
Excitedly, he nodded in confirmation and added, “But you can keep your fortune.”
“Cool! I need a good fortune!” Oh how she needed two different definitions of fortune.
After having his cookie, they adjourned to the spare room, which over the years had evolved into a mini gym.
Following a series of stretching exercises, Tristan began on the exercycle sized for him, and she reclined on the weight bench. The workout ritual was something they did together. The main reason she participated was to encourage her son who was forced by circumstances to make it an everyday part of his life. However, the results in the mirror also pushed her on.
She was never sure if the quest to keep a trim and toned body was for the overweight adolescent girl who had once sat home dateless during those first awkward school dances, or the twenty-something year old ‘Mariss’ who secretly hoped to one day be a family with Jack Storm.
The eating disorder of adolescence had returned with a vengeance five years ago, and she knew stress was the root of the problem. The only times she didn’t struggle with weight was during times of being content with her life.
Tristan kept up a steady chatter, and a smile found its way to her face as she listened to the news of the day. Aunt Liv had bought him a new book app for the tablet she had given him for Christmas. The Chinese food delivery had taken almost an hour. One of his favorite shows recorded twice. Bally ate broccoli. Pleasantly, his tiny voice filled the room and as always, was the highlight of her evening.
The shred of an electronic riff, the pounding of drums, and a deep throaty howl interrupted the soothing sound waves, jarring her from her mindless leg thrusts, and rendering Tristan speechless.
“Is that your phone?” Round eyes accompanied his inquiry, and his short legs stopped their pedaling.
Jack’s number had been dumped, along with the rest of her contacts, from phone to phone, over the years. It was understandable that she had never deleted it. What could be considered unusual was her post cell upgrade ritual of scrolling through her sound files and assigning his special ring tone once more to his number.
Leaning to the side, she snatched the phone from the floor and verified the caller ID. Numbly, she took in the shaking of her hand as ‘RUSS’ flashed the screen.
“It’s going to stop! Answer it!” Tristan’s frantic cry brought her attention to a miniature version of the face that haunted her dreams, and whose voice was now a click away.
Her thumb hovered and then pressed.
♪♫••═════════════════••♬ ♭