Mending Michael (16 page)

MICK

"Uncle Michael."

She hesitates before running up and jumping on me. I hug her so tightly that I feel that I may break her. "Oh, Kenna baby. I missed you so much."

"Are you okay now?"

I pull back, looking at her face, then at her foster mother walking apprehensively across the playground toward us. "She knows you and her mother haven't been feeling well enough to take care of her, so..." the woman, whose name I've been told is Patty, says with a wink.

I nod in understanding. To Kenna, I say, "I'm getting better, baby, yes. I'm so sorry."

"Where's mommy?"

Kissing Kenna on her forehead, I tell her that Mommy is a little more sick than I am, and is in the hospital getting better. I don't want to lie, but telling the awful truth is going to get lost on a three year old.

"Kenna, Aunt Patty's going to be in the car, okay?" the forty-something year-old tiny woman tells my niece.

"Okay," Kenna says.

I put her down and walk her to the slide. It's not a high slide, so I let her climb while I walk around to the front of it. When she slides down giggling, I sweep her up at the bottom. "Are you happy with Aunt Patty, Kenna?"

"Uh-huh," she says giggling and running back up the slide. "She's funny. And I like being with Tori and Katie."

"Tori and Katie?" I grab Kenna's hand and walk her to the swings. Sitting her down in one, I proceed to push her. "Who are they?"

"They live there too. In the big house."

"Oh. Are they your age?"

"No, Uncle," she giggles again. "They are like six I think."

The tension I've been feeling all week slips away a bit. Kenna's happy. From what the child services lady told me in the parking lot before Patty showed up with Kenna, the foster family is a wonderful family who has two adopted daughters of their own. Tori and Katie, I guess. It's nice to hear that Kenna likes them. And it's good to see that she's happy.

After about thirty minutes of running around the playground playing with Kenna, I ask her if she wants to go get an ice cream cone at the ice cream bakery up the corner. Of course, she screams, "Yes."

So I walk up to the bench where the child services lady, whose name always escapes me, is sitting and watching us, and I ask her if we can walk up to the corner.

"Yes. I will follow behind, but you won't know I'm here."

Oh, I'll know she's here. I've been highly aware of it since the moment I pulled up on my Harley and she was standing there, arms folded, against her Buick. Carmine Abate, the lawyer, told me this visit would be supervised. I'd rather it not have been, but at least I get to see her. I get visitation on Saturday afternoon also. Carmine was able to pull some strings and get me an hour today and an hour on Saturday, so I wouldn't have to wait until the judge decides our fate.

We sit on the stone ledge, Kenna and I, she with her vanilla cone and rainbow sprinkles, me with my chocolate-dipped vanilla cone. Kenna is a heavenly sight, her food dripping all over her.

"Oh, Kenna. Are you having fun on your little vacation with Aunt Patty?" It kills me to call her that, as if Patty is family instead of a stranger who has possession of my precious niece.

She slurps her cone and nods, her eyes bright and smiling. I rub the back of her head. "Kenna, babe, Mommy and Uncle Michael love you lots. You know that, right?"

"Yeah," she says between licks.

"Always, always."

"Am I going to live with Aunt Patty all the time?" she asks, appearing unconcerned, but then I wonder.

"Of course not, Kenna. No. You're coming back to us. I promise." The moment I say it, I get nauseous. How can I promise her something I'm not even sure of? "Right now, Mommy needs to get better. Get healthy. So she can take better care of you. And, well, I need to get better too," I say truthfully, because I realize, I am not what anyone would call a fit parent by any means. My history speaks for itself, and well, if I'm to be honest, if Kenna were being guided by someone like me, I'd be very worried. I need to fix what's wrong with me. And I need to do that for Kenna.

***

When Holly clocks in for work tonight, I'm nervous. More nervous than usual. After that kiss this morning, I really wanted to pick her up and carry her to my bed. But I knew it'd be wrong. For one, we've only been friends for a week. Yes, I've known her for about three years, but had I ever had any type of conversation with her? No. So after just one week, I'm thinking it wouldn't be smart to sleep with her. Especially since I work with her, and until this past weekend, we weren't even friends. And two, she intimidates me. Big time. She's smart, she's sassy, she's sarcastic. She's a smart-alec, pert ball of fire whose classic beauty disarms me and renders me a bumbling idiot.

And three, I'm falling in love with her.

And I am so afraid of falling in love and leaving myself vulnerable.

"Two chocolate martinis and a coffee with Kahlua."

"Let me guess, the three old ladies in the front?"

"Now, Michael, are you stereotyping based on an order?"

I love when she calls me Michael. "I didn't realize that was considered stereotyping."

"Isn't it? You're assuming that since these are considered sissy drinks, that only old ladies would be drinking it. Tsk, tsk, Michael. Here I thought I knew you better than that."

"Am I wrong?"

She raises one eyebrow at me then stifles a laugh. "Yes."

I slide the drinks across the bar, she places them on her tray, and I watch her walk over to the table in the front. Where she delivers the drinks to the three old ladies. I shake my head and silently laugh.

Beneath the bar, Holly's phone vibrates all night. I see her check it from time to time, but she always presses a button and forcefully puts the phone back in its place, frowning as she does so.

"Someone bothering you?" I ask.

She just shakes her head and goes back to the kitchen.

I'm tempted to check her phone to see who it is she is ignoring. I mean, I really don't know if she even has a boyfriend or not. I suspect she doesn't, because I never see her with anyone but her usual friends, and I don't get the feeling that she's seeing any of them.

When she comes out of the kitchen with a food order, I notice she's still frowning, and now her pout seems to have reached her eyes. However, when she catches me watching her, she greets me with a wink. She never lets me see her true emotions. It annoys me.

By the end of the night, and about thirty phone calls later, I finally say, "You know, your phone does have an off button. I can show you how to use it."

"Can you? Because I lost the manual, and I haven't been able to figure it out. I'd be mighty pleased and indebted to you forever if you can show me how to turn it off."

Okay. I've pissed her off. She doesn't sound like she's kidding, and she is not smiling.

I hold up my two hands in an effort to say, "I'm backing off."

She cleans off the tables and turns over the chairs without as much as a peep. Whoever has been calling her has gotten to her. My instincts say to go to her, ask her, help her, but her scowl tells me to mind my own fucking business. That's when I can't help but laugh out loud.

"What's so funny?" she snarls.

"Nothing. Just a joke I remembered."

Her shoulders drop and neck bends. She continues mopping the floor, but she looks more sad now than mad.

"You okay?" I ask, keeping my voice quiet.

Holly stands in place and closes her eyes. "It's my father."

"Is he okay?"

She turns toward me, but stays in place. "Unfortunately."

HOLLY

"So then what is it?" Mick presses.

"I'm supposed to start that Wall Street job immediately." The words spill out like vomit.

Mick stops moving behind the bar and says, "What about school?"

Stepping forward, I meet Mick on the other side of the bar and sit on the stool next to him. He pours some Malibu in an ice-filled glass and then follows it with cranberry juice and pineapple juice.

I take the drink from him, sip it, then proceed to explain. "He wants me to work part-time, after my classes each day."

"Every day?"

"No. Three days. Monday, Wednesday, Friday. He says he knows I can do it, 'cause he knows my classes are early and mid-morning. I don't have any afternoon classes. And he says his employees don't even leave work until eight, nine o'clock every night, so I'll still have plenty of time to learn from them," I say the last sentence with such contempt, like all I wanna do is learn finance some more. "He says it’s going to help me do better on my finals to get in some practical experience."

"Oh geez. I'm sorry."

"I'll have to quit here."

"What? Why? You can work here on Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays, Sun..."

"Mick. I can't work seven days a week. Shit, before last week, I never worked a day in my life," I say this nervously, because I just want to go back to living a carefree, work-free college life.

Mick nods, a frown on his face.

A tiny smile finds its way to my face, despite my anger. "Are you going to miss me, Michael Ross?"

He smiles, but shrugs.

"What?" I ask him.

"You...I like when you call me Michael," he says bashfully.

Then it occurs to me that I'd called him Mick before. "It's a nice name."

He steps closer to me and takes my hand. "Can't you just tell your dad you don't want the job?"

"No. He'll just out-talk me and prove I'm wrong...as usual."

With my hand still in his, Mick says, "I understand about controlling parents, but you seem so strong and all, I'm surprised you can't just speak your mind. I mean, you do it with me all the time. No offense."

"None taken. But yeah, with my dad, it's...I...he just seems always right, you know? He says he has my best interests at heart, and he really has never steered me wrong, and I guess, I just...well I always think he's right, you know? I'm...maybe if I knew what I wanted to do with my life, I'd have a strong argument against him, but...I don't so..."

"So you're gonna start the job? When?"

"He'd like me to come in tomorrow at three."

"Really. Really?" Mick looks concerned. His eyebrows are dipping low above the bridge of his nose, and he's biting that cheek again.

The Malibu drink isn't having the effect I was hoping for. I still feel painfully miserable.

"You gonna do it?"

"I don't think I have any other choice."

He nods. "I guess you don't." Mick takes the glass out of my hand and grabs hold of my other hand now. Stepping closer to me, he quirks his mouth. "You gonna be okay?"

"I guess. Bored out of my mind, but...okay."

I miss his hands for, like, a tenth of a second when he lets go of mine, because he right away wraps his arms around me and runs his hands up and down my back to comfort me. "I'll miss you," he says into my hair.

I let out a moan, because I'll be missing him too. It may be only three days a week I'm in New York, but I won't be able to work here anymore. If I do, I'd never get any studying done. I may be failing my finance classes, but I'm acing my other classes. I definitely don't want those grades to slip. Then I'll be kicked right out of college altogether.

As Mick smoothes my hair with his palm, I feel his breath expel. "Will you still be...coming in?"

I lean back and look at him. "Of course. I didn't even tell my father yes yet. I've been ignoring him. Should I say no? I'm so confused."

"Holiday, you have to do what your gut is telling you to do. No one, not me, not your father, can tell you what to do."

I know he's right. He is. But telling my father no right now probably isn't an option for me. Maybe when I'm older, but not right now. I just nod. "We better finish up. I have an early class tomorrow, and I'm gonna have to find something businessy to wear."

Mick pulls away and unties his apron, hanging it up on the hook after he takes it off. "So you're taking the job then," he says, not looking at me.

"Yeah," I whisper.

MICK

Today's visit with Kenna didn't go as well as Tuesday's. She wasn't as happy as she had been last time. Kenna was mad at me this morning, and as much as I tried to make her smile, she wouldn't break one.

Madeline, whose name I finally remembered, said it's normal for children who are ripped from their homes unexpectedly to act both unresponsive and aggressive, which is exactly how Kenna behaved with me. By the time I got Kenna to even look at me today, the only thing she said to me was that she hated vanilla ice cream with rainbow sprinkles. She loves vanilla ice cream with rainbow sprinkles. I hate seeing her this way. Kenna is a happy girl. Despite her mother's slight attention, Kenna
always
remains happy. I can't stand to see her like this.

Six more days.

In six more days, I'll be in court and hopefully have my Kenna back home. And she'll return to her usual cheerful self. Hopefully.

When I ask Madeline if I can meet with Kenna again before Friday, she says no, that she wasn't even supposed to let me see her without a court order in the first place, but she did it as a favor to the chief of police. Now I'd have to wait until I get a judge's ruling on whether or not I can have or even see my own niece. And according to my lawyer, I'm not going to have an easy time of getting either.

Yes, it sucks.

This week has sucked.

And not just where Kenna is concerned.

Since Tuesday night, I have not seen or spoken to Holly. I sent her a text on Wednesday wishing her good luck, but all I received back was a sad face. I know she was indicating that she wasn't happy about going to work on Wall Street, but I guess I was hoping for something more. Maybe even a text afterward telling me how her day had gone.

Nothing.

And every time I think about sending her another text, or even picking up the phone to call her, I chicken out—I'm not sure how I'd handle another snide or sarcastic comment. Holiday Eliza Sabrina Buchanan still intimidates me. Yet she is the only one that can comfort me the way she does. She's smart, she's sassy, sarcastic, unbelievably wicked, and unexpectedly sweet. She's everything I never knew I wanted in a girl. When I think about it too much, I realize...

She's everything I ever really wanted.

But now is not the time.

And I know that.

I keep reminding myself that.

Kenna is my first priority, Charity, my second. Getting my life in order comes somewhere in-between. I have no time, nor do I have the right to entertain a relationship. Not when I can't make that relationship a priority. And even though I know Holly can help me through this whole custody ordeal, is it fair to her to use her for my own solace? When I have nothing to offer her in return?

The answer is no. And that is why I haven't attempted to contact her again. She has her own issues right now. Dropping mine on her shoulders would only make things worse for her. Maybe, just maybe, one day, when I have Kenna back and Charity is recovered, then I can consider adding Holly to my life. But until then, it's best I keep my problems to myself, and hold Holly at a distance. I don't have to work with her anymore, so it shouldn't be a problem. She's probably not even giving me a second thought, so all my contemplating is probably for naught anyway.

Later, at the bar, Holly's friends walk in laughing. For an instant, I get excited, hoping that she will be walking in with them. When she doesn't, I feel disappointed and relieved at the same time. Disappointed, because I'd love to see her right now. Relieved, because I don't think I could keep my distance from her had she shown up.

Then I feel another emotion quickly thereafter—uncertainty. Would she want me to keep my distance? How real were her feelings last weekend? The fact that she hasn't contacted me in four days indicates that maybe she was into me because of the physical proximity working together allowed. Maybe once she was given a break from me, she'd stopped thinking about me. Out of sight, out of mind, right? If absence made the heart grow fonder, she'd have contacted me.

Watching her friends, though, throughout the night, laughing and drinking and having a good ole time, makes me wonder where she is. They're all here. Griffin, Cali, Braden, Rose, Cali's friend Tabitha, even Hurley stopped by for a drink before he'd run out again. But no Holly. I thought about asking Griffin, since he's the friendliest and most outgoing of the bunch, and since he'd helped me two weeks ago when Charity lost Kenna, but I changed my mind. Asking about her would only lead him into telling her I'd asked, and then that would be sending her the wrong message. So I refrain, and wonder for the rest of Saturday night when I'd get to see Holly again. Even though I have no right wondering.

About eleven thirty, I turn toward the door after hearing the cow bells clang, signaling another patron entering the bar. I haven't done all that well on my keeping-away-from-the-alcohol bit, and that is especially true tonight. As soon as I'd clocked in tonight, I'd poured myself a Grey Goose. Since I hadn't wanted to drink all Donny's profits, I'd switched to the cheap stuff by the third glass. After that, I hadn't really paid much attention to how many drinks I'd consumed, so when the door to the bar opens, and I see the girl who walks in, I'm almost grateful.

Almost.

"Hey, Mickey."

"Lara. What are you doing here?" I ask, half happy to see someone I can talk to about my discouraging day with Kenna. Not that I'd forgiven her yet for cheating on me with my former best friend, but she
did
try to help with babysitting little K and well, I can use an ear, and possibly two warm arms, tonight.

"Just came to see you," she says smiling, looking concerned. "Wondering what's going on with Kenna and T." She shrugs, her smile disappearing.

"Not good."

"Wanna talk about it?"

Do I wanna talk about it?
I do. With Lara. Because there needs no explaining with her. She knows my past. She grew up with me. Lara knows about my parents, knows about Frankie. She knows about my record. These are things I'm not ready for Holly to know. They're things that may scare her away or something she may judge me for. With Lara, I can just...

Cry.

I so need to cry right now.

With Lara, I can bring her up to date quickly, without all the backstory, and then let out the scream I've been holding in. And then the cry.

Is it fair to Lara? Probably not. Is it fair to Holly, to assume she'd judge me or run? Definitely not. Am I a coward who has drunk way too much for someone still clocked in on the job? Yes. Will I listen to reason tonight? Most likely not.

"Mickey? You wanna talk about it?"

"Can you meet me upstairs?"

"Yup. Still got my key. How 'bout I go get us Chinese, like old times, and I'll set it all up?"

Old times. "I won't be done 'til at least three."

"Okay. I'll sit and have a few drinks."

She sits at the far end of the bar and I give her her usual—a gin and tonic with three slices of lime.

When her smile lights up, I'm all of a sudden sick to my stomach. What am I doing?

As the night drags on, I regret more and more asking Lara to stay. Plus, I know it's going to give her the wrong idea. This is why I should have kept drinking the rest of the night. Sobering up is causing me to think too much.

When the bar empties, I turn to Lara. Sipping her third drink and playing some game on her phone. "You mind if I take a rain check on Chinese tonight? I'm kinda beat and just wanna go to sleep."

"I can come up with you. Maybe rub your back or something to help settle you down."

"I'm not a toddler," I joke, using Holly's sarcasm to deflect the message I realize Lara is sending.

"You know what I mean." She raises her brow, her voice soft yet deep—a flirtatious whisper.

Yes, I know what she means, and I'm pretty sure I'd get more than a back rub. Would I love her to jack me off or give me a blow job? Of course. She's beautiful, smart, deliciously lean and sexy, but it'd lead to more. And not just sex. She'd want us to go back to the way things used to be. Before she broke my trust.

And I don't want that.

Even if I could learn to trust her again.

I want Holly.

And though I can't have her,
won't have her
, until I'm fixed—put back together—then I don't want anyone else either.

"I think I just need to be alone, Lara. I'm sorry."

She sighs, losing her smile, and pushes a twenty toward me.

"It's on me. Thanks for caring, Lara. It means a lot."

It does. Not too many people in my life do care. It's nice to know Lara is on my side.

**

Sunday, I move into the house in North Haledon. I take what little I have in my studio apartment, move it into the house, and move my mother's old living room and kitchen sets to the apartment above the garage. I also replace my childhood bedroom set with the bed I'd bought for my apartment. Though I'd prefer to stay above Donny's, if I want to get Kenna back, I need to face the unwelcome memories of my past and move back into my childhood home. Where I can't even remember ever being happy.

The huge house is lonely, and besides the time I spend inside covering the walls with fresh paint, I don't spend much time in it. My days are spent working at the bar. My nights are spent at the library searching the web for an IT job. Fortunately, there are many available opportunities in the information technology field. Let's just hope one of them calls me.

By Friday morning, I am a wreck.

Outwardly, my black streamlined two-button suit, complete with black silk tie and white athletic-fit shirt, along with my lightly-gelled hair, screams, "This guy has got his shit together," but inwardly, I feel cluttered and out of control. Ready to lash out at any moment. And we know where that got me the last time I lashed out.

When my cell vibrates, I expect it to be Lara, since she's been sending inviting messages to me all week. I weakly decline her invitations to meet with her, saying I'm tired, stressed, what-not, instead of being honest and telling her I'm sorry if I'd led her on, but I am not interested in starting things up again. I just don't know how to tell her that now that I may have made her believe that.

However, this text is not from Lara. It's from Holly.

HOLLY:
Good luck today, Michael. Been super busy, but thinking about you a lot. What time's court today?

ME:
10am. Thanks. Hope your job is going okay. :)

HOLLY:
Yes and No. I'll be thinking about you at 10. Hopefully we'll see each other soon. I miss you.

ME:
Miss you too, Holiday. Xo

I don't receive a text after that, but that's okay. Just hearing from her today did a world of good for my nerves. I hadn't realized how much of my pent-up uneasiness had been due to not seeing Holly. I should have asked her if she could be there with me today, but if I had, and she could, then she'd hear all the reasons I may not get Kenna back. And although I should trust that she would handle it all in stride, part of me isn't ready to find out if that is the case.

The parking garage of the municipal complex is packed. I need to drive all the way to the top level before I find an open spot. Following signs that lead me to the court house, I finally make it to the building, where I'm poked, prodded, and scanned for anything remotely useful as a weapon. Once I'm cleared, I locate the sign that reads
Courtroom.
Standing just outside the door, is not only Carmine, my lawyer, but Lara as well.

"Lar...what? Why?"

Carmine opens his mouth. "She says she's your fiancé? I told her I had to check with you if you wanted her here."

I look at Carmine, then at Lara, then back at Carmine. "Yeah. It's fine." I sigh in resignation.

Carmine opens the door for me, and as I wait for Lara to step in front of me, I whisper, "Fiancé?"

She shrugs. "What should I have said?"

I shake my head, saying, "Never mind," to myself. I don't bother saying it out loud.

Inside, the courtroom is a mad house. Kids screaming, mothers crying, men dressed in suits looking bored. Probably the lawyers who have been through this kind of stuff repeatedly. To the front left of the room, stern-looking women were going through their briefcases, their lips pursed, their eyes narrowed.

Child services.

Where were they when I was a kid?

The irony in today is I'm on the other side of the law than I would have been as a child. Where are my parents
now
? Clueless, partying it up in Florida.

Carmine instructs me to stay quiet unless the judge asks
me
specifically to answer. Otherwise, let Carmine do the talking. That's what I'm paying him for, I guess. But it nags at me while I sit there. He's not getting paid, so what is the impetus that will drive Carmine to win this fight for me?