Summer Son (24 page)

“Anytime. Sit down.”

We’d been hoping to arrange an across-the-table meeting with Oliver and his lawyer, but they were resisting us hard, wanting to do everything by letter or e-mail instead, which was far more time consuming.

“What’s the deal?”

Linda sighed heavily. “He’s dropped the case, Ellis.”

“What case? Not all of it?”

“Yeah.”

“What does that mean?”

“Basically, he’s not going to fight for access. He’s not asking for any access at all.”

“He’s just… washing his hands of us? Can he do that?”

“Well, he still has to pay you child support,” Linda said.

That had been ordered by the last judge, in the divorce, who decided that since Oliver had been equally responsible for bringing Harrison into the world, he had to pay his fair share of child support.

“Thank God.”

“Yeah. But as far as access is concerned—unless you want to force him to stick to your current agreement, which might mean going back to court, he’s not going to do anything.”

“I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,” I said, leaning back in my chair and clutching my takeaway cup to my chest.

“He’s out of your life now,” Linda offered. “Apart from the money he’ll stick in your account every month, and I can’t see him claiming he can’t afford it, he’s gone.”

I hummed softly and sipped my coffee. “I want to feel bad for Harrison, that Oliver has just abandoned him.”

“But Harrison already has two parents who love him,” Linda said gently, finishing the thought for me.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

“I debated whether I should tell you this or not,” she said. “It’s not exactly ethical. But off the record, and you absolutely did not hear this from me, but I know the secretary at the office where Oliver’s legal rep works. We’re friends, if you like. And she mentioned, in passing, that Oliver has asked for contracts to be drawn up between himself and a potential surrogate mother.”

“So he is having another baby.”

“Yeah. This time they’re doing IVF.”

“For gender selection, I bet.” I shook my head. “He always wanted a little girl. I can’t believe him.”

Linda shrugged. “I can.”

“You’re a better judge of character than me.”

“Mhmm. So, Zane.”

“What about him?”

“You tell me.”

I rolled my eyes. “He wants to be Harrison’s father. Officially, you know. And I want that too.”

“I don’t think Oliver will give you anything, El. Not even something he doesn’t want for himself.”

“I know.”

Oliver would need to relinquish his parental rights in order for me to list Zane as Harrison’s parent. That was something I knew I wanted; a part of me, deep down in my soul, knew it was the right thing for all of us. But asking Oliver would mean he was sure to say no, out of spite.

“Don’t look at me like that, Ellis Broad. I’m not going to tell you to do it. If you want your family, you have to go out there and make it yourself.”

“It’s scary.”

“Honey, the whole world is. Sometimes you just have to take a risk.”

Zane wasn’t a risk. He was one of the most stable things in my whole life. Linda’s words resonated, more than I would have liked, as I thought about Zane and me and Harrison, and whether we had a future together.

For a new boyfriend, Zane had put up with a hell of a lot already. I wasn’t sure I could have dealt with everything he had, not the vicious ex-husbands and needy infants. He wasn’t any normal person, though, not even a normal boyfriend. He was special. And he deserved more.

W
HEN
Z
ANE
didn’t walk into the apartment, he danced in, I guessed something good had happened.

“What?” I asked him immediately.

“I got an exhibition.”

Harrison clapped, although I thought it might be for himself, for knocking his block tower over, but his timing couldn’t have been better.

“Wow! At school?”

“Yeah. Well, sort of.” He came and sat next to me on the floor and methodically started rebuilding the tower. “They pick a few students to have their work shown at a gallery downtown. This semester there were only three—me and two others.”

“That’s amazing.”

“It’s all going to be from my final project.”

Ah. The mysterious final project that no one was allowed to see.

I knew it was, in part, inspired by his life drawings of Harrison. That much he’d told me. Few other students had the opportunity to do that kind of study of the infant human form, so his work would certainly stand out.

The other elements of the project I wasn’t so sure of, although he promised he hadn’t based anything on me, except that one painting he did on my skin. From bits and pieces he’d told me, little conversations over dinner or while watching TV in bed, there was a sculptural element, as well as the big canvases with acrylics that he favored.

“I’m really proud of you,” I said, reaching over to squeeze his arm. “I’m sure you’ll be amazing.”

“You have to say that.” He brushed off my words, but I could tell they meant something to him. “You’re my boyfriend.”

“That means I can tell you how wonderful I think you are whenever I like.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. And you’re wonderful.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“Kiss me.”

He did, and we moved into the kitchen because Zane wanted to bake some treats. I sat on the counter, more than content to watch him.

“W
HEN
’
S
H
ARRISON
’
S
birthday?” Zane asked. “I want to make him a cake.”

He was mixing ingredients for cookies, using some sugar substitute he’d found at a local market. Experience said I should probably trust him, especially since he was adding peanut butter to the mix, but the thought of sugarless cookies was distinctly unappealing.

“August 9,” I said.

“Oh! That’s, like, a week before mine.”

“Really? We were lucky. He was born about three weeks early. Still weighed six and a half pounds, though. At one point we were scared he was going to be late, which would have meant him being born the first week in September, which might have meant he had to wait a whole extra year before going to school.”

Zane smiled and licked batter from the side of his thumb. I tried not to stare. “I can remember my mom telling me the same thing, how she was determined to have me before school started.”

“So,” I said, “what do you want for your birthday?”

“Paint. Please. Always paint.”

“You’ve said that for a long time now, haven’t you?”

He grinned. “Yeah.”

“How about something more? Something special?”

“Twenty-three isn’t a special birthday. Harrison’s first is, though… what are you going to do?”

“Why,” I asked, “are you so insistent that you don’t want anything from me?”

“I’m not good at asking for things.”

“So I’ve noticed,” I mumbled.

I let it go while he divided the batter onto baking sheets and stuck the cookies in the oven. Harrison was on the floor between us, getting in the way, not that I minded. He was safe and happy down there, with his dinosaur and his train and his hairbrush. I knew from experience those curls needed regular maintenance.

“If you could ask me for anything in the world, what would it be?” I asked Zane when he was done.

“Ellis, you’ve already given it to me. Six months ago I was living in a crappy apartment, wondering where the hell my life was going. Now I know where I am, where I’m going, things feel good. I’m not thinking about leaving New York anymore.”

“Good.”

He pressed his lips together, trying not to smile as he leaned back against the counter. Then Harrison banged his train against Zane’s foot, making him yelp, and we had to have a conversation about playing nicely.

I had an idea of what I wanted to do for their combined birthday parties, even though it was radical at best and ridiculous at worst. If there was one thing Zane had taught me, though, it was that some things were worth fighting for, no matter how bizarre it might look on the surface. That thought gave me confidence. If I could be a little more like him, there was no doubt that I’d be a much better man.

Chapter 18

P
EOPLE
DIDN
’
T
all arrive at once, but we didn’t really expect them to. The center had cleaned up the space, ready for us to use, and apart from the vaguely familiar scent of paint and clay, it was almost unrecognizable as the massive space where Zane worked a few afternoons a week.

It didn’t quite look like a church again, though. The whitewashed walls and scrubbed-clean floors were just neat and would have been boring if Zane hadn’t spent a day and almost half the night before decorating.

I let him pick the color theme, since it was obviously his area of expertise, and he’d gone with blue and orange and yellow, which was bright and bold and perfect. There were balloons and streamers, delicate handmade fireworks and glitter, things that sparkled and caught the light. He’d used the string that so often held the kids’ artwork, high up above the floor, and wrapped fairy lights around it instead.

It was beautiful.

On the reception desk we’d laid out glasses of champagne and canapés, and let people wander around on their own until everyone had arrived. I hadn’t specified what we were doing with the evening, other than celebrating birthdays, although I got the impression Nae and Az knew something was up. Especially when Zane’s family arrived, all the way from Vermont.

I’d spoken to his mother a few times over video chat, once Zane had told her what we were to each other, and found her a strong but softly spoken woman who obviously wanted nothing more than to keep her children safe. I admired that—the parental instinct to protect—and we’d bonded over stories about our sons.

From the other side of the room, I watched Zane quickly empty a glass of champagne, then look around to find me. I nodded, carefully extracted Harrison from my mom’s supervision, and took hold of Zane’s hand.

He squeezed it, telling me he was nervous, and I squeezed back, to tell him it was okay.

“Thanks for coming here tonight, everyone,” I said, trying to speak up over the noise of people’s conversations. “Today is one of the most important days in my life, and even though Harrison probably won’t remember it, having you all here for his first birthday means the world to me. To us.

“But there’s actually another reason why we dragged you out here.”

Zane took a deep breath and squeezed my hand again, looking up at me for confirmation. I nodded.

“We’re getting married,” he said, looking back at our friends. “Um… right now.”

Their reactions were hilarious, and I wished I wasn’t feeling quite so sick so I could actually enjoy watching them all.

Leo laughed, and Meg joined him.

My mom burst into tears; then Zane’s mom joined her. I hoped they were tears of happiness.

Nae’s hand fluttered to her mouth, and I could tell she was smiling. Levon wrapped his arm around her shoulders and kissed her head. I hoped they didn’t mind us stealing their getting-married thunder, for one night at least.

Az looked down at his shirt nervously. This one said “I shaved my balls for this?” in elegant calligraphy. It was entirely inappropriate for the event he’d been invited to, let alone a wedding, and I loved that he was wearing it.

Others laughed, still more cried, and I wondered when we’d managed to amass such a wonderful group of friends.

Mr. Carter, or “call me Jim,” the man who was going to do the ceremony, came out into the crowd, and without any kind of direction people gathered around us in a loose circle. I boosted Harrison up on my hip—he was an integral part of this. There was no way I was going to pass him off for someone else to hold.

“Sorry about the surprise, folks,” Jim said, brushing his hands over the front of his jeans. We had insisted he wear jeans, not a suit, since no one else would be wearing one. I wanted people to be comfortable. “I met Ellis and Zane a few weeks ago, when they asked me to officiate their wedding. I must say, in all the years I’ve been doing this, I’ve never been to a wedding quite like this one. Like their family, it’s rather unique.”

It was all purposefully short: the quick introduction, then the exchanging of rings, vows, the kiss, the declaration, the end. Of course, it wasn’t anything like I expected.

Zane tangled the fingers of one hand with mine, while he wrapped his other arm around both me and Harrison, to help balance Harrison’s weight. He was getting to be a big boy now. We’d wondered how he would react to the ceremony part, if he’d fuss or cry or want to go play instead. I’d been certain for a long time that my kid was special, not like the rest, and of course he wasn’t. He watched, like everyone else, with rapt attention.

“With the power vested in me by the fine state of New York,” Jim said, “it is my honor to pronounce you husband, father, son—and family. Congratulations, gentlemen.”