I spent the rest of the day without my studies, focusing only on Olivia as I did every Saturday. We read books and ate lunch and I let her watch Sesame Street. As usual, when it was over, she asked for more.
“Elmo?”
“You want more Elmo?” I asked, and tickled her until she was squealing. I was paranoid about too much TV, but it was hard to resist her baby voice and wide blue eyes. She was smart and I loved watching her blow past the milestones like a champ.
A month and a half left to go to the biggest milestone.
I’d had Jackson, acting as my attorney, draw up the petition for a Voluntary Declaration of Paternity. As soon as it had been a year since Molly left us, I could petition to have my name put on Olivia’s birth certificate.
“She should have done that before she gave her to me,” I muttered, watching my daughter watch her show. But instead of the thought irritating me, the tension I perpetually carried around with me on my shoulders relaxed a little bit and I was almost surprised to find I was in a really good mood. It was easy to do around Olivia but now that I had Darlene my life too…
“Settle down, Haas. Go take another cold shower.”
Around six, I was putting Olivia’s and my dinner dishes in the sink when there came a knock at the door. My heart stuttered to think it might be Darlene, maybe this time with a chicken pot pie, or some other concoction she wanted to share.
I opened the door to Jackson and his mother, Henrietta.
“Sawyer, my man,” Jackson said. He was dressed to go out in a dark blazer, white button down, and black pants. We clasped hands and he pulled me in for a half-hug. “Are you ready?”
“For what?” I moved to hug his mom. “Hi, Henrietta. Are you dropping him off? Because I don’t want him either.”
Henrietta Smith looked like a younger version of Toni Morrison; heavyset with graying dreads down to her shoulders. She always dressed in billowy, silky clothes and large jewelry that Olivia loved to play with whenever she babysat.
She chuckled and took my face in her hands to kiss my cheek. “Hey, baby boy. How’ve you been? You look tired.”
“I’m well,” I said, pulling away from her embrace with a small ache in my chest. With my own mother gone, my brother trekking around God-knew-where, and my dad in Idaho with his wife’s family, Henrietta and Jackson were the closest I had to family.
“What are you guys doing here?” I asked, shutting the door behind them.
Olivia bounced and squawked from her highchair, her arms reaching. Henrietta freed her from the highchair and gave her a squeeze. Olivia hugged her back and immediately reached for the bulky necklace around Henrietta’s neck.
“This,” Jackson said, “is an intervention. Get dressed, you’re going out.” He held his arms out and did a Michael Jackson-esque turn in my living room. “Dancing.”
“Say again?”
Jackson pointed one finger to the ceiling. “Is the lovely Darlene home?”
“I have no idea. I think she had rehearsal until five so yeah,
she should be…hey, where are you going?”
Jackson had made an about-face, and strode out the door.
I looked to Henrietta who laughed heartily, Olivia secure in her arms, and I chased Jackson upstairs.
I caught up to him just as he knocked on Darlene’s door. He jerked his jacket down to straighten it and smoothed his short hair that didn’t need smoothing.
“What are you doing?” I hissed.
“I told you,” Jackson said. “It’s an intervention. You’re off your game and what kind of wingman would I be if I—why, hellooo,” he said smoothly as the door opened.
A cloud of clean scents, daisies, soap and warmth, billowed out with Darlene. She was fresh from the shower and wrapped in a silky robe. Her hair fell around her shoulders in damp, dark waves. Her brilliant blue eyes took in Jackson and me and lit up from within. She crossed her arms, a laughing smile on her lips, and leaned against the doorframe.
“If you’re here to sell me a set of encyclopedias, you’re too late.”
Jackson threw his head back and bellowed a laugh.
I rolled my eyes. “Sorry, about him, but—”