Chapter 4 - Home Is Not a Settlement
I should have expected Graham to change his mind.
Instead, I felt ambushed.
"Yesterday he wanted us outside the country," I said. "Today he wants visitation?"
Daniel sat across from me in the hospital discharge lounge while a transporter waited by the door with a wheelchair I had already refused twice.
"He has the right to reconsider what he wants to request."
"And I have the right to think he's unstable."
"Yes."
"You're agreeing with me a lot for his lawyer."
"I'm not agreeing. I'm telling you what rights you have."
My own lawyer, Maya Patel, sat beside him.
Maya had been my college roommate's older sister, and she had arrived that morning wearing navy slacks, flat shoes, and the expression of someone who had already decided half the room was wasting her time.
I liked her immediately.
"Here's the part nobody gets to skip," Maya said. "A newborn changes quickly. Graham changing his position within forty-eight hours is not, by itself, proof that he's dangerous or unfit. It's proof that he's changing his position. We document it. We don't dramatize it."
I looked at her.
"I wasn't dramatizing."
"You were a theater minor for two semesters. You dramatize breathing."
Despite myself, I smiled.
Daniel looked relieved that someone else was willing to insult me.
"What does he want?" Maya asked him.
"Short visits. No overnights for now. He says he'll work around Claire's recovery and feeding schedule."
"Supervised?"
"He didn't specify."
"Then we'll specify."
I turned toward the window.
Snow had started falling over Chicago, thin white lines disappearing against the glass.
"I don't want strangers supervising us in some fluorescent visitation center."
Maya nodded.
"Then choose someone you trust. Or visits happen where you live, with you present, until there's a longer-term agreement."
I rubbed my thumb across the edge of Owen's blanket.
"I don't know where I live."
That was not technically true.
I had a home with Graham in Gold Coast.
I simply couldn't imagine going back there.
Dad wanted me in Lake Forest.
Elias had offered a furnished apartment owned by an Ashford company, which I refused before he finished the sentence.
The hospital wanted an address for discharge.
Everyone wanted an answer.
I wanted a shower that lasted longer than four minutes and a night of sleep.
Maya glanced at me.
"What do you want?"
"A place with an elevator."
"That's practical."
"Two bedrooms. No stairs. Close to the pediatrician."
"Also practical."
"And no family ownership attached to the deed."
Daniel almost smiled.
"Very practical."
By five that afternoon, my father had found six rental listings and criticized all of them.
I chose the seventh.
It was a two-bedroom apartment in Lincoln Park with pale wood floors, a small balcony, and a kitchen narrow enough that two people could not pass without negotiating.
It was not impressive.
I loved it immediately.
Dad did not.
"The security is terrible."
"There's a doorman."
"One doorman."
"How many doormen do you think babies need?"
He ignored that.
"The second bedroom barely fits a crib."
"Good. Then nobody can move in."
He stared at me.
"Was that aimed at me?"
"If you have to ask, probably."
My father turned to Maya.
"She shouldn't be making major decisions after blood loss."
Maya zipped her coat.
"Mr. Mercer, she's discharged, competent, represented, and currently more decisive than most of my clients on their best day."
"You're her lawyer. You're supposed to agree with her."
"Absolutely not. That's how people end up with bad lawyers."
I could have hugged her.
Instead, I got into the wheelchair because Marisol threatened to personally strap me into it.
The first night in the apartment was awful.
Owen cried every ninety minutes.
My incision hurt.
My breasts hurt.
My back hurt.
At two in the morning, I stood in the kitchen in socks, warming a bottle of expressed milk because Owen had fallen asleep at the breast twice and woken screaming ten minutes later.
The refrigerator hummed.
Snow pressed against the balcony door.
For the first time in my life, no one else was in charge of what happened next.
It was terrifying.
At 2:13, I started crying over a bottle cap I couldn't screw on properly.
At 2:17, I called my father.
He answered on the first ring.
"I'm coming."
"I didn't ask you to."
"Claire-"
"I just need you to tell me I'm not an idiot for choosing this apartment."
Silence.
Then Dad said, "You're not an idiot."
"You hate the apartment."
"I hate the locks. The apartment is fine."
I laughed wetly.
"Thank you."
"Do you want me to come?"
That question mattered more than he knew.
"Yes," I whispered. "But bring coffee."
He arrived thirty-five minutes later in sweatpants and an overcoat, carrying two coffees and a bag of diapers in the wrong size.
He did not rearrange anything.
He did not call a nurse.
He sat on the floor with Owen while I showered.
The next afternoon, Elias came by with soup from a deli instead of a moving crew.
He looked around the apartment.
"It's smaller than Graham's guest bathroom."
"Leave."
"I brought matzo ball soup."
"You can stay."
He smiled.
We ate at the little kitchen counter while Owen slept in a portable bassinet.
Elias stirred his soup for a long time without eating.
"Graham asked me not to interfere in the divorce."
"That's the first good idea he's had this week."
"I agreed."
I looked up.
"You did?"
"I can be angry with him without making his marriage another business I manage."
I studied the old man.
"That sounds new for you."
"Painfully."
My phone buzzed.
A text from Graham.
Could I come Saturday at ten? Twenty minutes. I can bring my own coffee.
I read it twice.
Then another message appeared.
And I won't bring a lawyer.
I looked at Elias.
"He asked to visit."
Elias lifted his spoon.
"Then answer him."
"You're not going to tell me what to say?"
"I'm trying a new thing."
"What's that?"
"Mind my own damned business."
May you like
I laughed so hard Owen woke up.
