We’re in a car, one paranoid, her eyes on the million-dollar homes sprawling over the hills, anticipating, obsessing over what today might bring. One driving, annoyed, fidgeting, sighing, flipping a lighter around in the palm of his hand. There’s another in the back seat, her eyes focused on the laces of her boots. She’s not speaking; she’s thinking, untying, tying again and repeating the process.
None of us know what to expect today, but we’re going to brunch at my parents’ house. I’ve also never understood the meaning of brunch and neither does Tiller when he asks, “What exactly is brunch?”
Laughing lightly, I twist my head to glance at him. His eyes are hidden behind blackness. “It’s apparently breakfast and lunch combined.”
His head tips and I think his brows are furrowing, but I can’t tell for sure. “Why not just have lunch?”
“Because eleven is too early for lunch?”
Tiller shifts restlessly in the driver seat. “Fuckin’ rich people.”
“You, my friend, make more than my parents.”
He grunts, staring out the windshield. I want to laugh when I look over at him, I notice what he put on when I told him to get dressed. He’s wearing a black and white S3 Clothing T-shirt, gray board shorts and flip flops. Oh, and blacked-out sunglasses. That’s acceptable for brunch, right?
It’s when we pull up to the main gate at my parents’ home, perched on the top of the hill—it’s no Sawyer mansion, but still, it’s definitely extravagant—that the nerves hit me. “Who thought this would be a good idea?”
“Willa,” Tiller notes, pulling through the gate. “She’s fired.”
River realizes where we are and groans. “Why are we here?”
Tiller rolls his head to me. “See? Even the kid gets it.”
We get out of the truck, all of us stalling. We’re walking up the pebbled stone path to the door when the nerves really hit me, and I think I might vomit. My stomach rolls. What if they take her away from me? What if they pulled some spy crap and had cameras installed at Tiller’s house?
I shudder at the thought and push out a breath, smoothing my white flowy dress.
Tiller stands behind me, his chest pressing to my back. Drawing in a breath, he sighs edging his index finger under the strap on my right shoulder. “White doesn’t suit you. Beauty without expression is boring.”
My smile breaks my nerves. I’m going to have sex with him tonight. Shhh. Don’t tell him. And then the thought of finally giving in sends my nerves flying and my heart racing.
The door opens. It’s the maid. “Mr. and Mrs. Johnson are on the terrace. Right this way please.”
River pushes past us. “I’m hungry.” And then she takes off inside the house wearing combat boots and a yellow and pink sundress.
Tiller follows me inside the house. “Why do they call it a terrace? Why not say, hey, they’re in the backyard?”
Laughing lightly, I reach for his hand.
He stops, smiles, but then looks down at our hands. “What’s that for?”
“I’m not sure?” It’s a question. It’s not meant to be, but it certainly is.
“Are you trying to put on a show for them?” He holds our joined hands up and tips his sunglasses up. Slowly, his penetrating stare drifts down my body to the dress I’m wearing. I own nothing white. I had to borrow this from Willa.
“I don’t want them to take her away,” I admit, my voice breaking, emotions flooding like water pushing the barriers.
Dipping his head forward, he lets go of my hand and holds my head in his hands. “They’re not. Ava gave you custody of her for a fuckin’ reason. No judge is going to go against the mother’s wishes. He’d be a goddamn fool.”
Not entirely convinced, I nod to appease him and step outside where my parents are gathered at a table with Mitchel and a woman I’ve never met. River’s in the yard, a bowl of fruit in her lap feeding Kona. I had to bring him over here while I was moving the other day rather than keeping the poor thing cooped up in the house.
My father stands when he notices us and motions to the table. “Let’s have some food and then we can talk.”
I’d like to say he means well by this, but I’m sure you’ll think otherwise. I’ll skip some boring details. The ones where we eat and pretend to avoid the elephant in the room. I’ll get to the point; it’s the moment my father looks at Tiller in the face and says, “You’re not parenting material. River has no business being at your house with what goes on there.” Everyone has heard the stories of what goes on there, and my father is certainly no exception. He’s been around the business, the riders, he knows.
Tiller doesn’t look at him. “She’s been there for the last three days and been just fine,” he points out coldly, as he pushes around smoked salmon benedict he hasn’t touched.
Harry—my parents cook and I guess you’d call him the butler—appears to our left. “Would anyone like anything more to drink?”
“Vodka,” Tiller answers, his eyes never leaving his plate, the grip on his fork tightening. I take notice in the way his knuckles whiten and the hitch in his breathing.
“My point exactly,” my father adds. “It’s barely eleven in the morning and you’re drinking. Do you really think River needs to be subjected to your lifestyle?”
I level my father a glare. I can’t, no, I won’t sit back while he treats him like this. “Ava and Cullen both drank alcohol.”
My father’s lips thin into a fine line. “On occasion and always in moderation.”
“This is an occasion,” Tiller mumbles under his breath and drapes his arm over the back of my chair. “Of bullshit.”
Setting his napkin on the table, Mitchel clears his throat, finally speaking with reasoning. “I think our main focus here needs to be the well-being of River and where she’s happy.”
Everyone’s eyes shift to River who’s beside Kona in the grass, still eating berries like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. I watch her, trying to decide myself if she’s happy with me and if she acted the same way with Ava and Cullen. I think back to the anniversary party my parents had weeks before their death, on this very terrace.
My memory of the day is clear and so vivid it gives me tears remembering what a wonderful mother Ava had been. I think about the way River refused to wear shoes that day so Ava brought her barefoot and smiling, dirt on her face and her nails painted black. They let her be wild and free and express herself, even if it meant she went a day without brushing her hair or wore the same dress for a week. Okay, maybe they wouldn’t have allowed that, but they chose me because they knew I’d let her. If Alexandra had her way, or my mother, they would never have allowed that. Not in a million years.
Looking at River now, her hair a mess in the wind, barefoot again and berry juice stains all over her dress and lips, I wouldn’t want her any other way.
My stare moves to Tiller, slouched, his chest rising and falling quicker than usual, his hands flipping his lighter around in his hand. Though his stance gives off the vibe he doesn’t care, his motions, his breathing, it’s all an indication he does.
The woman at the table, the one who introduced herself as Laurie from Department of Social Service, speaks up. “It’s in the best interest of the child to be with her mother and father, and when that can’t happen, we want to grant the parents’ wishes.”
“I am her biological father,” Tiller barks, finally making eye-contact with something other than his plate. “I’ll take a paternity test to prove it.”
“We will want to do that,” Laurie says, nodding. “You can stop by the hospital tomorrow morning and we can take care of that.” She looks to me now. “Now I’ve been informed you moved, is that correct?”
I draw in a deep breath, almost too nervous to speak. “Yes, I have a two-bedroom apartment now. I moved. . . uh, well I moved all of River’s things over there.”
Laurie makes a note on the pad of paper in front of her. “No judge is going to take custody away from the granted caregiver unless they feel the well-being of the child is in danger. In a case like this. . .” She pauses, gesturing to my parents, who look less than pleased. “We want to do a thorough investigation into where the child is living and the care being given to her. Now will she be living with you, Amberly, at your apartment full-time?”
Without hesitation, I nod, knowing River doesn’t belong at Tiller’s place. At least not yet, but I’m not going to stop him from seeing her.
The rest of the brunch, Laurie spends talking to River, alone, and then returns to where we’re sitting. “She seems happy, given the loss of her parents so recently, I’m not seeing anything that’s cause for concern,” she notes, to my parents’ dismay. I can tell by the look on their faces, an expression I saw growing up a lot, they’re not happy. How dare someone not side with them.
It’s when we’re leaving, River holding Tiller’s hand, swinging it in the air in front of me, when my mother pulls me aside. “We’re only looking out for River here.”
I step away, distancing myself, and move toward the front door. “No, you’re looking out for you, Mom. If you do this, if you try to take her from me, I will make sure you never see her again. I will move away with her and start a new life far away from you and Alexandra.”
I’m not sure I’d do it, but it’s my warning.
By the look on her face, my threat registers at least.
Proud I’m standing up for myself, I walk away, toward River and Tiller. Watching the two of them holding hands down the driveway, I’m all too aware I didn’t give her the gift of life, and Tiller may not have been a part of the first three years, but tragedy gave us the gift of her. It was up to us to not only honor her parents’ wishes, but their memory too.