Chapter 4: What the Guest Room Was Really For
I did not go upstairs.
I set my keys back on the table, walked into the kitchen, and filled a glass of water.
I drank half of it standing at the sink.
Then I turned around.
Renee had come downstairs.
She was leaning against the doorframe between the kitchen and the hallway, arms crossed, robe tied at the waist.
Damon stood behind her, slightly to the left, the way he always positioned himself when he wanted to be present without being responsible.
"Sit down," Renee said.
"Both of you."
"This is my kitchen," I said.
"Then act like it." She pulled out a chair and sat down herself, uninvited, at my table.
"We need to talk about what's best for Maya."
"You filed a guardianship petition for a child you've spent maybe forty hours with in nine years."
"I filed it because someone needed to."
"She's my daughter."
"She's Damon's daughter too." Renee's eyes moved to him.
"And Damon has concerns.
Don't you."
Damon sat down.
He didn't look at me.
My hands tightened around the glass.
"What concerns."
"Your hours," Renee said.
"You're gone before she wakes up three days a week.
You travel twice a month.
Last spring you were in Atlanta for eleven days."
"I was working."
"You were gone.
There's a difference between those two things when you're talking about a nine-year-old."
"Damon was here."
"Damon works too." She tilted her head.
"The petition isn't personal, Nadia.
It's practical.
Maya needs stability.
A consistent presence.
Someone who can be there."
"Someone like you."
She didn't flinch.
"I'm retired.
I have time.
I have space.
I have resources."
"You sent my daughter to eat alone in the dark."
"I gave her the kitchen because the dining room was crowded."
"There were two of you at that table."
Renee's chin lifted slightly.
"I think the court will be more interested in the eleven days in Atlanta than in one dinner."
The room went quiet.
Then Damon spoke, and what he said was worse than anything Renee had said.
"She has a point, Nadia.
About the hours."
I set the glass down on the counter.
Carefully.
The way you set something down when you're afraid of what your hands might do if they're not occupied.
"You knew about this petition," I said.
"You knew for days.
You let her file it.
And now you're sitting at my table telling me she has a point."
"I'm saying we should talk about it."
"There is no we anymore, Damon.
You made that decision tonight."
Renee uncrossed her arms.
"That's exactly the kind of emotional volatility the petition describes."
I looked at her for a long moment.
Then I walked out of the kitchen, went upstairs, and knocked on Maya's door.
She was sitting on her bed in her pajamas, a book open in her lap that she clearly hadn't been reading.
"Mommy?"
I sat down beside her.
"I need to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth.
Can you do that?"
She nodded.
"Has Aunt Renee ever said anything to you about coming to live with her?"
Maya's hands went still on the book.
"She said it might be nice.
She said her house has a big yard."
"When did she say that?"
"A few times." Maya looked at her lap.
"She said Daddy thought so too."
I put my arm around my daughter and held her against my side.
Downstairs, I heard Renee's voice, low and even, and Damon's answering murmur.
A few times.
Damon thought so too.
I reached into my pocket and found my phone.
I opened my contacts and scrolled to a name I hadn't called in two years.
My sister, Claudette.
She answered on the second ring.
"Nadia?
It's late.
What's wrong?"
"I need a family lawyer," I said.
"Tonight if possible.
Tomorrow morning at the absolute latest."
A pause.
"How bad is it?"
I looked at Maya, who was watching me with those careful, reading-the-room eyes.
May you like
"Bad enough," I said.
"But not for much longer."
