Jay Walking (14 page)

"No. I don't hate you, but, I do second guess your character." He grips the handles harder. "You lied to me. You told me this would never happen."

I swallow, hard as it is. "What does this mean? For us?"

He grabs his gym bag and stands up. "I'm not sure, Chelsea. I never imagined myself with a ready-made family. I always pictured meeting someone, falling in love, and ... we just met a few months ago but getting married? Maybe we'd end up there. Now, I don't think so. I can't be involved with all this. I don't have time." He rakes his fingers through his hair. "I don't have the energy. Not when I'm trying to open up my own practice."

His words sting through my heart, and my throat clogs with tears as I wait for the but.
But I like you a lot and want to make this work. But we just started dating and I want this to go somewhere. But I realize your being a mom doesn't change who you are and how I feel about you.

The "but" never comes.

Should I be surprised he walked away? Considering my life events, probably not. I race home without any time to even think about my breakup with Jay. My time is better spent reading over the paperwork sent to me. My dad finally talks to me to tell me we'll meet with his lawyer Thursday of next week.
 

I drudge through the weekend, and Monday at work is anything but easy. Sitting at my desk all day, my mind bounces between the custody papers and how to get Jay back. I keep my phone on do not disturb as long as I'm able without my manager yelling at me. I take numerous bathroom breaks and shed a tear or two (or three, or nine, or seventy-five). Amber asks what's wrong, but I'm not ready to tell her yet. She interrogates me multiple times, but I can't bring myself to discuss what happened. I want to text Daniel and ask him why he needs to destroy my life and his son's. But who am I fooling? Who am I to stop him if he wants to see James? Regardless of the fact he hasn't been in his life, or even acknowledged his birth, biologically James is his son and Daniel is James' father.
 

Lunch is spent alone in my car. The weather outside can't be any more gorgeous, but I don't want to walk. I'll go to the gym later. Despite all that's happening, I'm not losing sight of the end goal. No matter what I'm running that race. Hundreds of others are too. They can provide the buffer between me and Jay. Amber texts me four or five times while I'm at lunch trying to get me to talk, but I ignore her. I'll go to her when I'm ready.
 

At around two o'clock my manager, Barb, sends me an email. '
Meet in my office in 5 minutes to chat'
is the subject line, with no text in the body besides her signature. I hate how she puts her entire email in the subject line. My phone rested on DND a major portion of the time I've been logged into the system. I'm nervous I'm probably going to get written up.
 

At 2:05 I walk into her office and she asks me to shut the door. A closed door is never good. I take a seat across from her desk. I'm not used to being in here alone. My memory rushes through the past week. I haven't been late, all my documents are in order, and for the most part I kept to myself. I don't recall any conversations with coworkers that would land me in trouble. My mouth dries up and I can't stop shifting my legs.
 

Her desk is always filled with clutter. Pieces of paper swamp her workspace with different kinds of paperweights (all snowmen) holding each stack down. I hate all the documents on her desk. She always says she's so busy and I often think the paperwork is a front to make it seem that way. A little organization could solve that. A lot of times I overhear her on her cell phone, or I glance in and she's googling something or doing some sort of shopping online. But, since she's my boss, I can't question her at all. I'm not allowed to do those sorts of things, and if I got caught in the act, no doubt a write-up would follow. A warning if I'm lucky. She kind of likes me, and that may help get me out of anything.
 

"You wanted to see me?" My voice cracks like a prepubescent boy.
 

Barb shuffles around some paper and finds a stapled packet. She folds over the pages on top and shows me the last page. "Is this your signature?"

I lean in closer to view my signature and the date of a few years ago next to it. "Yes." I'm unsure what this is.

She flips back to the front page and hands me the complete document. "This is our Acceptable Use Policy, also referred to as the Internet, E-mail, and Computer Use Policy. You were required to sign this at your orientation when you began working here. I trust you read it in its entirety."

Who actually reads those things? The verbiage is confusing and so boring. I don't check my email or Facebook or anything from work. With a smartphone, using the company's computer isn't necessary. The only thing I use it for other than what I'm supposed to is to check my scrapbook orders and that's because the website is not designed well for a phone. I check in the morning, and that takes all of five minutes. Big whoop.

"Yes. I read it." I'm not dumb enough to tell her no.

The paper lands on her desk. "It's been brought to my attention you're using company time to visit a particular website. I logged on and confirmed you have, in fact been using the company's property to run a business."

"What? I'm not running a business. Who said that?" Going to my webpage for a mere two minutes in the morning is barely running a business. I'm sure Debbie saw me and blew this way out of proportion. She's always butting into people's lives. The woman is almost fifty years old and all she wants to do is throw under people under the bus.

"My screen shots beg to differ." Barb turns her computer monitor so I can see it. Sure enough, she's taken pictures of me checking my sales. "The policy gives me permission to log onto your computer real-time at any time I deem necessary."

"I don't do that too often. I check every once in awhile when I don't get time in the morning. I'm only seeing if I received any orders. I'm not taking any payments or working on actual pages."

"Your computer is not to be used for that. If you read the agreement, you would know this."

If I read the policy, I also would know if I can be calm, or if I'm about to get fired. I can't afford to lose my job. My scrapbooking isn't enough to keep me afloat. First Daniel, then Jay, and now this! "I'm sorry, Barb." I truly am. I never gave a second thought to logging onto my site. Others do it all the time. Of course I'm the one who gets caught. She's right, though. I should be helping other people out when I don't have anything pending at the moment, not trying to make money on the side.

"I'm sure you are." She turns the screen back. "Typically a verbal warning is given at this stage, but based on the content, I need to give you a written one."

This is my first one. Ever. Two more and I'm fired. They stay on record for a year before starting fresh. I don't anticipate any more, but with what's going on with Daniel and having to take time off work for this, who knows? Barb can be so strict. If you're late three days in a week you're written up. If you call in more than two days without a doctor's excuse, you're written up. Sometimes I think she sits in her office rubbing her hands together, praying to be able to write someone up that day. Today, I'm the lucky one.

"I understand." I'm not about to argue. That will only make things worse.

I stare off to the file cabinet behind her where she keeps pictures of her nieces. I often wonder about the Barb outside of work. Is she anything like Barb at the office? Does she get down on the floor and play with her nieces, or does she discipline them more than praise? If I ever became a manager, I think I would be more hands on, but not micromanage. I want my team to excel, but be comfortable and not like they're under a watchful eye. Or Debbie. I'd stick that bitch in the corner and ignore all her complaints.

A sheet of paper slides in front of me and Barb goes over the document. I sign it and she hands me one of the copies, a reminder of what a failure I am.

This is my first time in a lawyer's office. I didn't come in with any expectations of what the space should look like, but I imagine something a little less cheerful. Ron Ellis's office is painted yellow. Not any yellow, but a bright, sunshiny puke-in-your-face yellow. The only thing missing is a sunflower border along the framing of the walls. Thank God he bypassed that in the decorating stages. He may have chosen the color because there are no windows. I don't see how painting your walls like the sun somehow makes a room bright and cheery, but apparently that's what Mr. Ellis thinks.
 

His walls are cluttered full of degrees, awards, and recognition plaques. A mountain of paperwork similar to my boss' pours over his dinged up desk. Photographs are spaced throughout. More pictures than actual case work cover his desk.
 

Ron Ellis was my dad's best friend in high school. From time to time, he stops over at the house, and he and my dad share a few beers. He seems nice enough, and I'm grateful he's helping us out with the Daniel situation. I'm lucky my dad is friends with a lawyer, or I might be in a heap of trouble.
 

I took off work today, which I'm positive my boss is not happy about, but once I explained to her why I needed time off, she became somewhat sympathetic. It's not my fault Ron won't meet us on a weekend or evening. While he's willing to offer his services, we're still paying (at a deep discount), so he's on the clock.
 

Both my parents accompany me. Our next door neighbor is watching James. My dad and Ron shake hands and pat each other on the back. My mom and I take a seat on the other side of the desk and my dad grabs a chair by the wall.
 

"Chelsea, your dad filled me in somewhat on the situation. Why don't you start by telling me a little bit about your relationship with Daniel?"

I hesitate because I don't want to share intimate details with my parents in the room, especially my father. But he's covering the cost of Mr. Ellis, so I'll overcome my childish fear and deal with it. I pull up my big girl panties and dive in.
 

"We met a few years ago and began a relationship. I pushed for us to be together, even though he had a girlfriend. We dated, though we never actually went
out
on a date." My dad grips his knees and I avoid going into any detail about what happened behind closed doors. "I got pregnant and he cut things off right away. Now James is two and he asked to be a part of his life."

"And you told him no, correct?"

Is he asking for verification, or is this is a recommendation? "Yes. I considered allowing him to meet James and go from there, but when we started to discuss our options, I think he was trying to get back together with me, and James seemed the furthest from his mind. If he's going to be involved, I want him stable and present all the time."

"You say you want him to be stable. Do you have reason to believe Daniel suffers from any mental or psychological illnesses which interfere with his attempt to maintain a healthy relationship with his son? Is he a harm to himself or to others?" Mr. Ellis scribbles on a notepad.

"No, nothing like that. Unless being a Grade A Asshole counts."

"Chelsea!"

My mom doesn't like cursing in any form. I don't care at this point, and I'll say anything I want to say. "I'm sorry, Mom, but it's true. Anyway, what I mean by stable is someone who won't be in and out of his life and will be there whenever his son needs him. He left me when I was pregnant and didn't bother to even ask for a picture or learn his name for Christ's sake, until recently. He certainly isn't winning father of the year. I don't think he'll stick around. He's married to the girl he was with when we started dating and they have twin babies together who just turned one a few months ago, I believe. He's been with them their entire life and I can't understand why suddenly he wants to put James ahead of them. And I'm not saying I think he should because he hasn't been a part of James's life so far, so I don't think it's pertinent for him to be now."

Ron writes more notes down long after I stop talking. Then he shares his thoughts. "Here's the thing Chelsea," he begins as he crosses his hands and sets them on some papers. "The courts and any judge will consider it vital for both parents to be actively involved in a child's life unless for some reason we can prove one is an unfit parent. I can't say how much visitation Daniel will be awarded, but I can guarantee you he'll earn
some
. Is there anything to lead you to believe he has any sort of a drug addiction or anything along those lines? I pulled up his record and he's pretty clean, except for a couple speeding tickets."

I can only shake my head because we're yet to step foot in a courtroom and already I'm losing the battle. Daniel left my life years ago, and now he enters with full on force to get everything he desires. By Ron telling me the courts pretty much are going to award Daniel
something
, I might as well raise my white flag because I don't have a prayer to win this.

"I don't think he's unfit parent
per se
. I just think he'll end up a deadbeat dad." When I say the words out loud to Ron, I realize perhaps I'm in the wrong.
 

"We can't prevent him from seeing his son because you think he
may
turn into a deadbeat dad. This is all speculation, and, based on what you told me, I don't have any reason to believe the judge will consider his home a bad environment for James."

"Wait a minute. His home? What does his home have anything to do with this? Regardless of what happens, James will live with me, right?"

"I can't answer that, Chelsea. It's not up to me what the judge decides. We certainly can work with his lawyer and try to come up with some sort of visitation agreement, but if we are unable to, the judge may grant 50-50 custody. If that happens, then James will be with you fifty percent of the time and he'll live with Daniel the other half."

"But he doesn't even
know
Daniel. He'll be scared. I can't let that happen." My whine is also a plea. Maybe if I voice my fear, it won't come true. "I won't."