knowing that I had a plan.
I spent the weekend buried in her arms and between her legs, in some attempt to drown my anxieties in something that wasn’t alcohol. She and Freddy agreed to accompany me to hang out with Jake on Sunday and acted as a buffer between my parents and me, knowing they wouldn’t attempt to get a rise out of me with her there.
Come Monday, everything seemed back to normal. Jake and I went about our morning as though our days weren’t numbered, and there was a real bittersweet sadness in that. When I dropped Jake off at daycare on the way to work, I pulled Amy aside and simply asked how I could go about getting legal guardianship over Jake. She was surprised to learn I wasn’t already his guardian, and I briefly explained our personal situation. I omitted the details about the mother I only recently acknowledged had been abusing me my entire life and the father who’d allowed it all to happen by turning a blind eye.
Curiosity glinted in her gaze as she had said, “Well, I guess you could always talk to your parents—”
“No, that’s not an option at this point. I just need to know how I’d go about doing this from my end, without getting them involved.” Until I saw them in court, I’d also neglected to mention.
Slowly nodding her head with unspoken understanding, Amy went to her office to retrieve a few pamphlets regarding disability law and obtaining guardianship. Then, in a quiet voice, she’d said, “And Blake, if there’s anything I can do, please don’t even hesitate to ask. Jason and I are always here.”
I thought about what she’d said a number of times in the days that followed. About the support system I’d developed in the time since I’d met Audrey. The kind of people who I had kept at arms’ length, until she had entered my life and acted as the bridge between me and everybody else. Connecting and pulling me from the private island I’d banished myself to.
Had I ever deserved being exiled?
I no longer thought so.
On Friday, I was no closer to having a plan than I had been before, but otherwise, I was happy. My issue of ModInk had hit the stands, and with the excitement of having my name in print, the turmoil of the previous weekend had dissipated. Audrey insisted that we should invite Cee and Shane over for dinner to celebrate, and that was how I found myself flipping pancakes and grilling sausages for a table of six.
“Blake,” Shane said, coming up behind me, “your brother is fuckin’ awesome, man.”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “Please don’t feel obligated to say that.”
He scoffed. “The fuck? Why would I feel obligated? I’ve never seen someone build with Legos so fast in my life.”
“Oh, he showed you, huh?”
“Hell yeah, he did, and honestly, it doesn’t really surprise me. I mean, with your talent, I guessed he’d have to be artistic, too.”
I nodded contemplatively, thinking about his obsession with Legos and how it hadn’t existed before the accident. He might’ve lost his talent for drawing, but he hadn’t completely lost his artistic ability. It’d just manifested differently. “I guess I never thought about that before.”
“And hey, man, what’s up with that color thing? He told me I’m tan, and dude,” he glanced down at his all-black attire, “I ain’t wearin’ any tan.”
Flipping the pancakes onto a plate, I chuckled lightly. “Yeah, he sees, uh …” I pinched my lips, considering how to explain it to him, then simply said, “He sees auras.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah, it’s a, um, a gift, I guess. He’s good at reading people, knows who to trust.” I handed him the plate and noticed his worry expressed in the clench of his jaw. I smiled assuredly and said, “Tan’s a good one. It usually means you’re friendly.”
Shane gave an approving nod. “Damn straight.” Then, he faltered, squinted one eye and asked, “So, that means he likes me, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “You’re good.”
Shane headed toward the table with the plate of pancakes and said, “Hey, you know, you could actually work that into your ink.”
I dropped the sausage links from the pan onto another plate and narrowed my eyes as I worked. “Huh?”
“I mean, you could still do your gritty shit, man; it’s your signature. But, think about it. How cool would it be to incorporate just a splash of personalized color into someone’s ink? Kinda like the butterfly, but it doesn’t have to