Chapter Text
Emma graduated from her Master’s program on Sarah’s 3rd birthday. She called from the stage and had the crowd of students and their families scream Happy Birthday Sarah over the speaker on his phone and she gasped so dramatically that Tommy choked on his drink from laughing.
She got a job at a PR firm that offered her an annual bonus that looked more like his yearly salary and he got the details to a trust for Sarah six months later.
Tommy’s grudge slips, inch by inch, with every package that shows up at the door, every check that comes sandwiched in a greeting card that says something like “One of you should register for the fall semester” and on one notable occasion, “new truck.”
Emma is great at what she does and it doesn’t take her half as long as either of them thought for her to get promoted. The “unofficial alimony” deposited in his personal account each month increased by half and the deposits in their shared account that covered Sarah’s expenses nearly doubled. The memo for a particularly overwhelming deposit one July just before she turned 5 reading “move somewhere that gives you both room to grow.”
He locks in a more than fair mortgage on a 3 bedroom, 2 bath house in Austin that doesn’t need as much fixing up as he thought and a fenced in back yard big enough for her to run soccer drills in. Every year he gets an envelope with Sarah’s health, vision, and dental insurance cards tucked between pamphlets for summer camps and local programs she might want to test out.
He is hopeful, 364 days out of the year, that this will be enough for all of them.
And then it’s Mother’s Day and Emma is texting him at 5 am to reschedule her long-distance Mother’s Day breakfast with Sarah like he can use the half hour before their little girl wakes up excited to see her mom to prepare her for the disappointment.
Sarah settles into her booster seat just before the end of 1st grade and holds an uncomfortable silence as he pulls out on to the road before bursting into tears. She sobs, inconsolable, the entire drive home. He’s stuck on the road, not sure he’d get anywhere even if he could pull over to climb in the back of his truck to talk to her properly.
She clams up when they get home, all cold shoulders and quivering pouty lips. “Baby, talk to me. I don’t know how to help if you don’t tell me what’s goin’ on.” He has her cornered on the couch, unwilling to let her slip off until he can get an idea of why she’s so upset.
She takes a few shaky breaths with heaving shoulders before saying, “Mama doesn’t love me,” and then bursting into tears again.
The tightness in his chest squeezes so that he can barely get the words out, “What made you think that, honey?”
Sarah cries some more, sucking in a few wavering breaths before she speaks again, every other word cut off by a hiccupping gasp, “Lilly said Mama doesn’t live with us because she doesn’t want to be around me.”
Grief, rage, and frustration twist and turn in his stomach as he pulls her against his side, “Baby girl, Lilly has never once known what she was talkin’ about and she definitely doesn’t know a thing about your Mama.”
Sarah sniffs and wipes at her eyes, “then why doesn’t she want to live with us?”
He rubs his hand up and down her arm, “it’s not because she doesn’t love you, baby girl.” Joel says, “She wants us to be happy, that’s why she takes you shopping for school every year, and why she wants you to go to soccer camp this summer. We want her to be happy too, even if it means she doesn’t live with us.”
Sarah is quiet for a moment, “I miss her today,” and if that doesn’t just break him.
“I’ll see if she can call us tomorrow,” he offers, “How’s that?” He leans down to press a kiss to the top of her head. “We can order pizza for dinner too. Can’t be sad over pizza.”
She nods again, not moving away from her place squished up under his arm.
He considers calling Lilly’s parents.
He calls Emma instead, sitting on his bed with the door closed while Sarah is safely out of earshot, glued to the TV. She is predictably mortified by Lilly’s misguided declaration, she unpredictably bursts into tears in the same fashion that their daughter had earlier that afternoon.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” she cried, sniffing heavily, “I’m sorry. I’m okay. I didn’t mean to do that. Fuck.”
Joel is silent for a moment, letting her compose herself before she speaks, he’s known her long enough. Emma doesn’t cry, not like this. Certainly not over letting Sarah down. She was more of buy it right kind of girl, and to her credit, she could afford to. “Let’s hear it.”
It takes her a precious few minutes before she speaks. “I’m pregnant.”
Joel blows out the breath he was holding, trying to find something to say. He settles dumbly on, “Who’s the father this time?”
Emma’s laugh is half a sob, “Toss up.” She croaks, “I went on this retreat with a group – guess I wasn’t as careful as I thought.”
Joel convinces himself quickly that he knows where this will go. He’d been the one to ask her to have Sarah in the first place. He never really should have had that kind of pull with her and he certainly doesn’t now.
“What’s the plan?” He asks, wondering if she’s met anyone she trusts enough to take care of her after a procedure like that. If he’ll have to think about flying up to Massachusetts or sending Tommy in his place for a few awkward days while she recovers.
She hums, grunting out a breath. He can see her clearly, sitting on the floor somewhere in her loft penthouse, the hand not holding up her phone fisted in her hair. “I went to the doctor, today. For,” she clears her throat, “and then I was thinkin’ if Sarah would want a sibling. Knowing you, it might be her only shot, so.” She’s quiet, and he’s watching a terrifying little movie scroll through his head. Sarah watching her mother and half-sister happy and together in well-meaning pictures while she was out here, stuck with just him “What do you think?”
“I think it might break her heart to know you’re out there bein’ with a kid who ain’t her.” He says sharply. “Not sure how she’ll get on with -
“Jesus, Joel, no. I meant – I’m still not cut out to be a mom, I haven’t changed that much.”
Joel sits forward, elbows braced on his knees. “What did you mean?”
She huffs, “Same deal. I’ll go through with it, if you want – we can talk about support, of course, and I keep doing my best.”
He wipes a hand down his face. “When?”
“Due January.” Emma says, “Or not. Up to you.”
“Emma,” he snaps, “how the fuck can you ask me that, to decide – “ his rage is hot in his throat and he pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s grown. He’s an adult. He won’t fly off the handle at her right now. “I’ll call you tomorrow. You just - fuck Emma.”
“I know.” She whispers, voice thick, “Goodnight, Joel.”
He hangs up the phone. Furious, enraged in a way that would have a younger, shittier version of himself punching a hole through the drywall in his bedroom. She has no right to put that decision on him just so that she can absolve herself of the guilt that comes with managing the consequences of her actions. He fumes for the better part of half an hour, spinning the ordeal in his mind, her immaturity in it. Still, there’s a flutter in his chest, at the possibility that he resolutely decides to ignore. He’s able to for most of the evening.
After pizza boxes have been safely stowed in the fridge, he ends up sitting on the swing out back, Sarah tucked in and sleeping soundly.
Tommy’s phone rings out, but it’s not more than a few seconds after that he calls back.
“I’m busy,” he greets.
“Emma’s pregnant again.” Joel counters.
Tommy’s voice is muffled talking to someone else, wind whipping against the speaker as he steps away from whoever he’s out with. “Goddamn Joel, I thought she was in Italy or somethin’.”
“It ain’t mine,” he defends, “asked about that, she said it was, and I quote, a toss-up.”
Tommy grunts, "How is that your problem? She's making budget cuts? Sarah's upset? ”
Joel groans, “doesn’t know yet. Asked me if I wanted it – also a quote. Same deal.”
“Same deal,” Tommy pitches, incredulous, “She asked if you wanted her baby with some other guy by sayin’ same deal?”
Joel hums his confirmation, the idle sound of traffic from Tommy’s end filling the line.
“And you’re fuckin’ thinkin’ about it, aren’t you?”
He’s not sure how to say what he’s thinking, but his brother knows him well.
“Joel, what the fuck, man. Are you serious?”
“She ain’t gonna keep it otherwise. It might, I don’t know Tommy – be good for Sarah. Maybe I want another one. Little shoes.”
Tommy groans, “Maybe little shoes ain’t nearly a good enough reason to have a baby, Joel. You know that. Her babies have colic from hell. You won’t sleep for a year.”
“Yeah, well.”
Tommy sighs, “Let me know what we’re doin’ I guess. In the morning. You goddamn sleep on this Joel, I mean it.”
“Alright, alright. Night.”
The line goes out with a muffled exclamation of “Fucking’ Christ- “ from Tommy.
When he sets his phone down on the side table he’s suddenly overwhelmed thinking about what it would look like to convert the guest room into a nursery.