“He’s yours, sweetie.”
I don’t believe her. Nothing good can come of my lawyer calling me and telling me I need to come down. It’s been six-weeks since we took the test. The longest weeks of my life wondering if he’s mine and watching out the window to see if she’d be back.
“Mr. James,” I turn when my name is called. My body turns cold. I take a deep breath and stare down the hall that leads to my lawyer. To a man who holds my future in his hands. My mom pushes me forward. My steps are tentative as I drag my feet and follow behind her. Quinn, still on her shoulder, looks at me. His toothless smile making my steps just a bit faster. For months I’ve held him in my arms, waiting for this moment. Praying that a simple piece of paper will confirm what my heart feels, that he’s mine.
My mom sits. I choose to stand behind her, near the door for a quick escape. My palms sweat and my heart races. I think I’d rather listen to him cry for hours than sit in here and wait for a short man with beady eyes tells me my fate. My mom looks over her shoulder and reaches for my hand, holding it for reassurance.
“Mr. James,” he says as he shuffles paper back and forth on his desk. Shouldn’t he be ready? He called me and asked me to come in. You’d think everything would be in an orderly fashion. “I trust your day is going well.”
“It’s fine,” I reply.
“Okay, well I have the results here and also another matter we need to discuss.”
I roll my neck, trying to loosen up my nerves. He picks up the stack of papers and taps them against his oversized desk. He knows I’m paying him by the hour, that’s why he’s stalling.
He leans back in his chair, holding a single sheet of paper in the right light so I can see print, but I’m unable to make out the words.
“In my hand, Mr. James, are the paternity results that you requested.”
“Okay,” I say, trying to control my shaking leg. I want to reach across the desk and rip that paper out of his hand and read it. Quinn squeals, catching my attention. I rub my hand on top of his head, his baby fine hair standing on end. He puts his chubby hand in his mouth and start sucking.
“The child known as Quinn James is yours. You’re ninety-nine point nine percent his father.”
I bend over and let out the breath I had been holding. My mom rubs my back as I fight back the sob that is threatening to take over. Five months ago when he showed up, I didn’t want him, but now I’d never let him go. He’s my son.
“I have more news,” my lawyer says. I stand up and give him a slight headshake for him to continue. “Miss Tucker has been located,” he says as he turns back to his desk. I freeze at the one name that can change anything. He sets his hands in front of him, his fingers forming a tent much like my guidance counselor at school when he’d speak to my mom about me not being social enough for his liking.
My lawyer may be pissing me off, but he’s been very upfront with my rights. Alicia can come back and take Quinn from me. All she has to do is claim some type of depression shit and I’d lose my son. He says the courts side with the mothers first and listen to the father’s later. I don’t want that.
“And?” I encourage him to continue. I need to know. I need to hear the words out of his mouth.
He extends his hand, holding a piece of paper.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Miss Tucker has signed away her parental rights. Quinn is yours and available for adoption by your wife when you choose to marry.”
“I’m never getting married,” I mumble as I read over the document saying she’s relinquishing all her parental rights. “He’s mine?”
“He’s yours, honey,” my mom says. She’s crying into my shoulder, but I know they’re happy tears because I’m shedding them as well.
“He’s mine.”
“Do you miss Meghan? If you do, I can call her and see if she’ll move here.” Maybe moving away from all the women in his life wasn’t the smartest thing to do. I didn’t think he would need them. Maybe I don’t know what an eight-year-old needs.
“No, it’s okay. I just…” he shrugs again. I reach forward and still his hand with mine. He looks up. I raise my eyebrow, waiting for him to answer me. “I like Katelyn. She’s nice to me.”