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I gotta get my head back on my shoulders. I need to look at the facts.
Fact one: I don’t know Holly—but she’s kind of familiar.
Fact two: surely I’ve never been so blackout drunk I’ve forgotten a whole ass day. Or days, plural, if those pictures are anything to go by.
Fact three: I damn sure will not have this woman snake her way between me and Olivia.
All of which lead me to one conclusion: I need to call Elliot.
I barricade myself in my office and ring him up. He’s quick to answer. “Please tell me you don’t have another secret baby thing going on,” is the first thing out of his mouth. “We just got through smoothing shit over with Olivia and Violet.”
“You have zero faith in me, man.”
“I have all the faith that, more often than not, you’ll be a pain in the ass.”
I wince and pinch the bridge of my nose between thumb and forefinger. “Well, buckle up. I got more shit for you.”
There’s nothing to do but rip off the Band-Aid, so I launch into telling him about Holly just showing up to my place unannounced. Her wild-ass claims, the fact that she expects to be allowed to see Violet, all of it.
“Olivia’s pissed,” I conclude. “She broke up with me. She doesn’t believe that I don’t know this woman.”
“Don’t you?”
“You’re supposed to be on my side, motherfucker.”
Elliot laughs. “Being on your side in a legal sense doesn’t mean sugarcoating the problems that you have this frankly awe-inspiring tendency to get yourself into, Reese,” he says. “You’re not a bad guy. Your history with women is just… Well, I can see why she’d be skeptical.”
“Fuck you, El.”
“Unfortunately for you, that’s not the kind of dirty work I’m into.” He pauses. I can hear what sounds like rustling papers in the background and clicking on a keyboard. “You said you’re having her take a maternity test?”
“Hell yeah. She doesn’t just get to come in here and make demands about seeing Violet without proving she’s actually her mother. And even if she is, she left Violet on my doorstep. Isn’t that criminal or some shit? Negligence?”
“It would certainly reflect poor parental decisions, yes. It could affect custody, if you planned on going for full…?”
I don’t have to think twice about the answer to that question. Not anymore. “I don’t want her anywhere near Violet. Not when she got rid of her like last week’s trash.”
“Amen, brother. Preach it.” Pen scratches ensue. “Alright, here’s what we’re gonna do. You have to set up a maternity test with an independent tester. Meaning a place that isn’t associated with your representation—or Holly’s, if she has any. In the meantime, send over the license so I can look into how legit it is.”
“Done and done. How much of a headache am I looking at with this?”
“Depends. Best-case scenario, she’s a nutjob with fake papers, which means you can get a restraining order and possibly falsification of official documents charges.”
Best-case sounds good. But where there’s a best case, there’s a…
“What’s worst-case?”
“Worst case: you are in fact legally married to her and she is in fact Violet’s mother. In which case, you will have to pursue either an annulment or a divorce. And you’ll be looking at the fun and joyful adventure that is a protracted custody battle. But, given that Holly abandoned her, I can’t imagine a sane judge denying you, even if it’s after a helluva fight.”
I let out a sigh and repeat the refrain that’s been running through my head since the second that godforsaken doorbell rang: This shit cannot be happening. I don’t want maternity tests and document analysis and stuffy courtroom cross-examinations; I just want her fucking gone. I would so much rather she disappear, just like she’d disappeared on Violet. Holly doesn’t get to do that and just waltz back like nothing happened.
My little girl deserves better.
“Anything else?”
“Nothing that you’ll have to worry about quite yet. I can get my P.I. contact to look into her, though. Especially if she’s back in the area. Maybe there’s something to find on her that’ll help you. Don’t worry, Reese—we got this.”
They haven’t invented the scandal yet that can ruffle Elliot’s feathers. I can just about picture that good-natured smile of his. Son of a bitch is probably whistling while he works like one of Snow White’s dwarves.
