Yours, Mine & Ours

thought she was a kitten. You’re turning into a little white pumpkin, aren’t you…? Teddy’s at my parents’. His first overnight. It’s a big deal. He’s been afraid to be away from me at night ever since the divorce. Had nightmares when we’ve tried it. But…out of the blue, he said he wanted to, so I called them up…and they both leaped at the idea. I’ll be glued to a cell phone all night, but hoping it’ll work out okay.”

“Is that what you wanted to celebrate?”

“No, not that. I’m up for celebrating that another time-assuming he makes it all night without my being called to come get him. Okay, here you go…” He’d opened the blue box, produced the bottle and opened it, all without making the purring machine on his lap even budge. He poured equal amounts in two glasses, just filling them halfway, and handed her one, but with a caution.

“Now, this isn’t a drinking drink. It’s a sipping drink. A slow-sip-and-savor drink. The only place this is made is on the Isle of Skye. Aged ten years plus. And there’s no talking or discussion when you take your first slow sip. You just close your eyes and let it happen.”

He wasn’t talking fast; he just kept on talking in that slow, easy way of his. She couldn’t get a word in, much less an objection. She gave up, accepted the glass, and just figured she’d finish the drink quickly and then coax him to go home.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

She lowered the glass at his admonition, saw his grin.

“You don’t drink this without a toast.” He lifted his glass to hers, clinked. “To parents of four-year olds.”

“Good one.” Again she lifted the glass, but before it reached her lips, the scent hit her nose. “Hold on. What is this?”

“Scotland’s most famous single malt.”

“You mean, whiskey?”

He shot her a glower. “When you speak of Talisker, you speak in reverent tone and terms. It’s Scotch whiskey. You’ve never had it?”

“Actually, no. I’m usually a wine girl. Not that I haven’t had a mint julep or Manhattan at a party sometimes, but-”

“Okay. Another toast.” He clinked her glass again. “To virgin Talisker tasters.”

“Mike. You’re acting awfully goofy tonight.”

“Uh-huh. Taste.”

She took a slow, careful sip. Initially the liquid felt soft and smooth on her tongue, interesting, different…but that was before the fire. Flames shot internally straight to the top of her brain. Smoke whooshed out her nose, throat and possibly her ears. Embers drizzled down her esophagus. Tears welled in her eyes. Her entire living room blurred, tilted sideways.

Eventually the smoke cleared. The pale blue chairs and blueberry-blue carpet stopped moving. The soft light from the purple-and-blue Tiffany lamp looked normal again. Mike was hunched over the ottoman, less than two feet from her face, his exultant grin just full of the devil. “I knew you’d love it.”

“Love?” She opened her mouth, released some more fumes. “To tell you the truth…” She glanced at the amber liquid, considered, and couldn’t think of a single reason why she needed to tell the truth. He obviously loved the drink. “I think this may possibly be the best thing that’s happened to me all day.”

“Atta girl. Another toast. This one to redheads. But only to redheads who happened to be named Molly or Amanda.”

“Okay. Listen. I love the goofball thing. But, Mike. I’m not a big drinker, and I don’t do hangovers, and-”

“Me, either. That stopped being fun before I was nineteen. We’re not drinking a lot-I promise. Talisker is only for special occasions. You never level it. At most-no matter how much you beg-you can only have two glasses, max.”

She frowned, studying him, unsure where all his high spirits and energy and foolishness were coming from. It wasn’t as if she wanted to burst his bubble. If he had good news to share…well, that’s what being a friend was about, wasn’t it?

And especially after this afternoon, she knew she could never be more-no matter what she felt for Mike, or what she’d hoped for.

So she lifted her glass-tapped his-and said, “My turn to make a toast.”

Talk about a slow drinker. It took her a full half hour just to sip through a shot, and probably the same amount of time to level a second.

Mike never wanted her inebriated. He just wanted her to talk. She was wound so tight, he was wary that she could crack into a zillion pieces.

And even after two shots, he figured the bottom line. No amount of liquor was going to loosen her up. But maybe from exhaustion, or the late hour, she curled her bare legs under her and kind of hovered inside the pale blue wing chair.

“You told me before this that your ex was applying for partial custody. So this was it? That hearing?” By the time he got around to asking, he tried to make his voice as lazy and safe as a hum in the night.

“Yup.” She didn’t seem to want to continue, but finally, out it came. “Thom won. I lost.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s a real short story. I failed her. There’s only one darned thing in this life that I have to do right-and that’s protect Molly. And I failed big-time.”

Mike unclenched his jaw. Maybe later he’d find out Thom’s address and tar and feather the son of a seadog. But just then he was listening. And he was going to stay calm while listening if it killed him. “There has to be a little more to it.”

“Thom was pushing for joint custody. Obviously I’ve known that for a while. And here’s the thing. He’s her father. I never wanted to deny him the right to be her father, or to spend time with her. She needs her father and loves him. But damn it, Mike…”

“Keep talking.”

“It isn’t about being a dad for him. It’s about manipulation. Because when she’s over there, he’s somehow an absentee. There’ll be some woman friend of his that does the babysitting. He doesn’t actually want joint custody, because he doesn’t spend half the time with her that he could. He just wants not to have to pay me child support.”

“Keep talking.”

And about then, she bolted out of the blue wing chair, as if sitting still even a second longer was impossible. She was still wearing the navy-and-white outfit thing she’d put together for the court, but it was coming undone mighty fast now. The white shirt was no longer tucked in, no longer buttoned at the neck. She’d lost the shoes. The navy skirt was twisted around. Her hands started gesturing. The hair got wilder. She stumbled and circled and ambled around in her bare feet, not crying. Sometimes her eyes spit out some moisture, but those tears were hot and mad, not soft.

“I don’t need the child support. But I’ve been using that money to put together a college fund for Mol. He makes over six figures. Don’t you think it’s fair that he contribute?”

“Absolutely,” Mike agreed.

“I told the judge that Thom cancels half the time he sets up a visitation with Molly. I told him that he’s repeatedly left her with strange women she doesn’t know, and that often enough she comes back upset and shaken up. The judge didn’t care.”

“Who’s the judge?” Mike asked, thinking there was another tar-and-feather candidate. He knew a good number of judges, but not so many in the family court setup. She told him the name. Unfortunately all he knew about the guy was that he’d been on the bench for over a decade.

“The judge said…that unless there’s abuse or specific proof of neglect, that Thom is entitled to more time. Initially he didn’t grant equal custody. But as of right now, Thom gets an overnight every two weeks. Mike. I’m supposed to just spring this on Molly. After she just talked to me about not wanting to spend nights there!”

She spun around, and he saw her expression in the colored light from the Tiffany lamp. “Aw, Red. That’s the worst sting, isn’t it?”

“It is. This is supposed to start this coming weekend, which means I have to start talking to her about