Foster, page 5
Mom places the last piece of cooked chicken on the platter and clicks off the stove. She turns to face me, kitchen tongs still in hand. “So basically, one job will be fewer hours and a more consistent schedule, but less pay. The other is a bit more demanding of your time, but for more money. Outside of that distinction, one dad seems very rigid and may be difficult to work for, the other laid-back and trusting of your skills.”
“Exactly,” I reply, not needing to add a single clarification.
“Seems like an easy choice to me,” Mom says, except she doesn’t tell me what the choice is. Because it’s not easy for me.
“The Titans dad, right?” I guess.
“Right.”
“But there might not be an actual job,” I remind her.
Mom grins at me. “This was the guy who handed you a blank check for a signing bonus.”
“Yeah, but I can’t just take some man’s check and fill in an amount. That’s, like… tacky.”
Chuckling, my mother shakes her head. “No, you could never do business that way, but it goes to show you that this is someone who really wants to hire you. Which means things are negotiable. Make a counteroffer that protects you.”
“Like what?” I ask.
Megan Archer is a brilliant woman and while she dispenses the most amazing advice, she doesn’t provide answers to her kids when they can find them on their own. She just waits me out.
I consider how to best protect myself. If I accept the job from Foster McInnis and he doesn’t get custody of his daughter, I’m going to miss out on a good opportunity with the other family. However, I won’t be unemployed for long. The need for good nannies in this area is immense, given the number of executive working parents. Pittsburgh has become a financial mecca in recent decades.
An idea strikes. “I know what to do,” I say with excitement.
“I suggest you go make your calls then because we have about five more minutes until dinner is ready. Hopefully Leo will be here by then.”
“On it.” I kiss Mom’s cheek. “Thanks.”
Rather than head upstairs to my room for privacy, I step out onto the back patio through the glass-paned wooden door off the kitchen. My father is an absolute craftsman and created this outdoor living space to match the rustic charm of the stone house.
It’s an open-air chamber of tranquility that marries the house with nature. The expansive stone, all uniquely shaped and sized, has been laid in a random pattern of autumn colors like sienna, ochre and charcoal. The ceiling is comprised of thin boards in a dark polished wood with subtle recessed lighting and a large fan in the center for hot summer nights. The beams supporting the wood canopy are rough cut and unadorned, contrary to the polished ceiling, but somehow it all works together.
My favorite parts are the gas lamp sconces my dad installed on both sides of the kitchen door and the cut stone columns that surround the edge of the patio. The lamps come on automatically at dusk, which is imminent, and the ambience of the flickering lights is truly magical.
Someone has already set the table—most likely my father, as he likes to be helpful when Mom is in cooking mode. It’s not fancy but it doesn’t need to be for our family. Regular plates, worn and scratched over the years, a folded paper towel on top of each, along with a fork and butter knife. In the center are trivets to hold the hot dishes and we’ll pass the food around family style. There aren’t any cups or glasses for drinks, as we’ll all help ourselves to whatever we want, but you can rest assured there’s a large pitcher of sweet tea my Georgian mom made chilling in the fridge. I know a lot of my northern friends gag over the sweetness of the drink but I was practically raised on it, and I drink far more of it than is healthy.
I pull a chair back from the table’s end and place a call to Foster McInnis. He answers on the third ring which surprises me as I assumed I’d get his voicemail. He clearly has my name programmed in his contacts because he merely says, “Mazzy?”
“Yeah… hi. Is this a good time to talk?” I ask.
I can hear the smile in his voice. “It is if you’re accepting the job.”
Laughing, I tuck a wavy lock behind my ear, then sift my fingers through the back of my hair. “I want to talk further about the job,” I correct him. “I have to admit I’m interested but if I accept with you, I lose out on the other opportunity. If you, God forbid, don’t get Bowie Jane, then I’m screwed.”
“So tell me how to make you feel better about it,” he says.
“You agree to pay me the monthly salary I would have gotten with the other offer until I can find another position. I’ll, in turn, promise to look diligently for something else, but I’ll need at least a three-month commitment from you to pay me. I should be able to find something easily in that time frame.”
“Deal.”
“Deal?” I echo back incredulously.
“Did you not want me to do what you just asked?” There’s playfulness in his voice. For some reason, it doesn’t irritate me but in turn amuses me.
“No, it’s just… I thought you might balk or at least make a counteroffer. Isn’t that the way normal business negotiations are done?”
“I suppose,” he drawls. “But honestly, I just want to get you on board so I have that in my back pocket when I ask for full custody. So yes, I agree to your terms and any others you want.”
“Um… well… okay then,” I say hesitantly.
“Okay, as in you accept my offer?” he probes.
“Yes, as long as you cover my salary up to three months if your job falls through.”
“Then we definitely have a deal. I’ll call you as soon as the hearing is over and I know what’s going to happen. But assuming I get custody, I’ll be heading straight to California to get Bowie Jane. You’ll need to be ready to start probably by Thursday and I have an away game on Friday.”
A flush of concern moves through me, heating the back of my neck. “Oh, wow… that’s moving kind of fast.”
“You can’t start that soon?” he asks, worry evident in his tone.
“No, it’s not that. It’s just… that’s going to be a lot on your daughter. A switch in custody, a cross-country move, then you dump her with a stranger and take off to an away game.”
Foster huffs into the phone. “Shit. I hadn’t even thought about that but you’re absolutely right. It’s going to be hard on her to leave her mom but I also know she doesn’t want to go to Singapore. The timing on the preseason games starting isn’t great.”
“Are you going to enroll her in school when you get back? Assuming you win.”
“Yes, assuming I win,” he says gruffly, and I can hear in his voice he’s going to be devastated if he doesn’t.
“At least she’ll have school to distract her a bit. Even though it’s a new school, it’s structured and that will provide some comfort. But I’ll give her extra attention and make it a good time.”
“She’s a strong kid and very independent. I’m sure it will be fine.”
The kitchen door opens and Leo steps out onto the patio. The top part of his longish hair is pulled into a ponytail, the rest left to hang down just above his shoulders. He’s got on a Ramones T-shirt and a pair of frayed cargo shorts with flip-flops. He’s got a beer in his hand and because he’s so comfortable in my house, having practically grown up here, I’m sure he went and fished that out of the fridge on his own.
My eyes are on Leo who kicks a chair out opposite from where I’m sitting and plops down. I say to Foster, “How about you call me after the hearing tomorrow and let me know if I have a job?”
“It’s a plan,” he replies, relief evident in his tone.
The slight fullness in my chest tells me that I feel good about helping him, and that he really needed me to further his quest to get his daughter. “Good luck, Foster.”
“Thank you, Mazzy. Talk tomorrow.”
We disconnect and Leo stares at me from across the table. “What was that about?”
“Nosy,” I chide, but then fill him in on my interview with Foster, my doubts about the other job and the most recent conversation. “So tomorrow, if he gets custody of his daughter, I’ll have a job with them.”
Leo pulls at the label on his bottle. “And if he doesn’t win?”
“Then I’ll be job hunting again.” There… the absolute validation I needed that the other job offer just didn’t feel right—the circumstances and the father’s personality. I wouldn’t have liked it at all.
Which means I need to decline that job. “Why don’t you get me a beer? I’ve got one more call to make.”
“Go get your own beer,” he replies, slouching further in his seat and grinning at me.
I kick him under the table, hitting his shin, and he yelps, scrambling backward. “Go get me a beer,” I reply. “You’re here eating my family’s food and sucking on our happiness. It’s the least you can do.”
“Bitch,” Leo says, but it’s done fondly and with a quirk to his lips. As he heads back inside, I flip through my contacts so I can make the call that could leave me completely unemployed for the near future.
While I advised the family that I’d accepted another offer—much to the husband’s dismay and he let me know it in unkind terms—Leo fetched me a beer and set it before me. He resumed his seat at the table and when I finished the call, he asked, “So you’re going to nanny for a single dad, huh?”
“Hopefully,” I say as I pick up the beer and take a sip.
“That’s a bit different from what you’re used to doing.”
His tone is almost… accusing. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean… single professional hockey player and you swooping in to be mother to his child.”
I kick Leo under the table again, this time not playfully, and he winces, sitting up straighter in his chair. “You better not be inferring what I think you’re inferring,” I warn.
“And what might that be?” he grumbles, bending over to rub at his leg.
“That I’m looking to score a rich husband or something like that,” I snap.
Leo’s eyes widen and he shakes his head, words sharp as a knife. “Fuck no, Mazz. I’m worried about him taking advantage of you.”
“What?” I exclaim. “No. That’s silly. Foster’s a nice guy and—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. They’re all nice guys. I’ve heard it before. But I also know how men react around you—”
“You’re crazy! Men don’t react around me—”
“Men trip over themselves around you and you know it,” he accuses. “You’re gorgeous, smart, talented and then you add on that you’re going to be nurturing and caring for his kid, well, that’s a recipe for him wanting to get in your pants.”
“Jesus, Leo… did you hit your head or something? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Leo shrugs but before he can answer, the kitchen door opens and Brian steps out, followed by his wife. Brian has the platter of fried chicken and Susan has a bowl of fresh pickled cucumbers and Vidalia onions.
But not the Vidalia onions that grow in Georgia. The Pittsburgh grocery stores don’t have the good ones. I can practically hear my mom praising one of the finest products of her southern home. “We grow Vidalia onions so sweet you can pull them out of the ground and eat them like an apple.”
Next, Tim comes out with a pan of mac and cheese, Mandy with the biscuits, and my dad with the collards. Landon and Mason follow, one with a bowl of white gravy and the other with hot vinegar sauce for the greens.
The food is set along the center of the table, and everyone moves back and forth through the kitchen, grabbing their own drinks. Lastly, my mom comes out after checking to make sure nothing’s been left behind. As everyone takes their chairs with no particular hierarchy of where we sit, Mom fusses with the placement of all the bowls and ensures each dish has a spoon.
When we’re all settled in our seats, there’s no passing of the food because the platters and bowls are just too heavy. Instead, plates are passed back and forth across the table and whoever is nearest the fried chicken uses the tongs to fulfill the request. Whoever is nearest the mac and cheese will dollop out a scoop and hand the plate off to someone else.
It’s disorganized and chaotic and utterly perfect as we all laugh and chatter at the same time.
Leo’s engaged with Landon about Gran Turismo and as I watch them, I’m still peeved about his assertion that Foster will try to take advantage of the situation. It’s preposterous for him to assume that without even knowing the guy.
Except… I don’t know him either.
But that’s beside the point. The Hamberlys vetted Foster, just as he vetted me. He’s an upstanding guy with the backing of Brienne Norcross. We didn’t talk long but I got no weird vibes from him. I had more concerns about the other father.
I made a good choice and I’m irritated that Leo is making me doubt it.
What does he know anyway? Ludicrous assertions about guys tripping over themselves to be near me. If that were the case, I wouldn’t be twenty-seven and solidly single. For all the supposed men attracted to me, I haven’t even been invited on a date in… well, I don’t know how long. There’s nothing special about me that lures men to my doorstep.
Leo’s lost his mind.
CHAPTER 6
Foster
Given the emergency nature of our custody dispute and the parties living on opposite sides of the United States, the Allegheny judge assigned to the case set up the hearing to be held via Zoom. This is apparently done in many court cases for expediency and to save on travel.
I’m sitting in a conference room at my attorney’s office. Brienne had me hire Jared Cole because he’s made quite the reputation for himself by championing single dads seeking full custody. The historical stereotype that only mothers can care for their kids is quite the barrier to many men and Jared, a single dad himself, is ruthlessly dedicated to the cause.
However, he doesn’t just take any case. He actually vetted me when I first called him, as he wanted to make sure I was the best choice for Bowie Jane in these particular circumstances. I respect that.
We’re sitting side by side, his laptop before us, and the Zoom session initiated. He’s chosen to keep the camera and sound off until the judge enters, so we don’t have to stare awkwardly at Sandra and her attorney, an older man with a bow tie and black-rimmed glasses.
Unlike us, they’ve kept their camera on, and even with their sound muted, it’s clear Sandra is peeved to be sitting here. She keeps checking her watch and while I can’t hear what she says, there’s irritation on her face when she asks her attorney something. She doesn’t seem to like his answer either.
Then she looks off camera and says something, and to my surprise, I see Chet lean in to kiss her cheek. He says something that seems to reassure her as her expression turns bland.
“And that’s why we keep the camera off,” Jared says with a chuckle. “We know that Sandra’s already on edge.”
My attorney has me well prepped so when the Honorable Hoyt Templeton joins the meeting, along with his clerk, I know my role is to sit back and keep my mouth shut unless Jared specifically tells me to talk. I also know to keep a neutral expression and my hands clasped on the table, the perfect picture of calm maturity.
“I want to thank you all for being here.” The judge, with his charcoal-gray hair and trim beard, glances down at his desk, then up again. “I’ve read the father’s, Foster McInnis, petition for custody as well as the mother’s, Sandra Tanner, response and I believe I understand the issues before us.” Jared had me read over the petition before he filed it and it’s a good piece of reading. He was succinct in laying out my concerns with Sandra, something he assured me that this judge appreciates. He wasn’t big on drama or overreaching. “Do either of the parties wish to add anything?”
Jared pipes up first. “Your Honor, we believe our petition is clear that Mr. McInnis has a genuine concern for his daughter’s welfare and is vehemently opposed to her leaving the country. We’ve attached character witness statements from family, friends and co-workers, notably including Brienne Norcross, the owner of the Pittsburgh Titans. The only other thing I’ll add is that Mr. McInnis has secured a full-time nanny with impeccable credentials to care for his daughter when he is traveling and is fully prepared to accept full physical custody after the hearing today.”
The judge nods. “Anything from your client?” he asks the other attorney.
The man starts to shake his head, but Sandra elbows him in the arm, leans toward him and whispers harshly, clear enough so everyone can hear, “I would like to have my say.”
Her attorney’s shoulders sag and he makes a motion toward the camera. “Your Honor, my client would like to say a few words.”
The judge looks respectfully interested as Sandra begins what can only be termed as a rant. I keep my ears open as she talks about the injustice of choosing between a job and her daughter and how, in this day and age, she should be able to have both. But my eyes remain on the judge whose open expression shutters when she says, “I’ve been waiting my entire life for a big break like this and I deserve it. It is an opportunity I can’t and won’t pass up.”
I somehow manage not to laugh at the absurdity and when she’s done, the judge says, “Thank you, Ms. Tanner. I’ve noted your concerns.”
He then looks directly into the camera. “If neither side has an objection, I’d like to talk to Bowie Jane. I believe my clerk asked that you have her present but not in the room at this time.”
Sandra’s attorney nods. “She’s in my paralegal’s office.”
“Does anyone object to me talking to her privately? I will have all of you, other than my clerk and Bowie Jane, temporarily disconnect from this meeting.”
Jared looks at me. “That’s fine.”
Sandra’s attorney looks at her and she seems indecisive, but eventually nods.
It takes a few moments for them to get Bowie Jane, who sits beside Sandra as the judge introduces himself over the Zoom session. He asks her, “Would you mind if you and I talked privately? Neither of your parents nor their attorneys would be with us. Just my clerk.”
