I can’t get a gauge on her, so I go with a joke. “I don’t think I’d mind now.”

She huffs a laugh. “Someone needs an ego check.” She sets her pen on the desk, arranging it neatly beside the others. “I’m over it, Dax. Just let it go, so I can, too.”

I feel like I’m missing something. Like the progress my apology should’ve made has somehow done the opposite, and I have no idea why.

In the week that follows, things seems to settle a little. Emme has been toeing the line post-suspension, meeting with her counselor—but only after I assure her their conversations are confidential.

Linda has been unnervingly quiet since the suspension. So much so that it incites paranoia. I don’t trust her as far as I can throw her since she sprang the custody lawsuit on me with no warning. I have a feeling she’s up to something.

If there’s any dirt on Linda, I need to find it so I have ammunition to fight back with, which means digging, and I don’t have a lot of time for that. By the time I get home from work and Emme’s in bed, I’m exhausted. I know I have to tackle my parents’ office at some point, but with everything that’s going on, it’s low on the list of priorities.

It’s a Friday evening—I’m missing drinks with the guys tonight. I told Felix in a few weeks Emme might be up for a sleepover at a friend’s and I’ll be able to join. Sometimes I miss having a life and freedom, and then I feel guilty because my kid sister has to live the rest of her life without parents. If anyone’s getting the shit end of the deal, it’s Emme.

She’s been in a mood all day, complaining about a stomachache. She cried at dinner over nothing and snapped at me when I asked her to help clear the dishes. I finally let her escape to her room to finish up on my own.

I’m almost done washing dishes when a scream comes from upstairs.

“Em?” The pan clatters in the sink, breaking a glass I hadn’t gotten to yet. I take the stairs two at a time. “Are you okay?” I check her room, but it’s empty. Her laptop is open on her bed, and homework is strewn across the comforter, along with a tattered notebook with doodles all over the cover.

Her bathroom door is closed. I knock. “Em?”

“Go away!” She’s crying, a brief silence punctuated by hiccupping sobs.

“You’re freaking me out. Can you open the door so I can talk to you?”

“I can’t!” she shouts.

“Are you locked in there? Can you tell me what’s going on? Did something happen?” I’m bombarded with a million different fears. Did she hurt herself? Is it that Billy kid, bullying her again? Is he attacking her on social media? Do I need to get my baseball bat out?

Emme throws the door open, and it slams into the wall. Her eyes are red and puffy. “I got my period!”

I take a step back, as if she’s carrying an airborne disease, not dealing with the shitty part of being a girl. Which—for future reference to all the men of the world out there dealing with teenage girls and periods—is the wrong thing to do. “Okaaaay. Do you need Advil or something?”

She throws her hands in the air. “I don’t know! It’s the first time I’ve ever gotten it! I was just sitting there and my stomach was hurting and then I went to the bathroom and . . . and . . .” She motions to the toilet and her face crumples again.

I try to hug her but she pushes me away. “What do you need me to do?”

“How am I supposed to know? I don’t have anything to use to . . .” She flails and then drops her hands dramatically. “. . . stop it!”

I’m a little slow on the uptake. It’s her first period. It takes me several seconds to understand that she doesn’t have pads or tampons. Fuck my life. “Let me check my bathroom.”

I don’t remember seeing any feminine hygiene products when I was cleaning it out, but it doesn’t hurt to look. I leave a still-crying Emme—which really sucks—and search all the bathrooms in the house before it becomes apparent I’ve got nothing. I return to Emme’s room, where she’s locked herself in the bathroom again.

I knock. “Em?”

She opens the door a crack, her one red eye peeking out at me. She sniffles. “Did you find something?”

“Um, no, but I’m going to run to the drugstore. I’ll be back in, like, twenty minutes, ’kay?” I want to ask what exactly I should pick up, but I don’t think she knows any better than I do.

The closest pharmacy is a ten-minute walk, but since this is kind of an emergency situation, I drive. Also, carrying a bag of tampons is a little weird. It takes less than two minutes to get to the pharmacy and a minute to find the right aisle. Thankfully it’s empty.

I’m not embarrassed about buying tampons or pads, or both, but hanging out in the feminine product aisle like an idiot isn’t my idea of Friday-night fun. I scan the aisle. There are so many options. I don’t even know where to start. Heavy flow, light flow, medium flow. Panic sets in. I don’t have the resources for this.

I can’t call Linda because then she’ll have yet another reason to tell me I’m unfit to parent Emme.

Which leaves Kailyn.

Kailyn who doesn’t like me very much. Kailyn who probably barely tolerates me for reasons I’m still unsure of.

This is way beyond her legal duties. But she’s the only person I trust right now to help me with this. I don’t even know that she’ll answer my call. It’s Friday night. She could be out on a date. For some reason I don’t like this idea, maybe because she’s sort of attached to Emme, which means she’s also attached to me—which is not rational at all, but there it is.

Friday nights are meant for dates and boyfriend time. And now I have to wonder just how much of a nuisance Emme and I are to her life. I pull up her contact and hit the Call button. I guess I’m about to find out.

chapter nine

DINNER DATE INTERRUPTIONS

Kailyn

Holly eyes my plate. I nod to my fries. “Go ahead. I can sense your salad remorse.”

She nabs one from my plate and dips it in the chipotle mayo. “I have pictures of Hope. She’s trying to walk.”

She’s referring to the pro bono adoption case I took on months ago, around the same time Daxton dropped back into my life. Who knew how deeply involved I’d become in either situation. “Everyone’s doing well? Is the birth mother still clean?”

“So far, yes.”

“That’s good, I hope it stays that way.” The Lipsons agreed to an open adoption, and the birth mother has supervised visitations, provided she isn’t using. So far it’s helped her stay clean.

Holly reaches for another fry. “It’s a good arrangement for everyone involved. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Well, I love doing it. It’s a lot more rewarding than trusts, if I’m honest. Speaking of, I’d like to set up another meeting with the Wilsons to go through the adoption paperwork for Eli. I figured you might want to be there for that.”

Holly nods. “Definitely. Thank you for doing this.”

“Of course. Let’s figure out a date.” We both pull out our phones and check our calendars. These pro bono cases are quickly becoming the favorite part of my job. Knowing I’m giving these kids a chance to grow up in a loving, stable home reminds me of my own adoption. I’d spent the first three years of my life in a state of perpetual uncertainty until my adoptive parents came in and rescued me. After we set up a tentative meeting, we move on to lighter topics.

“Any hot dates lately?” It’s mostly a joke; Holly and I spend the majority of our Friday nights together.

“I wish. I don’t have time to shave regularly these days, let alone time for hot dates.” She sighs. “I hate this whole online generation crap. Why can’t I just meet a nice guy in a coffee shop, or the library or something?”

“I think you’d have to frequent coffee shops and libraries for that to happen, wouldn’t you?” I ask.

“I guess it would help if I started drinking coffee. What about bookstores? That would work, wouldn’t it? I could just sit around and wait for some cute guy with glasses to comment on the book I’m pretending to read, and we could strike up a meaningful philosophical conversation.”

“In an ideal world.” I understand exactly where she’s coming from. As I approach thirty I recognize that what I want in a partner isn’t going to be found at a loud bar on cheap draft night. And truthfully, I haven’t put much effort into dating since I graduated from law school and my dad passed away. Love can be too painful, especially when you lose it.

“I’d ask if you’ve had any hot dates, but I think I already know the answer since all you do is work.” Holly gives me a wry grin. “Speaking of, how’s your teenage crush doing these days?”

I smile a little, thinking about how he reacted in my office the other day. He was certainly riled. “Moody and antagonistic about covers it.”

“So he’s still wearing his asshole pants?” Holly knows all about our history.

“He apologized for being a jerk, so that’s progress.”