“Desmond Gates?” she asks crisply, adjusting the leather folder she’s carrying in order to free up her right hand.
“That’s me,” I agree, shaking her hand. Her mouth pinches in distaste. Apparently, I wasn’t fully successful in the drying. “Can I help you?”
“My name is Lorna Myers. I’m with social services.” Briskly, she pulls a paper out of her folder and holds it out to me. “In addition to the custody claim filed for Parker Lewis, a complaint has been issued concerning the living arrangements for the child.”
She holds out a crisp business card, continuing to talk even as the words stop making any sense to me. I try to read through the document she handed me, sweat dotting the back of my neck. Do Ihaveto let her in?
“Does my lawyer have to be present for this?” I ask, glancing up to find her narrow eyebrows doing their best to become one with her hairline.
“Do you have something to hide?” she replies waspishly. My face heats. Of course I don’t have something to hide, but I sure as hell feel like I do.
Behind me, the kitchen smells faintly of burned chicken and a pile of filthy dishes are stacked in the sink. Clean washing from two days ago is still waiting next to the couch for me to fold, and there’s another basket in Parker’s room.Instead of hanging or folding it all, he’s just been grabbing clean clothes straight from the basket. This woman doesn’t look like she’s ever forgone hanging washing in her life.
When I glance back up at her, I catch her gaze on my own clothes—basketball shorts, and a singlet with the sides slit far enough that some of my torso is exposed when I turn to the side. She stares long and hard at the thongs on my feet, as though the sight of my toes is particularly offensive.
“Well, come on in,” I mutter, stepping back far enough for her to pass by. “It’s our day off. Me and the little man. So, just a casual, you know?”
I don’t know why I feel the need to explain my clothing choice in my own fucking home, but she has the aura of a person holding a knife to my throat. I feel certain a bad impression here won’t do me any favors down the road.
“Mm,” she hums, glancing once more at my bare legs before directing it around the room. “Was there a fire?”
“A fire? Oh, the smell. No, I—I burnt the chicken, that’s all.” She hums again, flipping open her leather folder and plucking out a pen. I can’t see what she writes, but I have a feeling it was something along the lines of:can’t cook, child is starving to death. Despite the clothes I’m wearing, my body feels unusually hot. “Uhm, but, you know, I’m a fair cook actually. I was trying something new today, and got a little too adventurous. Lesson learned.”
“Indeed,” she agrees, stepping up to the back of the couch and swiveling her head to take in the room. I close my eyes and say a little prayer that maybe she just won’t notice the layer of dust on the TV stand, the shoes kicked across the room, or the chip crumbs scattered on the couch. I’m doing my best, but right now my best doesn’t feel like much at all.
“So…should I give you a tour?” I ask blankly, hovering uncertainly behind her with yet another legal document in my hands. I’m still not convinced I shouldn’t be calling the lawyer. I’m paying the man a fuck-ton of money, after all, and isn’t it his job to help me with this stuff?
“No need. I’ll have a look around, and ask you a few questions. I noticed there isn’t a working elevator in the building?”
“Oh, uhm, no. Not right now. Under repairs, I think.” She wanders around the room, jotting things down on her paper. “No drama, though, we don’t mind taking the stairs. Little bit of fitness, yeah?”
She doesn’t respond to that, but continues her perusal of the window. “I noticed there were several pest complaints filed for this apartment building.”
“Oh.” I wait, unsure of why this might apply to me. “I didn’t file a complaint.”
“Do you have a pest problem?” she asks, sharp eyes tracking over to mine.
“No.”You do right now, Victoria whispers. I flush.
The woman stares at me, apparently trying to perform some sort of human-lie-detecting. Parker strolls into the room, shirt rumpled enough to remind me of the washing basket he pulled it out of. Ashamed, I make a promise to myself to do better. I’ve never felt so inadequate in my life as I do right now.
“Hey, bud, let me grab you a snack while I figure out another option for dinner,” I offer. He takes uncertain steps toward the kitchen, eyes bouncing between me and—I glance down at the business card—Lorna Myers.
“What’s going on?” he asks as we walk into the kitchen.
“Remember how I told you about Grandma and Grandpa? How they want you to live with them sometimes?” He nods, frowning, and stands close enough to me that I havetrouble opening the fridge door. “Well, she’s just here to take a look at the apartment, that’s all.”
Parker looks like this sounds suspicious, and I can hardly blame him. I had no idea what to tell him in regard to the custody battle, and settled on a somewhat stretched version of the truth. He hadn’t seemed all that interested when I’d told him, but I can see the wheels turning in his eyes now, as he watches Lorna Myers stroll around his home.
“She’s going to take me away?” he asks, shuffling even closer and twisting his fingers into the hem of his shirt.
“No, little buddy, no. She’s just here to check the place out, that’s all.” I put a hand on his shoulder, letting him mold himself closer to my side. It’s the nearest to a hug he’s allowed me to get. “Should we have spag bol for dinner?”
“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, but doesn’t allow me to distract him. “When is she going to leave? I didn’t clean my room like you told me to. Are we going to get in trouble?”
You won’t, but I might, I think, watching as Lorna Myers makes her way down the hallway to the bedrooms. She smiles at Parker on her way past, which he returns as a glare. My own smile feels like a rictus grin—manic and fake, like a smile you’d see on a mannequin. My stomach squirms in discomfort. What the hell are they expecting to find here? Knowing my mother and what she thinks of me, she’s probably expecting an apartment full of sex toys and gay porn.
“You’re not going to get in trouble,” I assure him, trying to nudge him to the side enough that I can grab a fresh pan for the noodles.
