Page 93 of Margo's Got Money Troubles

“Well, look, it worked!” She pointed at Bodhi on my lap.

I stared at her, trembling with rage. “I could have lost him,” I said. “Mom, the investigation is still ongoing. I could still lose Bodhi!”

“Oh, they’re not going to take him away if you stop doing the OnlyFans,” Shyanne said, waving her hand to brush away the idea.

My heart was beating faster and faster. It would have been one thing if I thought she was scared for Bodhi, but I didn’t believe that for a second. “If you were really worried, wouldn’t you have, I don’t know, called?! Dropped by?”

“We weren’t exactly on speaking terms!” she said. “Once you posted all that on Facebook! I mean, honestly, Margo, what were you thinking!”

“Mom, I didn’t post those. Why would you think I posted those? I was doxxed. You could see it right there—the account that posted them was called SlutSleuths!”

“Well, I didn’t see that,” Shyanne said. “I thought you were advertising.”

“Jesus Christ,” I said. There was a feeling like I was going to laugh or vomit. She was a fucking idiot.

“Well, however it happened,” Shyanne said, “it doesn’t matter, because Kenny saw it, and once he knew, he wouldn’t let go of it, how it wasn’t right for a child to grow up in a home like that, how we were guilty of child abuse if we stood by and let it happen. And he made me!”

“He made you?” I pushed up from the table, not able to remain sitting any longer. Bodhi picked up on the vibe shift and began to whimper in my arms.

“I couldn’t get a moment’s peace! And the more he said it, I mean, I didn’t think you should be doing that either! I didn’t like that you were doing”—she struggled for what to call it, then hissed—“all that. I thought it would teach you a lesson. This is about you and your decisions. Trying to blame this on me.”

She rose from the table too and paced around the room, sucking on her red drink through her straw. Her face looked hyperreal in the buzzing fluorescent kitchen light. My eyes were streaming with tears, and all I could think was: Why doesn’t she love me? What did I do that this is all the love I get?

“Margo, I’m sorry,” my mother said, closing the distance between us. She reached out and squeezed my shoulder. Her hand felt cold. “I’m sorry,” she whisper-hissed, “but what was I supposed to do? Kenny isn’t exactly the most adjustable guy!”

“Then why did you marry him?”

She squeezed my arm hard, whispered, “You don’t think every day I wonder if I made a mistake? But it’s the choice I made. It was the only choice I thought I could make at the time.”

It must have been dizzying, Jinx showing up with those roses. There had to be a part of her that considered ditching Kenny then and there. But Kenny was a sure thing. That was his whole deal. And here she was asking me to understand how fucked the world was and how trapped she was within it. She’d been asking me to do that my whole life, and I always, always had. I’d understood she couldn’t magically make Jinx stay and love us. I’d understood she needed romance and that meant dating men I didn’t like or want around. I’d understood she needed to work weekends, I’d understood we didn’t have that much money, I’d understood she needed a beer after work, I’d understood when cooking dinner was beyond her. I loved her. I understood it all.

But sometimes understanding wasn’t enough.

“Don’t take your judgment and shame over how I was making a living and try to pretend it’s love,” I spat, “that you’re concerned, or that you did it for my own good. You don’t care about what’s good for me, what’s best for us. You care about not pissing off your new husband so you can keep dressing in Lululemon and seeing your personal trainer.”

Shyanne made a noise of disbelief. She didn’t seem to know how else to respond.

“Stay out of my life,” I said. “Just stay out!”

And then I walked out, hobbling on my bad ankle, my baby sobbing in my arms. The moment we got outside into the bright sun, he quieted, looked around, amazed at having been plunged into a beautiful day. Trees wavered around us, dappling the sidewalks with fluttering shade.

No, I thought, as I walked to my car. I didn’t know what I was saying no to, what I meant, only that the word was right. No.

No fucking way. Not like this.

When I got home, Jinx was out looking at apartments and Suzie was in class, so there was no one to talk to and share what had happened. I put Bodhi down for a nap and began folding laundry, not sure what else to do, when my phone dinged with an email from Ward. All it said was: How do you like them apples? There was an attachment, a PDF titled 730EvalReportCase#288862. I’ve never clicked so hard on anything in my life.

The whole first five pages were a maddening labyrinth of check boxes detailing exactly who had ordered the evaluation and what it was supposed to include, who had paid for it, what legal constraints were placed upon it. Then there was a page with big bold letters at the top: RECOMMENDATIONS.

The custodial placement that would best serve the interests of the child regarding the child’s health, safety and welfare, and safety of all family members is:

Physical Custody: Mother ??

Legal Custody: Mother ??

I gasped and continued scrolling, desperate to read more, to understand what it meant, if it was binding. Toward the end, the form-like structure fell away and there was a written report.

I was appointed by the court at the request of the child “Bodhi Millet’s” Father “Mark Gable” to assess the psychological fitness and ability to parent of “Bodhi’s” Mother “Margo Millet.” In the event that “Margo” is found psychologically fit, Father “Mark” asks she retain full legal and physical custody. “Margo” also wants to retain full legal and physical custody, significantly simplifying the question the court was posing when it commissioned the report: Is “Margo Millet” able to provide a healthy and safe environment for “Bodhi”? And in the event she is not, what would the best environment for “Bodhi” be?

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