Page 52 of All the Forbidden Things
“You’ve been busy.”
I nod. “Time on my hands. When Layla sleeps, I work.”
“Babies don’t sleep that much forever. Have you thought about how you’re gonna cope once she’s crawling, walking? When we’re in the studio, on tour?”
Only for about twenty-three hours a day. I’m constantly calling into question my decision to fight for full custody.
Jake interrupts before I can respond. “Whitney will just have to help out then.”
“I’m not leaving her with Whit while we tour, I want her with me.”
“That’s . . .” Cal shakes his head and shrugs.
“How? How you gonna do that? How can you be in the studio, on stage, attending meet and greets with a baby in tow?” Jake, again not holding back.
Cal’s phone pings with a message, he passes me the joint he’d been smoking and pulls his phone from his back pocket. “Dinner’s ready,” he announces.
My belly rumbles at the thought of one of Mel’s roasts. I pass the joint back.
“You don’t want any?” Cal asks.
I shake my head. “I’ve got a baby to take care of.”
“The girls have got her covered.”
“And later, when you all leave? I need to have my head on straight, Cal. I want full custody and can’t do anything that might fuck this up.”
He stares at me for a few seconds. We’re both standing in the middle of my small studio, Jake still seated behind the piano watching us.
“I get all of that, Max, but you’ve gotta take a bit of time for you. You’re taking on a lot, doing this all by yourself.”
I instantly feel defensive.
“There are parents all around the world raising kids single-handedly. My mum did it, so did your dad. We turned out okay.”
“That’s debatable,” Jake quips.
We ignore him.
“But they don’t do the job you do or have the commitments you have. Most single parents don’t spend twelve weeks locked away in a studio for twenty hours a day. They don’t catch four planes in one day, spend twelve hours on a tour bus with fuck knows how many hairy-arsed men and all the germs and grime that entails, and—” He pauses for effect. “I’m pretty sure when they get offered help, they accept it.”
My jaw is so tight I have pain shooting through my temple.
“I have no problem accepting help, my mum’s here most days of the week. What I won’t entertain is Whitney having custody of my daughter while I tour, and I won’t accept a tug on a joint that might lead to me not gaining full custody of my daughter. What if there’s an emergency later, what if I need to drive her somewhere?”
I stare my best friend in the face.
“I’m sorry,” Cal finally shakes his head and says. “Kenz is practically an adult now and I forget how it is when they’re little and need you for every single thing, and … I’ve never had to do it on my own.”
“You need to find some permanent help,” Jake adds.
“I’m working on it.”
I wasn’t. I hated the idea of leaving Layla with anyone except Mum, but I wasn’t about to admit that.
“I mean it, Max, I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how fucking hard things are for you right now, and the last thing you need is me encouraging you to do stupid shit.”
I shrug but remain silent.
