“That won’t happen,” he said firmly. “I’ll get the guardianship.”
“I hope so. Cecily’s counting on it. And just how are you planning on providing for the kids? Cecily said something about you doing yard work.”
“I kind of started a landscaping company,” Isaiah admitted, bracing for his father’s groan, which came right away.
“Isaiah. I did not work every day from when I was fourteen until now so you could do yard work. I did not send you to the best schools, pay for your degrees. Plural. You are one thesis away from a master’s. Finish it, son.”
“It just wasn’t for me.” This was an old, tired argument.
“Then take a job using one of your other degrees. I’m emailing you a list of suitable openings at the university. I know these children inherited a considerable sum, but the court is not going to want to hear about yard work. Get gainful employment. Build a solid reputation. Get a house with a yard, if you must.”
“I really like designing gardens. I love working outside.” He looked around him at Lydia and Jane’s transformed backyard. He’d done all this. The sense of satisfaction was more than he’d ever gotten from passing a class. But his dad wasn’t going to see that. This was probably why his father hadn’t put up a fuss when Isaiah came out—he had so many other things to complain about where Isaiah was concerned, so many disappointments.
“It’s time for you to grow up. The whole family is counting on you.” His father’s voice was stern. And like Isaiah didn’t know that, didn’t know how badly Aunt Cecily needed contact with the kids to keep her going.
“Maybe this is me growing up.” God, why couldn’t anyone be proud of him? Happy for him?
Mark is. That thought grounded him. Mark had praised his job with the grounds at the house, had looked at his pictures of plans for Lydia and Jane, had even had suggestions for his website. Mark believed in him. That was something.
In the days since their bathroom conversation, things had been less tense. Mark needed time. It was understandable even if Isaiah hated it. They had moved awfully fast, and they were both still reeling from Cal and Danielle’s deaths. Mark needed space to grieve, to figure out who he was, what he wanted from his future. So Isaiah was trying to give him that room, even as in other ways they felt closer than ever, Mark sleeping upstairs most nights.
“A grownup would put the children first. His reputation. His future security. All that.”
“I am doing that by building this company.” I think. I hope.
“On that, we’ll just have to disagree. I’ll be home in a few weeks. We’ll revisit this then.” Isaiah’s father sounded disgusted, nothing new there. “Just don’t let Cecily down, son.”
“I won’t.” Isaiah ended the call before they could argue more. Besides, he needed to hurry if he was going to make it to the school on time. His father was never going to understand what a juggling act Isaiah had going with the kids and the business—his father had never been a hands-on parent, never been there for school pickup or bedtime routines, leaving all that to Aunt Cecily. But Isaiah wasn’t going to be that way. He wanted to build this business because it would give him the flexibility he needed to be the kind of person the kids needed.
He liked getting the girls from school, liked hearing their chatter in the car, liked doing their lunch and nap time routine.
But his resolve was tested when he got the mail after getting the kids settled. A big, official-looking envelope from the local court system with his name on it. Oh fuck.
He opened it with shaking hands. The court investigator was setting a meeting date and time. So much for months and months of waiting time. There was a list of everything he needed to bring with him. Including proof of income and proof of residency. They wanted a plan for where the children would live and where they would go to school. All the things he’d been punting on, thinking he had more time.
And now he didn’t. He went over his finances, reviewing his bank statements, trying to guess what the court would think of his meager income. The business was growing, but cash flow was an issue. And he had his inheritance from his mother, but he’d been dipping into that fairly regularly that spring. It wouldn’t last forever.
But it would be enough to get them a place. Small. Nothing like this, of course, but maybe not terribly far into the burbs. He wanted to be able to keep his Coronado clients, wanted Mark to be able to visit. Hell. Would Mark want to visit? Would all this disappear once he sold this place? And he really needed to know Mark’s plans in that regard. How long did he have?