It was a seriously jerk move of Grant. But that was him. It always had been. He’d called me the night before, completely screwing my shift at work. Then, knowing I was at the bar until late because I had to close up and wouldn’t get back home until the wee hours of the morning, he called again well before I would wake for the day. In fact, when he called, I had only been asleep for two hours. That was on purpose. He just wanted more fodder.
I had to call him back. We couldn’t keep putting off the conversation hovering at the other end. As much as I didn’t want to talk to him, we had to make decisions about Remy. I dreaded every second of it. Dealing with my ex and his family was never a fun experience. Now that they had Remy, it had only gotten worse.
I didn’t know what I expected from the arrangement. When I finally accepted they were going to take my son, I tried to tell myself it was what was best for him. Even though my heart told me that wasn’t true. I had to unclench my fingers from around the phone and face talking with Grant. Remy deserved a mother in his life. It wasn’t his fault he was saddled with me.
That thought gave me the boost of motivation I needed. Latching onto it before I could lose my nerve again, I dialed Grant. I expected him not to answer. That would be just like him. He liked to taunt me, to keep me dangling. It was very well-known that he expected me to be at his beck and call. I should be readily accessible to him at any moment, and if I wasn’t, he held it over me. But if I needed to speak with him, he had no compulsion to extend the same courtesy to me. There was always an excuse. And that excuse was always carefully orchestrated to make me feel inadequate. It was a reminder that according to both him and his parents, I wasn’t good enough. I was less than them, and I needed to remember it.
He didn’t prove me wrong. The phone rang a dozen times before clicking off. No voicemail inbox. No offering to send a text alert. It just turned off. Another surge of anger rushed up through me. It was the fiery feeling I had in me all night the night before at the bar. I called again and the same thing happened. It took two more attempts before Grant’s voice came over the line.
“Nice of you to finally get back to me,” he snapped.
“This is the fourth time I’ve called. You didn’t bother to answer the other three,” I said.
“You’ll have to excuse me. I was busy doing my braille lessons. If you cared enough to even try them, you might understand how challenging and time-consuming they can be. But I guess that would be just too much to ask.”
Impressive. We hadn’t even actually started the conversation and were already in a fight. That might be a record. Usually Grant could at least exchange greetings and get into the purpose of a call before insulting my parenting.
“Remy is barely three years old,” I said.
“So that means you don’t need to bother yet?” he asked. “My parents started learning weeks before I did. They actually want to connect with him and try to understand the world from his perspective.”
“Being able to interpret braille isn’t going to make them understand what it’s like to be blind, Grant. If he could see, you wouldn’t be trying to teach him to read. You’re only doing this because you think it makes you look impressive,” I said.
“My parents said you would say something like that. They knew you would try to find fault in me connecting with my son.”
The second mention of his parents in thirty seconds got my blood boiling.
“Again, learning how to read braille is not being there for him. If you really wanted to connect with him and understand his experience with the world, there are plenty of other things you could do. But I didn’t call to talk about this. We need to make some decisions about Remy and our visitation schedule.”
“You’re right. That’s something we need to discuss. My parents suggest monthly supervised visits in our home or a place of our choosing,” he said.
I was so stunned by the statement, I couldn’t speak. There was no way I actually heard that correctly. Grant was a lot of things, but straight up stupid wasn’t one of them. He couldn’t genuinely think I would go for that.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said.
“I’m in no way kidding you. Remy is finally in a stable home, and that’s the way it should stay. Bouncing around from place to place all the time isn’t good for him. He’s going to be confused and upset, and that is disruptive for any child. But particularly one with a disability,” Grant said.