The Kids Are Alright
There are twelve messages from Matt waiting for Mohinder at the hotel front desk in Prague.
Twelve messages and he's been in the city for less than four hours.
"Matt, oh god, Matt, what's happened? Is it Molly? Did something--is Molly hurt?" He's bow string tense, gripping the phone hard enough to crack the plastic.
"Where the fuck have you been?" Matt explodes at him and Mohinder holds the phone away from his ear. "I've been calling your cell every fifteen minutes!"
Mohinder closes his eyes. Behind his lids he can see his cell phone charger sitting thousands of miles away on the dresser in their bedroom.
"I—I'm sorry, Matt. My phone…I must have neglected to charge it. And then neglected to bring the charger as well."
"You did what! What the fuck kind of genius scientist forgets to charge his phone before a transatlantic flight? What if you had crashed? What if your plane went down in some remote mountain region and you were forced to resort to cannibalism or something? Huh? Didya think of that?"
No, he can quite honestly say he never thought of that possibility before. Although he will now. Obsessively. Before every single flight.
"Alright, first of all, I don't think my cell phone plane covers remote plane crashes anyway. Second, I'm in Europe, not the jungles of South America."
"There are mountains in Europe." Matt's tone takes on an air of petulance and Mohinder is torn between being completely unable to contemplate the sudden left turn this conversation has taken and relief that whatever the crisis is, it seems to be manageable enough Matt is willing to argue with him over hypothetical plane crashes.
"What? The Alps? I'd be discovered by a St. Bernard and rescued long before I ever got hungry enough to contemplate eating a fellow passenger. Now that we've settled that, would you mind telling me what the hell is going on?"
There's a long silence on the other end of the line and Mohinder can almost reach out and touch the fear and anxiety echoing off of Matt from clear across the ocean.
"Uh…you remember Janice, right?"
Once again Mohinder holds the phone away from his ear, this time to stare at the object in utter disbelief.
"Janice…Janice your ex-wife?"
"That would…uh…that would be the one. She and—she—things ended with her and Tom."
Well, how bloody fucking tragic for her.
"I see."
Matt makes a noise that sounds like a small animal getting its leg caught in a trap.
"No, you don't see. She called. She called and she…oh god, I can't believe I'm saying this…it's just…I can't…"
Matt is practically hyperventilating on the other end of the line and Mohinder instantly goes weak kneed with panic. He knows where this is going. Reconciliation. Ten years of marriage, we can't just throw it away. No hard feelings, Mohinder, but this is our second chance and you were just a mad near death fluke.
Matt's next words are blurted out, quick and ugly like pulling off a band-aid.
"The kid's mine. Her baby. My—he's my son. Our son. His name is Samuel. Sam. And he's my son, Mohinder."
He's going to throw up. He's surely going to throw up any moment all over the lovely marble floor of this hotel and the prissy looking concierge is going to hate him.
"So you're calling…"
To let me know you won't be there when I get home?
"To tell you. To tell you that…Jesus fucking Christ, I have a son. Janice called me on the phone to tell me I have a son. Who the fuck does that kind of thing over the phone?"
"Matthew, you're on the phone right now."
"But I don't want to be! I wouldn't be forced to do this if you weren't in fucking Prague, for fuck's sake! I want you here with me and Molly! I need you here to keep me from losing my ever loving mind."
Matt's words filter through, a tiny little pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel and Mohinder is almost dizzy with relief. He grabs hold of the desk in a desperate attempt to keep from falling over.
"You mean…you don't want…you're staying?"
"What do you mean I'm staying? When was I leaving? Is that—is that what you want?" Matt sounds completely devastated at the possibility. "Wha--what? Why? You're dumping me over this? Just like that? She wasn't newly pregnant! It's not like I cheated on you! And I swear I had no idea this was going to happen! She told me he wasn't mine and I believed her!"
"I'm not breaking up with you! I thought…" Mohinder bites his tongue and pinches the bridge of his nose. He's starting to get a headache. "You know what, forget about what I thought you meant. You tell me what you meant."
"She—Janice, god she doesn't want him. Sam. She doesn't want Sam. She tried or she says she tried but she can't do it and her firm offered her a position in London and she want to take it. She cried and said she's sorry and I don't know if it's sorry for lying, or sorry for leaving, or sorry for the fact that part of her is terrified the kid is going to grow up to wish her into a cornfield someday, but she doesn't want him and I -I do, Mohinder. I want to do this with you, raise him, be his parents, if you're…are you still there?"
He wants them to do what? Adopt an infant? Take in the child from his went down in a ball of flames failed marriage? The baby that until yesterday, they both believed wasn't even his? In what universe was this a good idea? What in the world does he know about babies? Mohinder looks around the hotel lobby, half amazed that everyone is obliviously going about their business as his life flips upside down.
There's a pained silence on the other end of the line.
"Mohinder?"
This is where he's supposed to assure Matt he's fully supportive of this plan. Reassure Matt he'll make a wonderful father and that there's nothing to fear, but the words are stuck in his throat which much to his alarm seems to be closing off preventing him from breathing. Could anyone blame him? Unexpected pregnancies were not supposed to be one of the things he'd ever thought he'd have to worry about.
But this wasn't just any unexpected pregnancy. Wasn't just any child. It was Matt's child. Samuel. He tests the weight of the name on his tongue and forces his muscles to relax.
"I'm here, Matt. I just needed to collect myself. It's a lot to take in. But we can do this. We'll be alright. We're going to be fine."
"That-that's all you have to say? That's your big comforting advice? God, you suck at this. Do you even believe that crap?"
Mohinder seriously contemplates beating himself to death with the phone.
"Of course I don't, Matthew!" He forces himself to lower his voice when a group of German tourists begin to stare at him. "I'm absolutely bloody terrified right now! But we'll be fine are the sort of platitudes one is supposed to offer in this kind of situation!"
"See, that right there, you being scared, that actually does make me feel better."
Mohinder can't suppress a half hysterical snort of laughter.
"Glad I could help. I'll be home in a week. Unless you want me to call Bob and…no, let's not even contemplate getting him involved, shall we? I'll be home in a week. Will you and Molly be alright until then? Will we need to go out to California? Hire an attorney?"
Matt's voice is muffled and indistinct over the other end of the line.
"What was that?"
"…not necessary. Janice drew up the paperwork already. Full revocation of parental rights. She wants…she's supposed to be in London by the end of the week. He can be here in two days. She wants him to be here in two days. Was rather adamant about it in fact."
Two days. He's scheduled to be overseas for eight. Matt's going to be on his own for six days and Mohinder can hear it all in his voice. Fear and hurt and terror and all of those old doubts and insecurities, not good enough, all my fault, she doesn't want him because he's mine, in every syllable. He wants nothing more than to fly to California and strangle the woman.
"I love you, Matt. I love you and I miss you and we'll be fine."
"Yeah, why don't you work on that last one for the next week? I'm still not buying it." Matt swallows audibly, and his voice cracks. "But even still, I love you, too."
Staticy, tinny across the distance, but the words are true. Mohinder feels it in his bones and for the next week, that'll have to be enough.
In the next few days, Mohinder gets better at saying "We'll be fine.", but not any better at believing it.
In the safety of his hotel room, late at night in the dark when these kinds of truths always sneak up on you, he knows he is most definitely not fine.
His entire world is a haze of frantic e-mails, phone calls (he buys a new charger and the power converter that goes with it at a horrifically inflated price because one more call to the front desk and he's convinced the hotel management will kick him out), and text messaging.
With Sam's arrival, the frequency of phone calls impossibly doubles. None of them are particularly coherent. They're filled with observations such as—"Oh my God, Mohinder! Mohinder, this is a green not found in nature! There's got to be—how can something this small create something this disgusting! What if—oh, man, what if that's his power? The ability to peel paint and melt retinas with the power of his poop? My son is the mad shitter! That's like the lamest superhero ever!" and--"Don't cry, please don't cry, Sammy. Is that the I'm hungry wail or the change me wail? Oh shit, is this a totally new one? Could you just—come on, little man, could you just try to give me a rough idea of what you mean?"
Thankfully, the one silver lining in this whole disaster is that despite the smells and the screaming, Molly adores Sam immediately. Gushes about how cute he is and marvels at his ability to fit his whole foot in his mouth. She chatters away every night absolutely certain in the belief he'll feel the same. Delighted that when he comes home they'll get to be one big happy non-traditional family.
Mohinder knows he should be grateful. Grateful that their girl is being so mature about suddenly being thrust into the role of big sister. He should see Molly as some sort of reassurance they can do this, that he and Matt are good parents and despite his uncertainty they'll muddle through somehow.
But he can't look at it like that. Because while he loves Molly, couldn't ever imagine not loving Molly, that situation isn't at all the same.
Molly is an eight year old girl.
An eight year old girl who when she came into his life had already been through all of the more messy and hair pulling stages of human development. The heavy lifting had been done for them. Sam is a three month old baby. A totally blank slate. There are opportunities to screw him up he and Matt have never even contemplated.
And if that were the extent of his fears, he wouldn't feel so terrible. He's sure any parent worries about such matters. But no, that's just the tip of the unrepentant bastard iceberg.
He feels terrible because deep down he's not sure if he can love Sam. It's terribly selfish. He is a terrible, awful, selfish person. He's fully aware of it and makes no attempt to deny it. Has never attempted to deny it, it's one of the maddening traits inherent to most intellectuals. Matt is very aware of this less than admirable quality and loves him anyway. At least he did. That is, of course, doomed to change. Because worse than being selfish, unforgivably so, Matt realizing it the moment he comes home and gathering Molly up and walking away from him without a backwards glance, is how angry he is. Angry and resentful of this squirming squalling intruder who has invaded his life, shaken up the good thing he and Matt have managed to create despite themselves.
When Matt e-mails him the first apartment ad, 'Three bedrooms in Queens? Think we could swing it?' Mohinder almost considers putting a hole in the wall. Breaking into the mini-bar. Throwing a temper tantrum of epic proportions. This is completely unfair. He did not sign up for this. He's not the one who impregnated a clearly unstable woman and now he has to give up his home? His last ties to his father? He's supposed to turn his life upside down for a baby that isn't even his? Why did he ever agree to this? He doesn't owe Matt anything. They've been together for less than a year. He'd be fully justified in calmly and rationally explaining that while he does love Matt, no question of that, he's not ready to accept this sort of responsibility.
And worst than being selfish, worse than the anger and resentment, even though those feelings are more than enough to make Matt hate him forever is this: Molly is theirs. She came into their lives and brought them together, Molly made them a family. Sam is different. Sam is entirely and undeniably Matt's. Part of him, Matt's flesh and blood, part of the past that was supposed to be the past and now he's there in New York while Mohinder is trapped in Europe and when he gets back to New York, back home to a home that isn't his home anymore, he has absolutely no idea where he stands in the grand scheme of things.
Mohinder remembers a trip out with Molly. A woman lecturing him in the grocery store when he dared to kiss Molly in front of her. "You shouldn't act so familiar with your charge. That's not what you're paid for, you know."
His hand had itched to slap the smug just sucked a lemon expression off of her face. He'd wanted to say, "I'm her father. I'm her father because I have the adoption papers all nice and less than legal to prove it. I'm her father because I sit up with her at night when she cries and worry when she's sick and because I love her and you don't know what you're talking about, don't know us." Instead, he'd put his arm around Molly's shoulders and led her away before he did something he wouldn't regret.
That sort of thing never happens with Matt. Matt holds Molly out to be his daughter and by virtue of their shared skin color, no one questions it for a moment. Never mind that they don't look anything alike, they're what is expected, they fit together.
And now Matt and Molly have had six days with Sam—who is Matt's son, Matt's DNA and after a lifetime of studying it, Mohinder knows how important that distinction is--to adjust to this new member of the family.
And even if he does manage not to fail spectacularly at this, even is he does manage to learn all of the routines and schedules and behaviors, all of the little tricks, "If you tickle the bottom of his feet, he stops crying." that are already becoming second nature to them, what's the most he has to hope for?
He's the pseudo-I guess if you're up to it-sort of-kind of-maybe-close enough-step-father. He's less than nothing. Even Janice, Janice who abandoned the child, has more of a claim to him.
So when he steps off the plane, which to his disappointment does not crash in a remote mountain region, stuffed St. Bernard in his carry-on bag (baby's liked stuffed animals, didn't they? Unless he has to worry about Sam choking to death on one of the plastic eyes and why hadn't he thought of that earlier? He's a total failure already. Why not just give the child a pocket knife and let him have at it?) he's sure that slipping away and sneaking on the flight to Fiji currently boarding is absolutely the most fantastic idea ever proposed in the history of ever.
And then he sees them.
He's fairly certain Molly hasn't combed her hair the entire time he's been gone, but she's grinning from ear to ear and practically tackles him in a hug the second she spots him.
"Mohinder! Mohinder, I missed you so, so, so, so, so much! Come see, Sammy! He's the cutest baby in the world!" She doesn't so much lead him towards the rest of their party as drag him forward. Mohinder is helpless to do anything but let her.
Matt has a diaper bag so overflowing he's almost tipping over with it, blood shot eyes, and spit up on his shoulder. He looks like the best thing Mohinder's ever seen. He wants nothing more than to fling his arms around Matt and try to convert him to all the wonderful possibilities of Fiji.
But Molly's practically vibrating with excitement by his side and Matt's watching him, shifting from foot to foot, looking tense and miserable, so it seems Fiji will have to wait.
Mohinder crouches down to peek into the stroller at his competition.
Staring back at him is Matt's face in miniature, wild shock of dark hair and bright eyes the color of coffee beans. Mohinder's heart squeezes painfully in his chest. When he tentatively reaches out to touch one of Sam's tiny little hands, the baby grabs his finger and shoves it into his mouth.
And that's it. No going back, no chance of fighting it. For the third time in his life, Mohinder falls in love at first sight.
"So? Uh, what do you think?"
What did he think? He thinks he wants to bury his face in Sam's hair and breathe in the clean scent of his baby shampoo. He thinks the miniscule nails on his toes are the most incredible thing he's ever seen. He thinks a three bedroom in Queens sounds like heaven.
"What can I think? He's perfect. He looks just like you."
He pulls Matt into a hug, holds him as if his life depends on it, and kisses him in the middle of the airport despite Molly's cries of, "You guys, that's totally gross. People can see you."
Sam seems to not mind the public display of affection in the least judging from the way he waves his fists and gurgles happily.
Matt laughs, joyful, giddy, relieved laughter and pulls him impossibly closer.
"Looks like you've been outvoted, Molly-doll."
Matt's stubble rasps against his chin, warm breath in his ear, "Missed you so, so, so, so, so much, too."
Mohinder's still scared. Utterly terrified. But they're going to make this work somehow. They're going to be fine.
This time, he can believe it.