Page 165 of Clinically Delicious
“Objection!” Anthony was on his feet. “Counsel is badgering the witness.”
“Sustained,” Judge Winters said. “Mr. Castellano, ask questions, don’t make speeches.”
“Apologies, Your Honor.” Richard turned back to me. “Mrs. Lyon, are you qualified to care for children?”
Breathe.
Just breathe.
“I have a degree in culinary arts,” I said.
“So you’ve never worked with children before?”
“No.”
“So you have no experience in child-rearing?”
What is he trying to say? That I’m not qualified because I don’t have a degree in Childhood Education?
I felt something hot and sharp rising in my chest.
“My experience,” I said slowly, “is that I love Megan like she’s my own daughter. I take care of her every day. I make her breakfast, help her with her homework, and read her stories at night. I know that she likes her sandwiches cut diagonally, notstraight across. I know that she’s afraid of thunderstorms but loves the rain. I know that she wants to be a veterinarian when she grows up, or maybe an astronaut, depending on the day. I know—”
Stop.
Stop talking.
You’re doing it again.
But I couldn’t stop.
“—that she has nightmares sometimes about dragons, and I sit with her until she falls back asleep. I know that she’s brilliant and funny and kind, and she deserves to be with people who love her unconditionally, not people who only want her when it’s convenient.”
“Mrs. Lyon—” Richard tried to interrupt.
“—and yes, maybe I haven’t been in her life as long as some people, but I’m THERE. Every single day. I’m there when she wakes up and when she goes to sleep, and for every moment in between. I’m there when she’s happy and when she’s sad and when she breaks her arm falling off a skateboard—”
Oh no.
Oh no, why did I mention the broken arm?
“—which was an accident, by the way, and could have happened to anyone, and I got her to the hospital fast and stayed with her the entire time, and she was so brave, and I was so scared, and—”
“Your Honor.” Richard was trying again.
But I was on a roll now, the words pouring out like I’d opened a dam.
“—and I know I’m not perfect. I know I talk too much when I’m nervous, and I stress-bake, and I have weird dreams about ninjas with butter knives—”
From the gallery, I heard someone choke.
Was that Fitz?
Oh God, Fitz is here.
They’re all here.
Watching me have a complete meltdown on the witness stand.
