Not Afraid of Life (21 page)

I’d grown so tired of my personal dramas being discussed on television and newsstands that I hoped to figure out the custody issue in the privacy of my own misery. My lawyer and I asked the judge to allow us to file using fake names, in order to keep the records from being made public and picked up in the news. Initially, the judge issued temporary orders, which limited access to our file and allowed us to file under John and Jane Doe. I was so relieved!

But then Levi—and his attorney, whom he met while representing his mother in her drug-dealing charges—went public with the case. He said,

I do not feel protected against Sarah Palin in a closed proceeding. I hope that if it is open she will stay out of it. . . . I think a public case might go a long way in reducing Sarah Palin’s instinct to attack and allow the real parties in this litigation, Bristol and I, to work things out a lot more peacefully than we could if there is any more meddling from Sarah Palin.

When a reporter asked what he meant by “meddling,” Levi couldn’t produce one example. That’s because Levi wasn’t afraid of my mother. He just knew that a long, drawn-out custody battle would damage our family’s public image, create more drama, and provide opportunities for Levi to make more money. Plus, he could use the publicity to sell more articles.

And our problems were once again thrust into the public spotlight. On top of all this, he still almost never saw Tripp. As Christmas approached, I started feeling bad about the fact that my son couldn’t even recognize his own father. That’s when I texted Levi and made a suggestion:

Let’s take Tripp out together for his birthday.

I knew I shouldn’t have, but it just felt weird that a big milestone—like a birthday—would come and go without a dad there. I tried to keep it on the down low. If Mom and Dad—or anyone—found out I’d reached out to him, they wouldn’t have understood. When Levi agreed, I chose an Anchorage Red Robin as a place to eat. We went on a weeknight when it wasn’t busy, around nine o’clock, to avoid anyone who might know us.

This was the first time we’d been in the same vicinity in a long time, so I was interested in how he’d respond to seeing me and his son. I’d wanted to work out a time for them to see each other, but Levi just never seemed like he cared. The fact that he was willing to meet us seemed like a good development.

Would it be possible to actually have a family? To get married and have a life together? Could he possibly be sorry for spreading lies about my family on national television? Had he changed?

He slid into his seat across from me and Tripp, with hickeys all over this neck.

“How disrespectful!” I said to him in disbelief. “Why would you show up for your son’s birthday like that? At least cover those up with a scarf or something.”

“I got them from some drunk girl,” he said, as if that made sense. As if the alcohol on the lips of an intoxicated girl is somehow magnetically attracted to his neck. It was the same situation as seeing Levi three years ago with hickeys.

I somehow managed to get through the meal in spite of my disappointment. But the first person I called when I got home was Ben.

“Would you believe he’d show up looking like that?” I asked.

Ben paused before answering. “Well, you know,” he said, “Levi
has
been dating a girl with a kid for a while now.”

My heart stopped.

“A kid?” I asked. “He’s been dating someone with a . . . kid? How old?”

“The same age as Tripp.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Why would Levi hang out with someone else’s baby and not with us?

I broke down completely.

How could he do this to me? Why did I think we could make it work? Why did I take Tripp out past his bedtime just to meet up with such a tool?

I trudged to work the next day, and the next, as I tried to forge my way with Tripp in this world. I was thankful for my work as “Susie,” and enjoyed my relative anonymity in Anchorage.

B
ecause I now had a regular job with a nicer salary, I decided that I wanted to move closer to Anchorage and have my own place. The commute from Wasilla to Anchorage wasn’t too bad. On a good day, it was less than an hour, but snow and ice could sometimes make it more than two hours. As you know, Alaska sometimes has a little snow and ice. Because I’d earned a little bit of money through endorsement deals, didn’t have to pay Mom and Dad rent, and had always been cautious about my budget, I had saved enough money to buy a condo closer to work. So I approached my parents about it.

“Really?” Mom said, her nose scrunched up the way it does when she’s not happy. “But what about that apartment for you and Tripp? You haven’t even finished picking out the colors for the wall.”

She was right, of course. They’d already begun building this great place for me, though it would also house Dad’s plane and later Mom’s studio. I was a big part of how the family worked since Willow didn’t have her driver’s license yet and Track was stationed in Fairbanks. I ran errands and did the grocery shopping in exchange for a free roof over my head. It was a generous arrangement that had allowed me to get my high school degree.

Even though I knew it would disappoint my parents—and complicate their lives—I was sick of the drama of Wasilla, sick of the daily commute, and ready to live on my own. Ben and I were still friends, even though he took my friend to her prom. I decided that we could still hang out as buddies even though romance was not in our future. He was a lot of fun to spend time with, especially because he was game when I suggested calling in sick to work one morning, dropping off Tripp at the sitter’s, and shopping at the mall. It felt so carefree to be shopping without carrying the baby and a diaper bag. Then we drove by condos that we’d seen on Craigslist. It was so much fun to drive by each one slowly, trying to imagine if each could potentially be my first home! Coincidentally, Gino—who followed in his father’s footsteps as a realtor—had e-mailed me the MLS post on a foreclosure that had only been on the market for one day.

In my real estate excitement, I texted back:

Come open it up for me so I can see the inside!

He drove into Anchorage from Wasilla and was surprised to see me sitting in Ben’s truck. That’s the thing about small-town life; everyone is intertwined. Suddenly, my old flames were face-to-face, all so I could peek inside a condo.

It had three bedrooms, two and a half baths, nineteen hundred square feet, with a two-car garage. It had cool high ceilings and wasn’t a cookie-cutter apartment. It had character. By the end of that day, I had already made an offer on the place. When the bank accepted my offer, I was so proud to be able to own my first home at age nineteen—through hard work and careful management of the money I earned from work and my endorsement deals. Because I wanted to protect my “new beginning,” I went to great lengths to purchase the condo privately. I conducted the sale through my attorney’s law firm under the name SM Properties. That way, I figured, I could get out from under the shadow of all the politics and family connections, to start in a new place with my new job.

I was thrilled!

Because my parents weren’t enthusiastic about me moving, I couldn’t exactly ask them for help in moving my things to Anchorage. However, Ben showed up, borrowed Dad’s trailer, and single-handedly moved all of my furniture—my mattress, my bed, my couch, my dishes—from Wasilla to Anchorage. He didn’t stop there. He moved all of my things into my new condo, which was three stories. Now, that’s a good friend!

I immediately started making the condo uniquely mine—with large leather couches, flat-screen televisions, neat rugs, pink kitchen appliances, and—of course—a toddler bed for Tripp. I painted the walls purple, bought a leopard print carpet for the upstairs hallway, and a purple-and-black swirled carpet for the living room. In other words, I made it into a comfortable—yet hip—place for a nineteen-year-old to develop into “home.” I fully expected to have to replace Tripp’s tiny bed with a twin, and then with a full bed as he grew up right there in Anchorage.

But I soon found out that even living there was not enough buffer between me and all of the Levi-produced drama.

“P
uke!” I said, when I found out my son’s father had posed nude for
Playgirl.
I couldn’t imagine that the stories that were circulating about my life on the Internet now suddenly had an element of porn to them.

I
was determined to move on with my life, and I put Levi out of my mind as best I could. When in the spring of 2010,
Harper’s Bazaar
contacted me to do a magazine shoot, I jumped at the chance. It seemed like a fun way to show the world that I’d moved on from the tabloid messiness that had defined my life. They arrived with an entire camera crew, wardrobe, makeup, and even an array of cakes, cookies, strawberries, and other beautiful confections made in Los Angeles and brought to Alaska just for the shoot. The gowns they brought were jaw-dropping. I felt like a princess as I slipped off my jeans and slipped on a Lanvin gown that cost more than $4,000, a Carolina Herrera shrug that cost almost $7,000, and an Isaac Mizrahi gown that cost almost $15,000. It was hilarious to be standing in my kitchen while my hair was curled and sprayed into place, all while Tripp was smearing cake all over his chubby cheeks.

The reporter was there at my condo while we celebrated my brother Trig’s birthday. I’d decorated the condo for the event, with hand-lettered signs and balloons. Mom showed up and chatted with the reporter. It was a fun experience, one that focused on my new self, my new life, and had very little to do with that guy named Levi.

During this time, Ben was a constant friend. Well, he became more than a friend as he listened to all of my complaints and absorbed a lot of my heartache. And we officially started dating after I ran into him around Tripp’s first birthday. Ben is a soft-spoken, hardworking guy. I actually used to babysit his little brother and sister, so we’d been friends for a long time. But the main thing that attracted me to Ben was that he seemed to really love Tripp. I was astonished how easily he played with my son. He’d change his diapers and help me put him down to sleep. We made Costco runs together, he helped me assemble my computer desk, and he stopped by in the evening on the way home from his job near my house. Later, when Tripp was a little older, Ben would put him on a snowmachine and we’d laugh as he tried to ride by himself. He’d stop and go, stop and go. But the whole time, Ben was right there beside him making sure he didn’t fall. It was refreshing to have someone help bear the weight of the responsibility of having a baby. We were inseparable.

Well, not completely inseparable. One day we had a little fight—just a silly argument, but we decided to take a short break to sort things out. We still stayed in touch and we knew we’d be back together as soon as some time had passed.

That’s when my attorneys told me I had to get serious about getting Levi’s visitation schedule set up. Levi kept publicly saying that I was keeping him from seeing his son, and my legal fees were stacking up.

“Okay,” I said to my lawyers. “I’ll take care of it.”

After all, I wanted to put the Levi part of my life behind me as much as anyone.

Chapter
Twelve

Home

Come to Anchorage to set up a schedule to
see Tripp.

In spite of the fact that I never really wanted to
see Levi��s face again, I texted him when my attorneys suggested in May 2010 we
figure out—once and for all—our custody arrangement. No progress had been made
in a year, lies were still being told, and Tripp was still without a father.

I’m not doing this forever, Levi.

A man of very few words, he immediately texted me
back.

Right.

Hardly a surprise. He was always promising things
on which he never followed through. But I
was
surprised when he actually showed up the next day in Anchorage.

I opened the door with Tripp on my hip, expecting
Ricky Hollywood, with his spray tan and skinny jeans and a European handbag full
of excuses. But instead what I saw was an unshaven Levi wearing boots, his camo
jacket, and a camo ball cap. He looked very much like the guy whose locker was
beside mine in seventh grade.

“Come in,” I said, motioning inside my new condo,
thrilled to be able to show it off. I’d been able to care for Tripp in a nice
comfortable setting in spite of Levi’s lack of child support and visitation.
Track’s girlfriend, Britta, lived with me, because I felt a little scared about
living by myself. Nonetheless, I felt like I’d made it “on my own.” Levi seemed
impressed by the tour of the place, and he ruffled Tripp’s hair.

It was a little awkward to have him there, after
all of the bitterness that had passed between us like a bad case of the flu.
“Hey, let’s take Tripp for a walk,” I suggested. At least that would entertain
the baby while we hashed out custody issues.

“So what happened to Ricky Hollywood?” I asked. We
were walking on the sidewalk pushing Tripp in his stroller.

“I gave that up,” he said. “It wasn’t really
me.”

“And what was up with your hair, anyway?”

He took my teasing good-naturedly, and we laughed
as I made fun of his ridiculously fake persona. It was strangely relaxing and
comfortable. Tripp laughed and played quietly, while I asked Levi about his late
child-support payments. The word
late
implies that
he would one day pay them, which we both knew was not the case. Though he’d made
a pretty good amount of money selling his stories to the press and his body to
Playgirl,
he had wasted it on toys, fishing
gear, and a hefty percentage to Rex and Tank. By now, he owed me more than
$20,000 in child care, and I suggested he just sign over his rights and call it
a day.

But the heavy conversation soon yielded to the fun
in the park. Suddenly, instead of a harsh interaction between enemies, it felt
more like we were just two parents passing a nice day in the sun. If you didn’t
know us and were just a stranger walking by, you might have mistaken us for one
happy young family. When we said good-bye, I didn’t hug or kiss him. However, I
felt just briefly the sensation of the way things used to be . . .
before life got so darn complicated.

That night, after I’d put Tripp to bed, my phone
buzzed with a text message.

I miss you, Bristol.

Initially, I was shocked. Here was a guy who’d so
publicly betrayed my family we probably shouldn’t have even been in the same
room. Someone who’d sell his body to make a buck. Someone known primarily for
lies and mistakes and sleaze.

And yet . . .

I sat there alone, and I wondered if I’d really
given “us” a chance as a family. Had I really considered Tripp’s best interests
when I’d tossed Levi out on his butt so many times before? Now that I had a
child, didn’t Tripp deserve to have his father in his life? Could Levi have
really yanked himself from the old persona and seen the light?

It’s hard to explain what I did next. Women
throughout history have looked back at their relationships and wondered how they
could’ve loved a man who treated them so badly. From Hillary Clinton to Sandra
Bullock, from Jackie Kennedy to Jennifer Aniston, from Elin Woods to Princess
Diana. My story is—sadly—not unique. And neither was my response. I texted
back:

I miss you too.

But this time, I told myself, I’d be in control of
our relationship. This time, instead of reeling from his infidelities, I’d stop
them before they happened. This time, instead of watching him indulge in his
teenage obsessions like fishing and hunting, I’d help him learn how to grow into
a man and an attentive father. Levi’s dad hadn’t been the best role model: he’d
had a long-term affair when he was with Levi’s mom, and eventually left her for
the other woman. Perhaps this was the reason Levi had abandoned me and Tripp. He
simply never learned how to act in a mature relationship.

That was about to change.

The next day, he came over—Levi again, not
Ricky—and we sat together commemorating our new relationship. But instead of
celebrating with a candlelit dinner, we began it with a spiral notebook and a
ballpoint pen. I was making a list.

“Okay, if this is going to work out, we have to
agree on some terms,” I said. Normally, I’m not a bossy, controlling girlfriend,
but if I was going to risk upsetting my family for this guy, it absolutely had
to work. One way to guarantee that everyone was on the same page was to spell
out his obligations and my expectations. Here is my list, almost verbatim
. . . (I edited it to eliminate the profanity, which I’d added to make
a point to Levi!)

1. Protection: I shouldn’t feel threatened by
your family. You should protect Tripp and me before anyone else.

2. Respect: I don’t deserve to be treated
poorly and called a b—ch.

3. Forever love: Not just now, but forever.

4. Willingness to change: I can’t hold your
hand and guide you through life.

5. Love for our child: You have to try to be a
good dad to Tripp.

6. Appreciation: Be grateful for the two of
us.

7. Dedication: Try to improve yourself for our
family.

8. Honesty: Commit to me and only me.

9. Devotion: Be here for us consistently.

10. Stability: When are you getting a job? An
education?

11. Motivation: Start doing stuff for
yourself.

12. Maturity: Spend time with Tripp, not just
fishing 24/7. You can’t spend all your money on fishing gear. Have to help out
with the bills.

13. Controlling your anger: You know you have a
temper.

14. Regret: I want you to feel regret for
everything you have done to me. Regret for how much you have disrespected my
entire family. Regret for missing so much of Tripp’s life.

15. Apology: You need to apologize to my
family, publicly and privately.

16. Education: You need to get your GED. I
tried to push you into doing this, but you have to have motivation yourself.

At the bottom of the paper, I wrote, “I’ve given up
all of my life to be the best mom I can be. Why do you go fishing without even
thinking twice about it? Why do I feel guilty about spending $200 when you throw
money down on pointless gear?”

But the part that haunts me now is the last
sentence, on a totally different page. “Why don’t you have emotion toward Tripp
and me?”

That question should’ve caused me to pause, to
protect my son, me, and the rest of my family from Levi. But writing it down on
paper made me feel like I owned the situation just a tad more and gave me a
false security of “setting the terms.” This time, I thought, things would be
different. This will be the moment we look back on when we’re old and gray and
sitting in our rocking chairs, and we’ll laugh and say, “Yes, that’s when
everything turned around for us . . . after all the chaos of the
campaign, after all the immaturity of high school, after our love for Tripp
transformed our love for each other . . . it all came together after
the day we took our son for a walk.”

He quickly agreed to all of my stipulations. He
promised to get a job, get his GED, and quit having that weird relationship with
his obsessed sister, who was always trying to hook him up with her friends and
had physically threatened me when I was pregnant. Most of all, he said he would
apologize to Mom and Dad—publicly and privately—for all of his lies.

Suddenly, life seemed a lot “fuller” as our
almost-but-not-quite family began trying to make things right.

S
ome
time after Levi and I got back together, I went to the mailbox and found a card,
addressed to “SM Properties, LLC,” in a yellow envelope. Inside was a white
piece of copy machine paper, with this message written in pink highlighter:

B.P. –

We know
. . .

And so do they
. . .

My heart sank. Who would know that “B.P.” was
really SM Properties? And what does “so do they” mean?

I was about to find out.

Suddenly, I started noticing strange people hanging
out in front of my home.

One day I was home giving Tripp a bath when someone
knocked on my door.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” the
man said. He looked like a homeless man. “The hard way is that you avoid me and
I still get the pictures. The easy way? You cooperate and I’ll give you a cut of
my profits.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. He was asking me to
pimp myself out.

“Let’s do it the hard way,” I said before slamming
the door. After he left, I leaned up against the door and realized I really
couldn’t hide.

The hard way suddenly became even harder. The local
AP press started showing up on my doorstep every day. Larry King’s producers
sent me packages—suspenders for Tripp!—to entice me to come on his show. Some
despicable bloggers drove by my house every day and would keep a log on what
cars or trucks were in the driveway. And speaking of blogs, another one popped
up. This time, it was Levi’s sister, who created it to falsely answer any
question that people around America had about me.

Looking back, I realize it couldn’t have been a
coincidence that everyone found out where I lived right around the time I got
back together with Levi. But I didn’t put two and two together at the time.
Then, I was simply dedicated to the idea that finally Levi, Tripp, and I would
become a family.

And he seemed to be, too.

I
was
at work when Levi went to Mom and Dad’s house in June to apologize. I gave Levi
my mother’s phone number and he texted her to arrange a time to stop by. All of
the lies he’d said about them needed to be addressed both publicly and
privately, so he was taking care of the private apology first.

Mom and Dad allowed him into their home, and they
sat at their kitchen table. Willow, as always, was eavesdropping from the
balcony and kept me apprised via text of all that was going on downstairs.

“I’m sorry about all the lies I’ve made up about
you,” he said. Mom seemed to take it better than Dad . . . at least
according to Willow’s play-by-play. Dad was not impressed by the fact that Levi
was dressed like his old self and claimed not to be under the influence of Rex
and Tank anymore. And, according to Willow, Dad was not going to easily let Levi
off the hook.

“I’m the one who’s been getting up with Tripp in
the mornings, taking care of your son. I’m the one who’s been comforting
Bristol. I’m the one who’s been changing the dirty diapers and watching your son
take his first steps. Where have you been?”

Levi apologized, again, and said that he’d have to
prove himself to gain their trust. It didn’t go flawlessly, but at least he had
shown that he could own up to his mistakes and he promised to make a public
apology. My parents were skeptical.

But, within days,
People
magazine ran the note that Levi and I had drafted that day on
the notebook paper:

Last year, after
Bristol and I broke up, I was unhappy and a little angry. Unfortunately,
against my better judgment, I publicly said things about the Palins that
were not completely true. I have already privately apologized to Todd and
Sarah. Since my statements were public, I owe it to the Palins to publicly
apologize. So to the Palin family in general and to Sarah Palin in
particular, please accept my regrets and forgive my youthful indiscretion. I
hope one day to restore your trust.

It was a Band-Aid on a gaping wound of problems
he’d caused my parents. While I took it as proof he’d really put his old ways
behind him, they couldn’t come around to trusting him again.

When shortly after that I drove over to the house
to see my folks, ready to have a frank and honest conversation with my parents
about my decision to get back together with Levi, there was tension in the air.
I soon realized a calm conversation would not be happening that day.

When I pulled into the driveway, Dad came out and
flagged down the truck.

“Why do you keep going back to a guy who lied about
us so badly?” he said. “Do you know how many times you’ve come crying to me,
upset about that guy? He’s done nothing but disrespect this family.”

“I’m trying to give Tripp a father,” I protested,
but I could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t ready for me to explain
why I’d chosen to reunite. I didn’t get a chance to explain that I wanted Tripp
to have a family as good as the one I had growing up.

My heart hurt, as I processed the fact that the
damage I’d done to my family was permanent. By this time, I was crying.

“He has betrayed you over and over and over. It
will happen again,” he continued. “I’m done talking to you.”

I drove off, rationalizing my decision with every
mile.
I’m going to have my own family now,
I
thought. I pressed on the gas to get to the only person on the planet who
understood me. Levi was in the same boat as I was, because he’d forsaken his
family to be with me. In a Romeo-and-Juliet-type way, we were pursuing love in
spite of all the forces that were coming against us. What could be more
romantic?