by B. E. Baker
Which makes me mad. For him to act like he suddenly cares and Mary and I have shut him out is offensive. “Dad, drop the act and get to the point. What do you want?”
“I want to go to your sister’s wedding. I've been sober for seven weeks now.” He pulls out a one-month chip and shows it to me. “I'll have my two month chip next Tuesday.” His grin showcases several missing teeth. The ones he still has don't look very functional.
I should bundle him out the door and down the steps right now. After all, the wedding isn't about my dad. It’s about Mary and her happy day, but Dad's never even tried before. If he’s actually trying now, would Mary want to know? I bite my lip. I don't know what to do.
I turn around and busy myself with making mint tea. It gives me time to think. I'm the one who keeps checking on Dad. I'm the one who feels sorry for him. Mary likes to pretend she doesn't even have parents. In a lot of ways, our lives would have been easier if we hadn't had any. I hand Dad a mug of mint tea.
I put my hand on my hip. “I need to think about this.”
“I know I wasn't a great father, at least, I wasn’t half the father you girls deserved.”
I nod and sit down next to him. He's right. He wasn't, not by a long shot.
He sips his drink. “I came to your wedding.”
“You only came because Mary forced you.” She felt bad for telling me that marrying Chris was a mistake. I was angry with her, and I was so young and so stupid that I told her I didn't want her to fill in for Dad like we had planned. I told her I didn't want to be the girl without a dad to walk her down the aisle. Mary suppressed her own distaste for the entire situation, and probably her hurt feelings, and hunted down our dad. She cleaned him up and dragged him to the wedding for me. That entire wedding was a mistake, and any real dad would have told me to walk away from the whole thing the same way Mary had.
My dad grinned like a loon the entire time.
“I just want the chance to walk her down the aisle like I did for you,” my dad says. “And this time I'm clean and sober for it without any arm twisting or bribes or threats or anything.”
My voice is soft when I ask him, “Why do you think I never told you I was having a baby?”
“I figured you were too sick,” Dad says.
I shake my head. “I had a lovely pregnancy. I just didn't want you to ruin it.” The truth is, I struggled that whole pregnancy, wondering whether I'd be like my parents. I was scared I might not really connect with my child, or that I wouldn't love them, just like my parents didn't love us.
He crumples. I don't want to hurt him, but I'm more worried about not hurting Mary. And if I vouch for Dad and he lets her down. . .
“I've missed everything other than your wedding, but I don't fault you for it.” He sets his nearly empty mug on the table. “But I did try when you were little. When your mom left, I tried. I did my best.”
“Your best sucked, Dad.”
He nods. “I know, but I held down my job. You have no idea how many days I didn't think I could do it. I didn't want to move at all. I thought about giving up all the time, about killing myself. But then I thought about you girls, and where you'd be if I was gone.”
Probably in a foster home where we had regular meals, at least.
“I stayed alive for you. I went to work for you.”
“And then you spent every dime you earned on booze, Dad. Mary had to steal from you and walk to the corner store to buy food, and then hide it so you didn't spank her for taking your money.”
His nostrils flare. “I wasn't that bad.”
I stand up. “Get out, Dad. If you can't even face the real truth of what our life was like, then leave now. I won't revise history for you, even if that means you lose your stupid chip.”
He stands up slowly. “I'm sorry. Sorrier then I can say. If I was really that negligent, if I was really that awful, I am so—” He chokes up. “I hope one day you can forgive me. And I beg you to ask Mary the same. I wake up every day now and pray that God will soften her heart so I can walk her down the aisle.”
“There's no way that's happening,” I say coldly. “I'm giving Mary away. We've both always had one person we could rely on. Each other.”
My dad's bottom lip trembles. “Can you just talk to her? I'd like to at least be there to see it.”
I take my dad's arm so I can hurry his departure. “I'll think about it.”
He hands me a folded piece of paper, dirty and smudged. “That's my phone number. If you need to reach me, call it. Anytime, day or night.”
“Sure, Dad.”
I don't call Mary after he leaves. But when she invites me over for dinner that night, I get Troy ready and go.
Her new house, around the corner from her old house where I live now, is stunning. Luke bought it as a surprise when he proposed, to show her he intended to put down roots. To show her he was committed, that he would give her the dream she always had. She and I rode the bus past it every day on our way to school when we were kids. And now Mary's even remodeling it, one room at a time, so it’ll be even more amazing inside.
I carry Troy up onto the porch and knock on the beautiful blue front door. Andromeda immediately begins barking, in case they didn't hear the knock.
Amy opens it, and Andy runs out to lick Troy's face.
“Aunt Trudy's here!” Amy screams, as if her parents didn't already know. But then she cocks her head sideways and leans toward Troy conspiratorially. “Me and Chase are playing the best game. Do you want to play with us?”
I set Troy down so he can respond. He wisely asks for more details before committing. “What is the game?”
“Chase has all the animals’ powers. He can command any animal to do anything he wants. Dolphins, killer whales, tigers, horses. Even elephants.”
Troy purses his lips. “What could I do?”
“What powers do you want?” Amy counters.
“I want to fly,” Troy says.
Amy's eyes light up. “I even have a cape for you. You'll want that, since it'll ripple in the wind.”
Troy nods. “Good idea. And I want the powers to be strong enough to pick up this whole house. Or maybe everything in the world.”
I roll my eyes and usher Troy past Amy and inside the house.
“What are your powers?” I ask Amy.
She and Troy head for the playroom, but she tosses her answer over her shoulder like a rippling cape of her own. “I have all the powers in the universe, of course.”
Obviously. I chuckle as I walk into the kitchen where I hear Mary and Luke talking.
“We can do that when he gets here,” Luke says.
“When who gets here?” My hackles rise. If they're inviting Paul over, even though I refused to meet him last night, I'm going to explode.
“Luke's buddy Trig is coming by with his new fiancé,” Mary says. “Calm down. You've met Geode before. She’s my wedding planner, so they’re completely harmless. Believe me, you were crystal clear. We wouldn't dream of springing Paul on you without your permission, although he is Luke's brother so you're going to be around him eventually.”
I sigh. “Right, sorry. It's been a long weekend.”
Mary hands me a chocolate chip cookie. “Eat this. Cookies help everything.”
Luke makes the best cookies on the planet. “Thanks.” I bite into it and the chocolate melts in my mouth.
“Why has it been such a long week?” Luke asks. “Is the new job stressful? Because I am always looking for good IT people at LitUp.”
I shake my head. “I like it actually, and I just got promoted.”
Mary's mouth drops open. “You've been there four days. You got a promotion to what? Senior assistant?”
“You're looking at the new IT Manager for SITB.”
“What the heck does SITB even stand for?” Luke asks.
“It's a strange name,” I say. “The owner, Mr. Campbell, won't tell anyone what it means.”
Luke frowns. “That's odd. Campbell yo
u say?”
I nod.
“I know a lot of Campbells. Maybe we've met. What's the product?”
“It’s a tech company,” I say. “Kind of like you and Paul's, except for it focuses on medical technology.”
“Huh,” Luke says. “Maybe one day I'll meet this guy. I always like to connect with other inventors.”
“Maybe I'll bring Jack to your wedding,” I say without thinking. I immediately wish I could take the words back.
“What happened to your list?” Luke asks.
At the same time, Mary asks, “Who's Jack?”
“Just a cute guy from work,” I hedge. I'm not about to tell them he's my boss. Luke's being nosy enough already, and that conversation would be way too awkward.
“I like the sound of that,” Mary says. “So you worked hard this week, met a cute guy, and got a promotion? What's the plan for next week? Announce your candidacy for president?”
I roll my eyes. “Hilarious, but no. That's already part of your five year plan. I’d never want to steal your thunder.”
The doorbell rings. Mary's supermodel wedding planner arrives with a guy who's nearly as tall as Paisley's brother Cole. “You must be Trig.” I hold out my hand. “I'm Trudy, Mary's baby sister.”
“Nice to meet you, Trudy. I've heard good things. You're graduating soon, right?”
I nod. “It’s about time. And it can't come soon enough. I wish I could take my finals right now, before I've forgotten everything I learned doing my coursework.”
“Very exciting,” Trig says. “And you have a young son, right?”
I point toward the back of the house. Peals of laughter drift our way, punctuated by periodic shouts. “My son is lost forever now. He's joined the mob in the playroom, roaming free.”
Luke and Trig start talking about work stuff that I don't understand, so Geo, Mary and I drift into the kitchen. “How are your wedding plans coming?” Mary asks Geo.
Geo beams, and I check out her finger. A stone the size of a large grape winks at me from her hand. I try not to gape at it, but judging by the rock size, Trig must be even richer than Luke. “We've set the date at least. August first. Now we just need to decide where to have it.”
“How did it go with Trig's mom last week?” Mary asks.
Geo sighs and turns toward me. “Trig's mother is a force of nature, like a hurricane, or a tornado, if the tornado could ruin your credit, bankrupt you, and insult you all at once, while wearing four inch Manolo Blahniks and a plastic smile that never droops thanks to excessive Botox.”
“She sounds even more delightful than my mother,” I say.
“I haven't actually met her yet,” Geo says. “That's just what Trig says. She's rescheduled our meeting four times now. I think she's hoping if she never meets me, maybe this whole thing will magically disappear.”
“I thought she was supportive of Trig getting married.” Mary frowns. “Or you know, at least not opposed, relatively speaking.”
“Maybe she was before Trig disclaimed his entire inheritance, but now she blames me for that. Which is probably fair.”
When Geo laughs, I marvel at her beauty. Her cheekbones are high, her eyes piercing, her skin flawless. Her black hair shines like a Pantene commercial, and although she's wearing a simple pair of jeans and a sweater, she still looks runway ready. Great career, amazing fiancé, immaculate looks.
Some people have all the luck.
The next few hours fly by, punctuated by a yummy steak dinner, kid squabbles and games, and more wedding talk. I try to be a good sport, but by six-thirty, if I have to hear one more thing about venues or bridesmaid colors, I might puke up my barely digested steak.
I lean close to Mary and whisper. “Can we talk for a second?”
Her eyes immediately meet mine. “Is everything okay?”
I nod. “Mostly, but I need to talk to you about something privately before I take Troy home.”
Mary turns toward the other adults. “Trudy and I need to finalize a few details real quick. We'll be right back.”
No one bats an eye when we head for Mary's bedroom. She pats the bed, and sits down next to me. “What's up?”
I inhale through my nose and exhale through my mouth. I don't even know how to approach this. She’s usually the delicate one and I’m the blunderer. Finally I just blurt it out.
“Dad came by to see me this morning.”
Her hands fist in the comforter. “How does he even know where you live?”
I don't actually know. “Not sure. I guess I didn't think about that. I send him money or gift cards sometimes. Maybe I wrote a return address on it the last time.”
She scowls. “You send cash to an alcoholic, Trudy? What were you thinking?”
“Not enough to do any damage. Mostly I send McDonald’s gift cards, but that's not the point,” I say. “He's never come looking for me before, not ever. And he was sober this time, voluntarily.”
“What did you want to talk to me about?” Mary's eyes are flinty. “Because you never felt the need to tell me about Dad before now, and I know you check in with him sometimes.”
“Why don't you?” I've always wondered. Mary's such a kind person, such a forgiving person. She's forgiven me over and over, never blaming me, even when something's my fault.
“You don't remember enough,” Mary says. “But I do.”
“He just wants a second chance,” I say. “And I think maybe he's really trying this time.”
Mary shakes her head. “This wouldn't be a second chance though. It would be a one-thousandth chance. A ten-thousandth. You started making excuses for Chris from the very beginning, and Dad's even worse.”
I don't know about Dad being worse. Alcoholism is a disease, and the symptoms suck. Chris made his decisions entirely out of selfishness, but I don't argue with her.
“Besides,” Mary says, “It's not only me anymore. If I let him back in my life, I'm putting Amy and Chase at risk. It's not about how much abuse you and I can endure, Trudy. We have a duty to protect our family from this garbage.”
I think about Chris, and how I wish he cared enough to even make an effort with Troy. Now I'm stuck protecting Troy from the true extent of his dad's indifference. “Fine, it’s your call. I wasn’t even sure whether to tell you. I figured you’re a big girl, and you might like to know.”
Mary stands up and walks toward the door, but when she reaches for the knob, her hand freezes. “Tell Geo Dad can come, but he has to sit on the back row. He can't talk to me or my kids. He can't introduce himself to Luke, or act like a proud father. He's a bystander, nothing more, or he's bounced.”
When she turns back toward me, her eyes are haunted.
“It's more than he deserves,” I admit.
She shakes herself off, like a dog after a bath. “I'm done thinking about it, okay? My wedding's going to be a happy day. I won't let him ruin it.”
I hope I didn't just ruin it for her. But I still think she needed to know Dad was trying. Now that I've done my duty, a wave of exhaustion crashes over me.
“Time to go, sweetheart,” I tell Troy. He doesn't want to leave, but he never does after being with his new cousins.
He hugs Chase tightly around the waist. “I can't go. I'm stuck. See?”
“We have to go, baby. We've got to get you to bed, and tomorrow’s a work day again.”
He whines, but eventually lets go of Chase, puts his shoes and coat on, and trudges alongside me to the car. His tiny voice interrupts my thoughts on the way home when we pass Dee Dee’s Donuts. “Mom how come we never get donuts anymore?”
I'm a record stuck on repeat. I can't quite bring myself to say, “Because you're diabetic now sweetie,” one more time. “Honey,” I say. “The thing is—”
“I know I'm not supposed to have a lot of sweet stuff, but you told Aunt Mary you have a new job. Can't we celerate that with a donut?”
Sometimes we need something to look forward to, even if it's not the healthiest thing for us.
“I did get another new job,” I say. “And we should celebrate, with a b. So yes, we can get donuts tomorrow.”
I sort of hope he'll forget about it overnight, but I have no such luck. As soon as I get his shoes tied on Monday morning, Troy jumps up and down. “We're getting donuts!”
“Get your jacket and we’ll pick them up on our way to Miss Pam's.”
“I want blue with sprinkles,” Troy says, “and donut holes, and chocolate with sprinkles, and a cinnamon one. Or maybe a maple.”
I shake my head indulgently. “How many do you get to choose?”
Troy folds his arms and frowns at me. “We're celerating. You said.”
“Celebrating,” I say, “and we are. But that doesn't mean you should eat your weight in fried, sugar-covered dough.”
“Fine. Blue with sprinkles and donut holes.”
I pick up Troy and swing him in a circle. “I think I can do that. Maybe your friend Benson would like one with chocolate sprinkles and a cinnamon twist.”
Troy bobs his head up and down eagerly. “And if he doesn't like them, I could eat those too.”
I kiss his greedy little face. “Maybe so. Who knows?” Like any pre-school aged kid is going to not want a donut of any variety.
I grab Troy's bag and head for the car.
“Wait, Mom. My flower.”
I groan. “It's dead, honey. We don't need to water it every day. I hear zombie flowers only need water once a week, tops.”
Troy scowls at me. “It's not a zombie flower.”
“Do you even know what a zombie is?” I ask.
Troy holds his hands out in front of him and rolls his eyes back in his head before shuffling toward me. He moans and waves his arms around.
“Um, how exactly do you know that zombies shuffle and make that horrible sound?”
Troy drops his arms and laughs at me. “Benson loves a game called plants versus zombies, Mom. It's so funny. And my flower is not like those at all. It's a plant, not a zombie.”
I water the stupid thing so we can go, but I contemplate bumping the pot off the edge of the porch. If it crashed to the ground...oh well! Wouldn't that be a terrible accident? I think about Troy's innocent little face asking me what happened. And I remember how he used to ask me about his dad with the same sad eyes.