“What do I do now?” she asked.
“I’m not asking you to be a part of a new family. I’m asking you to let me make things better between us. That’s all. You don’t have to like Sheila. We have room for you and the boys to stay with us, and we would both love nothing more than for you to do so, but I understand if you’re not comfortable with that.” I spoke simply and from my heart. “I know I haven’t really been here for you, at least in a way that I should have. I’d like for that to change, because I love you. I always have.”
“I want to believe you,” she said.
There was no way around it. Building trust would take work, and I had already done enough irreparable damage. To a certain extent, I could be frustrated with her as well. As the adult in charge, though, it was up to me to set the correct precedent. In my defense, I was aware of it and eager to change for the better.
“Maybe someday I’ll prove that you can.”
We must have stood there for what seemed like forever, the weekend-dad who was still learning the ropes and his fragile yet somehow tenacious daughter. I was far from arriving at any answers—quite honestly, I found that I was questioning myself even more. Was I making the same mistake—for a third time now—only with a different woman? What did this mean for my relationships with Sage, Finn, and Miles? Who was I to parent this young woman with very, very serious emotional needs when so many of my own recent choices were arguably questionable? How could I even begin to rebuild trust at this moment of deep uncertainty? I had to remain committed—if not for myself, then for these wonderfully flawed but still perfect beings in my life.
Somehow Sage was eventually ready to follow me. We found ourselves leaving Central Park, heading towards whatever uncertainties soon awaited us.
Chapter 10
A Long Way from Tacoma
Sheila - April
“Relax your eyes. Relax your face… Listen to your inner voice carefully. Intuitively, you’ll know what it’s trying to tell you. What it is—”
“I don’t think this is working, Sheila!” Sage interrupted.
My eyes fluttered open, their gaze darting about the room every which way. First, they settled down at my fingertips, which were planted gently but firmly against my crossed thighs. I wiggled a finger, then two, sensing the smooth, soft fabric of my black yoga pants as they stretched tightly against the firm planes of taut skin and muscle that were my legs. My eyelids felt almost dense, heavy, so I blinked again. Only this time, when I opened them, their stare wandered slightly before resting upon the image set right across from me. I brought the palm of my hand straight toward my lips, stifling a giggle. It was hard not to laugh at the sight of Mike’s daughter, evidently struggling in an awkward attempt at lotus pose. Her face was painfully scrunched up, her eyes were squeezed much too tightly, and her mouth had twisted itself into a lopsided half smile/half grimace as her neck strained—not lengthened—up towards the ceiling.
“Breathe in deeply,” I directed, hoping the calming yet potent scent of lavender released through a diffuser would help guide her towards relaxation.
Sage followed my instructions and breathed in deeply—perhaps a little too deeply—and her face fixed itself right back into that horrible expression. I waited. Close to a minute went by before her eyes shot wide open. Then, looking directly at me, Sage theatrically inhaled once more before erupting into a self-induced coughing fit.
“It’s… not… working… I… don’t… feel… like… I’m… floating… away…”
She wheezed and hacked between words, all the time observing my face as if trying to determine whether her performance successfully made its home deep under my skin. What a frickin’ drama queen! Not about to give up that quickly or let her smell blood in the water, I crawled over and quietly sat beside her.
“Sage, I know it’s hard to get the hang of it at first,” I tried to begin patiently. I owed it to Mike to at least try with her. “You just have to concentrate on your breathing. Inhale very deeply—take in as much air as you can, but don’t strain yourself. That’s the scent of organic lavender surrounding us right now. Notice how smooth, how pure it is. No harsh chemicals or impurities. So now you just want to hold that breath, quite gently, and then listen—”
“Can we go to brunch now?” she shot back impatiently.
So much for our impromptu at-home yoga session. Another attempt at bonding with Sage was going south, and fast. It wasn’t like she was being entirely adversarial, but it always felt like she was searching for just the right buttons to push with me before slamming them repeatedly. I tried to come up with different ways to connect with Sage, especially since Mike insisted that she spend more time with us. And usually I’d be all up for a challenge of any kind—but it was starting to become a bit much lately. Miles and Finn had just stayed over for almost an entire week, and that visit was filled with temper tantrums, meltdowns, and candy-fueled sugar highs. It didn’t help much when Miles managed to break my favorite ceramic apple baker and jam sunflower butter inside my moccasins.
“We should probably wait for your dad to get back from the office. We hardly ever get chances like this to eat all together, and he loves Arial. It’s his favorite neighborhood spot, and he’s supposed to call any minute now,” I reasoned.
Mike insisted on stopping by the office even though it was Saturday. He wanted to get a head start on some unfinished project regarding Chicago, and it was all very secretive, so I knew enough to stay home and not pry. Besides, my hunch told me it probably wasn’t a good idea to leave Sage in the apartment alone.
She rolled her eyes at me. “If we wait for Dad, it’ll be lunch, not brunch,” she retorted in a way that made me feel as if there had been a complete role reversal—and she was babysitting me.
I took a deep breath and counted silently to five, reminding myself to respond with patience and understanding. It’s not me, I told myself. There wasn’t much point in fighting her on it; that would be flat-out petty. So what if I took her out to brunch without Mike? Going along with her on this one little thing couldn’t cause that much of a problem, could it?
Deciding to switch gears, I accommodated her. “You know what? You’re on to something. Who knows when he’ll be back? No reason for us to miss out on a little fun, right?”
Success: Sage actually looked a little surprised by my comment. I think she was expecting to bait me, which had unfortunately worked a few times in the past. Mike and I spoke about it to no end. He said Sage had a knack for making towering mountains out of itsy bitsy little molehills, and I’d just keep falling for it if I wasn’t careful. Of course, when he had warned me, his eyes were lit up, all proud and fatherly, as if he were describing Sage’s cutest, most amusing character flaw to date. I didn’t know how to respond, aside from just being supportive. Granted, my experience with kids was limited to babysitting my nieces and nephews, but it just seemed like based on everything I’d seen and heard, Mike’s daughter was a real piece of work. We never dealt with these types of issues in my family.
“Really?” she asked skeptically, arms folded across her chest.
“Sure. Why not?” Yes, positivity. I smiled as brightly as my teeth and lips would let me while trying my best not to come across as fake. Brushing my braid to the side and over one shoulder, I continued. “It can be just us girls this time. We’ll video chat with Mike if you want.”
There. It wasn’t being manipulative if I meant well—and I did mean well. If I wanted to fully become a part of Mike’s life in a meaningful way, I’d have to reach out to his kids. And if that meant digging sunflower butter out of my moccasins and dealing with a whole litany of teenage angst-filled scenarios, so be it. Sage was simply too important to him. She had to like me—whether I liked her or not.
Sage uncrossed her arms from her chest and tilted her head to the side pensively. I could tell she was trying to make sense out of the situation—out of me. I began to quickly regret smiling and hair flipping; she was much too cynical to bu
y into much of anything. A loose, thick, wavy lock of recently dyed bubblegum pink hair freed itself from her top knot, and it flopped right onto her heart-shaped face, but she left it alone—her stare remained focused. She was so angry, yet uniquely pretty, in an almost haunting way that stayed with you.
“Can I order a mimosa?” she probed.
“Don’t think so. Nice try,” I responded firmly. She liked to test boundaries, Mike explained. I needed to shut it down immediately—every time—but not in a way that was too confrontational. What did that even mean? How do you dismiss someone without being confrontational? It seemed as if there were all these hidden rules to follow and psychological head games to play.
Finally sweeping that fallen chunk of hair away from her face, Sage’s round eyes stared directly into mine. They were like two large silver dollars sizing me up but not quite ready to cast definitive judgment. It reminded me of last March when I thought we had reached somewhat of a breakthrough after I arranged to get her featured in one of our beauty and style articles. I had even shown her a few makeup tricks to go along with her hot new look. By breakthrough I mean she stopped calling me names like prom queen and homewrecker to my face. I guess for each step taken forward, two were taken back.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” she abruptly shot up, made a massive leap for her messenger bag, and then bounded towards the front door. Our place was on the second floor of a renovated old warehouse, so our door was more of a tarnished greenish-colored overhead gate. She hopped up and down in front of it, apparently fueled by unlimited energy. You could just never tell in which direction the energy would flow.
“Give me a second. Let me get the diffuser and blow out these candles.”
Unplugging the diffuser, I briefly scanned that which had recently become my new home. I wanted to warm my heart up to it and truly appreciate the beauty of it all. When Mike and I first discovered it together, I felt hopeful.
Hope— boundless hope, knowing that everything and anything could happen for me if I opened my heart to it—it was that same feeling I’d had when my plane landed at JFK airport for the first time. Yes, I loved my home and family back in Washington, but I always knew there was more out there for me. It wasn’t enough just to backpack through Europe only to return home, like my sister and her friends did. No, I needed to become a part of it and experience everything it had to offer. The world was one great big mass of possibility. All I needed to do was whisper my dreams out there into the universe, and it would listen.
Since making the decision to attend school in New York, every day had been an unstoppable adventure—whether it was learning from some of the most talented performers in the world or settling in that first tiny dorm room with two strangers who would soon become my best friends. Even the first time I folded a slice of pizza before eating it was exciting. The small, most insignificant things suddenly seemed almost magical. Yes, I trusted in the universe, and it had led me faithfully down the most incredible path. It had led me straight to the most exhilarating city in the world, straight into a job that didn’t even feel like work half the time. It had also led me into a relationship with one of the most amazing, talented men I’d ever met.
There was so much more than I wanted to see, to experience, but there was something so incredible and special about Mike. My friends loved him, though most of them thought I was a little crazy to rush into something this serious. Still, I just had to see it through. Moving in with him seemed the obvious next step.
Opening our home up to his children, though—that wasn’t exactly the adventure I had been searching for. I wanted to welcome the three of them. I wanted to support Mike in his endeavor to be a good father. I knew many mistakes had been made, and admittedly things may have turned out a bit better for everyone if we’d fallen in love after he and Abby had officially split. She was still dragging everything out, and the divorce proceedings were no picnic for him. He was just so determined to make everything right, and I wanted us to work.
Pseudo-step-parenthood. I loved him, so I agreed to it.
But I wasn’t that great at it.
“I’ll wait for you downstairs,” Sage shouted behind her shoulder as she lifted and flung the door up and way over her head.
“I’m all set here. Wait up!” I double-checked my jacket pockets for my cell phone and keys before exiting, sliding down the door firmly and locking it in place behind us.
Arial was also my absolute favorite spot for brunch, and it was located a convenient three blocks away. Sometimes there was nothing more relaxing than a good neighborhood walk or bike ride, allowing for some quick exercise and a chance for the senses to go exploring. From the looks of it, Sage was a bit of an explorer, too.
First, she ran over to cuddle and fuss over Casper, my neighbor’s new cream and apricot Goldendoodle pup. Then she dashed over to a slightly tilted telephone pole covered in colorful sticky notes, flyers, and other advertisements, scanning its contents attentively. Not once did she actually speak to me, but there was undoubtedly a bounce in her step as we walked down the already buzzing sidewalk towards our shared destination. For a moment, there, I think Sage forgot she was stuck hanging out with me. It was almost cute to see her respond to everything with such positive energy. Mike always teased me for acting like a tourist when we went out. He zipped right past everything, eyes focused straight ahead, impressed by nothing. I, on the other hand, still couldn’t help myself. Even though I was no longer a New York newbie, I still found myself getting swept away by my surroundings. From each distinctive face that walked by to the tiniest of cracks jaggedly etched throughout the cement pavement, the city entranced me.
When we reached Arial, a small coffee spot adjacent to a Korean takeout place and a travel agency tucked under a row of dilapidated turn of the nineteenth-century tenements, I peeked in the front window and was pleasantly surprised to find the ever-elusive Brooklyn eatery phenomenon known as available seating. It looked perfect. Enough people were already seated, getting a good vibe going, but not so many as to make us have to wait in line on the street. I held the door open for Sage.
“Let’s get that table in the corner,” I pointed. “We can look out the window and people-watch.”
Sage rolled her eyes again. “Because people-watching is such a great idea,” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Don’t be such a mudge,” I countered.
She raised an eyebrow. “A mudge?”
“Yeah, a mudge. Short for curmudgeon. I call Mike that all the time.”
“Did they teach you that one way out there on the horse farm, Oregon Trail?”
I bit my lip.
“Very funny. I didn’t grow up on a horse farm, Sage. Tacoma’s a city. Now let’s grab that table before someone else gets to it first. This place fills up fast.”
“Fiiiiiiine,” she groaned.
Sulking, Sage practically dragged herself through Arial’s doorway—which I found quite amusing considering she’d been the one to gripe about hurrying up and making it to brunch—not lunch—in the first place. As I stepped inside, my senses were immediately flooded by the thick, pure aroma of recently crushed Arabica coffee beans interlaced with the fresh scent of citrus pulps left over from specialty, made-to-order organic juices.
The low rumble of conversation tapered off somewhat as a woman about my age draped in a creamy colored Boho-chic floor-length kimono took the corner stage holding her acoustic guitar. We made our way over to a small wooden table for two, where I removed my sunglasses and placed them down on the rough surface beside a napkin holder made of wicker. We both sat down before I remembered it was Sage’s first time there, so I motioned towards a row of small blackboard easels that featured the morning menu written in blue and pink chalk. Sage looked over to it, then again at me, and shrugged her shoulders.
“I just order off that?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Would you like to walk over to it so you can see better? I already know what I wan
t.”
“What are you having?”
“Gluten-free avocado toast, a side of white bean hummus, and green tea.”
The woman began to softly strum a few chords on her guitar, which was followed by the gentle melody of her voice humming along.
Sage shook her head slowly from side to side, followed by a long, drawn-out sigh. After finally getting up from her seat, she drawled, “Sure. I’ll give it a look.” She then wandered over to the easels and eyed them curiously. Sage turned to me, then back to the blackboards, then back to me again, but I offered nothing. Turning back to the menus once more, she practically shouted, “Don’t they have regular stuff like pancakes and bacon?” A few customers looked up from their meals, and away from the performer, to stare at us.
“Look at the menu again, Sage,” I encouraged. “You might want to try something a little different. We can get pancakes pretty much anywhere.”
A man with a thick, reddish beard and clear square-shaped frames glared at me.
“Sorry,” I whispered. Looking up at the performer on stage, I added, “Not trying to interrupt. Sorry again.”
“What’s wrong with bacon?” she asked just a tad bit loudly. “Bacon is gluten-free…” her voice trailed off before shouting again, “I see protein pancakes, but is it that weird stuff where they mix a bunch of health foods together and call it something it’s not? Like that crap where Abby claims she’s making muffins, but it’s ground turkey meat topped with mashed potatoes? Because that’s uber-pretentious.”
A few customers snickered, and others shook their heads, but Sage seemed completely guarded from their amusement and annoyance. Then I realized she expected and wanted them to react that way in the hopes that she embarrassed me. After a few more moments, she seemed to have her mind made up and joined me back at the table.
Painting Sage Page 14