by Imani King
He nods at us as he walks by. Is that a glint in his eye? Don't be silly, Addy, you're imagining things, I tell myself. What would a gorgeous billionaire want with you? He’s been in the Manhattan society pages for crying out loud. He and all those gorgeous brothers. Or most of them anyway. I heard there’s one in Texas as well, on some ranch, running a non-profit or something. Name begins with R, I can’t remember. Another one, Dylan, I just saw on the cover of some magazine.
When the day is finally done, I jump in my car and go to pick up the kids at school, which is yet another one of my jobs since mom passed. But, believe me, I am not complaining about this one since it's a job I do enjoy most of the time. Seeing their anxious faces, as they scan the line of cars looking for me, transform into happy smiles and sweet childhood abandon is always the absolute high point of my day. I want to be there for them and they know it.
One day I do dream of having my own kids, but for now, little bro and sis are everything to me. “Addy!” yells Chikae, jumping in the car. Her eyes are bright. "I wanna show you what I made today at school!" She rummages through her pink backpack. “Wait! It’s here somewhere!” Her hands get more frantic.
“I’m waiting, no rush!” I reassure her, patting her shoulder as I look at the traffic to assess my chance to pull out. No such luck yet. Darius pushes his hand in between the front seats, waving a paper. I grab it and hold it up. "Look, I got a B on the math test!" He cries. "Wow. Good job, Darius.” I am so proud of them. I’m not sure they’ve fully grasped the fact that mom isn’t coming back, but they do seem to be still doing well in school, which is so important. “You guys are fantastic," I say, brushing one of my unruly curls out of my face and smiling at them. I’m really wiping a tear but they don’t need to know that.
"I wish mom could see," Darius says, suddenly looking out the window. My heart spasms.
"She can," I reply quickly, wanting to believe it myself, but sometimes you need to act as if that that kind of thing is real whether you’re sure about it or not. Especially when the person you're talking to is eight years old. "I bet she's looking down from heaven right now with a big smile on her face, just so proud of you guys."
Darius sits back, and I see a small grin appear on his face. "You think so, Adisa? For real?"
"For real!" I put the old car into gear, and the engine coughs a bit before lurching forward. "What's wrong with the car, Addy?” Chikae’s eyebrows are knitted together. Her hands grasp each other, wringing. I’m silly to think that the stress isn’t getting to her. Wishful thinking on my part, is all it is.
"I’m sure it’s nothing too serious, Chikae. But you know these old cars, they're like old people. They break down every now and then." "Do cars get sick?" Chikae wonders. She's six, so all this must be confusing.
"Not really, but occasionally they do need a tune up." Chucking her under the chin, I say, “Nothing a good mechanic and a few dollars can’t fix, I’m sure.” Like we have that many extra few dollars. I flick the dial on the old radio, and she stops me when she hears Taylor Swift.
"I love that song! Shake it off!" she sings, bouncing up and down in her seat. Darius joins in and soon the whole old car is creakily bouncing down the street.
"Can we stop at McDonalds?" Darius asked. "I'm hungry."
Arg. That's not in the budget, and besides I'm going to be making dinner later. "Nah sweetie, you'll spoil your appetite." "Awww," he moans, and turns to look out the window. I'm momentarily happy that his current troubles have more to do with not getting a Big Mac than anything else. Sometimes you gotta grab on to those small victories, right?
"That stuff ain't good for you anyway," Chikae admonishes him, spinning around in her seat.
"Isn't," I correct her. "But otherwise , Darius, Chicky Boom Boom is right!" I say, carefully stepping on the gas. We're almost home and soon it'll be time to start cooking, then off to the restaurant for the late shift. I yawn just thinking about it.
"Hey, don't call me that!" Chikae pouts, but I know that on some level she loves it. She may to be grown up already, but she’s still a little girl. Her hand reaches out to squeeze my arm, and then she just holds on to it, while her other hand plays with her bottom lip. She's lost in thought. "Mommy?" she says absentmindedly. "I mean, Addy, where does the snow come from? Does it come from heaven?"
My mind is immediately transported back to mom’s funeral, and then the sadness in Nicholas' eyes, and I clear my throat. "It does come from the sky, from the clouds, like the rain. It's been pretty cold lately so I wouldn't be too surprised if we got more..." I trail off, as now I am the one lost in thought. Nicholas.
“Snow comes from the clouds in the sky,” Darius yells from the back seat. “Stupid head! Everyone knows that!”
“Hey, be nice to your sister,” I admonish. “I remember when you didn’t know things like that, and it wasn’t that long ago.”
“Sorry,” he says, half-heartedly, and looks back out the window.
“That’s ok,” Chikae replies in a rather airy magnanimous tone. Then she adds, “Poop brain.”
“Chikae-” I start, but then a horn blares in the street, making me jump. "Sorry!" I yell to the other driver, but he gives me the finger anyway. Sometimes you can’t win. I turn up the music again to distract the kids, but soon we are pulling up outside our house.
They tumble out of the car and run to the door, their backpacks trailing.
2
Nicholas
The car roars into life. I wish I were roaring into life right about now. If only Stephanie would just be reasonable. Truth is, this divorce is taking everything out of me. I'm more than willing to set her up 'to the style she's become accustomed,' but it appears that she just wants to ream me.
Some women.
Best to just concentrate on what I can control, and let me tell you, it's not Stephanie. The whole thing is taking forever too. We started this divorce before Christmas last year and it's only being finalized now. The lawyer left me three messages today. She's just got to sign those papers. I wish it were as easy to get her to sign as it is to get my employees to do their filing. Speaking of which, that cute new girl. What's her name? Adisa with an A. That's it. I'm not going to forget it since the day she came back from the coffee shop with 'Ed Isa' written on her cup. She and Rain were giggling about that. They think I can't hear them, and most of the time I can't. But when the door's cracked a bit I definitely can make out a few things - especially when they get loud. But as long as they're doing their job I don't mind. Their chatter cheers me up.
And I can use some cheering up these days.
It's not like I am at the office all that often. Mostly I stay out of the day-to-day, but lately it's been so dull at the country house that I've been making excuses to get dressed and come into work. It used to be filled with excitement and love, that big house in the country. My heart catches as I think of how we used to talk about having loads of kids to fill up the place.
Of course, that was before we found out Stephanie had mild infertility issues. But we could have been the lucky ones - it's not like we couldn't go for treatment. We could definitely afford it. The best doctors, the best options, and as many times as we wanted. But I guess she was just going along with my wishes. In reality, she was stalling the whole time - apparently she was never quite as keen as I was to have babies, and I’d never have tried too hard to persuade her. It’s just not part of me to push like that, especially when I am not the one who would be carrying the baby.
But one of the saddest parts of it all for me was that I think she didn't want to lose her figure, and so she just strung me along as long as she could with talk about surrogacy, adoption, whatever. Like I would mind if she had a few extra curves on that body of hers. I’ve never minded “a little something to hold on to” in bed, as we used to say in Texas. I would have loved her either way, and if she were to bear my children I would have worshipped the ground she walked on. Stretch marks or no stretch marks. But she just didn’t feel as stro
ngly as she pretended to when we talked about getting married and building a life together.
I thought I knew her. Thought I saw a light in her eyes when she talked about kids with me.
‘Howsomever,’ as my dad used to say, I guess it was just a fantasy. That's all it ever was, possibly. Even the marriage itself.
In any case, sometimes I like to keep the office door open just a crack so I don't feel so alone. Rain and Adisa with an A are always so cute and friendly with one another. It's like listening to talk radio or a podcast. But I wouldn't mind just hanging out with them too, at the water cooler at least. Or more. Adisa in particular – I can’t pretend I didn’t notice how pretty she is, or the intelligence and warmth in her dark eyes.
Whenever they see me coming though, they jump into action as if I don't know what's usually going on. It's pretty funny. And Adisa's eyebrows furrow in the most adorable way as she furiously types into the computer. I try to hide my smile, play the boss role, but at some point I'm going to crack up laughing.
I flick the stereo system on in the Land Rover, and I hear a guitar for all of three seconds when the phone rings over the stereo system. It's my lawyer again.
"Nicholas!" He barks. "I just wanted to give you an update on the situation."
"What is it?" I ask, trying not to sound as weary as I feel.
"She says she'll sign if you up her alimony an additional five grand per month. We're fighting it, but I just wanted to let you know where we're at."
"Give it to her," I sigh.
"What's that?" I hear him choke, or cough a bit. I know he’s trying to get me the best deal. But I’m just sick of the whole thing.
"Give it to her. As long as it's contingent on signing." I run my hand through my hair. "I gotta be done with this."
"You're sure!" His voice is gruff. "We can fight this thing."
"I'm done fighting," I say finally. And I know it's true. I never wanted to fight in the first place, and I can afford it. I just want us all to move on - for us all to have a chance at happiness. 5K per month is a small price to pay for that.
"Ok, hang on." He puts me on hold for a minute. I wish the music would kick back in, but there's just a tense silence. "All right, we're drawing up the papers.” His voice is gruff but reassuring. “I see the light at the end of the tunnel, kid!"
"I trust you're right." George is a great lawyer. The best. Always has my back in everything I do. For all my frustration, I never wanted to nail Stephanie to the wall, like some ex-husbands. It wasn’t all bad, our courtship, or even our marriage, even if it wasn’t exactly based on what you might refer to as “the truth.” At least on her part. She was there for me when I was building my first business. Even if she didn't contribute financially or anything like that, she was supportive. She looked at me like I could do anything and that kept me going. I loved her. I'd say some small part of me still does, though it's an old and dusty part. The girl I loved back in the day just doesn't exist anymore, so it’s like loving a memory.
Again, to be honest, five grand is almost nothing to me right now. Strange to say it when the Corbett family originally never was wealthy, or rich or anything like that. We were just your average ranchers before we struck oil. Now all my brothers are doing very well, and my parents’ land has become a lot more valuable.
What I did with my portion of the cash was to start this company, and Stephanie was there from the beginning. She wasn't from an especially rich family, but they did fairly well for themselves in New York City. When I met her, I was blown away by her sophistication, her Manhattan style and the fact she was interested in me, just a cowboy for all intents and purposes. And honestly, I thought I would have changed her somehow from that life. And now that I’ve begun a venture capitalist business, income is going to skyrocket, and she won't see a piece of that. But I'd never be able to have gotten here without her, and she deserves something for that. She might be small-minded and petty when it comes down to it, but a lot of people from my town would have done the exact same thing as she did. Even if it wasn’t good enough for us to stay together, we both did our best during a lot of our marriage and I won't relegate anyone to the trash heap.
But all that said, I would be happy if I never see her exfoliated little face again.
The leather head of the gear shift in my hand grounds me. I can't deal with an automatic transmission, especially in the hills. When I drive out to Connecticut I need to feel those gears shifting, feel the power underneath me. It reminds me of driving the tractor as a kid. Most people wouldn't peg me for a poor farmboy now, but the reality is that I worked on that ranch sunup ’til sundown before I traded it in for business suits and private jets.
I take the next exit. I should be back at the country house soon. Knocking about by myself. Again.
"Just the way I like it," I say aloud in a brave voice, knowing it's not true, but I need to believe it at this moment. I wonder how I'll feel when she signs the papers. I know there will be some measure of relief, but I wouldn't be surprised if there's more. Pain? Jubilation? Some measure of both? Who knows.
3
Adisa
"Dad, what are you doing?" I try not to let the irritation enter my voice as I knock on his door. It's only 5pm but I’m pretty sure his bedroom lights are out since I don’t see anything under the door. He shouldn’t even be home yet from his job, which is why I am worried.
"Just having a little nap," comes his voice. "Can't a man have a nap in his own house?"
"Sure dad, sorry," I mutter, turning away from the door. I’m just not sure what to do. He’s always been a great dad, but I never had to baby him or anything like that. My mom knew how to handle him, but that’s not a role I can easily take over. "We'll see you in forty-five minutes for dinner," I say, resigned.
I shake my head as I shut the door. He's retreating from the world, is what he's doing. When the kids used to come home, they'd play for a bit and then he'd walk in the door from work, big smile on his face as they ran to him. Now I doubt he even went into work today. Or yesterday. Or any day this week for that matter.
As I go downstairs I wonder if there is anything I can do. I do think that he needs help. Maybe there's some grief counseling at the church. I'll look into it after I put together a meal. Before I go to my waitressing job. Arg.
"Where's daddy?" asks Chikae. "Why didn't he come to give us a kiss?"
"He'll be down soon," I demur. "He's just tired today."
"He tired every day," says Darius. "Hush now, baby." Still I can't argue. The boy's right. The only thing to do is to distract them. "What do you guys want for dinner tonight? Mac and cheese and salad?”
"Mac and cheese! Mac and cheese!" chants Darius. "No sa-lad!" I laugh. I can always hide some veggies in the pasta. "Fair enough. I'll make a quick casserole." Chikae comes up and hugs me around the legs, her big brown eyes looking up at me.
"Thanks for taking care of us, Dani," she says, her voice muffled as she squeezes, face buried in my skirt.
"Of course, Chicky," I say. "I got you!"
I'm fooling myself if I think that the kids don't notice and deeply grieve what's going on with our family. But there really aren't any other options right now. Dad has completely checked out, and it doesn't seem like he's going to be checking back in anytime soon. Sure I feel for him, but there are things to be done. Still, these are his kids, not mine, and there's only so much that one person can accomplish in a day. And despite their sweetness, at times, I’ve never felt more alone.
I feel like a single mom when I'm really only a sister.
I decide to sauté some greens to go with the mac and cheese casserole. It's the least I can do to try to get some vegetables into everyone. Hopefully dad will come down for dinner. Maybe I should send Darius to go up and jump on his bed for a little while. Bounce him right downstairs. Where we need him.
Chikae and Darius, homework finally finished, are brushing their teeth noisily in the bathroom. My dad never came down for dinner, despite
his promises, so I end up bringing him up some casserole on a plastic tray. The flowery pattern on the surface seems almost to mock the somber atmosphere in the room as I sit on the bed.
"Daddy, are you sick?" I ask. At least if he is sick, then there's hope. Unless of course it's really bad. Like with mom.
"No baby," he says. He's staring off into space.
"I brought you some supper," I say. "You need to eat." I carefully lay out a napkin and a fork. I can't bear to lose my father too, after everything that has happened, and the thing is, that I am losing him. Even if he's still sitting right here, the jovial man I knew as my father is somewhere else. "Come on daddy, mom wouldn't want to see you like this, so unhappy. Just have a few bites, and then I'll go."
He struggles to sit up. "I know you're right," he says through hands rubbing his face. "I know it. But I miss your mother so much. How do you expect me to go on?" A tear runs down the side of his face, and I feel fear striking my heart. I have never seen my dad cry. But maybe he needs to.
For that matter, maybe I need to. I lost her as well. My mom meant the world to me. But that's why I have to be so strong now, to finish her work. I'll cry later, when the kids are in bed, stories are read, and my dad has had a few bites of my famous casserole. OK, so I just made it up as I went along, but calling it my famous casserole just makes it sound, and me feel, that much better.
He half-heartedly pokes at the plate, but he does end up having the promised few bites. And then a few bites more. "It's good," he says, looking up at me for a moment. "Thanks, Adisa."