My Daughter's Boyfriend

by Cydney Rax

  I asked, just to see what he’d say. “What are you doing in the baby aisle, Steve?”

  He looked from the baby food to me, to his basket, and back at me again. “I—uh—uh—I—”

  “I—uh—uh nothing. I heard you were going to be a father.”

  He looked confused like he was trying to figure out who spread his business.

  “Lelani told me.”

  “Oh,” he replied, and shifted his eyes.

  “You know, I really can’t picture you being a daddy, Steve, but I guess it happens to most men at some point in their lives.”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be a father the last time we spoke on the phone?”

  He straightened his posture and forced out a stingy little grin. “Hey, I—I—I was going to tell you, but you didn’t want to see me, remember?”

  “Save it, Steve.”

  He gave me an “oh, well” shrug and continued reading baby-food labels.

  “So, do you know if the baby’s going to be a boy asshole or a girl asshole?”

  He glared at me like he wished I would just go away. But I looked straight at him and didn’t blink.

  “Okay, Steve, sorry.” I laughed. “That was a low blow. But seriously, boy or girl?” I asked, offering him a sweet smile.

  He sputtered, “I have no idea. Lani probably knows, though.”

  “Hmmm, I guess that would make sense, being she’s the mother.”

  Instead of responding, he deposited a half-dozen jars of baby food and a small pack of diapers into a shopping basket. Then Steve walked down the aisle and disappeared without saying good-bye.

  I rolled my eyes and wondered why I’d ever wasted my time trying to hold on to him. Then I decided to go search for a decent but inexpensive birthday card. While trying to pick out something, I also spotted various greeting card lines and thought about how I used to buy Steve sentimental products just to be doing something, trying to show him how special he was to me. I had it so bad for him, spending four bucks on cards that he probably rushed to open just to see if there was some money inside. I’m sure he pretended to read the words, and then threw the card up on a shelf somewhere so it could collect dust. No more, I thought. I’m glad I’m not the woman I used to be and I don’t have to try and prove something to someone who doesn’t really deserve me.

  Soon after finding something suitable, I entered the checkout line. I saw Steve one aisle over, standing next to a woman who was holding a four-month-old baby. The woman looked like she was a size sixteen, had on a multicolored smock, and her hair was bundled in a red bandanna. The woman was smiling and cooing at the baby. “See Daddy. Peaches, can you see Daddy? Poor thing, too bad she’s allergic to tapioca, but this applesauce should do just fine.” Instead of acting like he didn’t know what the hell the woman was talking about, he got all friendly and grazed his nose against the baby’s cheek. “Give Daddy a smile, Peaches.”

  My box of medicine crashed to the floor. I bent over to get it and looked up.

  The woman appeared content, secure. How did she manage to do that, I wondered.

  “Baby, hey, baby, put the National Enquirer in the basket, okay?” she said, gesturing at Steve.

  Ain’t this nothing?

  “Hey, baby, Peaches is a little bit fussy. I’m going to wait for you in the car, all right?” She kissed the big baby on his cheek, then bundled their daughter and departed from the store.

  Steve placed his items on the counter and paid for them. He turned around and noticed me standing a couple of customers behind him.

  “Hey, you still here?” he asked.

  I brushed past two old ladies and looked up at Steve. He didn’t have on glasses tonight. Maybe he got smart and bought some bitch-proof contact lenses.

  He started walking away with his packages, and extended his thumb and index finger next to his ear as if to say, “Call me.”

  “Who’s the baby food for, Steve, you and Lani’s baby? The one that’s still in her womb? Or is this for some other fool’s baby?” I said, wanting to yell but being wise enough not to do so.

  He lowered his head, rolled his eyes, and scurried out of the store like a little Fifth Ward rat.

  Just looking at Steve Monroe made me raise my head to the ceiling and exclaim, “Thank God for answering this prayer. The camel’s back is now broken.”

  Feeling happy yet anxious, I paid for my items, fled to the Malibu, and listened to my tires violently kiss the asphalt while I raced from the parking lot.

  “WHAT UP?” HE ASKED, BARELY opening the door as I stood before him.

  “I know I should have called first, but I had something on my mind and wanted to see you.”

  He looked at me, perplexed, not budging.

  “Aaron, is this a bad time?” My voice cracked.

  He sighed and motioned for me to follow him outside. We walked through the parking lot until we were standing underneath a flickering streetlight that winked at us every few seconds.

  “What’s—what’s going on, Aaron?” My hands found the comforting place of my hips and I stared at him.

  “Uh, bad timing. My dad is over right now. He’s not doing too well. He just stopped by without calling, too. Hasn’t been here too long himself. Hey, maybe I can call you in the morning at work. Would that be all right?”

  I huffed and rotated my neck.

  “What’s wrong with your father?”

  Aaron glanced up at his apartment then looked at me and frowned. “He was just diagnosed with multiple myeloma.”

  “With who?”

  “Bone-marrow cancer. Gonna have to start getting chemotherapy. Apparently when he was given the news, he jumped in his ride and started driving. He caught himself trying to drive all the way out to Victoria, but realized he was too tired to drive a hundred miles one way. That’s when Dad decided he needed to come see me. Hey, why all the questions, Tracey? You don’t believe me?”

  I flinched and felt like an asshole of the worst kind. I tried to reach out and touch his arm, but he backed away a bit and it didn’t bother me. “Hey, I’m sorry, Aaron. I didn’t know. Go ahead and be with your dad, I’ll get with you tomorrow.” I turned and headed back to my car, feeling Aaron’s eyes on me all the way.

  THAT WEEKEND LAUREN INITIATED a conversation with me, something she hadn’t done in weeks. I was holed away in my bedroom, reshelving my hundreds of books: my Sidney Sheldon collection, the E. Lynn Harris trilogy, and the others were giving the impression that they’d been all shook up, and I was sick of looking at the disorder. Lauren’s knuckles made light tapping sounds on my half-open door. I turned away from my work, swallowed the shock that was lodged deep in my throat, and asked her, “What’s going on?”

  She stood in the doorway, twisting and digging her big toe in the carpet until I gaped at her so hard that either bravery or fear lifted her feet and she entered the room and stood next to me.

  “Well, um, I forgot to tell you that the band is, uh, going to Dallas next month. S-s-statewide competition at Reunion Center.” She stood there staring at my piles of books and yanking on her beaded necklace, which made a clinking sound.

  “And you’re saying that to say what?”

  She hesitated. “I need you to fill out the permission slip.”

  I waved my hand. “That’s all? Well, give it here. I’ll fill it out right now.”

  She remained immobile, like I hadn’t even said anything.

  “Lauren, why are you acting so weird? Just go and get—”

  “Well, uh, Daddy’s already paid for my airplane ticket, but we need, uh, since you have all this, this, this,” she said rattling the necklace more rapidly, “extra money to use for hotel rooms, what about . . . spending some of it . . . on me?”

  A couple of Nelson George novels fell from my hands. I turned and faced her.

  “What did you say?”

  She took a few steps back, but continued to look at me.

 
“Mom, I don’t think it’s fair you have all this money to be throwing away . . . and I have a little cash in my savings account, but not enough to buy it.”

  “Buy it? Buy what? Lauren, what are you talking about?”

  “Uniform,” she snapped, like I ought to be able to know what she was thinking automatically. “They want us to wear these new uniforms, but they cost a lot of money. Daddy can’t buy the plane ticket and the hotel room and the uniform, so since you . . . could you pay for it?” She stopped to pick the Nelson George books up off the floor.

  “Well, if you just need some money, that’s all you gotta say. I don’t appreciate your bringing up how I spend my money. My cash is my business. I’m grown, I work, and I can do whatever the hell I want to do, and if you don’t like it, you can always go live with your father.”

  I rose up and started to stomp over to my nightstand, but instead snapped, “Bring me my purse.”

  She trudged with her head hung low, dragging her long legs like a female Charlie Brown. I turned my back. My hands jerked and convulsed when I began throwing Whitfield’s, Briscoe’s, and Mosley’s books on the shelves, forgetting to put them in alphabetical order.

  She returned with my purse, but the way she was holding it, I would need arms the length of King Kong’s to reach it.

  I folded my arms. “Lauren, either hand me the purse or you can figure out a way to pay for your uniform yourself.”

  She turned up her nose and mouth, her eyes thin slits, and pressed the purse hard in my hand, but it dropped to the floor.

  One, two, three, I whispered, aiming for a count of ten, but what good would it have done?

  “Look, Lauren, I may be your mother, but I don’t have to do jack for you. I gave birth to you, but I won’t have you treating me like vomit just because you don’t understand how things operate in a grown-up world. But if you live long enough, you’ll see, and if you don’t watch it, I’ll let you see it sooner than you think.”

  “Okay, okay,” she said, and placed her hands over her ears.

  I dumped the contents of my purse on the bureau. Tore off a blank check.

  “How much is it again?” I asked.

  She mumbled something.

  “Lauren, please speak up. I don’t interpret mumbling.”

  “Uniform is a hundred and fifty bucks, but could I get two-fifty? I could use a little spending money.”

  I really didn’t want to come up with that much cash, and started to say “hell, no,” but thought how that might make things worse, so I hastily scribbled out the check.

  “When is this trip again?” I asked.

  She snatched the check and examined it closely and looked back at me.

  “The second week in February. On a Thursday.”

  “That’s two weeks from now,” I told her, realizing how soon that day would get here.

  “Yeah, and I’ll need you to take me to Hobby Airport that morning and pick me up on Saturday,” she said, folding the check and sliding it in her pants pocket.

  “Gee, thanks for letting me know all this. Dang, Lauren.”

  She shrugged and looked at the floor. Maybe relieved that she got some money out of me, but still failing to look the part. But considering everything, maybe I owed her that; maybe a monetary blessing would be one of my sacrifices.

  “So, Lauren, you have to spend the night, huh? Where are you staying?”

  “At the Days Inn. Daddy’s paying for my meals and lodging.”

  I reeled back, irritated. “You already told me.”

  “And my airfare.”

  “I’m not deaf.”

  “Umph.”

  “Well, Lauren,” I said, “seems like you told Derrick about this trip before you told me.”

  She just looked at me like I didn’t have brains for brains.

  “Why was I the last to know?” I asked. I knew I sounded insecure, but it was certainly a blow to my ego when I realized how hurt I felt (yes, hurt) about being left out. Sure, I knew she was upset about what had transpired between Aaron and me, but shouldn’t the fact that I gave birth to her count for something? Was it too much to expect my daughter to still honor my position? And wouldn’t all the other things I did right as a mom make up for the things I flunked at?

  Lauren squinted at me for a moment. “Truthfully, you’re hardly ever here anymore, and by the time I see you, I just forget to tell you some things. But that’s not important. The deal is I’m going now and I can’t wait to leave. I doubt that you’ll miss me,” she said, and stormed from the room.

  IT WAS HARD TO GET IN TOUCH WITH Aaron all the next week. I’d call his cell every two minutes just to get one of those “the customer you’re trying to reach, blah-blah-blah” messages. He didn’t call me, and I wasn’t about to go by his place again unannounced.

  “Hmmm, I wonder what’s going on with him,” I said to Indira one weekend while we were malling at First Colony. We’d already combed the anchor stores like Dillard’s, Mervyn’s, and Foley’s. Now we were browsing in Walden Books. I was hovering in the magazine section; she was raking her hands over books at the nearby bargain book display.

  “Girl, who you asking? If he hasn’t called you in a week, something must be wrong. Doesn’t sound like him at all.”

  “What you think could be wrong, Indy?”

  “Girl, if you could see the look on your face,” she said, flipping to the back cover of a Michael Jordan book. “Say, Tracey, I don’t know the degree of your feelings for Aaron and vice versa, but if you have a bond that’s strong, then you will hear from him, that I’m sure of. You can’t have a thick and solid relationship with someone and it just breaks up without warning.”

  “Lauren and Aaron did.” Gosh, that rushed out of my mouth fast.

  “But did they really? Maybe Lauren was disillusioned over what she thought she had with Aaron. Maybe he wasn’t as into her as she thought, or else—well, you know what I’m trying to say.”

  “Hmm! I guess,” I said, picking up and staring at a ton of plain-looking yet pricey journals.

  Right then my cell started ringing. I dropped the journals on the floor and fumbled for the phone.

  “Hello? Aaron?”

  He laughed in my ear, his voice thick and hoarse, yet sounding like a sweet melody.

  “Aaron, what’s wrong? Where are you?”

  “Memorial Hermann Southwest.”

  “At the hospital? What’s wrong?”

  “Daddy. That damned cancer again. Has to take a liver test. I’ve been back and forth to the hospital the past few days. Sorry for not calling. Lots going on.”

  “What’s going on, Aaron? Is he all right?”

  “Yeah, looks like he’s going to pull through. We almost lost him, though.”

  “Aaron.” My voice softened. “You should have called me. I wish you would have called me, let me do something.”

  “No, no, baby girl.”

  That brought on a smile, the baby calling his baby a baby.

  “Nothing you could do. Hey, I can’t talk long. Just wanted to get with you about what’s up. I’ll be back home tonight. I want to see you, too. Can you swing by, say around eight?”

  “Sure,” I said softly. “You take care of yourself and I’ll see you tonight.”

  Indira cocked her head and smiled.

  “See, I told you so.”

  I PULLED UP OUTSIDE AARON’S BUILDING at seven-fifty. His car was there, but instead of rushing to him, I forced myself to remain outside for another few minutes. I’d wondered what I’d see when I next saw his face. Six days is a long time not to see someone you want to be around.

  When I finally did go up, he answered the door with a damp body towel hanging around his glistening neck.

  “Excuse me, babe, just got out of the shower. Make yourself at home. I’ll be back.”

  My eyes followed him until he disappeared from my sight.

  When he returned, I pointed to the breakfast bar stool. He slumped in the chair and I walked ov
er to him and started massaging his shoulders, rubbing little circles on his back.

  “Uh, uh, lower, lower, right there. Ssssss, thanks, Tracey.”

  “My pleasure. Anything I can do for you? Your dad?”

  “Pay the hospital bill.”

  I playfully smacked him on his head with the nearby cable TV guide.

  “No, being here with me is enough. God, how I wanted to see you, but it was . . . there wasn’t much I could do. Some of my relatives, aunts and uncles, drove in from Alexandria, Louisiana. People I hadn’t seen in years. I knew it was serious then.”

  “Oh Lord. That must’ve been hard to deal with.”

  “Hey, we had our moments. Grown men crying over my dad. But he’s pulling through. They have him on an IV, and he’s responding and eating pretty well. Hopefully, he’ll be home within a few days.”

  “That’s great.”

  “But,” Aaron said, holding up one finger, “he’s not out of the woods yet. He needs someone around to help him, give him his medicine and baths and stuff. Mom can only do so much, so I expect to spend more time over in Conroe than I’d usually spend.”

  “Uh-huh.” I squinted.

  “And what I need you to understand, Tracey, is that with my father getting sick and all, I can’t promise you I’ll be able to give you all the attention you might want. You know, those three simple things you said you want in a relationship? Attention, affection, and uh, I forget—”

  “Being made to feel valuable,” I mumbled, and frowned.

  “Yeah, that’s it.”

  “Well,” I said wistfully, “I can understand how you need to be there for your dad, your mom. When it boils down to it, family is all you got.”

  “Yeah, my parents have come through for me many times, mostly financially, but other times, too. Like when I was a kid, Daddy would come out to all my Little League games. Even though he was working and trying to keep his business afloat, he’d sacrifice and be there. He’d be late—” Aaron’s face flushed, his voice cracked. “He’d be late . . . but he’d always make it in time to see me at bat, hitting those doubles and stuff. He’d be the loudest one in the stands. You know, I’d be so embarrassed when my pops would yell and shout, raising the roof before there was even such a thing as raising the roof, but on the inside I was proud, glad he was doing that, all on account of me.”