by Liana Key
"I wanted you there," he said suddenly, "I wished you were there." And he stroked my hair, kissed my cheek, leaving me feeling warm and fuzzy and full of longing.
CASSIAN
A couple of days after my eighteenth birthday I received a letter from Arizona, the envelope from a lawyer's office. Antonia pointed it out to me after I'd gotten in from training. I still did tennis training four days a week, though the school competition wouldn't start until January.
The letter completely floored me. It was from Frank Kirwan, the man who had been married to my mother Elsa. Though he and my mother were separated they had never divorced. His letter had been forwarded by the lawyers. It read:
Dear Cassian,
I know you have just turned eighteen, so happy birthday. I was married to your mother for six years and she was the love of my life, but unfortunately I was not the husband she deserved, and I am not proud of the way I treated her. She was a wonderful woman and I know she would have loved you with all her heart. It is a tragedy that she never met you.
Cassian, I have waited until you turned eighteen to get in touch with you, but I have often thought of you and wondered how much like Elsa you would be. I would very much like to meet you, and there are things I have of Elsa's that I'd like to share with you.
Please think about it, and speak to your parents about it, and if you are agreeable I'd like to invite you to visit.
With much respect, Frank Kirwan.
I read it twice, choking up on the second reading, handed it to Antonia. She gasped and said, "Oh my God," and she screamed, I kid you not, screamed out to my Dad. "Trey, Trey. Come here."
Dad thundered through as if he were expecting a life or death situation, and on seeing Antonia waving around the letter, he frowned, took it from her as if it might explode in his hands.
He must have read it a half a dozen times, he took so long to make a comment, but by now I was inspecting a photo that I'd discovered in the envelope. It was of my mother, her hair long, down to her waist, wearing a sun dress and bare feet, posing beside a lake. On the back was written, Elsa, honeymoon, El Paso and the date. I stared at it. I'd never seen this photo before, I'd never seen my mother's hair hanging loose, so long, slightly wavy. I'd never seen this smile on her face, her mouth wide and teeth exposed. It was like seeing a new person. I'd never known she'd honeymooned in El Paso. Dad looked over my shoulder, I passed him the photo and he turned and read the back.
"Wow," is all he said, like he was blown away by it all. "This is unbelievable," he said, turning it over several times. "Wow," he repeated.
"She's so beautiful," Antonia said, taking the photo. "How old would she have been?"
"Twenty," Dad said without hesitation. Dad put his arm on my shoulder. "She really was gorgeous," he said, taking the photo from Antonia and passing it back to me.
"Did you ever meet him?" Antonia then asked Dad.
Dad shook his head, "No. Never."
What Dad did know of my mother's life was that she got married at twenty, had a baby who was stillborn when she was twenty five, that her marriage fell apart a year later. She went to work at the boarding school, met Dad when he was sixteen and got pregnant to him several months later. My Dad only knew my mother for less than one year, and even then they had been apart for almost half that time. Dad had got sent back to LA after being expelled from school, and my mother followed later, when she was seven months pregnant. What intrigued me about Frank's letter was that he had been married to her for six years, maybe had known her even longer. But most importantly why I was considering that yes, I did want to meet this complete, unrelated stranger is because he had called my mother the love of his life.
The letter distracted me only for a week or so, because out of the blue, Magdala told me she was pregnant. I'd come home from an evening with Paola, a Sunday night, and when I came out of my shower, Magdala scared the shit out of me, lying quietly on my bed. And she was wearing my 49ers shirt, which wasn't a big deal because they were not having a great season, but was still out of the ordinary.
And her revelation that she was pregnant to Flynn astonished me. She'd not seen Flynn, apart from at school, since the holidays, and now she was telling me she was six months pregnant.
She didn't look it, not a bit. Where the baby was, I didn't know. She slipped the shirt up and her belly was round, but it was mystifying to think it was six months along already. She had only found out the previous week she said, Dad and Antonia knew, yes, Flynn's parents knew, yes, but she was scared to tell Flynn. She was sure he would hate her.
She showed me a scan of the baby and it was like just the most amazing thing. To think that inside her belly a baby was growing. I instantly knew she'd be a good mother, could feel it in my bones, and an excitement came over me, that I would be an uncle. So despite the situation being completely ludicrous, a seventeen year old high school junior from Santa Monica, with no steady boyfriend being pregnant, the whole family ended up embracing it, as if it was a saving grace, redemption for the rape, a positive in a sea of negatives.
It was another couple of weeks before she ended up telling Flynn, and by then she wasn't afraid because she knew she had the whole family's support. And this time I vowed I would do better, I'd be there for her, for the delivery and beyond, because I was learning most importantly, how much family matters.
I had emailed back Frank Kirwan, thanking him for the photo and saying that I'd like to visit, but that I was quite busy with school, that maybe I could make it in spring break. I could tell from his reply that he was just thankful I had gotten in touch. We then started a sort of regular correspondence, emailing every few weeks or so, if any worthwhile news occurred. Antonia had googled him, found out he owned a transport company, and that had jogged Dad's memory, he had remembered he'd been a truck driver, long haul, big rigs.
Frank seemed to know that I had a sister Magdala, and knew Dad was married with two small children. He said he had never remarried, never had children, that he lived in the suburbs of Phoenix, not that far from where he'd lived when he was married to my mother, that he had a partner called Bella, who wasn't very well, suffered from diabetes. He seemed interested in my tennis and grades and asked about these things. I sent him photos of my family, and he sent photos of him and my mother, as if he had just learnt how to use an iPad. I liked it. I felt I was getting to know more about her, and I honestly looked forward to meeting him.
But it didn't happen in spring break because Magdala's baby was due and I didn't want to risk missing the birth. I didn't, in fact want to miss a moment of Magdala being pregnant. It kind of felt like it was the shortest pregnancy in the history of the world because she had discovered it so late. But she swore she had no symptoms, never felt sick, never noticed she was putting on weight, never noticed a missed period. Flynn revealed his undying love naturally, and they reunited, and maybe I was slightly jealous of that, but I still felt they weren't the perfect couple, though of course I couldn't say that. It really wasn't any of my business, and if he was willing to support her and that's what she wanted, then I had to like it. I had let Nathan know in a text that Magdala was expecting, I felt he should at least know, and he texted back that he was happy for her, well what else could he say.
Paola had been shocked to hear of Magdala's pregnancy and I worried that her opinion of me had lessened, maybe she thought of us as white trash. Because let's face it, any teenage girl who gets herself pregnant these days is frowned upon, as if they should know better, as if their parents, their families, their schools should have educated them about unwanted pregnancy. I'm glad Dad and Antonia were the exception, Kate and Connor and Grandad too, that they fully supported Magdala. It was made clear her baby would want for nothing. And even Flynn's parents, though initially devastated, starting warming to the idea.
Magdala and Flynn named their baby girl Cassidy, she said it was after me, because I was the most amazing, most loving big brother ever. I didn't think I deserved those accolades
, but I had to agree that Cassidy's birth was the most special day of my life. Magdala let me be there during the delivery, well in the end almost everyone was in the room, Jakey included, even though he swore he did not want to be a part of it. We were all mesmerized by the whole birthing procedure, entranced by Magdala's strength and bravery as she delivered the most perfect little human being into the world.
For some reason the whole connection between Magdala and her daughter just transfixed me, how precious, how treasured, how vulnerable. And it made me wonder who had held me when I was first born. Did they lay me against my mother's chest, alive but unknowing, did she have any idea at all that she had given birth, given life. What would it be like to die oblivious to what was happening to you? Those questions coursed through my mind, but I couldn't let them consume me, because they would never be answered. I couldn't dwell on a past that was virtually unknown,
I had to look to the future, and that meant concentrating on Magdala and Cassidy.
My instincts about Magdala being a good mother had been right on the button. She was devoted, she was impressive. She read about parenting and babies like books were her new best friend. She was so gentle, so loving with Cassidy that she never wanted to spend a minute away from her. Everyone offered to babysit so that she and Flynn could take a break but she usually declined, she wondered why people thought she wanted a break from her daughter.
Paola didn't seem to share my enthusiasm for Magdala and her baby. And I guess I couldn't blame her. She hadn't and would probably never meet them, and I know that at times she tired of my stories about Cassidy, but I felt this desire to share everything in my life with Paola. Ironic really. To share everything in my life, but unable to share my life. I know it frustrated Paola to be separated from my everyday existence, and I felt the same, yet there was this unspoken ray of hope that once I got to college everything would change. That perhaps our relationship would be acceptable then. That a college kid and an older woman was no big deal, common, ordinary even.
I only had to get through graduation, summer and I'd be there. Less than six months away. My future, our future was that close.
Chapter 7
PAOLA
I detected a change in Cassian after his sister gave birth, and something in our relationship changed too. It was almost like I was no longer the center of his world, that his sister and niece took priority. Of course it was insane to be jealous of Magdala and a tiny baby, but it was like I felt distanced from him, knowing I would never share in any of it, that I'd never visit or hold the baby and sending a bunch of flowers and a teddy bear seemed like nothing more than an inadequate token. I couldn't get excited about hearing how his niece gurgled or burped, and my attitude got snippy when he started gushing about the two of them. He'd fobbed me off a few times too, saying he couldn't make it because of one reason or another, Cassidy this, Magdala that.
One Sunday as I dressed him in his vest he said he couldn't come around after work, that he was going with Magdala to her partner Flynn's parents for dinner.
"Really?" I sneered, "they've invited you as well?"
"Yes, the whole family," he said, as if this was routine, normal.
"Surely you don't have to be there?" I asked, some frustration in my voice.
"I want to," he said, not noticing my tone. "Cassidy grabbed my finger yesterday. She wouldn't let it go." I'd rolled my eyes at him, showing I was unimpressed. "It was so cute," he continued with a smile, "she's so strong." I patted down his shoulders, straightened the vest.
"Whatever," I'd murmured, and now he looked taken aback, as if I'd just offended him.
"Sorry to bore you," he'd said huffily, grabbing the coat hanger from the table, turning to leave.
I pulled him back by his belt. "Nothing you do or say bores me," I appeased, "but I am feeling rejected." My arms went up around his neck.
"I'm not rejecting you," he said, his lips brushing my hair, "but sometimes family matters take precedence.”
"Oh we are so righteous," I jibed, turning my head so he could kiss my lips.
He pouted with a sulky expression, but then kissed me, long and tenderly, the coat hanger rubbing into my back.
"Don't doubt my love for you, or my need for you," he said, and I was amazed at how intuitive he was, like that was exactly what I had needed to hear.
I hooked my finger around his and said, "How's my finger strength? Are you impressed by this?"
And I pulled as hard as I could. He laughed and shook his head, releasing from me.
"You're so badass," he said, heading towards the door, twirling the coat hanger in his hand. "I'll fuck you before I go."
"Not if I fuck you first," I retorted with a laugh, and he turned and smiled with a shake of his head.
His revelation that Magdala was pregnant had really taken me by surprise. And the way he had told me had been slightly unusual. He'd pulled out his phone and held the screen for me, saying, "Look at this."
"What am I looking at?" I'd asked, not making head nor tail of the image in front of me.
"It's a baby," he'd said, "my sister's having a baby."
I'd been shocked. I knew his sister was only seventeen, hell she'd been raped. For a moment I thought she was pregnant from the rape and I gasped and said, "Not from..."
Cassian shook his head. "No, no, from her boyfriend. Flynn."
I felt some relief, but still, to be seventeen and expecting a baby. Surely people knew about birth control. Cassian was intelligent, surely the family knew how things worked. Really there was no excuse for unwanted pregnancies in this day and age and I felt a moral high ground, as if these people should have known better, should have educated this young girl on how sex and fertility worked. Then again, I knew his father had been just a kid, a teenager when he'd had Cassian. Perhaps they had no qualms about reproducing at an early age, though to me it seemed very lower class. Admit it Paola. Scum, trash. That's what you associate with teen pregnancy. I had then wondered how they'd risen to the lofty heights of Beverly, how they could afford birthday dinners at the Wilshire if they were nothing more than white, common trash. Had they won their money in a lottery, by inheritance?
I berated myself for such thoughts. Cassian was well spoken, well mannered, and who was I to determine his background. A young girl can easily make a mistake. I remembered back in high school there was a girl Savannah, a librarian for goodness sake who attended graduation six months pregnant. She would have been the girl most likely not to get pregnant. Yes mistakes could be made by all, and I had to get past it. Because it seemed like his family had. He was excited about being an uncle, his father was excited about being a grandparent, the baby was going to be the first great grand baby, and so it went on. They seemed to think it was cause for celebration. I wryly thought that my parents might have a similar reaction if I was to announce I was getting married and about to bear a child. However, it was unlikely I was going to drop that bombshell on them any time soon. My mother frequently dropped hints about impending grandchildren and would always annoy me by oohing and ahhing over cute baby outfits in department stores so I would always comment that she should be giving Stefan and Kayla some encouragement in that area. Mama would then suggest that I should make more of an effort to meet someone, as if I wasn't trying hard enough, on one occasion even asking me if I had registered for online dating. Needless to say I did not reply. She would throw up her hands in dramatic fashion exclaiming, "I'll be the only grandchild-free Italian in the country!" From a woman who was born and raised in Los Angeles.
When I was telling Mama about an invitation to a cocktail party at Helene's new house, she went into overdrive, asking if she could buy me a new outfit to wear. For one sorry moment I was tempted to allow it, but I rebuffed her, hardly needing to compromise my dignity.
Helene said the party was a way for her to connect and share with everyone after the frantic past few months since her wedding and honeymoon, or that's what she told me. I felt it would be rude to refuse
, even though I'd felt like I knew every detail of her Caribbean honeymoon from the countless photos she'd posted on Facebook, and I was dying to see just what her new house was like. I told Cassian I was just going to be nosy, I wanted to know what your money could buy these days. Cassian was indifferent about it, but begged me not to wear the Jimmy Choos, nor a figure hugging dress.
"Can't you just go in ballet flats and jeans?" he asked.
I pretended disgust. "They will all be in designer gowns," I said. "My goodness, I have a reputation to uphold. Paola Carson never goes out in less than three inch heels." He pouted. "Anyway all the men will probably be grey-haired with beer bellies," I reasoned.
"Yes, but they will probably drive Porsches and wear Armani," he sulked.
"I won't be the least bit interested," I declared, "not in their private jets or hedge funds."
I'd given him a tickle under his arm and he giggled like a five year old, squirming playfully away from me. No balding billionaire would do that, I told him. He said it didn't make him feel any better.
I ended up wearing a long-sleeved retro print shift dress. It was very short, giving my legs an illusion of being long, and the sleeves had slits along them. It didn't accentuate any curves, but Cassian said it was still too sexy, because it meant you longed to know what was under it. I kept him happy by wearing a pair of one inch pearl colored pumps, the type the cashier at Walmart probably wore, I told him. Though he wasn't to know mine cost five hundred dollars. It seemed my indulgences could not be tamed. I kept my hair down, styling it in a loose curl. He said, with a smirk, that I looked like a teenager. I went to spray on some perfume.
"Stop!" He practically screamed, and I wondered what the emergency was. I looked at him, petrified. "Not the Dior," he said, in a normal voice, and with a sheepish smile. "You know that's mine." I smiled inwardly at his possessiveness, but just rolled my eyes at him. "Anything else is fine."