by Xavier Neal
Gianna's mother slyly says, “He sleeps under the house.”
“I knew it!” MaKayla looks at me immediately after. “I told you daddy...”
My girlfriend adds as she slides Mak into her booster seat at the table, “I tried to tell him too.”
Shaking my head with a smile at the playful nature I prepare to pull Gianna's chair out for her when she insists, “You don't have to baby. John does that.”
In a mutter her father says, “He behaves like the help. Anyone surprised?”
“Donald,” his wife hisses sitting at the opposite end of the table from him, where a maid is pulling out her chair.
I push down the bewilderment of the snide remark and sit down beside my daughter whose attention is all over the place. Thankfully John places a glass of juice in a child friendly cup, a coloring book, and crayons in front of her.
“Thank you!” She squeaks loudly.
“Thank you,” I say directly after her.
“You both have such wonderful manners,” Cecile compliments as her glass of wine is refilled.
“Thank you,” my face shoots her a smile even though I'm sure her husband mumbles something distasteful. It's already painful enough having to meet your girlfriend's parents without them judging you for breathing incorrectly, but I have a feeling that Donald's behavior is only going to get worse.
A menu is placed in front of me and a baffled look pops on my face as my eyes meet Gianna's. She tries to give me a look to indicate it's alright. I find that hard to believe. Who the hell has menus at home for dinner time?
“You’re welcomed to anything on the menu.” Her mother gestures lifting her own menu.
I glance down at the piece of paper at the same time Gianna adds, “Feel free to order anything even if it’s not on the menu. They can make hamburgers, hot dogs, hot pockets, whatever. Just whatever you and MaKayla would like.”
“Chicken nuggets!” Mak declares.
Quickly I deny, “You may not have chicken nuggets.”
“But Daddy—”
“No buts.” I shake my head slowly.
“But--”
Gianna takes my side. “Mak, we had chicken nuggets for dinner two nights ago. No chicken nuggets.”
“You had chicken nuggets?' Her mother scoffs. “Do you have any idea the unnatural ingredients in those?”
“I do,” she responds sharply. “And I did, except they weren't frozen or pre bought. We got chicken, coated it, and baked it ourselves.”
“We?” Donald looks at her with a cold look.
“Connor and I,” Gianna says strongly. “We make dinner at his place quite often. Well balanced meals and more importantly a variety of things for Mak to grow accustomed too.” Suddenly she turns her attention to me, “Remember when she tried asparagus?”
I lightly chuckle, “Yeah. Green Fingers.”
“I love green fingers,” Mak mutters to no one in particular. “Can I have Green Fingers tonight?”
“You sure can,” Gianna answers for me.
“I think that's a great idea,” I agree reaching for a blue crayon to color with her.
“So that's where you've been most nights for dinner?” Donald sits back in his seat.
“You would both know that if you listened when I talked,” she snaps.
“Let's not fight,” Cecile insists handing her menu to John. “I'll have my usual. Nothing is standing out tonight.”
He nods and approaches us, “And for the two of you?”
“Um...” I glance at the menu filled with things that are as expensive as everything else in the house. Wanting to impress Gianna is pushing me out of my comfort zone. I don't belong here. We shouldn't be here. For food much less for conversation. This is all wrong. This feels wrong.
“I'll have a bacon cheeseburger,” Gianna's voice catches my attention. My eyes rise to hers to see her smiling, giving me her clear vote of confidence. She's on my side. Even through this shit. She's still on my side. “With sweat potato fries. Fresh pineapple chunks please.”
Taking the clue, I turn to John, “I'll have that too. And for Mak she'll have a kid's size cheeseburger, with asparagus and strawberries.”
“Daddy can I have fries please?” Her small voice pleads.
“I'll share mine.” I kiss the side of her face. “Why don't you color her hair red?”
“Daddy I know what I'm doing,” she giggles focusing back on her picture.
John nods before walking over to Donald who orders a steak rare. The bloodier the better I bet. For once I shouldn't be surprised. Unlike him I try to see around what's in front of me. Gianna's taught me that much. Well, we've taught each other that.
After John and the maid whose name I don't know excuse themselves, Cecile speaks up, “So tell us a little about yourself Connor. Like for instance, how did you and our beautiful daughter meet?”
“We were assigned partners in our theater class,” I reply making sure to give her eye contact, all the etiquette rules my mother used to try to instill in me when I was younger finally coming in handy.
“You’re still in that useless thing?” Donald rolls his eyes.
“Yes,” Gianna groans.
“We spoke about this.”
“We did. And since it's clear you do not recall I will refresh your memory. I enjoy the exploration of the arts, which includes theater. Being given a creative outlet has done wonders for the rest of my grades, if you noticed, plus Dr. Jean believes having a healthy place to focus my anxiety is necessary.”
“You shouldn't be seeing her. There's nothing wrong with you,” he insists.
“Clearly...” She mumbles back.
Doing her best to try to redirect the conversation, her mother clears her throat and speaks loudly, “So you’re partners?”
I do my best to drag my attention away from them. I don't understand how he can treat her that way. He has one daughter. One child. One life to nurture and love and he doesn't. I'll never treat Mak that way. Sure, every choice she makes won't be the best, but who am I to judge when I got her before I got my license. More importantly, you should be building your only offspring up, not tearing them down.
Cecile's voice speaks again, “Connor?”
“Sorry ma'am.” I clear my throat. “Yes, we are. It’s funny. We didn’t really get along at first, but we grew to find we have a lot more in common than we thought.”
“I doubt that,” her father snips. “Tell me. Why are you in such a useless class?”
“I aspire to be an actor someday,” I answer. “At the very least something in that field feels like a calling to me. Maybe a director. Maybe a producer. Whatever it is, I know it's in that world. Who knows, maybe I'll learn to cut trailers.”
“He’s really good though.” Gianna gushes. “He’s played leads in the majority of the plays and those he wasn’t he played the understudy lead and the supporting actor. On top of acting he can sing and dance. The star of the school musical this year and got them in the local paper.”
Cecile coos in a genuine tone, “Impressive.”
I nod, “Thank you.”
“They're expecting our scene to win at this year’s scholarship festival.”
“And I’m sure we will. We make a good team.” I wink at her, which makes her giggle in her seat, something that makes her mother excited and her father annoyed.
“So is that why you’re into my daughter? Because you know I've got connections to the acting world?” her father bites. “Sleep your way up the ladder? Is that your angle?”
“Donald stop,” Cecile hisses.
Instinctively I assure him, “We're not sleeping together.”
“We sleep together all the time!” Mak looks up confused.
“That's right Mak,” Gianna tries to calm her down. “We all sleep in the same bed sometimes.” Looking at her father she growls, “I agree with mom. Stop it.”
“So you two didn’t get along? What changed?” Cecile asks as a salad is presented to her.
> “We actually stopped and gave each other a chance,” I answer with a short chuckle. “We’re both a little introverted—”
“Hot tempered,” Gianna slides it in.
“Stubborn,” we say in unison, which is followed by a snicker from both of us.
“Cute,” her mother mutters.
“Irritating.” Donald disagrees.
For the next twenty minutes, give or take, I’m interrogated by her father, redirected by her mother, and the fuel behind every snide remark Gianna makes to them. The tension is not ideal for me, damn sure not for my daughter, but I'm thankful Mak spends most of her time coloring and talking to the pictures. Finally when the meal arrives, her father tucks his verbal sword away long enough to enjoy steak. During the meal Cecile takes this as a perfect chance to turn the topic of his job, his employees, his friends, anything that keeps me away from the spotlight.
About the time he’s finished, Gianna gets up to show Mak a surprise she's been holding onto all day for her, insisting I stay to talk to her parents, which has nightmare written all over it. She's seen what they are capable of. Why leave me to fend for myself with the sharks? If they hate me with her in the room, how much more can they hate me without her in it?
The second she’s out of sight her mother makes a quick attempt to pave the possible rough start. “You know she’s so beautiful. She’s looks just like you.”
“Thank you.”
“And she’s just as sweet and politely mannered as you,” she continues to compliment me, the alluring idea that this isn't about to end in shambles slightly more believable.
“And Gianna is, well...” Her mother pauses determining just the right way to word it. “Attached to her. Both of you actually. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Gianna so dedicated to helping another person. This is the highest her grades have ever been. The most responsible. It’s quite amazing. She’s really changed so much, I almost don't recognize her.”
“I know I don't.” Donald clears his throat as his coffee is placed on the table. “And while we’ve always encouraged her to do charity work, this crosses the line.”
“Donald!” His wife yells.
“Excuse me?” I raise my eyebrows, the blood rushing through my body towards my tensing neck the same way it does when I prepare to take a blow from my stepfather. “Are you implying Gianna’s only interested in like a makeover? To be my source of income? To treat me like her own Ken doll on welfare? Save me like I'm sort of dude version of Cinderella?”
“Now we're on the same page.” Donald shoots me a wink. I grip the edge of my chair to hold in my rage.
“I’m sorry, but with all due respect sir, I think you're wrong.” I do my best to stand up for myself.
“I don't think so,” Cecile nervously counters. “No offense Connor. You are a remarkable individual--”
“Don't lie to the boy—”
“Donald!” She fusses again. He shuts his mouth. “You are clearly a nice young man, but Gianna’s not ready to be a mother. She's definitely not responsible enough to actually be a stepmother. I'm sure she’s having fun babysitting now, wining and dining you both, but soon the high will wear off like it does with all of her pet projects, and she’ll realize that this is just like when she got a pony and swore she’d take care of it night and day and eventually well—”
Disgusted, I growl, “Are you comparing my daughter to a pony?”
“Not exactly. Just the situation,” Cecile tries to clarify.
Unsure of how to respond appropriately, I clench my fists tightly together, seal my lips, and nod slowly. He compared me to a charity project. She's comparing my princess to a fucking horse. This can't possibly be actually happening to me. This shit doesn't happen in real life. No. No way.
“Why don’t you just admit you’re using my daughter for her money hmm?” Her father slides his coffee cup back on its saucer. “How much is this going to cost me to make you go away? I mean really, single parent at eighteen who can barely take care of himself let alone his daughter just so magically ends up paired with the richest girl in the school, the city, if not the state, and they just so happen to end up dating even though they have nothing in common. Chances of this not being some sort of set up, maybe on your part, maybe on a pathetic teachers part, are slim. You like the money you're receiving while my daughter likes the feeling of being worth something. Like she’s finally giving something back for all the shit she’s managed to take. So my question to you Connor, I repeat, is how much is it going to cost me to make you and your white trash family disappear from her life?”
Suddenly, Gianna and Mak come rounding the corner, my daughter holding a brand new baby doll.
“Let’s go princess.” I stand still in disbelief.
“Okay daddy,” she giggles. Looking up at Gianna she asks, “Mommy are you coming too?”
“No.” My voice bites as I head towards her.
The hurt look on Gianna's face can't be missed, but she pushes through it. “So soon? You’re not going to stay and—”
“No,” I cut her off trying to stifle my rage. “I need to get Mak home for bed.”
She tries again, “But I thought—”
“No.”
“Why are you being short with me?” Gianna raises an eyebrow.
“I’m not.”
“Yes you are,” she deeply sighs.
“I am not.”
She starts again, “Connor—”
“Let’s go. And Mak, give Gianna back the doll,” my instruction causes a stir from both of them.
“No,” my daughter pouts. “She gave it to me. It's mine.”
“And daddy wants you to give it back,” I grump arriving in front of her. “Now.”
“Why?” Gianna’s voice rises. “It was a gift—””
“No.”
“But—””
“I said no.”
“Can I finish my sentence please?” She snaps at me loudly. “What’s the matter with you anyways? Since when do you cut me off all the time?”
“Look, I need to get her home, and I want her to leave the doll. We’re not a charity case.”
“I know that!” My eyes glance at her parents, which is where her eyes dart to, “What did you say…What did you say to him?”
“Nothing,” I swallow hard. “Let’s go MaKayla, tell everyone good night.”
“But I wanna keep the doll daddy!” She screams at me. “It's mine!”
“No sweetie.”
“Yes!”
“No.”
“Yes!”
“No!”
“Yes! I want to!” She screams at the top of her lungs. Tears start to fill her eyes at a rapid rate as she flops to the ground clutching the doll for dear life. “I want it! Mommy gave it to me! It looks just like me daddy! It's a present from Mommy...please don't make me give it back.”
The sound of her tears, the phrase, and the situation cuts too deep for me to breathe. “Mak...please leave the doll.”
She begins to bawl, the sight shifting tears in my own eyes to point I have to look at the ceiling to prevent them from escaping.
“Can’t control his own daughter, what could he possibly bring to the table?” Her father mumbles loud enough for everyone to hear.
“You couldn't control yours either,” my voice harshly snaps looking at him. Immediately he rises to his feet. “What did you say?”
“Donald. Sit down,” her mother instructs.
Before saying something else that's out of line, I swoop up Mak, pull the doll out of her hands, shove it back at Gianna before saying coldly to her parents. “Goodnight.”
With Mak crying and screaming, her tantrum making me wish I could do the same, I head out of the dining room at the same time I hear Gianna snap, “I will deal with you when I get back.” Rushing to me she reaches me right as my hand hits the front door knob. “Wait! Wait!”
Between trying to leave and trying to handle Mak my level of frustration peaks, “What Gianna?”
“It’s not important—”
“And I’m sure it hurt your feelings—”
“It doesn’t matter—”
“I just don’t want what happened in there to ruin what we’ve got—”
“Goodnight Gianna,” is the last thing I say before stepping to the other side of the door.
“Connor!” She calls at me one last time. Turning around she holds the doll out, “Please, just take the doll.”
Pulling it from her hands, feels like I'm pulling our future apart at the same time. Putting back in place the independence that I once swore by. That I should still swear by, because they're right. What 18 year old girlfriend wouldn't grow weary and tired of the responsibility of being a parent when the good times stop rolling? When the pressures of financial responsibilities become overwhelming, when the time you have to cancel for things you wanna do comes because she's sick, or when you realize that you don't ever get to have a life of your very own again.
My eyes cut down to Mak as I hand her the doll. “Say goodbye MaKayla Ashley.”
“Bye Mommy.” She waves before resting her head on my shoulder not knowing this goodbye isn't temporary like it has been in the past. No. This is me doing the right thing. Stopping all this before it's too deep and there is no point of return. How fucking stupid was I to think this would end well with us moving in together or anything like that when we graduated? This isn't some fucking movie. There is no such thing as Happily Ever After.
Chapter 13
Barging into my apartment my daughter passed out in my arms, gripping the doll tighter than she does her favorite teddy bear, I try to ignore the pain that it's going to cause me to have to rip both Gianna and the damn doll from her world.
The minute I'm inside I’m surprised to see my mother sitting on the couch soberly with what I swear is a ghost. Trying to close the door quietly as possible while stifling my urge to yell I stare at what has to be a figment of my imagination. There's no way this shit is happening to me. No way this fucking day can get any worse without imploding.