Eluding Fate

by Delilah Mohan

  As if the routine was well practiced and completely in sync, they both finished off their plates, gulped down the last of their drinks, and trotted to the kitchen sink where they rinsed their plate, placed it into the dishwasher, and went their separate ways.

  When Spencer came back, a file of papers in his hand, he sat at the bar again, right next to where I was eating and began to read. He was deep into it, like the world around him was gone and everything of importance in this world, he would find on the piece of paper in front of him, instead of behind the closed door twenty feet away.

  I cleared my throat in case he forgot I was there, then smiled when he looked up. “So, about Victoria?”

  His eyebrows scrunched up in confusion, “What about her?”

  “She’s at a stage in her life now where she’s going to need things.” I used my hands to gesture on the word things, but he still seemed like he didn’t understand. “Feminine things. Products. Bras.”

  He had just taken a sip of coffee when I said bras, and he began to choke. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked through strangled words.

  I sighed heavily, “Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news here, but it’s your responsibility. You are the parent here.”

  He seemed muddled a little as he let my words seep in, “Can’t you do it?”

  “Can’t you?” I countered.

  His back stiffened a little as he turned his whole body toward me. “Look, I could take her. I could rearrange my schedule and arrange a time to take her, that’s not really the problem. The problem is . . . I don’t know how. She won’t meet me half way. She won’t meet me a quarter of the way. She won’t let me help her, believe me, I’ve tried. She won’t even walk to the coffee shop with me for fear that someone will see me with her, and to her, that’s the world’s biggest embarrassment.”

  I felt sadness for him because I could see that he really cared about her, he just didn’t know exactly how to care for her, and there was a difference. But, maybe the confusion, the lack of communication, the lost feelings, maybe they were hers too, because there was no way she could live here with a parent who so obviously cared so much about her and feel nothing in return.

  His eyes watched me, waiting for a response, and they were borderline puppy-like, with a sad glazed look and wide stare. “Please, I’ll give you whatever money you need. I’ll buy your coffee for a month.”

  “You buy my coffee anyway,” I reminded him.

  “I could stop buying it, but I don’t want to do that, bookworm. Please?” He stuck out his lip like he was five and I was feeling myself cave.

  “Bookworm?” I questioned.

  He gave me a look of indifference. “Well, I couldn’t think of anything better to call you, and I’m trying to butter you up and get my way here.”

  I drew my eyebrows in a little, “Does that work with all the girls?”

  “Most girls don’t make me work nearly as hard for things as you do.”

  “Most girls don’t get a chance to read into your bullshit, like I’ve had,” I countered.

  “Fair enough.” He sighed a deep sigh. “Please?”

  I bit the inside of my lip while thinking about it. The adult in me knew it could possibly be an amazing bonding experience between parent and child, but the female in me also knew that no teen girl wanted to buy her first bra and feminine products with her dad hovering nearby. That was uncomfortable and awkward, and so embarrassing that the poor girl probably wouldn’t come out of the dressing room. She did need someone with experience, someone who could guide her in what would work best for her needs, and since she didn’t seem to have a female influence really in the picture, it looked like it would most likely fall on me.

  Why did it fall on me? I wasn’t even really sure. But, it did. And as Spencer’s friend, I guessed it would be my job to accept his pleas and help him out. “You will owe me, you know that? Like, super mega owe me.”

  “You write books for a living, and the best you can come up with is ‘super mega’?” he asked with a smirk.

  I used my outer thigh to bump up against his thigh before saying, “You know, it’s not too late to back out. I haven’t cemented my commitment, yet.”

  “Victoria!” He yelled over his shoulder in the direction of the hall. When the girl’s door opened, and she peeked out wearing a frown, he announced, “Mari is going to take you shopping whenever she’s free.”

  He shot me a devilish grin and the girl’s mood instantly changed and a hopeful, “Really?” left her mouth.

  I bumped his thigh again, this time a little harder. “Really. Just let me know when, and I can work it out.”

  “I’m free today after school,” she said excitingly.

  “I don’t think she meant today, Victoria. We will work out something.”

  The little girl’s shoulders deflated, and there was no way I could kill her joy, “Today’s fine. What time do you get out of school?”

  “I usually pick her up at two forty-five on days that she doesn’t have her after school art class. Then I drop her at home and go back to the office until five.”

  “I can pick her up from school,” I offered.

  Victoria was jumping with excitement from the hallway, “Please say yes, Spencer!”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind? I don’t want to mess with your schedule, just whenever you have time.”

  “I make my own schedule, so it’s fine, really. Plus, I think after last night she needs a little girl time, maybe you can buy us pedicures,” I whispered the last part so she wouldn’t hear.

  He winced, “Done.”

  Victoria disappeared into her room to finish getting ready for school, while Spencer and I worked out the details of the day. After accepting a nice amount of cash with instructions to get her ‘whatever,’ I left Spencer’s place with a full stomach and plans for a pre-shopping nap.

  I arrived at the front of Victoria’s school about fifteen minutes before her classes were out, and I waited in the parking lot close to the entrance until the bell rang. Once it rang, I got out and waited on the sidewalk by a tree, hoping she would spot me. Kids, stuck in the awkward stage between children and teenagers, filed out of the building in a stampede-ish rush and after five minutes of the stream of children, I finally spotted Victoria’s full head of black curls.

  I wasn’t sure what the cool protocol was when collecting a preteen, but I was positive it wasn’t jumping up and down waving to get her attention, so instead, I waited patiently as I watched her search around the parking lot until her eyes landed on me. She gave me a soft smile and weaved through the crowd to meet me.

  “You ready?” I asked her when she reached a few feet away.

  “I’ve been ready all day long. I can’t wait. The only other person I get to do anything with besides Spencer is my grandma, and that’s limited to Walmart and the grocery store. Sometimes, if she is feeling extra daring, it’s the Walmart with the grocery store inside.” She was talking really fast, and I couldn’t help but laugh at her. She was definitely different than talking with Spencer, who only spoke calculated thoughts, and usually when they were only absolutely necessary.

  “Well then, you’re in for a treat. First stop, food. Are you hungry?” I asked.

  Her eyes got big, not unlike a look I’d seen Spencer wear on a few occasions before, “Starved! They had fish sticks today for lunch, everyone knows not to eat them, and they aren’t even real fish. Probably not even meat.”

  “Really? Why didn’t you bring lunch from home?” I questioned.

  “And risk being uncool? I hardly think that’s an option,” she countered.

  “Makes sense, I remember those days.” What I obviously wasn’t going to voice was my memories of middle school being the most cutthroat, savage, time of my teenage years.

  We had just stepped off the curb and into the parking lot when I heard Victoria’s name being called from a distance. At first, it didn’t register to either of us, but as it became louder, w
e turned and looked, seeing a man about my age, lightly jogging toward us.

  When he reached us, he handed over a book to Victoria. “I do believe you will need this for your homework this evening, young lady.”

  She rolled her eyes but accepted the book. “Thanks, Mr. Peters.”

  The man, whom I could only assume was her teacher, locked eyes with me and smiled. Holding out his hands to shake, he introduced himself. “Devon Peters.” I politely shook his hand, informing him of my name and hoping to make an exit before we got stuck in never-ending parking lot gridlock. But, Victoria, bless her heart, had other plans.

  “Mari is my unattached neighbor, who I recently met, but have learned Spencer had known her, as friends only, for months now.”

  I shot her a look of annoyance, “So, you are her math teacher?” It was a dumb question because he had just handed her a math book, but all I could hear was my mind screaming ‘deflect, deflect, deflect’ trying to draw attention away from Victoria’s obvious attempt at matchmaking.

  “Algebra, mostly. I do have one geometry class as well.” He nodded.

  “Fascinating.” I feigned interest. “Well, we better be going. Enjoy your evening, Mr. Peters.”

  “Please, call me Devon,” he rapidly replied.

  I tipped my head at him, “Devon.”

  I grabbed Victoria’s hand and dragged her toward my car. Once inside, I turned toward her, trying not to breathe fire at this poor girl I just met. “What was that about?”

  “What? He is THE teacher, Mari. He’s dreamy.” She threw herself back into the seat with a wistful look.

  “What does that have to do with me? A simple hello would have sufficed.”

  “You’re single and look at him, plus he was totally drooling over you from the moment he made eye contact!” she exclaimed.

  “What makes you think I’m single?” I questioned.

  “There is no way you would have been over at my place that early in the morning if you were attached. With a guy like Spencer, nope. I’m not blind. I know ladies fancy him, even though he doesn’t date. If you had a boyfriend or a husband, they totally wouldn’t let you hang out with him.” She smiled smugly at me.

  She was right, and I knew it. “Okay smart girl, what do you need to shop for?” I asked to distract her.

  “Stuff,” she said, her face taking on an adorable shade of pink.

  “Okay, well, I’m going to stop at Jolts, grab a coffee to go, and then we can be on our way. If you want to grab a snack there, we can, and then after our pedicures, we will get dinner.”

  Her eyes grew wide, and her voice took on a shrill tone, “We get to have pedicures, too!”

  “Yep, on Spencer’s dime!”

  I drove to Jolts with Victoria chattering in the seat next to me. She was all sorts of animated, telling stories that seemed bigger than she was, and she was happy. So unlike the little lady that I had found locked in the bathroom the night before. She reminded me of Spencer, although I doubted if I mentioned it to them they would agree, but put him in front of an audience and he came to life … just like she did.

  After arriving at Jolts, I ordered her a snack and an iced coffee for me, and we walked over to the wall to wait. I traveled along the edge, looking for the legal paper I was so used to finding. I spotted it near the edge, toward the bathroom, as always.

  “I don’t get the point of this wall,” Victoria announced as I neared my destination.

  “People write their feelings or inspirations and put the paper on the wall. Then, they take one off that calls to them,” I tried to explain.

  “Why?” she seemed genuinely baffled and I wasn’t sure if I was the right person to explain that sometimes in life the feeling of connection to something, anything, anyone . . . could be grounding.

  “I guess people just want to express themselves but are afraid to do so in everyday life,” I told her as I reached for the lined yellow paper that was pinned almost out of my reach. Placing it in my bag, I then took out my own note and pinned it in its place.

  “What did the one you picked say?” She was curious, but for some reason, I felt protective of my paper and of the person who wrote it. The poor broken piece of a person who was just looking for something, anything, to grasp as salvation.

  “I’m not sure. I’ll read it later,” I responded.

  “Why not read it now? Why would you pick a paper that you have never read? That seems the equivalent of wasting a wish in a wishing well.” I guess in theory, she was probably right. But, I was confident that the paper I picked was enough.

  “I always pick the same papers,” I shrugged. “It’s my quirk.”

  She made a humming sound in her throat, “I guess that sort of makes sense then. Isn’t it only old people who use that type of paper? Spencer uses that type all the time for his notes, so did his lawyers.”

  “Why did Spencer need lawyers?” I was curious.

  “Estate stuff or something like that.” She didn’t really seem to care about the details, and well, honestly, she was twelve and probably didn’t understand it anyway.

  The barista called my name and distracted us from our current conversation. Collecting my coffee and her snack, we left Jolts with my newly acquired paper, freshly stored in my bag, begging me to take a peek at what it said. But, I couldn’t, it felt wrong. I couldn’t take away from the personal time I dedicate to reading it by being distracted by Victoria.

  Shopping with Victoria was an . . . experience. Quite like shopping with Raylee; if Raylee was a preteen hyped up on sugar and excitement, anyway. I thought maybe I would take her to a few stores, grab the basics she needed and we would be on our way for pedicures and take out dinner. Nope. I was wrong. So, so, wrong.

  Apparently, she wasn’t kidding when she said she only got to shop at Walmart with her grandma, or the occasional online session because the moment we walked into the store, she wanted to try on everything. Everything. Not just a cute shirt and a pair of jeans. Everything. Every color of every style, in every length. I tried to convince myself that it wouldn’t be so bad, she was a kid, let her do her thing. But, after over two hours of her trying on clothes, I finally had to redirect her.

  The trip went slightly smoother after that. We were able to wrangle up a few shirts, some jeans, a couple of dresses, and what she really needed most, bras. Bra shopping was entertaining. At first, everything made her blush and direct eye contact, well, that was impossible. But, once the sales clerk stepped in, suggesting a line of bras and panties made especially for preteens, things ran efficiently. She picked out a few appropriate sets, ones that were tasteful and had plenty of coverage and from there our shopping was complete.

  When we arrived at the nail studio, I noticed the place was empty. Normally, I would worry why a place would be empty and second guess my choice of location, but I’d been going here for years and knew everyone by name, and the empty studio didn’t worry me a bit. Victoria’s choice of nail color was a pretty sparkly pixie pink, which looked completely whimsical next to my cobalt blue polish choice.

  We had just settled into the chairs and submerged or feet into the warm water when I turned to her and asked, “Is this your first pedicure?”

  “I used to go with my dad when I was younger, but this is the first time in years.” She splashed the water a little with her toes.

  “I’m sure if you ask, he will take you. He seems like the kind of guy who will do anything to make you happy,” I offered, trying to find something that would bridge that weird gap.

  She looked at me with confusion for a second before she realized what I was talking about. “Spencer isn’t my father.”

  To say I was shocked would be an understatement. Victoria was the spitting image of Spencer, well, if Spencer’s hair was curly. And, the eyes, those crazy beautiful mesmerizing eyes. There was no way that he couldn’t be her father.

  “I’m not really sure I understand. You guys are practically replicas of each other,” I confessed, still t
rying to figure it out.

  She crossed her arms in front of her and scoffed like she was offended I would even assume such things. I didn’t think I was far-reaching, but apparently, the mere thought was offensive. “I look nothing like him. I look like my father.”

  “Okayyy…” I breathed out the words long and drawn out, “You realize that is only opening up a whole new list of questions, don’t you?”

  She gave me an exasperated groan, “He’s my uncle, but most definitely, not my father. He will never be my father.”

  I understood from her point of view the divider between uncle and father, but I did think he deserved a little more credit than she was giving him. He was trying, even I could see that. He wanted to give her everything she needed, but the obvious struggle on how was still something he was trying to figure out. Maybe it was something they both were trying to figure out.

  “He may not be your father, but he loves you,” I stated flatly.

  “I doubt it,” she hissed under her breath.

  I tried to ignore the spoiled child act she was tossing my way, “Why would you say a thing like that, Victoria? I don’t even know you well, but I know he loves you.”

  “He doesn’t look at me, he doesn’t see me.” I looked over at the girl who was now biting her lip, fighting tears.

  I reached over and patted her leg. “What do you mean?”

  “He doesn’t look at me, he looks everywhere but at me, and he thinks I don’t notice, or that I don’t care. But, I do.”

  I thought back to the few interactions I’d seen them have and she was right. “I’m sure he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.”

  “He does,” she broke in before I had a chance to add anything to my statement. “He does realize he’s doing it. He doesn’t like looking at me because I look like him, his brother. But, doesn’t he think it’s hard enough on me being around him all day, too? Looking at him and knowing he is nothing like my dad, he never will be, but still having to be there?”