American Babe

by Babe Walker

  “Who are they?”

  “The point is I think we need to tell him.”

  Vee put her head in her hands and smoothed her hair back.

  “You want to know why I’ve never told him? Why I’ve kept the truth about his birth mother from him for so long?” she asked, but I didn’t get the sense she wanted me to answer. “Because I wanted to protect him from Donna. I saw what she did with you and I know you ended up doing okay for yourself and your dad has you all set up out there in California, but it got to a point where he was too sweet and too smart and too special for me to then tell him that this horrible, selfish woman was the person who brought him into this world and not me. I know if I open up that door then she’ll find ways to hurt him. She’ll either deny all of it and run away again or pretend like she’s gonna be a part of his life and just end up disappointing him. I won’t let her hurt him. I won’t do it.”

  I didn’t realize right away, but by the time Veronica stopped talking, I was crying. She pulled a pack of tissues out of her scrubs and gave me one.

  “Thanks,” I said, barely getting it out. “Fuck me. This is intense. You’re right. I hadn’t even thought about the Donna of it all.”

  “I know you hadn’t. Donna is a deeply unhappy person. Like, she is fucked up and she leaves a path of destruction everywhere she goes. I’ve known her longer than you. I know who she really is, not the person she takes photos as. I’ve always told my dad that.”

  “What?”

  “That she wouldn’t be a good model if she knew how to be a decent, loving, or even kind person. She wouldn’t be so cutthroat. She’d make time for people. She’d care about others and their time. It took a lot of fucking people over and being a shark to get where she did. She wasn’t plucked off a horse as a ten-year-old like Christy Turlington. Donna made herself.”

  “First of all, obsessed that you know how Christy Turlington’s career started, and also, I know what you’re saying. Like, I hate it and it’s weird and a little sad for me because she is my mom at the end of the day, but I get it. I totally get it.”

  “Good.”

  “And I wouldn’t want Knox to have to have some of the thoughts I’ve had about her. I mean, I normally don’t give a fuck about what she’s doing/saying/snorting, but the dark truth is, I’d be better off if I grew up with a real mom. I know that.”

  “And when you took Knox from me—”

  “I didn’t take him from you.”

  “Babe, you literally kidnapped him. But you know what I mean. It scared the living shit out of me. I don’t know you, Babe. I don’t know what you’re actually like, what you stand for, what matters to you, if you know how to handle kids. All I really know about you are the things I’ve heard on the news and that you’re Donna’s kid. And if you’re anything like my sister, if you see the world like she does . . .”

  Vee started to cry too. Now it was fucking ridiculous. Such a CW show.

  “I get it,” I said and I took her hand and just held it for a few seconds. I have NEVER in my life. I don’t console, I just don’t, but I wasn’t me. “I’m not my mom. Well, really Mabinty Jones is my mom, and I kind of am hers, but that’s beside the point. I won’t abandon Knox like she did. I swear on Isabella Blow’s grave.”

  “Who?” Vee said between sniffles.

  “Forget it.”

  She laughed. I lit a cigarette. She asked for a drag, and I gladly gave her one.

  “I don’t smoke,” she said after a long, professional pull and exhale.

  “Of course you don’t. Then you’ll probably want to finish that one.”

  “Thanks,” she said. I gave it a few minutes and let her enjoy her cigarette, which she smoked like it was her last day on earth.

  “Veronica?”

  “What? I should go back inside. I gotta get back.”

  “We’re gonna talk to him before I leave. Like, it has to happen.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ll come over tonight when your shift is over. Will Knox be home or does he have a lesson or something annoying?”

  “Sure. Come by at six. I’ll make some food for us, and we can talk to him.”

  “Okay, chic. I’m not gonna eat, but great, sounds perf.”

  “Is this really the best thing for him?” she asked me with real despair in her voice.

  “One trillion percent,” I confirmed.

  “Can you believe I’m asking you for advice?”

  “Yes.”

  “Right. Of course you can.”

  “And while we’re on the subject of me knowing what to do: you gotta let him do the show. He’s a fucking star. You didn’t need to be there at that audition to know how ecstatic he was. I know you know how much he wanted that.”

  “Of course I know.”

  “So let him live. It doesn’t have to be scary; it can be a good thing, I promise. We’ll be by his side keeping him in check.”

  “No, I’ll be keeping him in check, and you’ll be buying him designer clothes and taking him to hotel parties.”

  “Never again! I learned my lesson. But, like, to be totally honest, if we use Drew as an example, she was blowing rails of coke and, like, fucking E.T. when she was nine or whatever and look at her now: wholesome mom vibes as fuck.”

  “Drew Barrymore?”

  “No, Drew Carey. Yes, Drew Barrymore, hello?”

  “Not funny, Babe.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be funny. So . . . thanks?”

  She shook her head, chucked the cigarette butt to the side, smoothed the top of her horrible pants down with her hands, and stood up.

  “I’ll think about the show,” she said with a tiny smirk.

  That was all I needed.

  As Vee walked away, I caught another glimpse of the print on her scrubs. I hadn’t noticed before but the tiny animal cartoons were all of pigs and they were drawn as if they were barreling through space. Pigs of all different colors. Just like my vision. I bit my lip and pondered the great connectivity of our majestic and spiritually aligned planet. And then I said, “LOL,” out loud.

  NINETEEN

  Can We Finish Our Salads Now?

  As I’d expected, Veronica didn’t cook shit for dinner, Knox did. And it looked gorgeous but being around him for the past week and a half was like living inside a chic Food Network show, and I’d been eating in a manner that was entirely excessive and out of character. So, much to Knox’s dismay, she was gonna need to juice for a while. She being me.

  When I got to the house, Knox was obviously thrilled to see me. When he went into the kitchen to finish dinner, Vee pulled me aside and let me know that Cara was going to a friend’s house for dinner, which was her preference anyway because she planned on telling Cara about Donnagate separately. I told her that was wise because Cara’s a fucking bitch and she’d definitely say something rude to spoil the sensitive moment. Vee didn’t disagree, but she was mad that I called Cara a bitch, and I told her she was just mad because it’s true.

  I did get to say hi to the angsty princess before she left. She came down from her room in an outfit that can only be described as “how?” but I did my best to hide my shock. Can someone please explain to me why kidnapping Knox was such a big deal to Vee, but she has no qualms letting her only daughter leave the house in pleather H&M boy shorts, an oversized hoodie with the words “Text Me Never” emblazoned across the chest as if they were spray-painted there, and a pair of extremely dirty brown Ugg boots?

  Cara stood at the bottom of the stairs holding her phone, hair up in a side-pony.

  “You’re still here?” she said.

  “Actually, no. This is just a hologram of Babe Walker that your mom had installed in the house so I could be with you guys forever and always,” I served back.

  “I know that’s not true because we can’t afford a holographic projector. I asked my mom for one last Christmas.”

  “What? Really? Why?”

  “I wanted a hologram of Justin in my room so I could l
earn the choreography to his videos.”

  “Bieber?”

  “No Timberlake . . . Yes, Bieber, hello?”

  “Ew. I mean, they make a Justin Bieber hologram machine?”

  “No. But I still asked for it.”

  “Oh, in that case I respect your creativity in gift requests. Not everyone has that.”

  “I don’t even know what that means, but okay,” Cara said, flipping her ponytail around to the other shoulder and walking toward her mom’s room. “Mommmmmmmmmmm! I’m gonna wait outside for Lizzie and her mom.”

  “Okay!” Vee shouted from her room. “Text me when you get there, K?”

  “I always do!”

  And Cara was out the door. The screaming back and forth was a lot for me, so much that I didn’t even think to say good-bye to Cara. I didn’t know if I’d ever see Cara again. I mean, I knew I probably would, but I didn’t necessarily need to, so I knew I wouldn’t for a long time. I should’ve at least said bye.

  I walked into the kitchen where Knox was making salad dressing, or that’s what it looked like.

  “Hey,” he said when he saw me, “can you just mix this around till you think it’s good?”

  “Sure,” I said, taking the little metal bowl and spoon from him. I’d never done this job before so it was a fun new experience for me.

  “I think you’re gonna want to eat what I made.”

  “I think I’m not.”

  “Rude!”

  “You’ll get over it. What are you making?” I asked, knowing full well I was having my juice for dinner.

  “Here,” he said, walking over to a big wooden bowl at the corner of the counter, “I’ll show you and you tell me if you think it looks right.”

  “If it looks right?”

  He carried the bowl over and put it in front of me. Inside the bowl was an exact replica of my favorite salad in the entire universe: the La Scala Chopped Salad. It was uncanny. Every ingredient was chopped within the right dimensions, and the proportions were spot on. I almost screamed but stopped myself because I don’t scream about food. But I wanted to.

  “What!? How?!”

  “I’ve been wanting to try this salad since reading about it in your book and since we never got the chance to go to the, like, real La Scala when we were in LA, I figured I would just make it for you here. And also this way I can try it.”

  “Knox. It’s breathtaking.”

  “So you’ll eat it with us?”

  I paused. Contemplated. Looked down at Knox, who was now making the most adorbs exaggerated frowny bitch-boy face at me.

  “I’m gonna have some, yes. It would be my honor,” I said.

  “Wooo!”

  “What are you wooooing about?” Vee said, walking into the kitchen. She’d put on a bit of tinted moisturizer or foundation because she looked fresh.

  “Babe’s eating the salad,” Knox announced.

  “Honey, you know we shouldn’t celebrate the fact that Babe has extreme food issues, right?”

  “Mom, I’m celebrating the fact that she’s eating.”

  “All right,” she said, rolling her eyes in the same way she always did: naturally and without care for my feelings.

  “He made me my favorite salad. I’m pausing my cleanse for the next hour.”

  “Then I guess we should sit down,” Vee said. She seemed genuinely happy and not nearly as nervous as I was about the conversation we were about to have.

  “You guys sit,” said Knox, frantically. “I’m gonna go put on a different shirt. Babe, can you take the salad out?”

  He ran upstairs. Vee and I sat across from each other, leaving the space between us at the head of the table for Knox.

  “Why aren’t you nervous?” I whispered.

  “I’m fucking terrified, are you kidding??” she hissed back.

  “You’re hiding it really well.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m good at hiding things.”

  I liked that she said that. It calmed me down for some reason. I told myself that it was going to be fine. Knox would be okay. I’d spent the last few days arguing how strong he was, but in this moment I wasn’t able to convince even myself. But Veronica and I were in this together, which was weird. We were like Knoxie’s lesbian moms. She was Annette Bening, and I was totally Julianne Moore. But, like, she’s my aunt, which makes this fantasy interesting.

  Anyway.

  Knox entered proudly in one of the polos I bought him.

  “Yas, queen!” I squealed upon his return.

  The smile Veronica shot me let me know that he’d come out to her, too. She knew, she supported, she loved. I almost started crying again. I was getting sick of this emotionally raw thing. Like, enough.

  I raised the glass of rosé that Vee had brought to the table for me.

  “Can I just say, you both look super cute tonight.”

  “Thanks, Babe!” Knox said.

  “Veronica,” I continued, “you’re wearing makeup and it’s major.”

  “I figured why not.”

  “Let me serve you guys,” I said, standing up and grabbing the two wooden serving spoons. I proceeded to load all of our plates with pure salad heaven. Serving people: another entirely new activity for me.

  We all got into our salads pretty hard as soon as I sat back down. It was so good to be sort of back at La Scala—I missed my safe space.

  “When are you gonna decide about the show, Mom? I know you’re gonna say no. But I’ve prepared a formal statement that I’d love the opportunity to present to you so that I can hopefully sway your decision,” Knox said to Vee before taking a huge bite of salad.

  “We will talk about that. But I wanted to talk to you about something else first, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure, what? But can it be a short conversation, because I think the show is probably more important.”

  “Okay, now hear me out,” Vee said, gathering herself. “I know the last week or so has been pretty crazy around here and a lot has happened. I was obviously pretty upset about some things that happened with Babe and your trip to LA, but she came by the center today and we talked through all of that. She’s not necessarily the helpless mess that I’d pinned her as.”

  “I’m sitting literally right here.”

  “I don’t really care,” Vee said, turning to me. “That’s what I thought. I had every reason to.”

  “Wrong. But fair,” I conceded. “Go on.”

  “And we talked about something that’s come up for her since she came here. And before I really get into this, honey I want you to know a few things. Okay?”

  “Sure,” Knox said, plainly.

  “Knoxie,” she said, welling up, “if someone were to ask what mattered most to me in this world, I would tell them my son, Knox.”

  “I know, Mom. I love you too. Why are you sad?”

  “I’m not sad. I’m not sad at all. I’m so insanely proud of the person you are. You’re not like anyone else on this planet, I’m sure of it. You may only have ten years under your belt, but I know your spirit is much, much older than that. I’ve encouraged you to be who you are, I always have, but you have yourself to thank for who that kid is. You’re really brave, Knoxie. And you know how I have bad days sometimes, and it’s hard for me to get up and get to work or make dinner or whatever it is that day?”

  “Yeah, Mom, I know.”

  “Well, you’re the reason I’m able to do it. You’re not going to believe me, and God I wish I said this to you more often, but you remind me that it’s all going to be okay. So with that in mind . . .”

  Veronica took a deep breath and a shaky-handed sip of her wine.

  “. . . I need to tell you something about our family. But I need you to know that everything really will be okay and nothing, absolutely nothing, is going to change.”

  “Jesus shit, can you just get to it already?” I blurted.

  They both looked at me. Knox laughed uncomfortably, Vee rolled her eyes.

  “Knox,” she said, “when y
ou were born—”

  “Oh, this?” he said.

  Vee shot me a look of worry, then back to Knox.

  “I don’t think you know what I’m—”

  “Donna’s my mom. I know. Two years ago at one of Cara’s spelling bees, I overheard Grandpa Joe say something about Donna being a repeat offender or something and that one day I’d find out, so I figured it out on my own.”

  I was speechless. Veronica looked dead.

  “So yeah. I didn’t know what ‘repeat offender’ meant. I Googled it and was still pretty confused but didn’t ask any questions because it didn’t seem to be important. It wasn’t something we’d ever talked about in our house or anything. But then I read your book, Babe. Yeah, that’s what happened. And it made sense to me then.”

  “Oh my God, Knox baby,” Vee said to him, taking his little hand across the table.

  “I’m fine. I mean, you’re my mom, not Donna. Donna’s crazy.”

  “Oh my GOD! You knew?” I wailed and a wall of ugly tears came rushing out of me. “This shit is too much, I’m sorry. Knox, I love you so much.”

  “I guess I didn’t, like, actually know until right now, but I was pretty sure.”

  “I can’t believe this,” Vee said, shaking her head incessantly. I couldn’t tell if she was mad or relieved. I was just trying to keep it together and failing.

  “Also, Mom, I sent a strand of Cara’s hair and a strand of my hair to this website that does DNA testing and found out that she wasn’t my biological sister or whatever, which didn’t really surprise me.”

  We all burst into laughter—that type of uproar that can only come from a group of nervous psychos who need DESPERATELY to laugh.

  “Babe, I wanted it to be true. I knew it would be. But ever since I met you and you were so nice to me and you liked me and the way I dressed and how I talked . . . I don’t know, I thought if I brought it up, it might freak you out and you might not want to hang out with me and help me with my cooking and everything.”