“Do you even have to ask?” I managed a grin while sinking onto a barstool that usually stood tucked up under the expansive stainless steel island that occupied the middle of the room. Jerry got a smaller bowl out of one of the glass cabinets lining the wall behind him and dumped a good half dozen mouthfuls into it. Once he produced a fork and handed it to me, I took my first taste and savored the delicious fruit.
“How are you feeling honey?” Maria asked me as she sat on the stool next to mine.
“Hungry,” I answered truthfully, even though it was probably the weakest thing I was feeling.
Maria and Jerry had known me too long to not notice my current melancholy mood. It was Jerry who spoke up next. “I think what you need is some sugar, but something that will warm you up on such a day as this one.”
You have no idea.
Jerry, my makeshift favorite uncle and grandfather combined, started assembling all kinds of cooking utensils and ingredients onto the island. Eggs, olive oil, spatula, et cetera… Any sweet additive that he produced was found in a secret place he had kept from Mother’s knowledge for years. His movements were precise and skilled as he created a masterpiece- he made cracking eggs an art form. Watching him in his element, I was mesmerized and very impressed. I had always been appreciative of Jerry’s delectable dishes, but I had only ever seen the result of his hard work. Sitting at the dinner table, I now knew, had made me miss the full effect of his remarkable talents.
Jerry’s work in the kitchen, Uriel and his family’s true identities, what else have I overlooked while only seeing what was on the surface?
Before I had gotten very far in mentally kicking myself for my ignorance, Maria covered my hand with hers and asked me, “What’s the matter Keira?”
I looked up into her cerulean, wise eyes and suddenly wanted nothing more than to unload my burdens and put my sorrows into words that would vanish the moment they left my lips. “Uriel and I… had a misunderstanding yesterday.” I knew I couldn’t tell them exactly what happened, not unless I wanted to wind up in that mental institution I had considered in Elly’s room a month earlier. “We sort of had a fight, and now, I don’t know how to fix it.”
Maria’s answering, sad smile was so understanding and accepting that I felt my eyes start to water. The tears that had refused to come earlier in the day and the night before, unexpectedly came pouring out like they had all been stored up behind my eyes, just waiting for that second. I began sobbing, and Maria pulled me into her squishy embrace. She held me as I bawled and softly repeated that everything was going to be okay. Through the tears, I saw Jerry quicken his cooking pace and slide something into the oven. Then, he came around the island and started patting me on the back in a way that, done by anyone else, would be a little awkward but by him, was comforting and soothing. Thanks to the two of them, I started feeling a little better.
After all the water in my body had leaked out of my tear ducts, I straightened on my stool and wiped at my damp face. I would’ve been terribly embarrassed if I had acted that way in front of anyone other than Maria and Jerry. They’ve always been my trusted companions over the years.
“He’ll come around,” Maria continued to comfort me. “They always do.” She and Jerry exchanged a sweet glance.
“I hope so,” I sniffed.
Maria’s expression grew thoughtful as she watched me. “You really like the boy- Uriel- don’t you?”
“Of course.” There was no hesitation needed for further thought about that.
“No, no,” Maria re-worded, “I mean, you care for Uriel more than perhaps your friends have cared or do care for their boyfriends. He’s more than a crush or a fling.”
She wasn’t asking, but I still felt like I had to say something. I stopped and considered what she had said. I felt very strongly for Uriel- that was obvious. But mostly, I had just acted and been. I like being with Uriel; it felt right and good when he was with me. Did I have to put my sentiments into words? Whatever the answer to that question was, I did know that I agreed with Maria. “He’s much more than a fling.”
A loud beeping noise resounded, and Jerry answered it by opening the oven door and tapping a button on a timer that I had probably been too distracted earlier to notice he had set. The large room filled with the mouth-watering scent of baked chocolate. Jerry donned mittens that had cat faces on them and held them up for me to clearly see how ridiculous they were, making me laugh, and he retracted the origin of the delicious smell. Maria got up and, without having to be instructed, produced a cooling rack from a cabinet and placed it directly in front of me. Jerry set the chocolate delight on the rack and returned his comical mittens to the drawer he had taken them from. I breathed deeply in the comfort food and decided the strawberries had not been nearly enough to satisfy my hunger. How could they have been when I had a warm chocolate miniature cake sitting in front of me and the strawberries were out of sight and suddenly out of mind?
Jerry handed me a fork and I scooped up a bite. I blew on it until I couldn’t wait any longer, and I ate it. It was one of the most delicious things I had ever tasted. “Jerry, you made heaven in a pan!” He beamed ear to ear. “You and Maria have to help me eat it.” Before they started to protest, I added, “Please let me share.”
Maria smiled at me. “Okay. If you insist.”
“I do.”
Jerry got out two more forks, and the two people who were the most paternal in the house came and sat on either side of me. It was nicer than any family dinner I had ever had with my actual parents. While Dad and I could keep up a comfortable conversation between the two of us, my mother never had anything to say unless it had to do with her work or etiquette or nagging me about something or my Coming Out Ceremony.
Maria and Jerry left the last little bit of cake for me. Jerry started cleaning and putting up all of the things he had dirtied while making his chocolate heaven. Maria asked me one more time if I was okay, and I assured her, “I’m much better now. Thank you two.”
There was only one more bite of cake left. I forked it and just as I was about to finish it off, my mother walked into the kitchen. This is weird, I thought. I didn’t know she even knew where the kitchen was. “Keira,” my mother gave an exasperated sigh, “I’ve looked all over the house for you.” Her voice was in its usual sharp and disapproving tone. “What have you been-” she stopped. A look of pure horror crept onto her face. She pointed at the now empty dish in front of me and the fork that had halted mid-air before I could gobble the last bite. “Put that fork down.”
I did as she said, propping my fork up on the side of the pan, and told her slowly, “It’s just chocolate, not a bomb.”
She was not amused. “It might as well have been; your ceremony is in two months. You can’t eat carbs; your dress has already been altered to your measurements. Or,” she glared at the last bit of chocolate, “the measurements you used to be.”
I looked the woman over from head to toe: her short blond hair was tidy and kept in place, as always; not an inch of her face was bare- I often wondered if she even took her make-up off before she slept or if it had given up on ever being removed and so it simply remained there because of practicality; her lips were in a tight red line after my comment; the position of her hands on her hips complimented the dissatisfied posture she always adopted when talking to me; a sharp, light-colored suit was the outfit for the day even though we weren’t going to church or probably anywhere else that day; and last, but not least, a pair of pointy-toed, high-heeled Jimmy Choo court shoes. This is the attire my mother wears around the house. How absurd is that?
“Some of us have fast metabolisms and don’t have to eat twigs for meals.” I refrained, but only just, from making a snide comment about how I was still sixteen and don’t have to worry about my butt sagging unlike some other, older women I’m related to.
“This is no time for smart remarks, young lady. You are not allowed to-”
“To eat food that actually tastes like an edibl
e sustenance instead of like cardboard or dog treats,” I finished for her. “Yeah, I know.”
Maria stepped in when my mother’s temper turned from an average six to a nine on her pissed-off-ometer. “Mrs. Fairchild, Jerry and I were simply trying to cheer Keira up. We- and she- did not mean to go against your wishes.”
“Cheer her up?” Mother asked. “What does she need cheering up for? She is going to have a coming out ceremony soon; she should be the most cheerful sixteen-year-old girl in North Carolina. Speaking of which, Keira we have planning to do. Come along.”
Sometimes, like right then, I could only stare, bewildered, at Mother’s amazing ability to be over-bearing and completely absent at the same time. Maria didn’t even try to explain how wrong the woman of the house was, and I had given up years ago. But I did want to do one more thing before I conceded my day over to the woman. I grabbed for my loaded fork and shoved the thing in my mouth before she had time to react. I chewed, swallowed, and smiled. “Mmm. Good to the last bite,” I goaded.
Mrs. Fairchild did not like that. She stomped across the tiled floor, making intimidating clicking noises with her heels, clamped down on my arm, and jerked me to my feet. As she dragged me out of the room- I can’t just use my boxing practice on my own mother; no matter how much I pretend it didn’t happen, she still “brought me into this world”- I looked back at Jerry and Maria. “Thanks for everything,” I called as they disappeared behind the corner I was being yanked around.
Communication Is Key
Chapter 15
Keira
I was on a mission. Sunday morning, I woke up knowing I had to fix whatever had been broken between Uriel and me. I found that as long as I stayed focused on my objective, that sick and twisted feeling in the pit of my stomach would almost completely subside whenever I thought of Saturday. Almost.
Once the rain had stopped on Sunday and Mother had released me from my debutant duties, I went running in hopes of finding some way to talk to Uriel. Running always gave me purpose and that’s what I needed. After the first half-mile, I started forming a plan. Here’s how it went:
Monday morning, I’d get up, get ready, and leave the house looking spectacular. I’d go to school and Uriel would be waiting outside my homeroom class after he was done with his jazz band practice. I’d walk up to him and notice how sad and guilty he looked. When he saw me, he would immediately walk up and take me in his arms and apologize and assure me that everything had been a big misunderstanding. There would be nothing I actually had to say because things were already fixed between us. Then I would go find Elly sometime and comfort her over the loss of her creepy boyfriend because she would see that he was no good and dump his sorry ass.
My hypothetical scenario played out smoothly and flawlessly. Of course, I’m not an idiot, so I knew that this wasn’t really going to happen, but a girl has to have crazy hopes sometimes.
Before I reentered my house, I decided I would get Uriel to explain everything to me and then we would solve any other problems together. It was simple enough.
So I woke up Monday and started getting ready for school. The crazy, hopeful plan was ruined from the very beginning; I did not look spectacular. Not even close. I spent an abnormally long time in the bathroom trying, to no avail, to convince my hair to look great and my clothes to match. Neither wanted to cooperate. I couldn’t find a single outfit in my closet that looked even remotely presentable on me. I resented my khakis and polos. And my hair… I don’t even want to talk about it. A messy bun was the only thing I could achieve; I considered chopping it all off right there over the sink, but then I saw what time it was and had to go.
I arrived at school late, so I had to wait until after homeroom to try to catch Uriel between classes. I couldn’t find him, and barely made it to my Religion class before the tardy bell. Mr. Pollard began teaching the moment everyone was seated. He started his lecture by giving a much needed- at least by me- over-view of the religion we had started two or three weeks before: Islam. I hadn’t been paying attention to him lately, and tried to appease my conscience by scribbling down every word he said. By the time he started teaching the new material, my hand was cramping up. I couldn’t write another letter, so I tried a stalling act. I slowly raised my hand, and Mr. Pollard, instead of just calling on me, said, “Ms. Fairchild, it is too early in the class to use the restroom.”
A few of my classmates snickered. Any positive feelings I had felt on the first day of school for this religion teacher instantly vanished and were replaced by a great deal of negative ones. “That’s not it Mr. Pollard.” Jerk. “Actually, I have a question for you.”
He didn’t even attempt to hide his surprise. I might have deserved that reaction, but school was so boring. What did he want me to do? Show an interest just because he was my teacher and in authority over me? I don’t think so.
“Ask away.”
If I was going to waste time, I might as well use it to talk about something I might find helpful. “I was wondering if there are any angels in Islamic belief.”
My teacher’s bewildered expression showed that I had caught him off guard; it was very satisfying. I had never realized he had brown eyes before. The only reason I did then was because his eyes were so wide as they peered at me with astonishment that I couldn’t not notice their color. He had graying hair and an almost beer-belly too.
Mr. Pollard found his voice and answered me. “There are brief mentions of angels in the Koran. Muhammad claimed that one in particular came to him several times, bringing the Prophet knowledge of the truth. This was the Archangel Gabriel.”
My hand now forgotten, I asked another question. “What’s an archangel?”
He gave me a hard look. “So many questions today from you Ms. Fairchild. It makes one wonder why the sudden change.”
This man was really starting to get on my nerves. “You’re just doing such a wonderful job teaching today, Mr. Pollard, that I decided to participate.”
If I had thought beforehand, I probably wouldn’t have said that, but it was too late now, so I fixed my elder with a fake sweet grin. He surprisingly didn’t back down. “I’ll have to examine today’s lessen so far and see what I’ve done differently from the others. Perhaps you’ll participate more often if I can duplicate whatever I seem to have done this time.”
I started to respect him after that. “Perhaps,” I allowed. “But probably not.” My regard for the teacher bettered when he mirrored the derisive smirk my sweet grin had morph into. Back to the topic. I reminded him, “Archangels?”
His voice returned to its lecturing mode. “An archangel is considered an upper level angel. They are usually found fulfilling important duties throughout history and literature. They’re the most powerful and most feared of angels.”
The friendly banter between my religion teacher and me was forgotten as a recollection was brought to the surface of my memory. Amir’s words rang through my mind: I was one step below the archangels, one step away from those with so much power, power that you cannot begin to fathom.
Fear rose up in me like a snake that was uncoiling and raising its head in response to the enchanting notes of Amir’s intonations. I distantly heard Mr. Pollard resume lecturing about Islamic beliefs, but he didn’t keep talking about angels and moved on to his planned lesson. I looked around. Off-white walls, singular desks that were made to be uncomfortable, the white-board, and my fellow classmates surrounded me. It was such a familiar setting. There’s nothing to fear in here, I told myself. Just calm down. The teacher’s droning voice began to have its usual lethargic effect on me and soon I felt the fear subside.
I have to talk to Uriel.
♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂
Determined not to take no for an answer, I waited near Uriel’s locker after first period. I knew he would have to stop at his there to get his books for English, but I was still caught off guard when he popped up in front of his locker seemingly out of nowhere. I walked up to him and stopped.
&n
bsp; What did I want to talk about? My mind went blank. All I could do was stand there like an idiot.
Uriel took his last Lit book out and closed the locker door. He turned to me after a second’s pause, his face blank and perfectly composed. And perfectly beautiful. In the same mechanical voice he had used the last time he talked to me, he asked, “Yes, Keira?”
I opened my mouth to tell him, ask him, all of the thoughts that had been bombarding my mind for two days, but nothing came out. I closed my mouth and tried again. The same thing happened.
The second period bell rang and Uriel said, “We’re late for our class.” Then he stepped around me and slipped into our English room without another word. After a moment, I followed him and took a seat in the back beside Alicia while ignoring Mrs. Ginger’s evil eye.
Uriel was sitting between Azra and Zev on the other side of the room. With Odeda in front of Azra and Dagan in front of Uriel, he was completely surrounded by his family, and none of them were looking at me as I stared and ruminated over why I had lost my motor skills in the hallway. When Mrs. Ginger called on me to answer a question she’d asked, I found out that my mute state had only been temporary because the sentence I used to make my teacher irritated by asking her to repeat her question was formed by words that came out just fine.
With two minutes till the next bell rang, I started practicing: Uriel, we need to talk… Uriel, we need to talk… Uriel, we need to talk… Uriel, we need to talk…
“Uriel, we need to talk.” My voice came out as anything other than sure and steady, but at least, this time at his locker, they came out at all. Uriel didn’t look at me this time but kept exchanging his books. So I went on a little stronger. “You have to tell me what happened on Saturday.”
Defiant Destiny Page 16