I felt a little sick and wished I hadn’t had those coolers. Or the pot. Or the beer.
“If you didn’t want to see Jax, you could have just said so. You didn’t need to make up some bullshit excuse.” Toni watched me. “But I thought you had a crush on him.”
“I did. I do.” I shook my head. “I wasn’t exactly making it up. I mean, I don’t know why I said it. But the thing is, he called. Sperm-donor guy.”
Toni stared. “You’re kidding. When?”
“Um, yesterday morning? But Mom just told me last night.”
There was a long, heavy pause. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Toni finally asked.
“I don’t know. I wanted to, sort of. It’s just hard to talk about it.”
“Didn’t seem like you had any trouble talking about it with Jax.”
I felt a wave of guilt, followed almost immediately by a flicker of defensive anger. I wouldn’t have been talking to Jax if she hadn’t taken off with Finn the way she always did. I opened my mouth and closed it again. I didn’t want to fight with Toni. We never used to fight, but lately it seemed we were often teetering on the brink of an argument.
Toni zipped up her hoodie and shoved her hands in her pockets. “I can’t believe that you’ve known about this since yesterday and didn’t even tell me. And then you go and tell a guy you hardly even know.”
“I don’t know why I did that.” I could hear my voice echoing in my head. He’s coming out to visit this week. The words had just come spilling out. Did that mean I’d decided to meet him?
I looked at Toni’s face. She looked hurt, not angry. “Toni. I told Jax my dad was coming. My dad. I mean, I’ve never thought of him that way. But I guess, you know, he is. Right?”
“Sure. I guess, in the biological sense.”
“I have to tell my mom if I want to meet him or not.”
We looked at each other for a long moment. When Toni answered, her voice was slow and careful. “What are you going to do?”
I looked away, down the wide street, past all the old houses with their faded paint, past the treed lawns and the crooked fences. I wondered where Mark lived now, whether he was still in Ontario. I hadn’t asked Mom. “If I say no, I might never hear from him again.”
“So, you’ll meet him?”
Over Toni’s shoulder, a slender crescent moon shone through thin streaky clouds. It seemed so precarious, suspended in space like that. One big meteor could take it right out and we’d have tidal waves, floods and god knew what else. The human race would be history. I swallowed hard and felt a familiar sharp ache in my throat. “Yeah,” I said. “I guess I will.”
eIGHT
I woke up feeling tired and heavy, as if gravity had doubled overnight. I dragged myself out of bed and stumbled downstairs. I was hungover from those awful blue coolers. Probably the dye and the chemicals as much as the alcohol.
Karma was sitting on the couch doing homework. She looked up as I entered the room and widened her eyes. “You were way late last night. Amanda’s mad.”
I could hear Mom banging pots around in the kitchen. “What’s she doing in there?”
“Trying to wake you up, I guess.”
I made a face. “Passive-aggressive.”
Karma shrugged.
I hadn’t got home until after two, which was well past the agreed-upon time. Mom didn’t call it a curfew—too military, she said. Still, I knew she’d be pissed off. I stepped into the kitchen and watched her pour coffee beans into the grinder and switch it on.
“If you’re trying to wake me, I’m already up.”
She took her finger off the coffee-grinder button and raised her eyebrows. “Well, not even nine o’clock and look at you. Did you just decide it was so late that you might as well stay up?”
“I couldn’t sleep anymore.”
“Are you all right? Did something happen at the party?”
“No. I was just thinking about Mark. You know. I think I should meet him.”
Her face froze, lips slightly parted, eyes wide, and for a second she looked almost scared. She turned away from me, grinding the coffee beans for a few seconds before responding. “Are you sure you want to do that?” she asked, her back still turned, her voice level.
“Yeah. I’m sure.” I stared at her. “You don’t want me to, do you? Why not?”
“It’s entirely up to you.”
Liar. It was so obvious she was hoping I’d decide not to. Well, too bad. She’d never been willing to tell me anything about him. I let out a long shaky breath. “Well, okay. I guess I should call him.”
Mom poured the coffee into the filter before realizing it wasn’t completely ground. She swore under her breath and started spooning it back out again. “It’s up to you, like I said. But…honestly, Dylan, are you sure you want to do this?”
I nodded.
“I’ll call him,” she said. “Let me talk to him first.”
“Okay, but I want to meet him on my own.”
“You do? Why?” She still wasn’t looking at me.
“Just do. Can you call him now? Please?”
The phone rang. I hesitated, looking at Mom, wondering if she was thinking the same thing—Mark? She picked it up. “Hello?”
I waited impatiently.
“It’s Scott,” she mouthed. She turned away from me and spoke into the phone. “How’s it going?”
I stood there for a moment and watched in disbelief as Mom went on casually chatting as if we hadn’t been about to make practically the most important phone call of my entire life. Then I ran up to my room and banged the door closed behind me.
I didn’t see why I had to wait for my mom to call Mark. Besides, what if she talked to him first and decided not to let me meet him? He was my father, after all. I was the one he wanted to see. I’d call him myself if I knew where he was.
MW, Ocean Front Inn, 214. Mom’s little note in her sketchbook. It had to be him. I’d put money on it. I could just pick up the phone and…
What would I say though? What if he didn’t know who I was and I had to explain? Should I say I was his daughter? Or was that…presumptuous? He might not think of me that way. Maybe I should just say I was Amanda’s daughter.
I looked up the Ocean Front Inn and stared at the phone number on the screen for a long minute. Finally I picked up my cell phone and managed to dial the first three digits before I lost my nerve and pressed End. Maybe I should just wait and let Mom do it after all. I eyed my closed bedroom door. Two minutes, I decided. I’d let fate decide. If Mom was off the phone, I’d go downstairs and let her call. But if Mom was still on the phone in two minutes, I’d call him myself.
Two minutes passed slowly, and my anxiety kept building. I wished I’d said five minutes, but it was too late to change it now. I didn’t know why I made up all these stupid bargains with myself, but I couldn’t help it. It was something I’d always done.
One of my earliest memories was being in the backseat of the car and counting telephone poles as they flashed past, telling myself that if I counted a hundred poles before we got home, the world wouldn’t end before I grew up. I mean, I know that made no sense. I think I even knew it at the time, even though I was only a little kid. But the reason I remembered it so clearly was that it felt so real and so true, and when we pulled into our driveway after only ninety-two poles, I was a mess. The world was going to end and it was my fault.
I guess most kids do stuff like that. I’d just never outgrown it.
When two minutes were up, I opened my door and listened. Amanda’s laughter echoed up the stairs. Still on the phone with Scott. I picked up my cell and dialed the number. A man answered and quickly transferred the call to room 214. Mark’s room. No questions. Somehow I had almost expected to be asked who I was or what I wanted. The phone rang again, and I held my breath.
“Hello?”
“Is that Mark?”
His voice was guarded. “Yes, it is.”
My heart was beating so hard I co
uld feel it in my head, the pulse pounding at my temples. “This is Dylan,” I said. “Amanda Jarvis is my mother.”
There was a long pause. Then Mark spoke. “I’m so glad to hear from you.”
He sounded like a movie actor—sort of relaxed and yet very clear, every word perfectly enunciated. I could hear the smile in his voice. Something else too, some emotion I couldn’t identify. Relief, maybe? I let out a long breath and relaxed my fingers on the phone. “I was glad you called. I would really like to meet you.”
“Great. That’s wonderful.”
My bedroom door opened. “Dylan?” Mom looked at me, eyebrows arched questioningly.
“Just a moment,” I told Mark. I put my hand over the phone and turned toward her. “I called him.”
Her face went chalk-white. She slowly lowered herself to sit on the edge of my bed.
“Dylan?” Mark was saying. “Can I speak to your mother? Is she there?”
I hesitated, feeling an odd reluctance to hand the phone over. I didn’t want my mother taking charge, didn’t like the reminder that she and Mark had this connection to each other—this relationship, this past—that excluded me. I tried to keep my voice level. “Sure. She’s right here.” I handed the phone to my mother and stood there listening while the two of them talked.
“Hi…yes…well, that’s what Dylan wants, so I suppose… Dinner?” Mom broke off, frowning. “Just a minute.” She stood and walked out of the room, taking my phone with her.
“Mom!” I followed her.
She put her hand over the phone. “I’d like some privacy.” She stepped into her bedroom and closed the door.
I sat down on the hallway floor. All I could hear was an occasional murmur.
Finally the door opened, and Mom stepped out in to the hall. When she spoke, her voice was as brittle as autumn leaves. “Well, we’re meeting him tonight at the hotel. For dinner.”
“Tonight?”
“He’s only here for a few days. Some conference.”
“I said I wanted to see him on my own.”
Mom nodded. “I know, I know. But he said he wanted to have us both there.”
I scowled. Mark and Mom would probably have some big gosh-it’s-so-good-to-see-you-again conversation and start talking about all their old friends. Though maybe not, since she didn’t seem exactly happy to hear from him. “Why both of us?”
“He said he wanted to ask you something.”
“Ask me what?”
“How the hell would I know?” She shook her head, as if she was taking back the harsh words. “He said he wanted to wait until he saw us.”
I rubbed one ankle with my other foot. My big toe was poking out of a hole in my sock. Maybe he wanted to spend some time with me, to get to know me. “Do you think he might want to invite me back to Ontario with him? For a visit?”
“Would you want to go?”
I studied the hole in my sock. “Would you let me?”
She hesitated. “Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“Mom? What was he like back then?”
“Oh, Dylan. It was so long ago.”
“Yeah, but you’ve never told me much about him.”
“I’ve shown you a picture.”
“I know, but still. Obviously you knew him pretty well, well enough to—you know.”
“I didn’t know him as well as I thought,” she said.
I wondered why she never wanted to talk about him. “Well,” I said, watching her face carefully. “You slept with him.”
She shrugged. “We were kids, Dylan. I was sixteen, for god’s sake. Your age. Anyway, you’ll meet him yourself in a few hours.”
I flopped onto my bed and watched her walk out the door. Tonight. I’d actually meet him tonight. My father. It was so strange—Mom never called him that; she always just said “Mark.” But these last few days, ever since his phone call, I kept catching myself thinking of him in that way.
I stared up at the ceiling. I could see dead flies through the white glass of the lampshade. Gross. God knows how long they’d been there.
I wondered if he thought of me as his daughter. Probably not. My mother had always been very clear that Mark had been a casual fling, a one-night stand. The pregnancy had been an accident, and he had never wanted to see me, didn’t want to be involved. He’d never paid a penny of child support, that was for sure.
So why did he want to see me now?
nIne
Mom pulled into the hotel’s underground parking lot, neatly parked the car and turned off the engine. “Ready?”
“Ready as I’m going to be.”
Karma glanced at me, her dark eyes narrowed and her expression unreadable. She unbuckled her seat belt and slid out of the car. Mom was checking her hair in the mirror and putting on lip gloss.
I got out of the car and started walking toward the parking lot entrance, a few steps behind Karma.
“Check this place out!” Karma said over her shoulder. She broke into a run and raced ahead, up the hill to the hotel and through the sliding doors into the lobby.
Mom put her arm over my shoulder. “How are you feeling, baby?”
Like I might throw up. I shrugged her arm off. “Fine. I’m going to…” I gestured in the direction Karma had gone, and sped up, breaking into a jog to catch up with her.
“There’s no need to be like that,” Mom called after me, but I didn’t look back.
In the hotel lobby, Karma was staring at some wooden carvings in a glass case. I stood beside her. I was so on edge my teeth were practically chattering. “Hey.”
“Hey. Pretty fancy place, huh?” She lowered her voice. “He must be rich to stay here.”
“I guess.” A tall woman walked past in a pale blue dress and high heels. I glanced at my reflection in the display case. I was totally underdressed in my cords and sweater.
Mom’s reflection appeared over my shoulder. She brushed my arm with her fingers and sighed. “Look… I’m sorry I snapped. I know this dinner is a big deal to you.”
To her too, it seemed to me. She was checking her reflection in the glass of the display case, turning her head first one way and then the other. Mom was pretty—great smile, perfect skin, long wavy hair, nice figure—but she didn’t usually fuss about her appearance. She lived in jeans or cargo pants, tank tops and hoodies—totally casual—but tonight she was wearing one of her wacky dress-up outfits from Julia’s thrift store: a short black skirt over black leggings, combat boots, and a low-cut sequined top that showed too many tattoos and too much cleavage. “Quit checking yourself out,” I said irritably. “It’s not a date, you know.”
She looked away from the glass quickly and gave a forced laugh. “Just wondering if he’d think I’d changed much. It’s been…”
“Yeah, sixteen years.” I scowled. “I’ve noticed. Anyway, Mom, he’s not here to see you.”
I saw her flinch, her eyes widening and the skin under them tightening for the briefest of seconds. She forced a smile. “I know he isn’t.”
“Well then.” I had a feeling I’d just hurt her more than I’d meant to and I didn’t understand why. I didn’t understand my mother at all. “He’s seen pictures anyway,” I pointed out. “So he knows what you look like.” And me too, I thought.
She flushed. “Dylan. Look, about those pictures…”
“What about them?”
She didn’t answer right away, and all at once, I knew. “You never sent them. Right? You never sent him a single one.”
“Dylan. Listen.”
“You lied to me.” My voice came out high-pitched and shaky, and I clenched my fists, trying to stay in control. “God, Mom! You’re always going on about honesty, blah blah blah, and you’re so full of crap.” Posing for this year’s picture, two days ago, while she knew the whole time that she wasn’t going to send it.
Mom was looking at me, her fingertips pressed against her lips, eyes shining with tears. I stared back and felt like she was a stranger. “I
can’t believe you lied to me about this,” I said. “I can’t believe you never sent the pictures.”
“He didn’t deserve them.”
“That’s not the point! I wanted to send them. I thought you had sent them.” My eyes prickled with hot tears and I blinked them away angrily. “You had no right to do this.”
“Dylan, come on. It’s not like he’s ever been a father to you.”
“At least he was honest,” I said. “You lied to me. You’ve lied to me every year. Letting me take those photographs. Telling me you’d send them.”
“He probably wouldn’t have written back.”
“That’s not the point!” I balled my hands into tight fists. I’d never hit anyone, ever, but for the first time in my life, I felt like hitting my mother. Grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. I hated her. Lying to me and acting so self-righteous about it. What did she know? Mark was here now, wasn’t he? So maybe he’d been thinking about me too.
Karma was staring at us both, wide-eyed and silent. She always got really small and quiet whenever anyone fought. Me and Mom, Mom and her boyfriends.
I turned my back to my mother and spoke directly to Karma. “Come on, Karma. We’d better go find him.” I put my arm around her shoulders and steered us toward the restaurant. I hoped Mom wouldn’t follow, but of course she did.
“Just the three of you?” asked a young woman.
“We’re meeting someone.” Mom scanned the restaurant and I followed her gaze. “That’s him,” she breathed. “Over there. Oh. My. God.”
She was staring at a man sitting at a square table by the far wall. He was playing with his water glass, twisting it slowly around, but as we watched him he looked up and his eyes met Mom’s. He stood quickly and stepped toward her.
“God,” Mom whispered again. “He hasn’t changed. Short hair, but otherwise…and he still has the same walk…”
And then he was there, right in front of us. He nodded briefly at my mother before turning to me. He stared for a long moment, his face unreadable. “You must be Dylan. I’m Mark Wheatcroft.” He turned to my mother, right hand extended. “Mandy.”
Hummingbird Heart Page 4