by Sunniva Dee
I’m nine.
I’m not the man Dad has taught me to be, the burglar with the stealthy ninja walk. Today, I don’t want to celebrate my birthday with another robbery.
“Can we just have cake today?” Liquid stuffs my nostrils. I sniffle and feel so much smaller than my dad. He’s the biggest man I know even though the principal is taller.
“We need to pay for your party.”
“We’re having a party?”
“Of course. You asked for it, and I’m your father, so I’m giving it to you. We just need the money to pay for it.”
“Oh… Who’s coming?”
“We’ll invite all your friends from school. And we could invite everyone from the playground tomorrow. Uncle Toeffel and Uncle Oliver want pretty paintings. Just ten of them, or so. It’s easy, boy.”
Sometimes my heart feels too big for my chest. It’s like it presses against my ribs. I’ve felt my dad’s ribs—they’re big and solid and won’t ever break, but mine, they’re small and weak. One time, Dad pressed his hands around my chest when I didn’t want to shop with him, and the bones seemed to grate against my heart.
Tonight, my heart is that way, a swollen, painful, twisted ankle. I should be happy about my dad’s plans. My friends have real parties with hats and balloons and burgers all the time.
“You always have parties to go to,” my father said before. “It’s why they’re redundant.”
“Redundant?”
“It means there are so many of them that they aren’t necessary.”
They were necessary in Rigita.
“Can Paislee and Mom come?”
The air stands still around us. We have plants outside. They often sway in some breeze. The windows are open, but no wind disturbs the leaves, the curtains, or my father’s clothes. It’s all frozen in shock. Still, my hope doesn’t die until he opens his mouth.
“Cugs.” Dad always finishes what he has to say right away. Now, he breathes though, like he wants to think about it first. “Your mom is not Paislee’s mom.”
I emit a small sound that means nothing.
“Plus, the two of them are doing their thing up there in Rigita. We’re not their business anymore, and they’re not ours. We menfolk have to stick together.”
“But—Mom. I love her.”
“I think that you probably don’t love your mom. You’ve never met her.”
“But…”
“Margaret Cain is not your mother. She and I were on a break, I met your mother, and you were born after Margaret and I got back together.”
“Where’s my mother then?”
Birthdays in Rigita were kisses before I woke up, musical candles, and Mom’s eyes smiling. I used to think it was normal. Now, I understand that Rigita was a lie.
“Cugs, I’m sorry.” Dad’s stare has iced over like the ground before the first snow. “I don’t know where your real mother is. She wasn’t so healthy. Had some bad habits. She wanted me to take you so she could…” He frowns, considering. “Stay young.”
I don’t expect anything this year. I’m ten and a seasoned burglar with duties in the prefab. My father has a nice girlfriend who wants him to marry her. They’re arguing.
“What the hell, Mary? What gives you the right to contact my ex? This is going to explode in our faces. She’s an absolute nut job.”
“Honey, I love you, but she can’t be that bad. And how much damage can she cause from way up there in Alaska anyway? I think it’d be good for the boy. You know he keeps a photo of her in his nightstand, right? By the looks of it, he’s handled it a lot.”
My face feels warm. I have to hide that picture. Why was she rummaging through my things?
“Margaret isn’t his mother. She has no right to him. But knowing her, she’ll probably start calling us now, thanks to you.”
“What? How is she not his mother?”
I peer through the door crack. Frustrated, my father rubs his face. He drags his hand all the way down, causing his lower lip to squeeze wet against his chin before he lets up.
“I cheated on her.”
“You did not?”
“She nagged at me day in and day out. She never stopped! ‘You need to get a steady job. I’m working two jobs, and it’s not enough to pay for this house. If you don’t get something ASAP, we’ll be on the street.’”
My stomach roars. I can’t hear it, but on the inside it must sound like a winter storm.
“Would you cheat on me?” Mary’s voice is thin.
“This isn’t about you, sweetie. I love you and would never hurt you.”
I scrunch my eyes shut while they kiss. My stomach doesn’t agree, but I want him to reveal more of my story. Dad hasn’t mentioned Mom or Paislee or my birth mother since my ninth birthday, and I know better than to bring them up myself. Please. Keep talking.
“Who’s Cugs’ mother then?”
Oh good.
“I met her in a club.”
“You went clubbing without your wife?”
“Geez, I told you how my ex was, Mary.”
“Right.” Mary looks at him, waiting.
“She was twenty-one, a party girl and a distraction for the night. Hopped up on pills as she was, one thing led to another. We met up a few more times after that, but I never left my family behind. I was there for them.”
“While cheating on your wife.”
“I’ve told you why!” Anger billows from Dad’s mouth. “And if it weren’t for that, I wouldn’t be here with you now, would I?”
“Oh honey, I’m sorry.”
More kisses. Grownups pull and tug. They’re mad at weird times, and then they’re fine. Sometimes I see through them. There’s all this talking, but then they still feel a lot beneath it. I hope she stays. The prefab feels good with Mary in it.
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not proud of what I did, but she drove me to the brink of insanity.”
“What happened when she found out?”
“Ha!” Dad laughs out. “She wouldn’t have found out if the girl hadn’t come to our door eight months later with a huge belly. She told my wife the baby was mine, and all hell broke loose.”
With me. I swallow thickly.
“What? Did you know she was pregnant?”
“No. And when my wife opened the door, she just vomited out her business. Long story short, I got the option to keep the baby or she’d put it up for adoption.”
Vomit. Baby. Adoption. I want to run away. I need to know more.
“And you kept him.”
“Yeah. It took me almost a month to get back in the good graces of my wife though. I had to live at a buddy’s for weeks.”
“Well, can you blame her?”
“Anyway. I hung in there with Margaret complaining and painting the Apocalypse on the wall for six years before I took my kid and left.”
There’s no air in my lungs. I open my mouth wide. It makes it easier to breathe.
“You didn’t have shared custody?”
“No, I wasn’t going to fight over kids once we divorced. It was only a matter of time. This way, she could keep her mini-me, and I had my boy.”
“You realize that you ripped him away from his family, right?”
“She didn’t raise him, goddammit! I’m raising him.”
I storm back to my room. I do it quietly. Birthdays aren’t my favorite days of the year. I climb in under my blanket even though it’s noon and a Sunday. I draw my sheets over my head but keep a small opening for my nose and mouth. Without oxygen, people die.
Dad has promised me a party again. Last year’s was at Lasertag King. Bear was there. Simon and Freddie too. I loved that party.
Yesterday, he asked me if I wanted to switch things up. Maybe I wanted to shop electronics for Uncle Toeffel and Uncle Oliver after the bi
rthday party instead of before? Electronics can be heavy. The easiest snags are jewelry.
“Can we steal jewelry instead since it’s my birthday?”
“What, you want to wear gold necklaces like a pimp now?” Dad chuckled. It wasn’t a mean chuckle.
“No, it’s just easier to carry.”
He left his coffee mug on the kitchen counter. Walked toward me, and lifted my face up so that I met his stare. “Son, don’t ever be afraid of hard work. It’s what is going to make you reach the stars as an adult, okay? Work is there on weekdays, after hours, and on weekends. The demands of the world don’t take a break just because someone has a birthday. Get it?”
“Yeah.”
“Toeffel and Oliver need electronics, so that’s what we’re getting them. Before or after the party at the Lasertag King?”
“After.” For a brief second, I hoped he meant the weekend after. Until he gave me a high five, buddy-style, and said—
“Cool. Let’s head on over to Lasertag King at six and get out by eight. We’ll be shopping in Fort Lauderdale by midnight.”
I hold up my skinny arms.
One day they’ll be strong like Dad’s.
“Seriously, man. Freddie’s parents are gone the entire weekend, and we’re partying it up. You’ve got to come.” Bear rocks in the passenger seat, trying to get comfortable. We both know the wreck and he are an uneven match.
“I’ll try.”
“Right, your father.” He huffs a frustrated breath. “Never, I swear. Like, ever. I’ve seen you drink freaking twice.”
Florida rain hammers on the roof of the car and hauls ass over my windshield. We’re outside Grocery-Pete’s, waiting for the floodgates to shut so we can get inside.
“Hey, I drink sometimes. With my father.” Dad celebrates good heists with a drink or five. If it’s hard liquor, he’ll loosen tight lips and talk about Mom.
“Come on, Cugs.” Bear tries to arch his back for a better position, but his head hits the ceiling. “Tell me you see how lame that is. ‘I can’t party with y’all, ’cause Imma drink with my daddy.’”
I snort out a laugh. “Whatever, fool.”
My eyes are drawn to Grocery-Pete’s gutter. It’s overflowing. The water takes the fast route over the edge, omitting the drain. I’ve stood under gutters like that, or more like penguin-danced under them in Rigita. Paislee dressed me in thick sweaters and rubber boots and topped it off with full raingear. Then we snuck out the backdoor and ran down the street before we got caught.
“Fascinated, much?” Bear grins.
“Yeah. Was thinking of my sister. She used to take me to a store like Pete’s with a gutter like that, and I’d jump in this giant puddle under it. Paislee would laugh from the sideline.”
“Ha, I can only imagine how mad my mom would’ve been if we’d done that. She always complains about the dirty laundry. So you wanna jump in?” He waggles his eyebrows like he actually means it.
“Hell no. But if you feel like getting wet, let’s run inside. I’m hungry.”
We crouch out of the wreck. Bear can do goat laughter like no one’s business, and he does it now as we’re doused with water and hop the few feet to Grocery-Pete’s entrance.
Inside, we pass Dad’s favorite whiskey. Funny how his stories are different to my memories. Obviously, he wasn’t there for everything Paislee and I were up to. We kept the sleet-gutter showers a secret, for instance, and he never saw her giggle over my penguin dance.
Bear leans in front of me aiming at a bag of chips. But then he shakes his head violently, and I’m instantly wet dog again.
“Thanks, douche.” I smack him away. My mind runs straight back to old stories and what Dad recalls from the past.
Paislee leaving me alone in the house as a baby. How she went to Keyon’s while I napped. Mom was at work, Dad had gone to the store, he said, and “Anything could have happened to you. She was old enough to know. You just don’t do stuff like that to someone you love.”
We’re in line at the checkout, and we’re not in a hurry. I’m drying out after Bear’s shower. My buddy’s thick fingers run over every piece of candy, every gum on the shelf while we wait. It makes me tip back in a silent laugh. “Good thing those are wrapped. Everyone would have your disease if not.”
He snorts. “I’m healthier than a mongoose.”
“And they’re notoriously healthy?”
He shrugs, picking up a blue lollipop and turning it. “What do I know? I don’t hang with mongeese.”
“Mongooses.”
“Whatever.”
“Gimme.” I hold my hands out. I cup them like I want him to pour me a generous amount of lollipops. He does, and I weigh them in my palms.
Paislee and I would go to our grandparents’ at times where home wasn’t home because Mom and Dad screamed at each other. Paislee brought these. Blue raspberry lollipops.
“Look at you. I swear, dude, you’re getting weirder by the day.” Bear blows his cheeks up as he studies me. “I’m not gonna stick around for you to turn twenty. Whoa, how about fifty? Mind blown.”
“Ha. Just thinking of Rigita for a sec.”
“You do that a lot.”
“Shut up.”
“What about this time?”
I toss the lollipops half a foot into the air, attracting Grocery-Anna’s nervous glance from the register. “Just train trips.”
“You’d take trains?”
“Yeah, to see my grandparents. They lived close. Anyway. Paislee used to bring blue raspberry lollipops. She’d go, ‘They’re lunch from Keyon. We raided his pantry yesterday.’ Then she’d be, like, ‘That’s a secret, ’kay? Don’t tell anyone or we’ll be in trouble.’”
“Aww, ain’t that cute.” He pouts his lip. “Anyways. Sale on hot dogs. Look.”
The hot dogs in question have been grilled with such insistence they’re wrinkled.
“No thanks.” I stuff my hands in my pockets. I’m only getting a two-pack of peanuts. Two for one dollar is a bargain and ties me over until after practice. Lots of protein, right there. Never mind the salt. I’ll need the salt too, really, because practice.
“I’ve got enough for three hot dogs. We’ll share, one and a half each.”
“Cool.”
The rain pours and pours while Bear orders hot dogs. With insistent gestures, he selects the three plumpest ones, and my mind rolls to a memory I won’t be talking about.
Sometimes, we were so broke, Dad says, that we couldn’t afford real dinner. Paislee’s favorite junk food was hot dogs, and once he had to ground her because she stole my hot dog too and ran off with it. He told me that she’d laughed, ketchup around her mouth, and “If you love someone, you don’t eat their food, because you want them to fill their stomachs too.”
Nadine is coming to the game against the Rattlers. She’ll make the two-and-a-half-hour drive tomorrow in her Prius.
“That’s awesome,” I tell her on the phone, but then I worry she’ll expect me to set her up in the prefab. She could still report us to the police, so I can’t show her where I live. Then there’s Step-Cynth’s skimpy outfits and my reaction to them. Yeah, she can’t come here. “Where are you sleeping?”
“My godmother lives twenty minutes from you guys. I’ll stay at her place.”
“Your fairy godmother?”
“Nope.” She laughs. “She’s just a regular godmother.”
“Well, you’re fair, so it’d make sense if she were your fairy godmother.”
“You’re so weird, Cugs.”
I’m not sure if it would help to tell her I’m only silly around her.
“Plus, ‘fair?’ Really?”
“As in ‘pretty,’ not, ‘super-white.’ You are white though. Your skin is.”
“You don’t remember me correctly.”
“Pretty sure I’ve got you down: I’ve seen pictures on Facebook.”
“Okay, that’s it. I’m uploading more summer pictures.”
I stretch a leg out in the window nook, hitting the glass with my foot. One of the cushions glides off the bench, revealing a tiny piece of pink lingerie. I roll my eyes, groaning quietly before kicking it to the ground; I don’t want a visual of all the places my father undresses his wife.
Bear waves me over from the playground. He’s doing pull-ups with Liza watching. His girlfriend is on her back on the ground, a straw in her mouth and a leg scissored over her knee.
“Did you just groan?” Nadine asks.
“It’s my buddy. He wants me to work out with him.”
“Oh—go. I can’t wait to see you rock that game tomorrow.”
“We don’t rock games. We win them.” I puff my chest out like I mean it.
“Hey, sounds good to me.”
At the playground, Bear and I do twenty pull-ups at a time with forty-five-second breaks. Liza counts lazily, only acknowledging about a third of our pull-ups. We huff and object, which makes her giggle.
As we move on to push-ups, Liza uses Bear as a stool, and I get into my zen mode: twenty-five on, thirty-second break, twenty-five on. I can do this forever. My thoughts travel, this time back to when I was ten.
Illegitimate. It’s a word I’ve read in old books, but Dad used it with Mary yesterday in something that could be about me. When my friends and I like what we see, we say that it’s legit. Illegitimate must be the opposite of that.
Illegitimate child.
I tiptoe into the den and fire up the computer while my father is still in bed. I receive one and a half million search results, but the first one at the top is framed and all I need.
“Illegitimacy (or bastardy) is the status of a child born outside of marriage. Legitimacy is a child born to parents who are married to each other and/or of a child conceived before the parents get divorced.”