The Mad Tatter

by J. M. Darhower

  Lexie bats the curtain out of her way and sprints for the door, excitedly jumping up and down. Within a minute, it's shoved open, Avery stepping through, carrying her black duffel bag, still wearing her dance clothes. The black leotard clings tightly to her form, while the oversized gray sweat pants are rolled down at the waist and shoved up to her knees. I scan her quickly, seeing her skin is sweaty, her cheeks flushed, hair falling out of the bun on top of her head. She looks stunning, even a sweaty mess, but the look on her face distracts me from my admiration.

  She looks upset.

  My stomach drops.

  It has been a hard road the past few months, full of nothing but roadblocks and disappointments for Avery. Audition after audition have led to nowhere, shot down and turned away over and over again. Too short, too curvy, too old, too young… too damn everything and not enough of what they want. The traditional ballet companies turned her away, saying she's too contemporary, judging her when they see the hint of her tattoo along her spine, while more modern dancers snub her as being just too classically trained.

  She's spent the past few weeks working on a new start-up choreography project for a measly few hundred bucks a week. Chump-change in Manhattan, barely enough for her to survive, although it's doable. I know. I've done it. Today is do-or-die, though, the last day of the project, where the dancers are either dismissed or given offers. She's been gone since sunrise, giving me hope, but the look on her face hints the other way.

  "Bad news," she whispers, looking right at me.

  I can barely find my voice. "What?"

  "Bridgette and Johnny broke up."

  It takes a moment for me to make sense of what the hell she's saying. I shake my head dramatically. "Tragic."

  "Avery!" Lexie grabs her pant leg and tugs, nearly pulling them down to try to get her attention. "Did you get it? Huh?"

  Avery glances down at Lexie and stares at her in stone cold silence for a moment before the biggest, brightest smile cracks her expression, lighting up her face. "Yep."

  Lexie squeals loudly, jumping and clapping. "We did it!"

  "We did it."

  Avery drops her duffel bag to the floor, not even bothering to close the front door as she jumps around with Lexie, the two of them chanting those words. I toss the remote down and stand up, strolling over to them. I push the door closed before grasping a hold of Avery's hips and pulling her to me. Laughing, she wraps her arms around my neck, gazing at me as Lexie runs around us.

  "Congratulations," I say. "You did it."

  "We did it," she corrects me as Lexie continues to chant those words. "If it weren't for you, it never would've happened. You've been so supportive. And I know it's not the best job out there… it's just a dancing gig, but it's on Broadway, and it's making triple what I am now, so I can help more."

  "It's wonderful," I say, leaning down and kissing her softly. "You're wonderful."

  Lexie makes an exaggerated gagging noise, forcing herself between the two of us when I kiss Avery again. She pushes Avery's legs, separating her and me, protectively standing in front of Avery as if to keep her all to herself. "Daddy, can we get ice cream to celebrate?"

  "Yeah, Daddy," Avery says playfully, reaching down and running her hands through Lexie's hair, brushing the wayward locks back from her forehead. "Can we have some ice cream?"

  "After dinner," I say. "We have plans tonight, remember?"

  Both girls make faces at me at the reminder. I laugh, holding my hands up defensively. "Hey, don't blame me. I'll gladly cancel."

  Lexie cheers, but Avery dashes her excitement quickly. "Ugh, yeah, we can't cancel. We cancelled last time."

  "And the time before that," I point out. "And basically every other time they've invited us."

  Dinner with the Moores. Avery used to meet her parents at least once a week, but since moving in with me after graduation, the visits have become few and far in between. They haven't completely cut her off, not like mine did, but I wouldn't exactly call them proud parents.

  Sighing, Avery glances down at Lexie and theatrically frowns. "Guess ice cream has to wait."

  The girls run off to start getting ready as I plop back down on the couch and pick up the remote again. Once more I flip through channels, wasting time, until the bathroom clears out and I can slip in the room and sneak in a quick shower. I wash up and dress, putting about as much effort into it as I usually do. I learned long ago that I will never win Avery's father's approval and have stopped trying to impress him. Or anyone. If who I am isn't good enough for them, then that's their problem.

  I am who I am.

  Slipping on a clean pair of jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt, I grab my black and white Adidas sneakers and stroll back to the living room. Avery stands there, wearing a simple black top, slightly low cut in both the front and back, showing off a hint of cleavage and the top of her tattoo. I smile, my eyes surveying her as I walk past, my gaze lingering on the swell of her ass in a pair of skin-tight hot pink pants. "Your father's going to have a coronary."

  "If he hasn't had one yet, I think we'll be okay," she says. "No shock is ever going to top me moving in with you."

  "That sounds kind of like a challenge," I say, taking a seat on the couch. "I accept."

  Avery laughs, slipping on a pair of black flat shoes. Lexie comes bounding into the room, slightly more dressed up than the two of us, having picked out her own outfit—the frilliest pink tutu skirt, a gift from Avery's mother, paired with black leggings and a black-and-white polka dotted shirt, topped off with a pair of tan cowboy boots. Everyone needs cowboy boots, she told me, in case they need to ride a horse someday.

  Who am I to argue with that logic?

  "Looking snazzy," Avery says, holding her hand up for Lexie to high-five it. "Want me to braid your hair?"

  "Yes, please."

  They sit beside me as Avery quickly puts Lexie's hair in French braided pigtails. When she finishes, Lexie runs off to look in the mirror as Avery turns to me. Laughing, she reaches over and runs her hand along the side of my neck. "You must've been painting today."

  "This morning."

  "You missed some paint." She gently scratches at it with her nails, flaking it from my skin. "There."

  "Let's go!" Lexie says, running out of the bathroom and heading straight for the front door. "I'm hungry!"

  Dinner is at a French restaurant in the theater district. We arrive a few minutes past seven, after Avery's parents are already seated. The restaurant is upscale, with elaborate gold-toned walls and a high ceiling, the carpet trimmed with gold and matching the soft burgundy booths. Vibrant white tablecloths cover the long tables, fine china and crystal wine glasses at each place setting, along with an array of silverware. I eye it as we follow the hostess through the place, clutching my daughter's hand tightly, keeping her at my side.

  I cast Avery a wary look when we reach the booth, motioning for her to slip in first.

  This is a disaster waiting to happen.

  After Avery is situated, I motion for Lexie to climb in next. I sit on the end, the booth so long the three of us fit comfortably.

  Before anyone can even speak, I snatch the wine glass and knives from in front of Lexie and hold it all out just as a waiter arrives. "You'll want to do something with this, unless you want your stuff broken or someone stabbed."

  He takes it all, nodding stiffly, and promptly disappears again.

  Greetings are polite, albeit a little forced, except for the one Avery's mother offers Lexie. I don't mind getting the cold shoulder so much anymore… this is for Avery, and I tolerate it for her, knowing Laurence only tolerates me for the same reason.

  The waiter returns once more, this time to distribute menus and offer complementary wine. Avery declines unsurprisingly… her parents have no idea she drinks, another aspect of her life she's kept secret.

  Heaven forbid she be a normal young woman.

  I happily take some, knowing the alcohol will soothe my nerves, while Laurence scoffs
at the very offer. His wife, however, indulges in a bit, despite her husband's look of distress at the very idea.

  It's not like he has to fucking pay for it. The shit is free.

  "My wife and I will have water," Laurence says.

  "Me, too," Avery chimes in. "Reece?"

  "Yeah, water's fine for us, too."

  As soon as the words are out of my mouth, Lexie grabs my sleeve and tugs. "Can I have a Coke, Daddy? Please?"

  "Make that a Coke for her."

  Who am I to deny her when she asked so nicely? So, okay, whatever... maybe it's not good for her. Maybe I shouldn't give her soda, or put chocolate in her pancakes, or give the girl fake tattoos. But I do. That's me. That's the kind of father I am. And yeah, I have flaws, but whatever I lack, I make up in love.

  And with as much love as I have?

  I'm hoping it's impossible for me to fuck her up too bad.

  Avery chats with her parents as I pick up my menu and relax back in the booth, staring at it. Half of it is in French, very little explanation about what it is, while the rest is about as appetizing to me as shit pulled straight from a garbage bin.

  This is going to be a long dinner.

  Lexie follows my lead, mimicking me, her expression dead serious as she studies her menu. I smirk, cutting my eyes at her, speaking quietly so not to interrupt the others' conversation. "See anything you like, Little Miss?"

  "I dunno," she whispers back. "What's it say?"

  "Your guess is as good as mine, kid."

  She points at the menu as she props it against the table in her lap, her finger scanning the words. "What's that?"

  "Bigeye tuna tartare," I read. "It's raw tuna."

  "Can they cook it without the big eyes?"

  I chuckle. "They don't cook it… it's served raw." I point out the entire sushi section. "That's all raw, too."

  She scrunches up her nose and moves onto something else. "What's this?"

  "Haricots verts."

  "Does that mean it's gots hair?"

  "Uh, I don't know what it means. It's French."

  "Why's it French?"

  "Because this is a French restaurant."

  "Oh." She scans the menu some more, pausing when she comes to a word she knows. "Oh, cheese! I like cheese! Daddy, what's that other word?"

  I glance at it. Selection of Artisanal Cheeses. "Artisanal."

  "What kind of cheese is that?"

  "The kind for anal artists," I mutter.

  A bark of laughter echoes from where Avery sits. She covers her mouth with her hand, cutting her eyes at the two of us, before looking back at her father. He's rattling on and on about something, words that sound to me like they could've come straight off the menu, but I gather from the context they're ballet terms. The waiter returns with our drinks, setting the thick heavy glass filled with ice and soda on the table in front of Lexie.

  "You don't have any cups with lids?" I ask. "Straws, maybe?"

  "I can get you a straw."

  "Thank you."

  The waiter walks off, returning swiftly with a small red straw, the kind used to stir a drink. I sigh, taking it. It would cause even more problems than it solved.

  The second the waiter asks if we're ready to order, Lexie drops her menu and shouts out, "chicken nuggets!"

  The women at the table laugh, while I shake my head and skim through the menu. "Bring her the lobster mac 'n cheese."

  "What's lobster?" Lexie asks, gaze going right back to her menu as she seeks it out.

  "It's, uh… it's seafood, like crab."

  "What's crab?"

  I was about to say 'it's like shrimp' when the waiter interjects. "Like Sebastian, from The Little Mermaid. He's a crab."

  Lexie's eyes widen. I groan. The waiter looks pretty proud of himself for dumbing it down to a kid's level, while I want to punch him in the throat for those words.

  "I can't eat Sebastian!" Lexie shouts. "Daddy, I don't want that!"

  Avery chimes in quickly. "Can we get the mac 'n cheese plain? No lobster? No, uh… Sebastian?"

  "Absolutely," the waiter says, clearing his throat as he mutters, "Sorry."

  Avery orders a grilled chicken salad with extra chicken, while her father orders the same thing minus the chicken. Avery's mother asks for the bigeye tuna tartare, laughing when Lexie asks her if she'll eat the eyes with it.

  When it's my turn, I hand the menu over to the waiter and order salmon with the haricot verts for the hell of it. I planned on getting a crab cake, but I won't dare order that in front of my daughter now.

  "So, I have some news," Avery says, folding her hands in her lap. "I had an audition today and got the part."

  Laurence's question is immediate. "What's the part?"

  "It's just a small dancing gig, in a musical," she says. "It's a swing part, and I have a shot at being dance captain someday."

  "A swing part?" Laurence says. "We sent you to Juilliard so you could come out and be someone's backup in a musical?"

  Avery blanches, and I start to interject, to point out that she's worked her ass off for the part, when Lexie snatches up her glass to take a drink. I see it happening seconds before it tilts, unbalancing, and slips through her small fingers. I stall, mid-word, and quickly snatch up the glass the second she tips it over. Soda splashes out, an ice cube landing on her leg. Setting the glass back down on the table, I snatch up the cloth napkin and wipe her lap.

  The commotion stalls the conversation. By the time Laurence focuses back on his daughter, her mother is chiming in, smiling sweetly. "That's wonderful, honey. We'll have to get tickets."

  Avery returns her smile, nodding, and says nothing else.

  "Sorry, Daddy," Lexie says, picking up the ice cube and shrugging as she pops it in her mouth, chomping loudly on it.

  "It's okay, Little Miss," I say, leaving the napkin in her lap. Knowing her, she'll do it again. "Accidents happen."

  Dinner is one of the longest hours of my life. When our food finally arrives, Lexie refuses to eat her mac 'n cheese, just in case any Sebastian just happens to be in it, and we're both less than thrilled to discover haricot verts is French for green beans. I ignore my food while she steals chicken right out of Avery's salad, ignorant to the tension that seems to be mounting as time goes on.

  I breathe a sigh of relief when dinner is over. I clutch Lexie's hand again, leading her straight for the exit, and wait out on the curb for the others to join us. Avery bids her parents goodnight, kissing her father's cheeks and hugging her mother before they climb into a waiting town car.

  "Well, that was about as painful as I expected," Avery says, turning to me. "Next time, we cancel, instead of coming to Château de stuck up food."

  "Now you're speaking my language," I say playfully, nudging her. "But it wasn't so bad."

  "Not so bad?"

  "Nah, we learned a lot, at least. Isn't that right, Little Miss?"

  Lexie stands in front of me, holding the napkin she—for some godforsaken reason—decided to steal. "I learned French people give you little blankets with dinner!" She waves the napkin at us. "And hairy words are really green beans, and artists have their own cheeses, even though Daddy's an artist and he doesn't eat that kind of cheese. Oh! And I learned not to eat mac 'n cheese no more."

  I stare at my daughter, shaking my head as she swings the napkin around, twirling it like a scarf. I turn to Avery, cocking an eyebrow at her. "Having regrets yet, Aphrodite?"

  "Nope." She wraps her arm around me, slipping her hand into mine as she leans her head against my shoulder. "Never."

  "Ice cream now?" Lexie asks, turning to them. "It's after dinner."

  "Sounds good to me." I wave her on. "Lead the way."

  We head to a small ice cream parlor on Broadway, a little shop tucked in on a block corner. Just down the street, people are lined up at Pinkberry, waiting outside the door.

  Never going to that place again.

  Lexie runs straight to the counter, pressing her hands to the plastic
and peering down at the various flavors of ice cream. "Three scoops!"

  "One scoop," I say, strolling over to pause behind her, still holding Avery's hand.

  "Two?" she negotiates. "Please?"

  "Fine. Two. But I get to eat some of yours."

  Lexie makes a face at me. Her negotiations didn't go as planned this time. "Fine! Cookies 'n cream and bubblegum! With whipped cream and nuts and hot fudge and—"

  "That's plenty."

  "And a cherry!" Lexie grins at the boy working. "Thank you."

  "You want anything?" I ask Avery.

  "Hmmm…" Her eyes trail over the tubs of ice cream. "Vanilla. In a cone."

  A second worker rings up the order while the teenage boy fixes the ice cream. I pay, stuffing most of the change in the tip jar. I hold a quarter out to Lexie. "Here."

  She grabs it excitedly and scurries over toward the door, dropping to her knees in front of the little red quarter machines. She sticks the coin in the slot and tries to turn it, but it won't budge.

  I pull away from Avery and walk over to help her. I twist the handle, the pink sparkly bouncy ball sliding right out. Lexie snatches it, bouncing it before I can warn her, and sets off chasing after it through the shop. She'll lose it in less than five minutes.

  Please don't fucking throw it and break something.

  Shaking my head, I scan the other machines, hesitating before slipping a second quarter into another slot. I turn it, the small plastic egg popping out.

  "Ice cream," Avery calls out, holding up the little cup piled high with everything Lexie asked for… including the cherry. Lexie runs that way, grabbing her ice cream, as I slide the plastic egg into my pocket.

  "You want some, Daddy?" Lexie asks, holding a clump of it out on her spoon. It's all mixed together already. It looks like bad art.

  "Yeah, no, I'll pass on that monstrosity, thanks."

  We stroll along Broadway in no hurry after that, taking in the bright lights and chaos of the city, as they happily eat their ice cream. Someday I'll see Avery's name here, I think. Someday she'll be more than just somebody's backup.