Life, After

by Sarah Darer Littman

  His own shoulders were heaving with sobs. It scared me and at the same time filled me with a deep tenderness that began to rinse away some of the anger and bitterness I’d been feeling toward him for the last year.

  “Dani, I’m sorry,” Papá wept, clutching at my arm. “My sweet daughter…you think that you and Mamá and Sarita don’t matter to me…but you are everything…everything.”

  By that point, we were both, as Jess would say, in Sobsville. I hugged him close, and then disentangled myself for long enough to find a box of tissues, because we were both in dire need of swabbing.

  After Papá blew his nose and I’d wiped the smeared mascara from my eyes, I took a deep breath and an even deeper risk.

  “Papá—I think you should call Mrs. Ehrenkranz from Jewish Family Services and see that counselor. Please. Do it for yourself. Do it for Mamá. Do it for me. Do it for all of us. I know you don’t believe in that kind of thing, but Jess said it really helped her to talk to someone after…you know, after what happened to her dad.”

  I was waiting for the explosion, the “How dare you!” but it didn’t come. I didn’t even get the lecture about how psychiatry is all a bunch of mumbo jumbo just so the doctors can make money from people who are depressed. Papá just sighed heavily, and lowered his head into his hands. We sat there in silence for a minute; the only sound the ticking of the clock on top of the bookshelf. I wondered if I’d gone too far.

  But then Papá raised his head and looked at me with reddened eyes.

  “I give in, Dani. I will call this Mrs. Ehrenkranz and see what she has to say. If she wants me to go to see one of those shrinking head people, I will go. I just…” There was a catch in his voice as he continued. “I just want my daughter to be able to look at her father and feel proud instead of ashamed.”

  I wanted to tell him that I was proud of him, that I wasn’t ashamed. But I think he could tell from the way I dropped my gaze that even if I said the words, they wouldn’t be true at that moment. But I still loved him, so I rested my head on his shoulder and gave him a hug.

  “That’s great, Papá. I think it’ll make Mamá really happy, too.”

  I stood up to go start making dinner. “Come to think of it, something else that will make her happy would be if you took a shower and shaved. Maybe put on a clean shirt and some trousers instead of sweats?”

  I reached out my hand to him to help him stand up. He took it and kissed it.

  “Gracias, preciosa.”

  My face flushed, and I pulled my hand away. “I better go start dinner.”

  Mamá couldn’t understand what had come over Papá when she arrived home from work and found him setting the table for dinner, dressed in a pressed shirt, his face clean shaven, his hair neatly combed. Sarita eyed him warily, as if wondering, Who is this strange man in our apartment?

  But the real shock came over the chicken casserole with rice.

  “Estela, I called that Mrs. Ehrenkranz today,” Papá said. “I have an appointment to see a counselor at Jewish Family Services tomorrow at eleven thirty. She’s going to arrange for a translator to be there in case I feel more comfortable speaking in Spanish.”

  Mamá’s fork clattered to the table.

  “¿De verdad? Really?”

  Papá nodded, smiling.

  “But you were so against it…”

  “Let’s just say I had cause to change my mind,” Papá said, winking at me.

  Mamá looked from Papá to me and back to Papá and suddenly, she burst into tears.

  “Oh, Eduardo…”

  Sarita was freaked out. She’d never seen Mamá lose it so completely. I figured my parents could do with a little time alone, so I told her to take her plate and we’d have a picnic in our bedroom.

  She glanced over her shoulder worriedly as we left the kitchen. I turned and saw Papá getting out of his chair to put his arm around my mother and her turning her face into his shoulder and sobbing before I hustled Sarita down the hallway.

  “Why is Mamá crying like that?” Sari asked me when we got to our room.

  I looked into her sweet, confused little face and wondered how to explain.

  “It’s complicated,” I told her. “But sometimes, people cry when they’re happy. And I think Mamá is happy that Papá is going to go see the counselor, so that hopefully he won’t always be so grumpy all the time.”

  “That would be good,” she said, taking a bite of chicken casserole. “But you know what?”

  “What it is, chiquita?”

  “Grown-ups are weird, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, Sarita. Yes, they really are.”

  Two weeks later, I’d decided that Mrs. Ehrenkranz was a magician instead of a lady who worked for Jewish Family Services. With a wave of her wand—or more likely her cell phone—she’d arranged for Papá to see the counselor, and then the counselor decided he was clinically depressed and needed to see a doctor and arranged that, and the doctor put him on some pills and even managed to convince him that there was no shame in taking them. He was also attending a group that met twice a week called “Transitions.” I didn’t know if it was because of the pills or the group or the counseling, or maybe it was all three, but Papá was actually getting up and dressed and shaving every morning, and for the last week he’d picked up Sarita from the bus stop and helped her with her homework.

  It wasn’t like he was suddenly cured and back to being my old papá. He was still short-tempered, and after he’d helped Sarita with her homework, he sometimes went to sleep on the sofa. But at least there were signs, glimpses, of the papá he once was.

  We were in the kitchen and Sarita was complaining about her subtraction problems.

  “What did Math say to Science?” Papá asked.

  Sari looked at him, puzzled.

  “I don’t know. Anyway, we’re doing math homework, not science.”

  “Well, what did Math say to Science?” I asked as I prepared the rice for dinner.

  “Ay, have I got problems!” Papá said.

  I turned and looked at him and then the two of us started laughing and laughing. I couldn’t remember the last time Papá laughed like that, and I certainly couldn’t remember when we’d last laughed at a joke together. It wasn’t even that funny. Sarita was looking at us like we were crazy: me doubled over at the sink, gasping, “Ay, have I got problems!” over and over, and Papá sitting at the table with his deep, rumbling guffaws.

  “Have you been drinking?” she asked, her little face a picture of prim disapproval. “You’re acting all loco.”

  “No, amorcita. Nothing stronger than agua for your old papá. Your sister Dani and I are just having a little fun.”

  A little fun. With Papá. It might have been the pills or it might have been the counseling, but it certainly felt like magic.

  “Come on, Dani! I’m going to pee in my pants if you don’t let me into the bathroom soon! Just let me in! Pleeeeease!!!!”

  Sari was dancing outside the door, waiting for me to finish getting ready for the Winter Wonderland Dance. I’d showered and dried my hair and was carefully putting on makeup, enough that I looked good—or at least better than my usual self—but not so much that Papá would start throwing a fit and tell me to go wash it off.

  I put on my mascara and then figured I’d better let Sarita in or I’d be forced to clean up her puddle. Sure enough, the minute the door opened she made a beeline for the toilet and her face was a picture of relief as she sat.

  “Why does it take so long to put on makeup if you look almost exactly the same afterward?” she asked.

  Clearly I hadn’t achieved the “looking better than my usual self” goal.

  “You’ll understand when you’re older,” I told her.

  “You say that about everything,” Sari said with a sigh. “How much older do I have to be before I start understanding things?”

  “I don’t know, chiquita. I’ve got a long way to go myself before I know it all.”

  “Wow, that
means I’ll never understand stuff because you’re already pretty old.”

  “Thanks for the compliment, you little monster!”

  Escaping to our bedroom, I put on Jess’s blue silk dress, the cashmere shrug, and the pair of high heels that Mamá had found for me at Goodwill. I couldn’t decide if I should put my hair up or leave it down. After staring at myself in the small, cracked mirror on the dresser, I decided to leave my hair down, but to risk Papá’s wrath by applying a bit more makeup around my eyes.

  “Ooh, you look pretty!”

  “Even for an old sister?”

  “I didn’t mean you were old, old, silly! Just older than me, old.”

  “I know, querida. I’m just teasing you.”

  “I bet Roberto would still want to be your boyfriend if he saw you tonight,” Sari said.

  “Well, he’s not the one taking me to the dance, and it doesn’t matter what he thinks anymore,” I said. I said it out of bravado, but after the words left my mouth I realized they were true. I didn’t wish that Beto were taking me to the dance. It was the thought of seeing Brian Harrison at my front door that filled me with anticipation.

  With trembling fingers, I undid the clasp of the silver heart necklace that I hadn’t taken off since Beto put it around my neck the day he said good-bye to me in Buenos Aires, and put it in the top drawer of the dresser. Maybe it was time for new beginnings.

  Mamá knocked on the door frame. “¡Guau! Dani, let me look at you! You look hermosa. Eduardo, come see! Actually, Dani, come to the living room to show Papá.”

  Walking carefully on the high heels, I followed Mamá down the hallway with Sari following me like an eager lady-in-waiting.

  Papá just stared when I walked into the living room.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything? Do I look that bad?”

  He shook his head slowly.

  “No, querida, you look beautiful. I just can’t get over what an elegant young woman you are. When I see you dressed up like that…well…you aren’t my little girl anymore.”

  I will not cry and ruin my mascara. I will not cry and ruin my mascara.

  “Even little girls have to grow up sometime,” I said, trying to swallow the lump rising in my throat.

  “And get OLD,” Sari said. “Like Dani. But at least I’m still a little girl.”

  That was one way to get rid of the threat of tears. Sarita opened her mouth and we were all chuckling.

  “Now, Papá, the boy who is taking me, Brian Harrison. He’s a nice boy, really. So please don’t scare him.”

  “What do you mean, scare him? Why would I scare him?”

  “You know, by doing what you do.”

  “Estela, do you know what Dani’s talking about? What, exactly, do I do that’s so frightening?”

  “Sí, Eduardo, I know what Dani means. Don’t be an overly protective father. And Dani, I think you should know that your father can’t help himself, and that this boy Brian Harrison, if he’s a decent boy, should be able to handle your father. Because your father will behave himself, won’t you, Eduardo?”

  Mamá was wasted on home health care. She should have headed the United Nations.

  Papá just grunted but he looked at Mamá with smiling eyes. She touched his cheek—his shaved cheek—and I was feeling the warmth and rare happiness between them when Sarita said, “¡Puaj! You’re not going to get all mushy, are you? Because that’s just disgusting!”

  I realized that was another thing she’d have to wait till she was older to understand.

  The buzzer rang from downstairs and I felt my heart leap into my throat as I raced to the intercom to let Brian in.

  “Be careful,” I said, as I pushed the buzzer. I don’t know if he heard me.

  Sarita insisted on opening the front door, like a miniature butler. Well, a miniature butler who shouted, “Dani, your boyfriend is here! And I think he’s more handsome than Roberto!” so that by the time the boy who I wasn’t even sure was a boyfriend walked into the room, my face was the color of the red stripes in the American flag.

  But he took it all in stride. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Bensimon, I’m Brian Harrison.”

  He held out his hand for Papá to shake. I could tell Mamá and Papá were impressed by his manners. As for me, I was taking in how different Brian looked from his normal, everyday self. I was used to seeing him with his rumpled hair in jeans and T-shirts; that night he wore a dark suit with a crisply ironed shirt and silk tie. He looked…well, let’s just say I was really happy that I’d changed my mind about going to the dance—and not just because I wanted to have new cultural experiences.

  “So, you are driving your own car?” Papá asked. “You will not be drinking alcohol while you are driving my daughter?”

  “Of course not, sir.” Brian took a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket. “I’ve written down my cell phone number, so if you need to reach Dani for any reason you can call,” he said.

  Mamá took the paper from Brian and nodded approvingly.

  “Thank you. That was very thoughtful. Now why don’t you two go and have some fun?”

  Good idea.

  I could see Papá was about to open his mouth so I grabbed my purse and kissed Mamá good-bye. “¡Adiós! See you later!”

  “Are you going to do kissy stuff with him?” Sari asked.

  I wasn’t sure whose face reddened more—Papá’s, Brian’s, or mine.

  “We’re going to dance, Sari,” I said. “We’re going to a dance.”

  “And they’re not going to do this kissy stuff if they know what is good for them,” Papá growled.

  “Eduardo,” Mamá warned.

  “Good night, all,” Brian called out. “I’ll have her home before she turns into a pumpkin.”

  I saw the confused look on my father’s face. It took me a few seconds, too, if I’m honest.

  “Cinderella, Papá. Leave the dance by midnight?”

  “Oh. I see,” Papá said, although I’m pretty sure he didn’t.

  Brian’s lips were pressed together like he was trying hard not to laugh.

  “See you later!” I said, beating a hasty retreat for the front hall and escape.

  I couldn’t look Brian in the eyes because I was so embarrassed by my family, but I was acutely aware of him. He was wearing aftershave, something warm and spicy, and I was watching the way his suit fit his shoulders as I followed him down the stairs.

  The cool night air felt soothing to my face when he held the building door open for me, and then he took my hand and walked with me to the passenger door of his car.

  He was unlocking the door when suddenly he snorted.

  “Kissy stuff! Good Lord!”

  I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cringe as he helped me into the car.

  “I’m so sorry, Brian. My little sister is…well, she’s just Sarita, and you can’t shut her up.”

  He walked around and sat in the driver’s seat. Then he leaned over to me.

  “Well, I was wondering the same thing, actually.” His lips were inches from mine. “If we were going to do any, you know…kissy stuff.”

  I thought he was going to kiss me, but then he burst out laughing. I ended up giggling pretty hard myself.

  “Maybe,” I told him. “If you play your cards right.”

  Jon taught me that expression when I stayed over at the Nathansons’, and I could tell I’d used it in the right context by the smile on Brian’s face.

  I couldn’t believe how much effort had gone into decorating the gymnasium—there were murals of snow scenes on the walls and fake snow made from cotton scattered on the tables. Silver and white snowflakes hung from the ceiling, and there were clusters of matching silver and white balloons every where. I felt like I was in the dance scene of a Hollywood movie instead of my own life. Maybe it was because I knew I was Cinderella—I was at the dance in borrowed clothes with a handsome prince, but really, I didn’t belong there. The thought made me want to run—or stumble, which was probab
ly the best I could do in those heels—but Brian had my hand held tight in his, and then Rosalia spotted us.

  “Hola, Dani! ¿Cómo estás?”

  I introduced her to Brian and then we went to get some cider. Brian was chatting with Rosalia and her boyfriend when Jess came over. She looked amazing, even more beautiful than usual.

  “Hey, Dani, you look fabulous.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  “Hey, I’m happy to take some Fairy Godmother credit, but I didn’t make you gorgeous to begin with, girl. I just helped with the accessories.”

  She flitted off to socialize with her friends. The DJ was trying to get things moving on the dance floor, and I realized I had no idea if Brian danced or not. He didn’t leave me in suspense for long.

  “Come on, Dani. Drink up that cider because I want to see how Argentinean girls shake their groove things.”

  “Shake their whats?”

  He just laughed, took the glass out of my hand, and put it on the table.

  “Come on. Let’s boogie.”

  There was that “boogie” word again, the one Jake used on the first day of school. It must mean more than one thing. I wondered if English would ever make sense to me.

  Brian was a good dancer. My feet hurt from the high heels, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so happy. Before the Crisis. Before Papá’s depression. Before Beto left. I didn’t want the clock to strike twelve. I wanted the moment to last forever.

  But it didn’t, of course. The music always ends. It wasn’t because it was late, though. The DJ announced that the principal wanted to say a few words.

  Principal Williams took the microphone and made a short speech about how proud he was of the dance committee and how happy he was that everyone was having such a good and well-behaved time. Then he introduced Valerie Hoskins, the head of the student council.

  “As you know, the money raised from the Winter Wonderland Dance is always donated to a good cause,” she said. “Given the tragic events of two years ago, and especially how they affected our own community, we felt that this year’s proceeds should go to the Families of September 11.”