by Sarah Noffke
“It’s just…well, any of those would be great but…”
“But what? You refuse to make a choice on cribs, bedding, paint colors, clothes. I get that it’s overwhelming but you’re over seven months pregnant. We need to get the nursery together,” Dahlia says.
“I know. And I will. But I just don’t want you to worry about it,” Adelaide says.
“I’m not worried,” Dahlia says. “I’m trying to help.”
“Can we talk about this later?”
“What? No. Just pick a crib and then we can do the rest later. Or I’ll hire a designer, although I thought you’d have more fun choosing options. You get to use your creative eye here,” Dahlia says. I hear the catalogue being slapped on the counter. “Just pick a crib.”
“Uhhhh…umm… I don’t know.”
“Adelaide,” Dahlia says, that familiar pressuring tone in her voice. She should have gone into politics.
I spin around, but keep my eyes low. “Adelaide doesn’t want your help. She’s afraid the crib and all this is too much money. She knows she needs assistance but doesn’t know how to accept it,” I say.
“What?” Adelaide squeaks out. “No, it’s not that.”
“For fuck sake, you know I’m a human lie detector, right?” I say.
“Adelaide, is that true?” Dahlia says, putting her hand on the girl’s shoulder. For as apathetic as the pop star is she knows how to act compassionate. It’s how she scores fans. Like me, she knows how to act to get people to behave in effective ways and I know Dahlia is tired of the avoiding act Adelaide has been playing.
The manatee shrugs. “I mean, it’s just that all of those cribs are thousands of dollars. And all the samples you have me looking through are from designer brands. It’s just that I think you’re being too generous.”
Dahlia swings her head over her shoulder and gives me a mischievous smile. It’s glorious on her face, making me want to almost rip the white capris off her right now. Then I catch the sight of Adelaide beside her and the urge falls away.
“Adelaide thinks I’m giving her all these expensive choices because I’m generous. Isn’t that cute, Ren?” Dahlia says.
“As adorable as a fucking premature runt puppy,” I say.
She turns back to Adelaide, who is scowling at me, as usual. “Firstly, your father is buying all this stuff. I think this counts as back child support.”
“I haven’t asked for that,” Adelaide says.
The two clucking women are blocking the exit or otherwise I’d stomp off. Adelaide blocks wide hallways these days. I could take the exit to the backyard but as usual the sun in Los Angeles is blazing like Satan is trying to fry every last hipster in this godforsaken city. I pin my hands on the kitchen bar behind me and regard the crown molding on the far wall like it’s a bloody convict.
“Of course you haven’t asked for anything,” Dahlia says. “But regardless, you’re getting it.”
“Fine, but I want less fancy options,” Adelaide says.
Dahlia lays her hand on the countertop, hitches up her hip. Adelaide is tough but she’s got no idea who she’s arguing with here. “The thing is that this is my house and the only trashy furniture allowed in here is Ren’s dumb armchair,” Dahlia says.
“That’s because I care more about that beautiful chair than I do about you, dear Dahlia,” I say, my gaze still on the French décor–inspired crown molding.
“No one is arguing that.” She swings back in Adelaide’s direction. “You think this is about you, Adelaide.”
“She’ll learn soon. It’s never about anyone else when Dahlia is involved,” I interject.
Dahlia pauses, probably trying to decide whether to respond to me. “Anyway,” she finally says. “I have an affliction to looking at cheap furniture, furnishings, etc. So anything that’s going to be in my house is going to be overpriced and made by designers who are too thin and wear too much makeup.”
“So now you know that this isn’t because Dahlia is a sweetheart who wants the very best for you,” I say. “If you’re offended and want to tell her off then I completely understand. You should direct some of those crazy pregnancy emotions at the diva. She can handle it and loves name calling.”
Adelaide, I notice from my peripheral vision, looks directly at me, a half smile half scowl on her face. “You people are super fucked up, you do realize?”
“Why thank you,” I say, finally tearing my eyes away from their resting spot to look at the girl. “I did realize that and now I’m proud to know you’ve noticed. It’s no fun being fucked up and not getting attention for it.”
“There’s poor people who could benefit from the millions you both throw away on Armani suits and limos,” Adelaide says.
“Here’s the deal, Addy. Being poor is a choice. People make decisions every day that decide whether they are fat or stupid or poor. It is not my responsibility to interfere in the lives people have chosen,” I say.
“But you interfere in people’s lives all the time working for the Lucidites. Saving them from plane crashes or whatever it is you do,” she says.
A chime like a low church bell dings throughout the house. It’s Dahlia’s repulsive doorbell. When I run the world, doorbells will be outlawed. Calling on people will be discouraged.
“Here’s a key point that you need drilled into your brain,” I say, employing the lecturing tone I usually reserve for my students. “You can save a person’s life and still they may waste away. Health, wealth, and intelligence are matters of conviction. I cannot create that in another person. I really can’t help the poor. Say I give them money. If they don’t feel deserving of it then they’ll lose it somehow and be back to poverty in no time. Look at you, for instance, we bought you maternity clothes, offered you the best stylist and the best foods. Still every day you choose to wear your old clothes, your hair is in desperate need of a trim, and you chomp on cheap saltine crackers. It’s a matter of deservability. I can drag you to the feast but if you don’t feel you are worthy of it then you’ll never have it. You can’t force feed wealth.”
She looks at me, her eyes shifting slightly as these ideas sink in. “Is this the kind of thing you teach at the Institute?”
“Sure, as well as how those buffoons can act to cause me the least amount of irritation when they’re released into the wild,” I say.
“You’re a real philanthropist, aren’t you,” she says, now looking amused, but in her melancholy way. Adelaide is always sad. It’s like her underlining surface emotion. And I’m getting a bit tired of seeing it on her face. Emotions are a choice. No one makes us any certain way. We wake up every single day and make a decision. Most, like Adelaide, decide to blame and be victims.
“I really am,” I say and then I’m suddenly distracted. I just catch the figure approach from the hallway. He’s being led by the butler, who I call Fuck Face. He loves it. And instinctively I know who the visitor is beside him. I would recognize the way he walks and moves in a huge crowd. It’s engraved into my memory along with his face. And then he nears the light of the kitchen and I see him clearly. His back is straight and he stands a foot over Fuck Face.
“Pops?” I say, the word catching slightly in my throat. Disbelief clouds my brain instantly. My pops hasn’t left England for all my life. Never ventured far from Peavey. “What are you doing here?”
“I bit the bullet so I could see my family. I dream traveled here,” he says with a chuckle, like that’s not the most outlandish thing I’ve ever heard.
“What the fuck?” I say, confusion like a bug bomb going off in my head, seeking to terminate every last brain cell.
Chapter Eight
Pops smiles wide as he approaches. Like my mum used to be, he’s always smiling. I didn’t inherit that trait from him, only his height, build and pronounced nose. Adelaide turns around, awe already writing itself on her face.
Immediately she throws her arms around his neck and hugs him easily. When they part he’s looking down at her affectio
nately.
“Thanks for the phone call,” he says to her. “After that I realized I missed you and Ren so much that I had to come see you.”
“W-w-wait. You dream traveled?” I say in astonishment and the stutter in my voice surprises me. I’ve never, not once, stuttered.
“Good to see you too, son,” my pops says, walking forward with his arms wide. I allow the hug. He shakes his head when we part, his familiar smile twinkling in his light-colored eyes. “I have been so accustomed to seeing you lately. Missed you immediately.”
“Pops, you dream traveled?” I say again.
“I did,” he says, shaking his long arms like they’re asleep. “Never used a GAD-C. Son, those things aren’t natural. Made my body feel like things weren’t reconfigured in the same way. I still feel peculiar all over.” He then ruffles his hand through his brown and gray hair, almost like he’s checking to ensure it’s still there.
“You dream traveled?” I say, now scratching the back of my head with a wild force.
“Why do you keep saying that?” Adelaide says to me.
I don’t answer the bad decision maker. “You haven’t dream traveled in…” I trail away, trying to determine the answer, but my mind has trouble supplying one. What the fuck is going on?
“Oh, it’s been easily fifty years,” he says, slapping me on the shoulder. “Once I met Mary I didn’t much care for the power. Never actually saw the thrill in it, but it got me here, and that really is what counts. I did consider taking a plane, but knew that would delay the reunion.”
Dahlia has gracefully slid into the position beside my pops and me. “Hello, Mr. Lewis,” she says and then rises on her tiptoes, pecking him softly on the cheek. “It’s lovely seeing you again. It’s been entirely too long.”
A touch of pink hits his wrinkled cheeks when he regards her. “Good to see you too, Dahlia. I dare say you haven’t changed since the last time I saw you. What’s it been? Twenty years or so?”
“Just about,” she says. The last time these two were together was when Dahlia accompanied me to my mum’s funeral. And it was promptly after that that I shoved her out of my life.
In my typical fashion, I’ve compartmentalized my personal life. I have a slot for my job, Dahlia, Pops, and now Adelaide. But presently inside this kitchen, which feels too small suddenly, they are all mixed together like the walls collapsed. I hadn’t even told my pops about Dahlia and I reuniting, but from the fond look he’s giving her he’s figured it out. I had just told him I’d moved back to the west coast and knowing I didn’t like to share personal information, he didn’t pester me on the subject. He’s pretty used to me moving about and disappearing and being secretive. And I’m used to him being the oak tree deeply rooted to Peavey. He’s always loved his simple life without want to experience new things. Loved his kids more than we deserved. And never used his power of dream travel. Hell, he only used his gift of telekinesis when he was training me to use my powers.
“Why are you here? How did you know where to find me?” I ask, my tone not at all welcoming.
“Well, Adelaide told me, of course. She’s told me all about this place and living in Los Angeles,” he says, now regarding the giant kitchen with wide eyes. He probably has never seen such an elaborate space with so many shiny surfaces and intricate details. “And I’m here for the simple fact that I missed you both. Like I said, I was accustomed to seeing you. One could say I was hooked.” And he chuckles again, like there’s anything funny or amusing about his words.
My pops had been training Adelaide over the last couple of months when we were in London. I was confident he’d fill in the gaps I was too busy to cover.
“You two talk? Like on the phone? When?” I say, pointing at the pair.
“You’ll remember that you abandoned me for a month. I got a little tired of talking to myself and I knew I had to tell Granddad about the baby,” Adelaide says, doing that thing she does where she pats her stomach. Something sour slips up my throat.
“Shame on you for abandoning your pregnant daughter,” my pops says to me.
“I was busy saving the bloody world,” I say to him.
“And Ren, why didn’t you tell me Addy was pregnant?” my pops says, wearing that familiar look of disappointment that he reserves for mostly me. “You know dream traveling can have assorted effects on a pregnant lady. You should never have allowed her to dream travel.”
I narrow my eyes at Adelaide and say, “Funny that you think I’m the one who forgot to mention that information.”
“Well, you are. And naturally I suspected that you were covering up the information. I know how hard it’s been to adjust to all these changes. After I found out I realized you were in denial,” Pops says to me.
“He actually didn’t know,” Adelaide admits, her face tightening with embarrassment. “I hid it from him. Well…from everyone.”
Pop’s face softens. He smiles a little, one full of dumb sympathy. “Oh, I see. That’s completely understandable though,” my pops says with a deep chuckle.
“Understandable?” I say, my volume doubling. “Are you bloody kidding me?”
“It’s a hard piece of information to divulge in a situation like Adelaide’s,” he says. “And Ren, we both know you wouldn’t handle that kind of news well. To find out that you have a daughter and then that she’s pregnant.” He turns to Adelaide. “Don’t blame you in the least for hiding that kind of thing.”
“This is fucking ridiculous,” I say, my cheeks on fire.
“Now son,” Pops says, his smile disappearing at once. “Why are you so upset? You have so much to be grateful for. So many blessings.”
“Blessings? Why don’t you go look up that word because you just misused it. And I’m not upset,” I say, not even attempting to quell my tone. “Asians who fail their driving test for the tenth time get upset. Babysitters who can’t get someone else’s brat to go to sleep get upset. Yuppies who have a big lunch and have to sit at a desk for the rest of the day in a suit that feels too tight get upset. Right now I’m fucking livid.”
“What’s gotten into you, Ren?” Pops says.
Adelaide eyes me with a cold hollow stare; still I know she’s curious to what’s going on. Dahlia, of course, knows why I’m angry. Her expression makes me think she gets it and is a little peeved too.
“What’s gotten into me? For starters, you are totally dismissing that this pest who infested my life lied to me about being pregnant,” I say, throwing a finger in Adelaide’s direction.
“Now Ren…” Pops says, and it’s been almost two decades since I heard that frustrated tone in his voice and the look he partners with it.
“I didn’t lie,” Adelaide says, her voice strong and stupidly self-righteous.
“Shut up,” I say to her before turning my attention back on my pops. “You show up here, dream traveling for the first time in my entire life, because why? Because you missed me? I was living here for three months and you never visited. Then I introduce you to this monster and you find out she’s gone and knocked herself up and you decide to dream travel suddenly.”
“Ren, I would have come to see you, but firstly you never told me where you were. And after you left London to move to Los Angeles you always came to me for visits. You never asked me to come and see you,” he says.
“I never thought you would,” I say to him. “Not in thirty or forty years have you left Peavey. I was pretty certain that asking you to visit was out of the bloody question. Little did I know you would, but not for me. However, for the mistake I unknowingly had you’ll do all sorts of things.” I throw my finger at the girl who is glaring at me with a dark anger.
My pops still has his face arranged into one that could have a smile spring up at any moment. It really is way too difficult to make him angry. “Ren, I think this has all been a misundersta—”
“Save your calm explanation, Pops. I’ve got a fucking job to go do,” I say. Then I turn and stalk past him. Dahlia reaches out for me,
but lets her hand fall away when I continue marching. Adelaide slides to the wall to give me plenty of space. “Stay, leave, train the breeder, or do whatever you’re going to do. I don’t give a fuck.”
“You’re leaving?” he says at my back, hurt in his voice. “But I just got here.”
I pause and turn back, looking at only him. “Well, next time phone and tell me that you’ve changed after fifty years and you are suddenly being spontaneous and understanding to a fault. But for now I have a job to do so you all can enjoy the freedoms in this world. You’re fucking welcome.”
Chapter Nine
Like a chipper little chipmunk checking the contents of a nut, Joseph raps five times on the wall beside my office door. It’s open because I expected him. Actually I summoned the hillbilly.
“Get in here,” I say, turning away from the file I’ve been studying and then swiveling to the front of my desk.
“I believe you meant to stand and welcome me with a sweepin’ wave of your hand,” Joseph says, and I’m not surprised that he hasn’t lost his dumb southern accent. I haven’t spoken to him in over a year and feel smarter for it. I’m fairly certain he lost all his brain cells drinking mossy lake water growing up. You can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the redneck out of the boy.
“You’re right. That’s not what I meant to say.” I clear my throat. Look directly at him. “I meant to say get your fucking ass in here, I haven’t got all bloody day,” I say, pointing to the metal folding chair on the other side of the desk.