A Kiss and a Cuddle (4 page)

I
was six years old when my father left.  I don’t remember much about him, but I
do remember the day that he left with painful detail. 

I
was sitting on the floor of our living room in our house in San Antonio.  It
was February, so I was inside playing with my favorite pony figurines after
school.  My mom was sitting on the couch next to me, watching TV.  It was a
normal day, except it was Valentine’s Day.  For me, that meant that I made half
a dozen heart-shaped crafts at school.  For my parents, it meant something
else.

As
usual, around 5PM, we heard the truck engine in the driveway roar and shut
off.  My mom stood up and walked over to meet him at the door. 

“Come
on, sweetie, Dad is home!” my mother said, and I ran towards the door with my
blue skirt rustling against my body.

He
opened the door and stepped into the house.  He was carrying flowers and handed
them to my mother as he said, “Happy Valentine’s Day, dear.”

“Oh,
honey, thank you!” my mom exclaimed as they hugged.

“And
I can’t forget this…” he said, as he pulled a blue envelope from behind his
back and held it out towards my mom.

I
could feel the mood in the room change, as she looked down at the envelope and
back up at him.  Her face was empty, as he continued to hold it in front of
her.

“Well,
aren’t you going to open it?” he asked, smiling.

“Rose,
go up to your bedroom and put on your cassette tapes and headphones,” my mom
said sternly, not taking her gaze off of the envelope.

I
ran upstairs to my bedroom and put my headphones on.  I pressed play and
listened to the music while lying on my bed.  My stomach was in knots, and I
could sense that something was very wrong.  I soon heard yelling, and I ripped
my headphones and sat up in my bed, with my eyes wide and my heart pounding.  There
was silence for a long time, until I heard a door slam.  I heard the truck engine
start up, roar, and fade into nothing.  Then all that was left was the sound of
the gears of my cassette player earnestly turning and the faint sound of Elton
John leaking through my headphones.  That was the last time I saw him.

That
day, all I was left with was my music, and I dived even further in.  Music
became my escape, and singing became my release.  I did not dare ask my mother
about what happened that day.  We did not talk about him when I was growing
up.  A couple of years ago, when I was home from Denver for Christmas, my mom
finally told me what happened.  We were sitting on the floor in the living
room, under the Christmas tree.  I supposed that the warmth of my smile, the
red glow coming from the Christmas lights, and the hushed sounds of wind
blowing outside created a soft place for my mother’s words to land.

She
was cleaning my father’s den earlier in the week when a Valentine’s Day card
fell out from one of his books.  She knew that it would spoil the surprise, but
she opened it up to read the card.  She recognized my father’s writing inside
and smiled at his romantic words.  She discreetly put it back into the book and
left it to look untouched.  This card, however, was in a red envelope, not blue. 
He didn’t write it for her.  He wrote it for someone else. 

My
mom explained that when I was four years old, she was pregnant with another baby
girl but had lost it after five months.  Losing the baby put a terrible strain
on their relationship.  They were both devastated, but weren’t able to share
the pain with the other.  Instead, it became something that they didn’t talk
about, and it slowly ate away at the relationship, until there wasn’t one.  My
mom took comfort by spending more time with me, and my dad took comfort by
spending time with another woman.  

I
was sad to hear of the loss of my sister that I had never known and will never
know.  It was another tragedy that I would have to try to stop myself from
thinking about for the rest of my life, along with being abandoned by my
father.  The pain was too much for one girl to cope with.

We
cried and hugged silently afterwards.  We were all the other needed in the
world.  And more than ever before, I wanted to make her proud of me, so that
she knew the sacrifices she made for me were worth it.

The
next morning, I was awoken by the frenzied buzz of my cell phone once again.  The
sun naturally lit up my entire room.  I looked at the clock and it was
12:30PM.  I was shocked that I slept in this late again.  What was wrong with
me?  Was I depressed?
 
I quickly grabbed my phone from my bedside table to
make the incessant buzzing stop.  I could see the words “MOM” flashing on my
screen along with our picture.

“Good
morning, Mom,” I whispered into the phone sleepily.

“Why
are you whispering, darling?  And it is the afternoon, not the morning!” she
proclaimed.  “Why are you still sleeping?  Are you depressed or something?”

“No,
Mom, that’s crazy.  I have just been doing a lot of work for my album release,”
I replied.  “And there is this guy who keeps trying to get my attention, but he
is just getting on my nerves.” 

“Oooh,
a guy?  Tell Mama more.”

“He
is just a spoiled brat who tries to steal the spotlight.  I don’t really want
to talk about him.”

“But
honey, you never want to talk about them.  I think it would be good if you had
a man who treated you nicely, but you never seem to give them a chance.  I want
to know that my daughter is being taken care of while she’s so far away.”

“I
know, Ma.  I treat myself nicely and take care of myself though.  Besides, this
guy is trouble.”

“Well
honey, stories of love usually start as tales of war,” she said
enthusiastically.  After all she had been through in her life, she was still a
hopeless romantic.  I admired that about her.

“Oh,
Mom.  Not this one!” I laughed.  “Those words do sound pretty profound though. 
Do you mind if I use them as song lyrics?”

“You
can definitely quote me.  That is a Mama original!” she replied. “And when it
is a big hit, you can pay me back with hugs and kisses… and lots of
grandchildren.”

“Sounds
good, Ma,” I said, reaching in my bag to grab my lyric book.  My hand kept
searching in the empty bag.  Oh my goodness.
 
It wasn’t in there.
 
I
replayed my memory to where I last had it.  It was last at the café!
  “
Ma,
I’ve got to go.  I’ll call you later.  Love you!” I said and hung up the phone. 
I jumped out of bed in my pajamas and started to scramble around my bedroom for
clothes and a hairbrush.

I
must have been in such a rush to leave that I left it at the café table.  With Rex! 
The situation was getting worse and worse.  I could imagine him reading through
all of my private lyrics and poetry.  I had to get my book back!

It
was 1:45PM, and I was eagerly sitting on the café patio.  The mid-afternoon sun
was prudently beating down on me, and I couldn’t tell if I was sweating due to
the heat or my nerves.  My hands were nervously playing on the table, and my
feet were bobbing up and down to an imaginary beat.  I had never been so early
to meet a guy before.  It was embarrassing.  What if he didn’t even show up?

“Well,
well, what do we have here?” an enthusiastic voice said from behind me.  Rex
jumped over the patio fence again with ease and sat down next to me.  He was
sporting another American disguise, with a baseball cap, a plain t-shirt, and
long shorts.  He definitely had no qualms about wearing man-jewellery; his
wrists were wrapped in multiple bracelets and watches, and he wore a black
string necklace.  Sure enough, I looked down the road, and I saw his two
bodyguards on the bench.

“This
isn’t what it looks like.  I forgot my….” I started to say.

“Why,
this is such a surprise.  You are actually here.  This may be the best day of
my life, except for the day I met the Spice Girls, of course,” he bumbled on,
unaware of my sense of urgency.  “What did you forget, love?”

“I
left my notebook here.  It is really important.  Did you find it?” I asked
quickly.

“No,
I didn’t find a notebook,” he replied plainly.

“Oh
no…” I trailed off, getting up from my chair to search around.

“But…”
he quickly interjected. “I did happen to come across a collection of love poems
written for me,” he said while revealing my lyric book from behind his back. 
He flipped through the pages dramatically.  “I just love the way you described
my luscious coiffed hair and icy blue eyes.  Do you really think I’m the most
handsome man in the world?” he asked as he dropped my book on the table.

“There
it is!” I grabbed the book and breathed a sigh of relief as I sat back down. 
“I don’t know what you were reading in here, but I definitely didn’t write
that.”

“Ahem…
check out the last page, Rose.”

I
turned to the very last page to see his messy boy-writing all over it, with
words of adoration for himself and heart doodles.  “Oh, yuck.”  I said in
disgust. “You scribbled all over my book!”

“Save
it.  You can probably sell it for millions one day,” he jested. “I am only
kidding, my dear.  Actually, there was one lyric in your book that really
struck me.  Apart from your bizarre bird metaphors, that is.  There was
something about how you can never become poor from giving.”

“Yes,
I wrote that.  And I believe it.  Why do you care about it?”

“It
just reminds me of something someone very dear to me would say.  It is very
beautiful,” he said softly.

“Oh,
well, thank you.” I replied.  He actually sounded sincere.  “And thank you for
returning my book.  That means a lot to me… ummm… Rex? 
Your Royal Heir
? 
What should I call you, exactly?”

“Rex
shall suffice.  My first name is actually Rexford, but you can only call me
that when I have been a really naughty boy,” he grinned.

I
rolled my eyes and smiled.  I wondered if he ever stopped with his boyish
antics.

“Besides,
I am something far more important than an heir,” he continued.

“And
what is that?” I challenged.  Talking to him was more like sparring or fencing,
but I could definitely keep up and keep him on his toes.

“I
am a Virgo,” he said proudly.

“Ohhh,
so that explains the quick wit, flirty nature, and… your big ego,” I quipped.

“Oh,
is that right?  And what is your sign, if I may ask?”

“Aquarius.”

“Well
then, that explains your independence, creativity, and…” he paused for dramatic
effect. “Your stubbornness.”

“My
stubbornness?  If I am so terrible, I must know – why are you following me and
accidentally
bumping into me all the time?”

“I
told you, Rose.  Your singing is mesmerizing.  I was completely blown away that
night,” he said.  “Besides, I am intrigued by you.  You and your feisty
attitude.”

It
all made since then.  He was interested in me because I wasn’t falling at his
feet.  As if I ever would!

“You
barely know me,” I challenged.

“That’s
all part of the mystery,” he replied.

“Ah,
that is your problem.  You know, what people don’t know about someone, they
fill in with perfection.  Mystery can be dangerous.  I could be a psycho for
all you know.”

“I
am willing to take that risk,” he winked.

“Oh
my, you are spreading the charm on quite thickly, aren’t you?” I replied, in an
unimpressed tone.  He wasn’t going to break me down with his relentless
flirting.

Just
then, we were interrupted by Babs who asked if we would like to order anything.
 She looked surprised to see me there with another boy.  She was probably happy
because that meant I wasn’t Derek’s girlfriend.  She didn’t recognize Rex; that
was for sure.  She really did only have eyes for Derek.  I was about to excuse
myself to leave, when Rex insisted that we share a pot of tea.  It was the
least I owed him, apparently.  I couldn’t really say no after he had saved my
lyric book, so I agreed to one cup of tea and a scone.

“So
please, tell me all about yourself.  Seeing as you know all about me from the
articles you’ve read in gossip magazines.  You know that they always tell the
truth, right?” he said playfully.

“Why,
of course.  The truth and nothing but the truth.” I laughed.  “Besides,
pictures can’t lie… and there have been a lot of pictures, Rex!”

“Pictures
can definitely lie.  Anyway, the media has created an image of me that sells.  And
I, along with other members of my family, know how to put on a good show.  I
suppose there are worse things to be known for besides someone who knows how to
have a laugh.”

“Okay,
okay, I will give you the benefit of the doubt.  But keep your clothes on from
now on, will you?”

Just
then, Babs returned with a large pot of tea, cream, scones, and whip cream. 
Scones topped with whip cream was a British tradition for afternoon tea,
apparently.  I reached for the pot to pour myself a cup. 

“Whoa,
whoa, whoa.  Stop right there, Rose!  Has no one ever taught you how to make a
proper cup of tea?” he asked with the most baffled and appalled look on his
face.

I
put the pot down immediately and held my hands up innocently.  “Huh?  Yes, I
pour the tea into my cup, add cream, and stir it.  Simple,” I shrugged.

“No,
no, no, my little lamb,” he scoffed, while grabbing the cream. “Let me teach
you how to make a proper cup of tea.  First, you add the cream,” he lectured.
“You must always, always add the cream to your cup before pouring the tea.”

He
gestured with his hand for me to follow his instructions.  I poured the thick
white cream into my tea cup, and looked back at him, waiting for the next
steps.

“Next,
you must slowly pour the brewed tea into the cup.  Now, the trick here is that
you must stir constantly whilst pouring.  Nobody really knows why, but it will,
without fail, make the best cup of tea.”

I
grabbed the full tea pot and my spoon.  “Okay, I am ready for this!”  I poured
in the hot liquid while quickly swirling the mixture until the cup was full. 

“Now,
the best part of all.  You must sit here and wait until the temperature is just
right.  If you drink it right away, you will burn your tongue and taste buds,
and the whole cup of tea will be ruined.  You just have to sit here, in sheer
excitement and anticipation of your cuppa.”

 “This
is actually pretty exciting.” I replied.  “It does look creamier this way. 
Thank you for sharing your British secrets.”

“Ah,
it isn’t much of a secret.  It’s the way…” he started to slow down and stumble
on his words. “It’s the way… my mum taught me.”  He smiled weakly and looked
down at the table.

I
averted my eyes and looked at my cup of tea, still slightly swirling from my
stirring.  Of course.  He lost his mom at a very young age.  Very tragically.  She
was a strong woman who was known for her high profile charity work around the
world, and she was the absolute center of the world for Rex and his father.  I
looked back at Rex.  His smile had disappeared and his eyes were glossy.  I
completely understood now.  He was still grieving the loss of his mom.  He
looked a bit like a wounded child at that moment.  Didn’t we all have a
wounded, suffering child inside of us?

Just
as I was about to look back at him and speak, his hand was suddenly in front of
my face, and he dabbed whip cream on my nose.

“And
whip cream for dessert!” he exclaimed.

“Rex!!!”
I yelled, wiping it off my nose.  How quickly he could turn from happy to sad
and sad to happy.

We
spent the rest of the afternoon sharing stories and laughing.  I actually
enjoyed myself.  Rex was surprisingly easy, and almost fascinating, to talk
to.  He had a spark; that was for sure.  A little light inside that lit him up,
and it was infectious.  Soon, I was lit up too.  That day marked the beginning
of a new friendship and forever changed the way I made a cup of tea.