The Charade (22 page)

I liked to drink my tea in silence; I’d call after I finished my tea.

I promised myself after another cup I would call.

I didn’t, but decided I would after the show about celebrity homes ended.

After tossing and turning on the couch for several minutes, I gritted my teeth and pressed call.

“Hello,” he said. He sounded gruff, the years of smoking finally caught up to him.

“Hi,” I said. My voice tap danced on eggshells.

“Tiny! How are you?” I just knew he was smiling on the other end.

“I’m doing okay. How are you?”

He laughed. “I’m doing okay. It’s great to hear your voice. It’s been a while.”

There was a pause.

“How much?” I asked. I figured I’d get to the point.

“
Excuse me
?” He sounded shocked.

“How much…money do you need?” I placed my fist in my mouth and bit down on it.

“Tiny, I don’t
need
money.”

“Whenever you call me, you usually need money or something.”

“I can’t call to say hi? You
are
my daughter.”

“Hi, Matt.”

He laughed, but didn’t sound amused. “When are you going to stop calling me that? Dad sounds better.”

“You never acted like a dad, so why should I call you that?” The bitch was coming out. And rightfully so.

“I’m trying to make an effort.” I hated being so cold to him. He was at least attempting do extend an olive branch.

“I just don’t hear from you that much.”

“I’ve been busy. I got a new gig.” His voice perked up. “Driving trucks. Can you believe that? Your old man. Driving those big rigs.”

“That’s pretty good.” I tried not to crack a smile.

“I remember when you were younger, you used to play with those planes and trucks instead of dolls. Your mother and I thought you’d be a tomboy. You seemed to grow out of that quickly though.”

“Yeah, I did. How did you get this number?” I couldn’t stop the bitchy tone from seeping through.

“It’s always been the same. I heard you have a job at an advertising agency. You like it?”

“Well, I quit. It got too stressful.”

“You’ll pick up something soon. You’re smart. Always were.” There was a long silence where it was expected of me to have said thank you or something to that effect, but I didn’t. He cleared his throat. “Well…I’m in town for a little while and I was thinking maybe we can get together and catch up. Grab a bite to eat or something.”

I hesitated. He sounded like he was sincere, but I’d been through his song and dance before. We’d set a date and he’d either no-show or call me the day of and cancel. He’d give some whacked out excuse – like he got a job as a roadie for the Rolling Stones or he was going overseas and fighting oil fires in the Middle East. I couldn’t fall for it this time.

“I’ve been kind of busy lately.”

“Yeah. Sure. Whenever you’re ready.” He cleared his throat. “Plug my number in your phone.”

“Ok.”

“It was nice talking to you.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

I got up and poured another cup of tea.

Chapter 15

That Saturday I visited my mom. Every Saturday afternoon she baked sweets: pies, cakes, cookies, or turnovers. I guess it was a bit of a tradition. Usually I’d make it over later or the next day after all the neighbors or her friends or whatever guy she was dating at the time got to dig in first. I’d be too busy shopping online for shoes or binge-watching a TV show or not studying like was supposed to.

But since I had no job and wasn’t in school, I decided to help her with her the baking duties for the day. The dish for the day – key lime pie. Not ideally the perfect dessert for winter, but she said she had the taste for something tart. To even go above and beyond my daughterly duties, I bought all of the ingredients for the recipe.

She looked at me like I saw a ghost when I came through her door with two bags of groceries.

“Do you owe me money that I’ve forgotten about?” she said.

“No,” I said. “Can’t a daughter do something nice for her mom?” She closed the door behind me, but looked out the door both ways before she closed it. “Why did you do that?”

“To make sure somebody didn’t kidnap my
real
daughter.” I laughed. She placed her hand on my forehead and my cheek. “You’re not running a fever are you? You might need to lie down. My daughter is ill.” I laughed harder, holding my side. She grabbed my chin. “Say
aahh
for me.”

“Mom! Stop!” I slapped her on her shoulder.

“Look at you. My daughter is all grown up now. Look at all this responsibility. I bet working with that skinny kid is rubbing off on you. What was his name?” She snapped her fingers repeatedly.

“Tyson.” My voice was deadpan.

“Tyson. That’s it. He was always mature for his age.” I frowned and shook my head.

“Oh no. Not again.” She sighed. She poured two mugs of the hot cider that boiled on the stove. “What happened now?”

“He was more into his work than me I guess.”

“Most men never see a good thing in front of them. Until it’s too late. Assholes.”

“I just don’t understand. We had a good thing going and then poof, it all goes downhill.”

“You just have to move on to the next one. They’re like buses. One leaves, another will be there in fifteen minutes. Rain, sleet, or snow.” We clanged our mugs together to say cheers.

“This would go good with a little whisky.”

After I placed the pie in the refrigerator, I sat down and my mom shared with me the neighborhood gossip. She described how the Mr. MacGreggor got caught cheating with babysitter.

“Word is, his own niece walked in on them.” She made a rapid tsk between her teeth. “Which reminds me, call your cousin.”

“Which one?” I asked.

“You’re only close to one. Gabby.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, she’s back in town from Los Angeles.”

“Big city girl now.”
“I guess her modeling career didn’t pan out the way she wanted it to. She lives in Crown Oak. Your Aunt Marie said she has a nice apartment. Who knows how she got it. She isn’t working.”

“Hmm. I’ll have to give her a call. It’s been awhile.”

“You two were almost like sisters.”

She slid a piece of paper with Gabby’s phone number on it to me.
“I spoke to Matt,” I said abruptly changing the subject. She stirred her cider and suddenly stopped when she heard his name. “He asked me to meet him. I said no, but I think I might change my mind. She looked up at me slowly – like I was clinically insane.

“I beg your pardon?” She heard me correctly, needing to hear it again to be sure.

I cleared my throat and straightened my shoulders. “I said I’m meeting with Matt. Probably later today.”

“For what?” She swirled her cider. This time more vigorously.

“He called me and said he was going to be in town for a couple of days. He wants to see me.”

“And you’re going?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you’re a fucking fool.”

The caramel colored liquid spilled out her cup from her maddening stirring.

“Mom.” I shrieked. “How could you say that?”

A frustrated look penciled her face. She got up from the table and stood over the sink, fixing the yellow curtains. “You must like disappointment.” She shook her head slightly.

“He’s trying.”

“How many times? How many times is it gonna be for you to learn?”

“However many times it takes. He’s changed. He’s grown. Listen, I can’t hold hate in my heart forever. I just can’t.”

“That man’s no good. He ain’t changed. And you’re stupid enough to fall for it. Again and again.”

“You married him.” She turned and gave me a look. A look I’d seen before. It reminded me I was the daughter and she was the mother – no matter grown I thought I was.

“Watch your mouth.”

I sighed. “I’m saying there was something you saw in him that was good. He’s made some mistakes. Everybody should have a chance to make up from the past. You started to go to church again, right? They teach forgiveness. He’s trying, that’s got to count for something.”

Her eyes were fixated out the window, probably recalling something Matt did in the past that she still hasn’t gotten over. “You’re a grown woman now. You live by your own rules.” She shook her head in shame. “When he stands you up, I won’t be there to hold you while you cry yourself to sleep.”

***

After I left my mom’s house, I called Matt and we agreed to meet for dinner. I thought about turning around and leaving a million times. My blood pressure would’ve thanked me for it.

Victor all but got on his hands and knees and begged me to let him join me. He didn’t want me to be alone if Matt didn’t show up. I declined and decided to brave it myself.

I sat in my car at the Caribbean Palace for at least twenty minutes with the heat blasting and with the window cracked. Matt loved jerk chicken, so we agreed to meet there. They were the best in town. He used to take me there growing up. Every third Thursday of the month we’d go. I’d get the salted fish. The curried goat or jerk chicken were too spicy. But I was always daring and he let me take a small bite of his. He’d be in stitches when my eyes would water and my nose would drip from the heat.

I snapped out of the reminiscing and looked at my watch.

I couldn’t go through with it.

I put my car in reverse and pulled out of the yellow lines.

I paused.

What if he showed? If I left, would I be no better than him? Wouldn’t I be adding more fuel to the fire? If he was sincere about showing, shouldn’t I at least meet him halfway?

I pulled back into the space and walked inside.

My phone vibrated. It was him, apologizing for being late and that he was pulling up.

“Tiny,” he said walking towards me. He stood looking at me - his daughter who he hadn’t seen in years.

He had a little less hair on his head than before. More facial hair, too. A lot more. He had a full beard. It was trim and speckled with gray, sort of how George Clooney wore his. The tattoos on his forearms were gone and he looked like he stopped drinking; the weathered and wearied look he had for so many years faded away. His always wiry frame looked a bit more muscular, as if he started weight training.

“Are you gonna just stand there or are you gonna give me a hug?” he asked. He enveloped me in his arms. For a few seconds I waited to hug him back, but I relented. I heard him sobbing a little. “It’s so good to see you.” He stepped back and surveyed me from head to toe. Tears poured from his bloodshot eyes. You could hear a pin drop in the restaurant. Only his sobbing was audible.

He grabbed a handkerchief from his back pocket and pressed it against his eyes. “Forgive me,” he said. I didn’t know whether to accept his apology and bat his wet eyes dry or continue to stand there.  I just stood there. He stood looking around the room. “Well, it looks sort of the same doesn’t it?” I nodded.

He showed up. I couldn’t believe it.

The hostess greeted us and allowed us to sit wherever we wanted to. I picked a booth by the window.

“I’m surprised they’re still open,” he said.

“They’re one of the few places in the city from back in the day that’s still open,” I said.

“What about Georgina’s? The pool hall?”

“It’s still open.”

“You’re shitting me?” His eyes bugged with amazement.

“Yeah, it’s still there.”

“Wow. That’s incredible. Is Gus still there?”

“Yeah, he’s still there, he still runs the place.”

The server interrupted us, bringing waters over to us.

“Would you like any other beverages?” she asked. “We have several domestic beers, ginger beer…”

“Water is fine,” he said coldly.

“I’ll take a green tea,” I said. “No beer?” He always had a sip of beer before each meal. Sometimes breakfast.

“One year, two months, twenty-seven days to be exact.” He said it proudly.

It made me proud. “That’s amazing.”

“Yeah, sometimes people have to put things up on the top shelf for good.”

I fought back a smile. “That’s good you finally put the bottle down.”

“I agree.”

Over the next half hour, after our food arrived, we discussed movies that we saw, places he’s seen driving trucks, and how he’d taken up learning to play the drums. Everything except the burning question I had on my mind for years, but I was never brave enough to ask.

Catching up on idle chatter was okay, but as time bled, it soured me. My eyes narrowed with each passing moment.

I became antsy.

“You know when I’m out on the road,” he said, “I think about those long drives we used to take on Sunday afternoons.” I nodded and he continued. “You remember that?”

“I do.” I exhaled deeply and fiddled with the salt shaker.

“It gets lonely out on the road sometimes. It’s just you, some boring radio station, and an endless white line on the side of the road. Other times it’s pretty beautiful – the silence after a long day, the orange sky right after it sets, the hum of the engine.” I twirled the shaker round and round. “It relaxes you, you know? And for a minute, you’re just coasting. Forgetting you just drove nine hours straight and that you’re dead assed tired. It’s a very liberating thing if you can open your mind up to it. Life’s filled with so many distractions. People are too busy to stop and see how beautiful it really is.”

My ears were hot.

I slammed the shaker on the table. Salt flew out of the tiny holes.

“So why did you run out on me?”

He stopped cutting his piece of chicken mid-slice. He sat back in the booth and dropped his fork and knife. He pursed his lips, bracing himself for what he surely knew was coming.

“You say how beautiful life is…people never get a chance to...If that’s the case, then why did you leave us? If you really believed that, you missed out on years of beautiful moments.” A tear fell on my eyelid that I quickly wiped away.

He sighed deeply. “It’s difficult. It’s a complicated, complex thing, Tiny.”

“Bullshit. That’s such bullshit.” I became louder and the tone in my voice filled to the brim with attitude. “You’re such a coward. Why can’t you say it?” He paused - as if about to speak - but stopped. “Why?” I slammed my phone on the table. It made him jump.

“Tiny, please.”

“Why don’t you answer the question?” My voice was so loud everyone in the restaurant turned and looked at us. A plate in the kitchen fell and shattered.

“Maybe this was a mistake coming here.” He looked at his car keys next to the packets of sugar.

“Run. Run like you always do.” My entire body shook. Every feeling came bubbling to the surface. I never spoke to him like that before.

“Can you lower your voice?” His voice was shrill and embarrassed.

“I will
not
lower my voice, until you start telling me the truth.”

“I’m still your father. You have no right to talk to me like that.” A lady, probably the manager came from behind the counter peeking her head around, inching towards us. I regained my composure and quieted down – not for him, but out of respect for the restaurant.

“Is everything okay, here?” the lady came over and asked us.

“Yes, everything is fine,” he said. She turned to me and held her gaze; as if to ask again, woman to woman. I smiled and nodded.

“You have no right to dictate how I can say this and how can I say that. No right.”

He folded his arms and looked up at the ceiling, trying to find the right words that would satisfy me. None would be able to. None would be able to make up for anything he did. I just wanted him to say why. “You’re right. Tiny, why can’t we just enjoy this? I didn’t come here for an interrogation.”

I scowled at him. “You know, you were right. This was a mistake.” I yanked my keys off the table, grabbed my jacket, and threw two twenties next to my cup of water and darted for the door. He ran behind me.

“Tiny,” he screamed, grabbing me by my arm. I stopped, but didn’t turn around to face him. “Tiny. You’re right. I was a coward.” I faced him. He was huffing and puffing. Fog blasted from his lungs into the night sky. “A fucking coward. Fine. Is that what you wanted to hear me say?” His lip quivered as his eyes welled up. “I was scared.” He threw his hands up in the air. “I admit it.”