Broken (6 page)

“No, my father is a diplomat. My mother is from Florida,” he said.

“Interesting. Do you model?”

“No. I have a band,” he replied.

“We have a talent division.” Lisa gave Merek her card.

I was on a date—not a business meeting. “Maybe we'll call you,” he said.

“Maybe.” Lisa grinned. “I'll see you on Sunday.”

I grabbed Merek by the hand and marched to the door. He had one song.

“Let's get out of here,” I said.

“This is your party. Ready when you are.”

“Outie,” I texted Sierra and Frenchy.

“No, don't leave me with Fr,” Sierra texted.

“I'm sorry. I have to bail. Merek's my ride. You two came together.”

Merek and I were in the car on the way home. We pulled over on the side of the road just a few houses up from the house. He didn't say much. I kind of knew what was coming. I think I was pretending not to know. He leaned over the armrest and tried to kiss me. I turned my face. It was only a matter of seconds before he turned my face to his.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“I'm just thinking,” I sighed.

“What are you thinking about?”

“I usually don't kiss on the first date.” I didn't have any established rules yet. Sierra did, though. So I borrowed one of hers.

“Yes. I do hope we get a second date. I'm working on the worship you part of things. I could … show you my music.” He plugged in his iPod. I put my hand on his.

“Only if you write the lyrics to me first.”

“Like on text,” he said.

“Like I want to see them in your handwriting so I can understand you.”

He pressed a sun roof button. “Sometimes I like to be real quiet and look at the stars. I don't see much of them at our new apartment. Out here, they are everywhere,” he smiled.

There was a period where nothing was said. Did he think I was weird for not wanting to hear his music? Had I insulted him?

“Did you think what I said about the music was weird?” I asked.

“No. You want to know. So I have to show you how I am. I want to write you a song. That is not easy for me. Sometimes it comes quickly. Sometimes the same song is in my head for weeks. I cowrite with my brother too. He's real smart and creative. Just real, you know,” he replied.

“It's like the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper. You and your brother, huh?” I asked.

“Some kind of way, yes. I think I am more like my father than he is.”

“I'm nothing like my father. The reason I like the Big Dipper and Little Dipper is because those are the first star constellations my mom showed me. I think I am like her. I hope. She died a few years ago,” I told him.

“I'm sorry to hear this Milan.” He kissed my hand. “You are very brave.”

“No. I don't think I am brave at all,” I said.

“If my mom died, I would not leave the house. You look so happy.”

“It is you and the stars,” I said.

“Have you ever seen a shooting star?” he asked.

“Yeah. I thought I saw one once.” I wondered if maybe this was where I was supposed to be. Sometimes it seemed like I was going against the tide, fighting so hard to wish for Noel. If he felt just 10 percent of what I did, wouldn't he have come home? I turned to Merek and kissed him on the cheek.

I wished my life had a CliffsNotes version, like “Here's what this part means” and “Here's what she's going to do in this part.” A glossary of how to handle numerous situations would help too. Merek was here. Noel hadn't come home yet. I was barely keeping my head above water.

In a world of alarms, I had my own version. The layman's version—my phone alarm on vibrate underneath my pillow. I'd gotten so used to it that I automatically turned it off when it vibrated.

This morning was wrong for such a thing. My eyes fluttered in the sun's rays peeking through my partially drawn curtains. My mind was still cloudy. Noel, I held him in my mind as tightly as I clung to my mom the first day of preschool. I was beginning to think I was holding on too tight. Then the flutter in my heart chimed in. I was so unmistakably loyal to the moments of him and me.

The first day we knew was always dancing on the outskirts of my mind. I was 14. He was 15. We were play-fighting in my room on the floor after an intense game of Monopoly. He kept collecting my properties. Next thing I knew, I was in bankruptcy. “You get mean when you play,” I signed.

“I do not, Milan,” he signed.

“Well, you could give me a break,” I signed.

“I will next time. I promise. I could never hurt you,” he signed.

“Whatever. You just beat me for like the third time this week,” I signed.

“Everyone is good at some things. We just have to find a game you're good at,” he signed. He was so cute. He had almond-shaped eyes, long lashes, a nice nose, a low-cut Caesar. He had dimples that only appeared when he pressed his lips. He was wearing a tattered gray college T-shirt that was his father's. It was the only thing he had of his father's. Noel's father left him and his mother when he was just three. He wasn't bitter about it. He wasn't upset about it.

My hair was tied back in my still-favorite side ponytail. My pink velour sweatsuit was actually in style at the time. I couldn't remember why, but he started tickling me. I tried to grab hold of his arms. Then we started to wrestle. He leaned into me. My heart jumped, for he had never done that before. My eyes stretched as far as they would go. I
remember wondering what he was going to do. He closed his eyes. Then I knew what was coming. I had seen it in movies. I closed my eyes too. He began to kiss my lips. Then he slowly started kissing me with his lips apart. His tongue touched mine, and I turned away. I was so scared. Later on, I found out he had never kissed a girl before me. And I never kissed a boy before him. We were perfect.

He turned my face to his. “I'm sorry,” he signed.

“It's okay,” I smiled.

“We shouldn't … I shouldn't do that again,” he signed.

“Why?”

“I don't know.”

“Let's try again.” Then we did. We kissed for what seemed to be 10 minutes. In reality, it was probably like 60 seconds before he pulled back. “What happened?” He looked at the door. Just then, Dimitri walked into my room. I remember turning to the window. As I looked out onto Park Avenue that day, I promised myself I would never forget that kiss.

Why couldn't I go back there? I certainly didn't understand why things were so complicated. I guess I could blame Daddy. I was in SH and Noel was somewhere else. That was that. Out of my window I saw Daddy walking into the garage with Grandpapa. Things were still sort of foggy. I jumped out of bed: 8 a.m. was certainly early for Saturday. I ran down the stairs. I sure wasn't Daddy's No. 1 fan at the moment. I really wanted to roll my eyes and slam the door at what I saw last night. I knew he saw me at the party. I sprinted across the foyer and out the door. I marched up to the garage. I was
going to trade in my birthday present and birthday lunch for a favor. He owed me this, at least. I knew who I was dealing with, but I didn't care.

He hadn't even looked me in the eyes last time I spoke to him. What made me think he would do me a favor?

I saw Grandpapa walking toward me. “Good morning,” I signed. I watched Dad back the Maserati out of the garage. Then he shifted into Drive. That was his golfing ride. Part of me froze. In my mind, I thought I had guts. I didn't know if that's how I was in real life. I was slightly scared of my Dad. The one time he had slapped me still haunted me. I shouldn't have said that Mama loved me more than he did. I should have said she would never have treated me the way he did. But it still seemed so true.

Laced with pre-determined disappointment, I jogged down the driveway. I tapped on the trunk. My eyes met his disconcerted look in the driver's side mirror. The car stopped. He ducked his head out of the driver's side window. “Milan?” he said. I lost my breath for a moment. He almost never spoke to me. He always signed. I apprehensively walked up to him. I glanced into my father's dark eyes. Light, fine lines surrounded his eyes. His curly hair was sprinkled with gray hairs. He used to dye it until someone told him it caused cancer—at least that's what his assistant told me one time when we were all riding home together.

“Dad, I need you to come with me to the father-daughter luncheon today at the club.” He glanced at his Tag Heuer watch that Dimitri bought him for his birthday last year. It had made him the most popular senior boy, so I guess he thought it would do the same for Dad. He swore he was his favorite.

“Today? Are you serious? You can't be this selfish, Milan.”

“I never ask for anything,” I said.

“Why didn't you mention this before?”

“When? The last time I saw you was last week! Oh, and at the party yesterday. That didn't seem to be the appropriate time!” He winced. I shrugged. It wasn't the first time.

“Maybe. No promises.” His lip curled on the left side when he was angry.

“Twelve-thirty in the Grand Ballroom,” I said.

“Four hours from now!” I caught a glimpse of Grandpapa waving a paper out of the front door like he was surrendering. He started walking toward the car. This wasn't going to help at all.

“Please try, Daddy.” I was a little afraid to look into his eyes. I almost knew from the curl in his lip that he wasn't going to show. But I was going anyway. The fact that I was trying anyway made me angry and sorry all at once.

“No promises,” he signed. Then he drove off. Wasn't that how it always was? The gates opened, and his car drove off. I turned to find myself face to face with Grandpapa.

“Your friend, Cara, called,” he signed and said.

“Thanks, Grandpapa.” I took the note from his hand and gave him a kiss on the cheek. At least he still cared about me. I used to be a Daddy's girl a long time ago.

I walked into the Grand Ballroom. I found myself shaking my head. I knew better than relying on Daddy for anything. Why had I even told Cara I would go?

“I love your Chanel suit,” Cara said.

“I admire your Betsey as well,” I said.

“Such an icon, baby doll.” Then she put her hand on my shoulder, like she was older than me, or smarter, or whatever. I realized then that I was sick of her already. Did I have to prove to her that I could keep up? The jury was still out. I cracked a smile, though inside I wanted to just fall to the ground and complain about my Dad. I turned my attention to my all-black Chanel suit. It was lovely. Lisa helped me pick it out last summer. We had an industry brunch to go to, and I was Chanel-less. Lisa seemed to be taken aback by the thought of me wearing anything else but “Coco's handmade designs.” As annoyingly ridiculous as her satire was, I had to respect the Chanel. After all, Mama wore Chanel No. 5 for most of her life.

Cara's father was running a little late. He was talking to a clerk at the bar on the other side of the club. I watched him hurry through the door. They sort of looked alike. Cara waved him over. “There's lil' old Daddy,” she said. Wow, two condescending statements in one breath. No wonder she and Dimitri hit it off.

“So you like hanging out with Dimitri.”

“Oh … hope you don't mind. Your brother is a new buddy of mine.” She was playing with fire. I started to tell her so, but decided against it.

“Hi, Cara.” Her father gave her a pat on the back. “I'm Mr. Billings,” he shook my hand. “Now, Cara, Leslie is going to meet us for a round of golf at 2,” Mr. Billings said.

“I guess she is,” Cara raised an eyebrow. Hmmm. Wonder what that was about? “Where's your Dad?” she asked.

“Ummm, I don't know. I texted him when I arrived. He said he would try.”

“He's probably on his way,” Mr. Billings said. I kind of wished he was. The thing about Dad was that he was never late for an appointment. So if I told him 12:30 p.m., if he was going to come he would arrive at 12:15 p.m. At 12:32 p.m., the emcee stood on the stage. I got up abruptly.

“Be right back,” I said.

I could feel my pulse racing. I marched through the back part of the lobby. I walked out onto the golf course. I promised myself I wasn't going to get upset. My three-inch red stiletto slingbacks were killing me. I had on sparkling red pumps and sparkling red crystal earrings. If only, like Dorothy, I could click my heels and go home. Back home to a place where Mama and Noel would be waiting. In less than a minute, I spotted my Dad. I didn't know what hole he was at—I just knew he was like a football field away with Mr. Bailey, his fly-fishing buddy.

“I can see you,” I texted. I watched my father's caddy hand him his cell phone. He searched the golf course. I took a step forward. The moment he looked into my eyes, I turned away with disgust. He knew. He knew he was supposed to be there for me at the brunch.

And even though I knew how he was, that didn't stop me from being sad. “I can still come,” he texted. I hiked my way back up to the club. “I just have two more holes.”

“The priority is clear.” I didn't know what came over me. I was sad, but I knew that was a bit rude. I ran to the bathroom in the lobby. I looked at myself in the mirror. I was completely red.

I couldn't go back to the luncheon without my dad. I took a deep breath. I sauntered out of the bathroom and did what I did best—smile. I walked into the dining hall. I walked up to Cara and her father. “It was lovely to see you today,” I gave Cara a double kiss. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Billings.”

“Okay. Take care,” he said.

“Where's your Dad?” Cara asked.

“He's not coming.”

When Mama died, I went to a therapist for almost two years. My therapist would say, “Fake it until you make it.” She said that if I smiled my way through things, it would start to feel real. I was waiting for that moment. She said that when I smiled I would realize things weren't half as bad as they seemed. This only made me feel bad for feeling bad. Half the time I walked around feeling guilty for feeling sorry for myself.