Love of a Rockstar (4 page)

Finally, Nil spoke. “I drew a picture in class today.”

“Can I see it?”

She ran off to her bedroom, returning a moment later with a piece of white paper clasped in her hands. “Can you hang it on the fridge?”

Our fridge was dedicated to Nil’s artistic renderings. Her latest obsession was horses, which I suspected were on the paper. To my surprise, three bears with the names mommy, daddy and Nil were written above their heads in blue crayon. I traced my finger over a shape that looked like a shoe flying over the sun.

I pointed to it. “What’s that?”

“A bus.”

A small smile turned up the corner of my lips. Around the time Nil turned four, she started asking about Luke and no answer satisfied her. That was until I told her that her father was on a magical mystery tour. It had worked. She’d dropped the subject by the wayside—until today.

I turned the paper sideways. “Oh yeah, I can see that. What made you draw this?”

“It’s for when daddy comes home. He’s coming home, right?” she asked, her tone filled with hope.

Luke’s parting words at the hotel elevator were that he would fix what he broke. The problem was that the nonexistent relationship he had with his daughter wasn’t like a leaky valve. He couldn’t just slap a roll of duct tape on it. Luke had to tend to the relationship and I wasn’t sure if he had time for that. Letting Luke into her life only to have him break her heart wasn’t what was best for her.

My heart squeezed in my chest. “I thought I told you sweetie, that daddy is on a magical mystery tour.”

Her eyes grew frantic. “But the daddy bear came back when the snow melted. The snow is melting now.”

I glanced outside the window. Sure enough, patches of grass peeked through the white slush. Daddy bears also protected their young but Luke didn’t do that either. Gathering Nil into my arms, I smoothed down her hair. “Your father will come home when the time is right and that’s not now.”

The next morning Nil and I woke up to have breakfast at my mom’s house. It was a tradition started when I was fourteen. Hung over or not, my ass had to be planted at the dining room table Sunday at 10:00 a.m. sharp. My mother had a tendency to pour enough salt on her food to kill a snail, so usually I would feed my meal to our family dog, Snickers. By the time I was seventeen, I took over the Sunday breakfast, which my mother was more than happy to give to me. Today, I bundled Nil into her booster seat and drove the short distance to my parents’ house. Even though it was the middle of November, Christmas lights were strung along the eaves. Other houses on the block had their Thanksgiving decorations planted in their front yards, but not my mother. She was the queen of Christmas which was actually her nickname given to her by the neighborhood. I held Nil’s hand as we made our way up the slippery steps to the front door.

“Can I ring the doorbell?” she asked.

Halfway through my nod of approval, Nil stabbed the gold button. Her eyes lit up when a low chime echoed from inside. It made me long to be young again, when the little things in life brought such joy. A couple seconds later my mother swung open the door with her signature dramatic flair.

“My darlings.” She swept Nil and me into the foyer and slammed the door shut behind us. “It’s freezing out there.”

My mother was originally from California, therefore anything seventy degrees or below was cold. When she met my father in college at UCLA, he swept her off her feet and moved her to Seattle. They’d lived here thirty years next August, but her thin blood never accepted the cold rainy winters.

“Jesus mom, you have the thermostat turned way too high,” I said as sweat dotted my hairline.

“Then take off your coats and hand them to me,” she said.

I bent down and helped Nil out of her puffer jacket first. Once she was sprung free, my daughter glanced down the hallway, eager to play with Snickers, the family dog. They were known to play for hours together until Nil passed out next to him.

“It’s OK, you can leave,” I said to Nil. She ran off to search for her best friend “Tell Snickers I said hi,” I yelled to her back.

My mother sighed. “You indulge her too much.”

Long ago and many fights later, I learned to tune out her criticism. It wasted energy I didn’t have. Straightening to an upright position, I handed Nil’s coat to my mother and shed mine as well.

“Do you want me to start breakfast?” I asked.

She placed her hand over her stomach. “Sure, but nothing heavy. Last weekend, that French toast you served bloated me like a balloon.”

A small tinge of satisfaction turned my lips into a smile. My mother was the picture of perfection. Never a hair out of place or a wrinkle on her shirt. The fact my cooking undid her was the best form of revenge for the years she harassed me about my weight.

“Your wish is my command,” I said.

Walking down the hallway lined with family pictures, I entered my parents’ state of the art kitchen. Exposed beams ran the length of the ceiling while white marble countertops gleamed underneath industrial metal lights. Farmhouse chic wasn’t my mom’s style in the least, but the decorator convinced her it was the hottest trend on the market. An induction range pushed against the far wall beckoned me with its pretty looks. Running my hand over the sleek surface, I sighed with untenable lust.

“Your mother is going to kill you for getting streak marks on that hunk of machine.”

I spun around to meet my grandmother’s crooked smile, and shrugged. “Probably, but I couldn’t resist.”

Doris was wearing one of her signature cardigans with a slim fitting pair of khaki pants. I touched my ratty t-shirt, self-consciously. Somewhere along the way, fashion fell by the wayside.

“Where’s my beautiful great-granddaughter?” she asked.

“Where do you think?”

My grandmother’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “They’re two peas in a pod.”

I gave a knowing smile. Since I was only four years into the parenting thing, I didn’t know if it was normal for my daughter to get along better with animals than children her own age. When Nil’s pre-K teacher informed me she spent a lot of time by herself in class, I came to my daughter’s defense and recited a long list of excuses, followed by enrolling her in ballet classes because every little girl loves to dress up in tutus. More importantly, it was a place to meet other kids. The four hundred dollars a year was a serious chunk of change out of my pocket, but I didn’t want Nil to end up the weird kid in the corner, picking her nose. Doris walked over to the coffeepot and poured herself a mug. When she offered some to me, I declined. The two cups I’d had this morning were still working their magic.

“You know, your mom was the same way,” she said.

“What are you talking about?”

“She had a unique bond with animals like Nil does.”

I tried to imagine my mother rolling on the ground with Snickers, dog hair plastered to her cashmere sweater. It was so unfathomable that I let out a snort. “I know you’re trying to erase my worry lines, but don’t lie.”

Doris’ lips pursed. “I never lie.”

That in itself was a lie. My grandmother was known to stretch the truth until it no longer resembled the original story. She was the embodiment of the game telephone, where each person passes on an idea to the next person until the original idea is blurred beyond recognition. Except she played it by herself with each retelling.

“Sure you don’t,” I said, not wanting to piss her off and give her a heart attack.

She picked a piece of lint off her sweater, “Your mother’s special bond with animals was the reason she wanted to become a vet.”

“But she became a criminal defense attorney.”

“That was your grandfather’s influence. He believed a woman needed a strong job.”

My grandfather came from a time when women didn’t have the same rights as men. So, I understood why he encouraged his only daughter to dream bigger. Nonetheless, I wished my mother had listened to her heart.

“So you’re telling me my mom could have been a vet?” I asked.

Doris smiled at the disbelief written on my face. “Yes, but then she wouldn’t have met your father.”

My mother always said the day she met my father was when her life started. I always wanted the love story they had but I was starting to realize it wasn’t that easy.

My grandmother laid her hand on my cheek. “Don’t change her.”

“I won’t,” I promised. Nil was perfect just as she was.

The clickety clack of mom’s heels announced her arrival in the kitchen. As if she could sense my grandmother and I were talking about her, her mouth thinned in distrust. “What are you two talking about?”

“Nothing,” we said in unison.

Her eyes narrowed, but she quickly waved it away. “Whatever. I am hungry. Mom, leave Marlene alone so she can cook.”

My grandmother shot me a wink as she glided out of the kitchen. Over the next hour, I went about preparing breakfast without any interruptions from the rest of the family. Since my mom didn’t want anything heavy, I made an onion and ricotta fritta, blueberry muffins, and a side of whipped honey butter. It was as light as I was going to get. As I pulled the fritta out of the oven, Nil walked over to me with Snickers on her heels. Resisting the urge to wipe off dog fur from her clothes, I pulled on a pair of kitchen mitts and set the egg dish on the marble island to cool. My daughter’s nose perked to attention at the smell of food.

“Can I have that?” she asked

“Yes, in five minutes.”

Her bottom lip jutted out in a pout. “But I’m hungry now.”

A full-blown meltdown was in the works if I didn’t give her something soon. Nil took after me when it came to an empty stomach; we turned into brats when we were hungry. I yanked open the refrigerator door and peered in. A neat row of juice boxes sat on the top shelf my mom kept specifically for Nil.

“What flavor juice would you like? Apple, grape, or fruit punch?” I asked over my shoulder.

“Grape,” she exclaimed.

I grabbed the requested flavor and handed the box to her. Nil stuck the straw through the opening and sucked noisily. Crisis diverted.

“Can you go tell everybody breakfast is ready?” I asked. “And don’t…”

My daughter threw back her head. “Breakfast!” she yelled.

“Yell,” I finished.

With my dad away on business and Camille studying for a test, the group around the table was smaller than usual. Still, it felt nice to forget about Luke for a couple of hours. I split a blueberry muffin for Nil and me to share.

“Here you go.” I set it down on her plate and smeared it with butter. She looked at Snickers. “This is for you, not the dog,” I said.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Dogs eat, too.”

“Yes, but not human food.” I pointed to the blueberry muffin. “Now eat.”

Silence fell over us as we enjoyed our breakfast. I didn’t use my culinary school education for its intended purpose, although I did walk away with knowledge on how to make people happy through their stomachs.

Doris daintily wiped her mouth with a napkin. “My friend Betsy told me Luke was in town,” she said.

I shot her a warning glance. Nil didn’t know her father’s name and I kept it from her for a reason. Who knew what kind of search results Luke Anderson would turn up? Oblivious to the tension in the air, my daughter scraped her muffin pieces into a makeshift tower.

My mother came around the table and kneeled next to Nil’s chair. “Do you want to watch an episode of
Polly Pocket
?”

“Mom…” I forewarned.

She gave me a look that said we were going to discuss this whether I liked it or not. Sulking in my chair as if I were seventeen again, I bit my lip. This sucked. Luke was the last person in the world I wanted to talk about with her.

“I love
Polly Pocket
!” Nil shouted as she ran into the living room.

While my mom set up the movie for her, my grandmother gave me the last piece of fritta in apology. My appetite gone, I picked at it with a fork.

Doris leaned in and murmured, “I forgot I couldn’t mention his name.”

“It’s an easy rule to remember,” I snapped.

When I glanced up at my grandmother, I immediately regretted what I said. She didn’t deserve to get the brunt of my anger.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that,” I said.

She smiled. “I know sweetie, it’s forgotten.”

My mother swooshed into the dining room with the
Polly Pocket
theme song blasting behind her. I said a silent prayer hoping she’d forgot about Luke and we could finish our breakfast in peace. As soon as she sat down, I realized that was a pipedream.

“Why didn’t you tell me he was in town?” my mother questioned.

“Hmm.” I pretended to give serious thought to her inquiry. “Maybe because you hate him.”

“Hate is a strong word. Dislike is more like it.”

I barked out a laugh “Ha! You’re so full of bullshit.”

My mother’s eyes widened. “Marlene H. Parker, I will not stand here and be spoken to like that.”

Anger bubbled up in my veins. I was sick of her façade. For once, I wanted her to see herself for what she was: a wealthy upper class snob who looked down at the less fortunate. Luke never deserved the treatment he got from my mother in the three years we dated. I may not have stuck up for him back then, but it was about time I did.

“Neither will I,” I said, rising from my seat. “Luke is the father of my child, and he may have fucked up royally by leaving us, but he will always be a part of my life. So I can either hate him or accept him for who he is. I choose the second option.” I snatched my purse from the ground.

My mother slammed her fist on the table. “Sit down.”

I shot daggers at her, but somehow my ass landed in my seat. It didn’t matter how old I got, my mother ruled the roost.

She took a deep breath. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“You think?”

My mother folded the linen napkin in front of her and continued. “Luke left you when you were eight months pregnant, Marlene. I feel as if I have a right to dislike him.”

“You didn’t like him before that,” I pointed out.

“Because I knew he would hurt you and he did.”