The Unexpected You

by Emily N. Kay

  Yup. I always keep myself away from interfering with my mom’s baking because I’m afraid I’ll ruin the whole batch. But I’m in a mood for something new, and baking sounds like a good start.

  “Well, I want to start trying. Who knows, I might be very good. I might be better than you,” I joke.

  “Oh, you will be better than me, I’m sure.” She laughs. “You can start by putting the batter in the pan while I’m working on the frosting.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Don’t forget to spray the pan. Use coconut oil spray.” Of course. Mom is obsessed with coconut oil. It’s all she uses to cook, to bake. She even uses it as hair treatment sometimes. “And, oh, don’t put in the batter too much at once,” she adds.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Mom chuckles. “If I knew you’d be this compliant, I’d have asked you to help me a long time ago.”

  I scoop the batter onto one hole. Oops, I forgot to spray the pan. I just started and I already messed it up… I scrape the batter off from the hole and spray it with the coconut oil. Then I go on filling the whole thing.

  “Done,” I tell her with a proud smile. Even though there’s nothing to be proud of. A seven-year-old can do this.

  She comes over to check on my work. “Great.” She takes the pan to the pre-heated oven and puts it in. “Now, we wait.”

  “The most torturous part!” I whine.

  We move to sit on the couch. I yawn and stretch my arms and legs, putting them on my coffee table. When is the last time I woke up this early on a Saturday?

  “Feel like re-watching Gilmore Girls?” my mom suggests.

  “You still have to ask?”

  It’s been our thing for the past years. My mom loves the show so much that she owns a Gilmore Girls DVD collection. She said we are just like Lorelai and Rory Gilmore. A young, single mother living with her teenage daughter. It’s not long after I was born when the first episode aired. My mom always reminds me how Gilmore Girls had helped her through hard times. And by hard times I mean raising me––without Dad.

  So yes. This show means a lot to her. And now it has a special place in my heart too. Over the weekends, we would watch and re-watch random episodes together, with all the junk-foods in the world. See how similar we are to Lorelai and Rory? And––we have pit less stomachs just like them.

  She claps giddily. “I’ll grab the DVD set.”

  “Mom, Netflix…” I remind her.

  “Oh… right.”

  The episode we’re watching is the one where Rory is deciding which college she wants to go––Yale or Harvard. I watch with envy. I want to have this kind of options, too––the best versus the best.

  “I don’t want to ruin this chillaxing moment, but… have you thought about college?” she asks.

  Here we go. “Of course I’ve thought about it, Mom.”

  “And?”

  “I want to go to NYU. Like Grandma.”

  “I know, Alice. You’ve been telling me that since you’re fourteen,” she says with a tiny smile. “So nothing’s changed then.”

  I bob my head. “Seems like it.”

  Though, the more I think about college and my future, I’m starting to doubt it myself. Is NYU what I really want? I mean, my friends––they know exactly what they want and where to go. Leo is aiming for athletic scholarships, and Zoe is planning to take a gap year and work under her dad’s marketing company to learn the business.

  What if my plan doesn’t work out? Will I even be able to get in to NYU? If not, what’s my second choice? Panic starts to set in, and I realize––I have no back-up plan.

  “What are you going to study anyway? You’ve never told me about what you like or don’t like.” And something in her tone makes me feel guiltier––for not talking to her more about this stuff. I guess I’ve been preoccupied with escorting that I didn’t give it much thought.

  “I still don’t know, Mom.” I sigh heavily. “And what do you think? From your perspective what do you see in me? And don’t say that I’m good-looking like you,” I stop her before she has a chance to say it. She always says that.

  She giggles cheerfully, her dark eyes sparkling. “Aw, honey. From my perspective, there is absolutely nothing that you cannot do.”

  “You’re obligated to say that because you’re my mom.”

  “Okay, maybe you can’t do mathematics,” she says. “But I mean it! I think you can do anything, Alice. You just need to do it. If it doesn’t work out, then… fine. Whatever. At least you’ve had a chance to try.”

  That’s what Nick said. “Yeah… I guess I should get myself out there.”

  “Sweetie, you know that I’ll support you in everything that you do. Everything…” She smiles at me softly. “Except maybe doing drugs,” she adds.

  Something tugs at my heart. If she finds out that I was an escort, or that I’m seeing my teacher, she would take her words back.

  I debate telling her everything. After all, she’s my mother. My best friend. But then she’d be so disappointed in me. So no, I won’t tell her. At least not now.

  “What if I try modelling?” I say it lightly, but I also want to hear her thoughts on this. Because maybe I do want to try modelling. The possibility of modelling just occurred to me when Nick brought it up the other day.

  She lets out a surprised sound. “Oh, I mean, sure! You can do whatever you want.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “Well, that’s because you didn’t go to the audition that time. So I thought––”

  “I regret not going,” I confess, and my face burns a little when I said it out loud.

  “Oh, okay…” She pauses. “Then my daughter is going to be a model!” she announces gleefully.

  “No, Mom! I said––what if.”

  She ignores me. “Have you talked to your father about it?”

  I blink. “About college or about modelling?”

  “Both.”

  “I highly doubt he would care,” I say dismissively. “He’d be like ‘yeah, whatever. Tell me when you need some money.’”

  Mom looks at me with a crease in her brow. “Alice, your father cares about you more than you think.”

  “How would you know that?”

  A line forms around her mouth. “I don’t always tell you this, but he constantly asks me how you’re doing because you won’t tell him anything,” she says. “You know, putting my personal grudges aside, I’d say that he’s trying. He’s trying really hard to be a good father to you, sweetheart.”

  My stomach flips, and I draw a shaky breath. “He talks to you… about me?”

  She nods. “He misses you. You’re his only daughter, Alice. Don’t you forget that.”

  To think that my dad, who always seem so distant, so far away, actually cares about me––it makes me want to burst into tears. And it’s terrifying to admit it… but I kind of miss him too.

  She continues, “Your father is always worried about you, that much I know. He only asks you about money because that’s the only way he knows to connect with you.”

  “He told you that?”

  “No, honey. I just know.”

  I take in a shaky breath. “I thought you hate Dad. Why are you defending him?”

  She laughs. “I may hate him, Alice, but I can’t let my daughter’s relationship with her dad fail because of that.” She gives me a sad smile. “I’m sorry, honey… for letting you hate him on behalf of me. It’s not fair to either of you.”

  I open my mouth. I want to tell her it’s not because of her, but I don’t. Because deep down, I know it’s true. I don’t hate Dad. I only thought that I hate him only because Mom does, and so I felt like I should to.

  A beeping sound from the oven brings Mom on her toes. And I’m glad I don’t have to say anything.

  “Oh! They are ready,” she sings as she walks to the oven. “Bring some of these to your friends, alright?”

  “Sure,” I reply.

  Mom is right. I n
eed to give my dad a chance. I’ve been pushing him away for too long. And maybe it’s time to stop. Maybe it’s time for me to grow up and act like his daughter for once. I’m ready for something new––and this is it.

  Chapter 28

  So… I just called my dad. And apparently, we’re meeting for lunch. As in very, very soon.

  Everything happened so fast. During the turmoil of my unresolved emotions after the talk with my mom, I decided to call him, asked him if he’s in town, he said he has to fly out tomorrow for LA (aka his new home), and then I said we should meet before then. He was totally caught off guard, but then he quickly said yes.

  I get ready before he arrives, rehearsing what I should say to him. How do I go from ‘I don’t want anything to do with you’ to ‘I want us to hang out more’? How do I start treating him like a father?

  I shouldn’t be this nervous to see my dad. I never have been. But it’s different this time.

  Finally he calls to let me know that he’s here. I say goodbye to Mom and leave the apartment.

  When I come out, my jaws drop as I find a black limo waiting for me.

  A fucking LIMO!

  I carefully walk toward it with my mouth gaping open. The driver in a legit, black uniform runs over to open the door for me. “Miss.”

  “Oh. Thank you,” I breathe.

  The inside is everything. It’s even bigger than I had imagined. It smells like booze in here. And then I see it. A mini fridge. And believe it or not, that is something I’ve always been fantasized about. I used to cry to my mom when I was little because I want a mini fridge in my own bedroom. I mean, Ben and Jerry’s in a reach, in a middle of a night, and in your own bed? That’s heaven. But my mom said the idea is ridiculous because it only takes five steps from my room to the kitchen.

  My dad is smiling from the seat. He looks as handsome as always. He’s thirty-eight, but he looks thirty. There are only a few strands of gray in his brown hair. Zoe saw my dad once, and she couldn’t stop talking about how DILF-y my dad is. Talk about inappropriate…

  “Wow… you have grown a lot taller.”

  Taller? It’s not like I’ve grown a foot taller for the last month I’ve seen him. I lower myself down to sit on the opposite side of him.

  “Hi,” I say shortly.

  “How long has it been? Two months? Three months?”

  “A month.”

  “Right. One month…” He pauses, smiles at me, and clears his throat. “How have you been?”

  “Fine. Everything’s good,” I reply, then realize that it’s what I’ve always said, so I add stupidly, “I helped mom bake this morning.”

  His eyebrows lift. “Oh… did you?” he says, stumbling for words, like he doesn’t know the proper response to that.

  “Since when do you have a limo?” I ask instead.

  He laughs, more lines appearing around his gray eyes. “Not long. I hope this is not too much for you.”

  “Not at all,” I tell him sarcastically.

  “Good,” he says with a relieved smile. He doesn’t get it…

  The entire ride we talk pleasantries. I ask about Gracie. He says she’s fine, and he’s happy with her. Then we talk about school (again). Then he asks me what we baked this morning, and so on…

  The whole thing is awkward. And I blame the limo, hoping that once we get to the restaurant, things will get better.

  We arrive at the Italian restaurant I often come with Mom. I requested this place because it’s close to the school, as Zoe keeps texting me to make sure I won’t forget to be at the game today.

  The restaurant is on the expensive side, but it’s still not that fancy of a place. So when people see us coming off of the limo, they’re totally glaring and whispering. I know what they’re thinking––a sugar daddy and his sugar baby. I’m used to it by now. Not just because I was an escort, but because when I’m with my dad, he looks younger than his real age and I look older than mine. I mean, it’s gross to think that way, but honestly I’d probably think the same if I were them.

  The waitress brings us to our reserved table near the window. A mini candle is lit on the table. Everything seems perfect. If we were a couple…

  I put on my best effort to ignore the romantic vibe of all this and bring my attention to the menu.

  “You want a pizza to share?” he asks.

  I suppress my grin as I nod. “Sure,” I say. But I’m actually surprised that dad actually eats pizza. To me, he looks more like a linguine or a risotto kind of guy––definitely too cool for pizza.

  When he finishes ordering he just smiles at me.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I say nervously. It’s hard enough as it is. I’m not used to this––having to try so hard with my dad.

  “I’m just happy. When you called, I thought I was dreaming.”

  That wins me a little smile.

  “Well, is there a purpose to this meeting?” he asks, seeming apprehensive. “Anything you want to tell me? Anything… specific?”

  “It’s nothing specific. I just… feel like spending time with you,” I stammer, forcing the words out.

  He seems genuinely taken aback by this. His brow raises. “You do?” he says, a crack in his voice. He clears his throat, fidgeting with his cuff like he doesn’t know how to act anymore. “Well I’m––I’m really glad to hear that.”

  I take a sip of the sparkling water the waitress just poured for us, and I look up to meet his gaze. “So,” I begin, “how long will you be gone this time?”

  He is quiet for a moment. “A week or two.” He quickly adds, “But if you need anything, you can call me. Whatever it is, I’m here.”

  I don’t respond to that. I refrain myself from saying that he’s always out of town, and that he won’t be there when I need him.

  And it’s like he can read minds when he says, “Does it bother you that I’m always busy?”

  “It doesn’t bother me anymore, Dad. I’m used to it.” That came out more aggressive than I intended, but I didn’t say more.

  “Look, I know… I haven’t been the best father to you. But I do care. Very much. You’re my daughter, Alice.”

  Something twists in my stomach.

  He continues, “I’ll try harder…”

  My eyes begin to sting. No. I cannot cry here.

  “Okay,” I reply quietly, avoiding his gaze. “I’ll try harder too.”

  The pizza arrives, and we don’t say anything else. We just eat. And the silence is not bad or anything. It’s a good silence. For the first time in a long while, I’m comfortable being with my dad. It feels like everything will be okay. Eventually.

  “How’s it?” he asks.

  “It’s good. The crust is very crispy. Which I like.”

  “I know, you’re always analyzing the crust.” He chuckles.

  I instantly look up at him. “How’d you know that?”

  “Come on… you’ve always eaten the crust first. And your face when you eat a good crust…” He lets out a single laugh and shakes his head.

  I look at my dad, and just now, I really see my dad. He notices things that I never thought he would. Things about me. And what do I know about him? Almost none. I never paid attention… I never tried to.

  “Do you even like pizza?” I ask him.

  “No,” he replies shortly, “but it’s your favorite.”

  I try to keep my face straight. “Thank you,” I finally utter.

  “You’re welcome.” He gives me a tender smile I didn’t realize I’ve longed for.

  And now I hate myself for resenting him for so long, for not treating him like my father. I’ve taken him for granted, always thinking of him as the type of dad who doesn’t give a shit. But I was wrong. I’m the one who’s acting like a brat.

  Just now, I see that even if I never had the luxury of growing up with two parents under one roof, I’m still the luckiest girl to have both of them in my life.

  I give him my most genuine smile in return. />
  “I can walk there,” I tell my dad as he insists on giving me a ride to school.

  “Hey, now. What kind of a dad would I be if I let my daughter walk alone. On the street!”

  “I walk alone all the time. My school’s just two blocks away!”

  He gives me a serious look, suddenly looking like a dad. “Alice… Come on.”

  Looks like he won’t budge.

  I sigh. “Fine.”

  This is ridiculous. It’s one thing to have strangers on the street judging me for riding a limo, it’s another thing to be judged from people at school. People I’ll have to see every day. And these people will talk.

  I pray all the way to school that there aren’t going to be as many people at the entrance. But of course, who am I kidding… It’s the game day. I can already see a bunch of familiar faces––one of them is Kai, aka Jacob’s noisy friend. They’re standing and talking on the front lawn, faces painted in red and white stripes––our school colors. Their talking stops when they see a limo coming to a park.

  Now their eyes are fixing hard on the limo. Seeing their expectant faces, I’d say they’re expecting someone like Justin Bieber to come out.

  “Bye, Dad. Thank you for today,” I quickly say. Then I turn to the driver, “Thank you.”

  I get myself out of the limo, keeping my head down.

  But my dad follows me out. Okay. Just when I don’t want any more attention. Sometimes I feel like he just wants to show himself off to the world. He loves the attention, and he loves it when people tell him he looks so handsome, too young for a father, and how my good looks sure come from him.

  I glare at him. Already, I can feel curious gazes on us.

  “What? You don’t need to be embarrassed. I’m the coolest dad ever. I mean, I own a limo!”

  “Please don’t say that,” I plead, looking around frantically to see if anyone heard that. I can’t tell.

  Dad looks at me amusedly. “This is goodbye then. For now.” He attempts a wink at me, and I shudder.

  “Right. I’ll see you––”

  “Hopefully soon,” he says. “In the meantime, call me, or… I’ll call you.”

  Please don’t make it sound like we just had a first date! I wince, nodding quickly. “Bye, Dad. You can go now.” Then I wave hastily at him.