by B. E. Baker
I keep my eyes trained on the road dutifully, but I wish I was staring at her instead.
“You asked about my mom. Here’s the hard truth. I love my mom. She’s a difficult person to love, but I do love her. She’s driven, and brilliant, like beyond what most people could possibly understand. She has this natural intuition for business, and she worked hard to refine it beyond that point. She’s unparalleled at what she does, and no one ever questions whether she’s the right person to captain our family’s financial ship.”
“But?”
“But that’s not someone who hugs you when you scrape your knee.”
I think about her childhood. “Who hugged you?” Please don’t say no one.
“Until I turned five? A woman named Nelly Lopez. She was unfailingly kind and a hard worker, and she loved me. She hugged me and snuggled me and taught me to read. Thanks to her, I spoke Spanish and English.”
“And then?”
“I ruined it,” she says simply.
I wait, but she doesn’t elaborate.
“I seriously doubt that a five-year-old could have ruined anything,” I nudge.
She looks out the window and when her words come, they’re small and quiet. “I called her Mom where my mother could hear me. Only one time, but she was gone the next day. Nelly had warned me to keep it our secret that I called her that, and I forgot.”
“You were a kid. That’s not your fault.”
Brekka’s voice wavers. “It is.” Her eyelashes flutter. “I said I forgot, but that’s a lie. I was a pretty bright five year old.”
I believe that.
“I said it on purpose, to hurt my mother. To show her that I loved Nelly and not her. I didn’t realize it would ruin everything. I thought it would grab her attention.”
“If your mom actually cared about you like she should have, it would’ve worked.”
“I guess,” she says.
“When Nelly left, did you see her more?”
I shake my head.
“I’m sure your mother loves you, Brekka.”
“Absolutely she loves me. If I ever need it, I firmly believe she’d shoot someone in the face, consequences bedeviled. I think she’d trade all her riches and power to save my life, or Trig’s.” She turns toward me. “I think if it was put to her like that, she’d make the right decision.”
“But?” I ask.
“Dramatic choices are easy. It’s the day to day that’s hard, right? Like the camel in the tent that keeps creeping in more and more until the tent collapses, Mom never understood that she was choosing the trust over us every time she worked from before we woke up until after we went to sleep. She would have traded it all if she had to in a big, drama-filled gesture, but she didn’t give us any of her time when we needed it.”
That’s rough.
“So you ask what my happiest memory of her is? Mom wasn’t mean or unkind. She held us accountable and kept us on a routine. She made sure we studied and were taught everything that matters. We had the finest clothes, the best connections, and I’m really grateful. I know I’m probably the least enviable person in America, but we didn’t spend much time with her. In a lot of ways, I understand why my dad’s such a frivolous mess. He never mattered to her. None of us did.”
“She didn’t come to your school stuff, at least?”
Brekka shrugs. “Sometimes. I mean, she’d be there for part of some things, or she’d hire a professional to film our performances and awards and then watch a highlights reel. She’d compliment us occasionally too, but it felt like something she did so she could check it off her list.”
“That’s terrible.”
Brekka licks her lips. “I think it’s part of her DNA. I think plenty of kids have dads like that. It’s sort of unfair to fault her for doing what men have done to their kids for hundreds of years.”
“I’d have faulted my dad the same way for the exact same thing. My dad was on the front row of every single basketball game I ever played, yelling way too loud and trying to coach from the front row. When he wasn’t the coach himself, which was really just high school, and only because they wouldn’t let him.” I blow air from my lips in exasperation. “I hated playing, but every cell in my body knew that I was my dad’s top priority, every day and every night. My mom, too. They were both at all my games, without fail.”
She smiles at me. “That sounds amazing, but I guess every coin has two sides.”
I guess so. I feel like she got tails on this one, though. “There’s not a single time you recall your mom connecting with you? Because that’s tragic.”
“Oh,” Brekka says. “No, that’s different. You said the most fun. Mom connected all the time, especially when we did case studies.”
“Huh?” I ask.
“She had this thing she did with us every night. It started when we began kindergarten, and she really did adjust it appropriately based on our age.”
This doesn’t sound promising. “Okay.”
“She’d describe a scenario, and we’d have to fix it. It started out with, like, bullies on the playground. We’d have to explain whether we’d defend, attack, or deflect, and then how, and why. Then as we got older, the scenarios grew harder and harder. Plus, as we learned some of the basic principles, a lot of the case studies had to do with economics.”
I must be making a strange face because she laughs out loud.
“That sounds kind of odd I suppose, but think about it like this. Some families read the Bible every night. Those families cared about the word of God and their immortal souls, right? Mom’s agnostic, but she believes strongly in the rules of economics. So we read The Wealth of Nations, and Das Kapital. And then we studied what worked and what didn’t.”
No wonder she’s a genius. “That almost sounds like child abuse.”
“It wasn’t so bad, because it was what we did with Mom. Dad took us to get ice cream. Or tiaras. Or go-karts. He was a little more fun, but Mom made us feel important. Like she valued our answers and they mattered.”
“Tiaras?”
Brekka laughs.
An image of Trig in a tiara surfaces in my mind. “I’d kill for a photo of Trig wearing a crown while licking an ice-cream cone.”
Brekka snorts. “Me too. But seriously, we both eagerly tried to please and impress Mom and it felt good when we could manage to do it. And when we weren’t being grilled, we had the means and time to do whatever we loved.”
“Which for you was skiing, I hear.”
She stiffens.
“Sorry, is that a sore topic?” I know it is, but I’d love if she would tell me something about it. Anything.
“It shouldn’t be, I guess.” She stares out the window, but at least she’s talking. “Skiing was everything to me. We had a house near Vail and I spent as much time there as I possibly could. Mom humored me, and Dad fawned over me. I was kind of a big deal on the slopes when I was a kid.”
I can totally imagine that.
“Your Mom didn’t ski?”
She shakes her head, but she turns back toward me and I notice her eyes have softened. “I forgot about this, you know. She did ski with me once, and she was absolutely awful.” Brekka’s lips curve into a half smile and I want to quit driving and pull her into my arms. That would probably ruin the moment, so even though it kills me to do it, I turn my eyes back to the road.
“She came out for the weekend to celebrate… something. I don’t remember. But she was so happy, and when I asked her to ski, for once she actually agreed. We stayed on a green hill.”
“I’ve never been skiing,” I admit.
“Oh! Well, a green hill basically means there was no downward angle to it at all. You could sort of just glide over it, propelling yourself forward at a snail’s pace. And still, Mom looked horrified the first time we stood at the top.”
“Go easy on the scorn there,” I say. “Because when we go skiing, that’s going to be me.”
Brekka opens her mouth to argue with me, I can
tell. But she closes her mouth and shakes her head instead. A beat later, she continues. “Mom wanted me to stay next to her at all times, never more than two feet away.”
“How old were you?”
Brekka shrugs. “Not sure. Ten, maybe?”
“Go on.”
“There’s not a lot to tell really,” she says. “I laughed a lot, and for once, she laughed too. It shifted something, to have her somewhere that I was the teacher and she was the student. I think it gave her an appreciation for what I did up there, especially as I grew older. She realized that the runs are steeper than they look. She talked about it all differently after going down a few hills herself.”
“That might qualify as fun,” I say.
She beams. “I guess it does. We got hot chocolate afterward and she even spilled it on herself.” Brekka meets my eyes this time, the sparkle in them contagious.
“Perfect answer.” I pull off the freeway to fill up my gas tank. I should have done this before, but I wasn’t thinking. I hope she doesn’t figure out where we’re heading.
Brekka sighs. “My turn, I guess.” She glances at me sideways. “I don’t want to upset you, but I really want to know something.”
I pull into a gas station and cut the engine. “Let me refuel real quick. Pause that thought.”
Once I’m done, I climb back in and buckle. Then I reach over slowly and cover her hand with mine. “Ask me anything. I promise I won’t get upset.”
Her hands interlace with mine, her slender fingers smooth, and I pull back onto the road.
“Why did you get angry when I offered to help you with your furniture company?”
I breathe in and out slowly before answering. “I wasn’t angry. More like embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed?” She tilts her head like a sparrow.
I gulp and look at the road, but I don’t release her hand. “I won’t lie. I’d love to try and sell my furniture, but part of me is terrified no one will want it. And even if they do, that I won’t be able to turn a profit from it. And beyond that, my family needs me. I don’t have time to focus on manufacturing anything. I’ve stockpiled quite a bit, but it’s been over three years or so, which means the earlier pieces aren’t as good.”
She squeezes my hand. “You were angry that you don’t think it will work?”
“I wasn’t angry, remember? But I was frustrated, thinking that I might need help to succeed with it, and not just from you. From anyone. It’s a dumb guy thing, I guess.”
“There’s no shame in using the connections you have to do well,” Brekka says. “Some people don’t have access to them, but when you do, the dumb move is to refuse them.”
“My parents have always been my only support, my only connection. And my dad’s number one value in life is to work hard and do things yourself. Don’t rely on the government or anyone else to support yourself or your family.”
“And yet, now he relies on you.”
Brekka’s right. Everyone needs someone else eventually. “It’s dumb, I guess.” The winding road back to the freeway is taking forever. I clearly got off at the wrong stop.
“You’ve heard of Van Gogh,” Brekka says. “I assume.”
“I have. Thanks for the vote of confidence in my cultural competency.”
She laughs. “How much do you know about him?”
“I know he painted beautiful flowers, and blobby looking people, and everyone only loved him after he died. I know he hated himself, and cut off his own ear. People aren’t sure quite why, but maybe to spite someone else, right?”
She shrugs. “We don’t know the details of that whole incident, clearly. It’s pretty likely he suffered from a severe type of mental illness. But the reason he was able to bring so much beauty to a world that didn’t yet appreciate him was the tireless efforts of his brother. That brother sold an awful lot of what he painted, and supported Vincent so he could paint more, learn more, and grow as an artist. Without Vincent’s brother, we wouldn’t have any of his work today.”
“So Vincent was nothing without his brother?” I ask.
“I wasn’t suggesting that you’d fail without me, and certainly Van Gogh’s genius came from within him, not from someone else,” Brekka says. “I only meant that I might have a fresh perspective to add that could help you succeed in pursuing your goal. And my crazy mother could add a valuable perspective. And Trig. And probably Geo, and maybe even the famous hiking aficionado, Paisley. People love you Rob, and you should let them lend a hand when they can. It doesn’t lessen your accomplishment. It simply leverages it.”
She listed herself, and then said that people love me. Of course, she also listed her mother, who would probably be disgusted with my desire to sell handmade wooden stuff.
But more importantly, I’m sure she doesn’t love me, not this early. I have no idea how I feel about her myself, but her support is promising all the same, and her words warm my heart. “You’re right. Foolish pride is foolish. I’ll try and stamp it out next time.”
It’s the second time I’ve talked about a ‘next time’ with her, and when I glance sideways, she’s smiling at me.
A tantalizing aroma rolls over both of us at the same time. I know, because her mouth drops open too. She and I both turn toward the windows, searching frantically for a likely source.
“What is that?” she murmurs.
“Only one thing it can be,” I say. “Barbecue.”
She closes her eyes. “Can we stop?”
“Oh, I think we have to stop. But where is it?” My eyes scan another hundred yards up before I see it, a tiny red stand on the side of the road with a black smoker on the side. My mouth waters when we pull up. The ground isn’t paved, and the gravel crunches as I walk around to her side of the truck and open the door.
“Hear me out on this,” I say. “I know you can whip Gladys together in two minutes flat, but do you want to wait that long for—“ I sniff the air. “Whatever that is?”
She shakes her head. “What did you have in mind?”
I spin around and back slowly toward her. “Piggy back?”
When I glance over my shoulder, she shrugs. I take that as agreement. Her arms reach over my shoulders, sliding slowly around my neck and clasping. I shiver a little, and I hope she doesn’t feel it. Or maybe she felt the same shiver as me, which would be even better.
“You ready?” I ask.
She grunts. I slide my arms around behind her thighs and wrap her legs around my waist. “Off we go. The pursuit of deliciousness has begun.”
I bounce her a little and she laughs, which I take as a good sign.
“This reminds me of a fireworks stand for some reason,” I say.
“No kidding.” She points and I follow her finger to where the advertisement, ‘Buy one get ten free,’ has faded, but is clearly stenciled on the side.
I chuckle. “As you can see, I’m clearly an observational genius.”
She leans her cheek against mine. “You’re very smart, Rob. Please don’t make that kind of joke.”
I don’t mention that she might not feel the need to defend my intelligence if it wasn’t questionable in the first place.
“Hey there.” I release one of Brekka’s legs and wave at the man I notice standing near the smoker. “We smelled your barbecue and had to stop. It’s one of the best aromas I’ve ever experienced. Are you open for business yet?” It’s only eleven a.m., so I hope we’re not too early.
A man with a really long beard and a soot-streaked face turns to face us. “Menamhimnum Bliggaty momnifun.”
I have no idea what he said. “Hmm. I couldn’t quite understand you, sir. I’m sorry. Did you say you’re open?”
“Flinermuffin bifflin nuffelhaven.”
I turn to look over my shoulder at Brekka. She looks as horrified as me.
“Did you understand a single thing he said?” I whisper.
She shakes her head. “Not a word.”
I turn back to face the man who’s watching
us, alert and waiting for a response. I have no idea what to say next. It’s a stand, and he clearly sells what he makes. He’s got stacks of Styrofoam plates behind him. On the one hand, he sounds like a lunatic. On the other… the smell. He doesn’t seem to be shooing us off. In fact, he wipes his hands on something I hope is a dingy apron like he’s ready to take our order.
Further, he hasn’t given us any indication he can’t understand what we’re saying. I decide to roll with it. “Uh, we’ll take two of whatever you recommend.”
He turns around and sets two plates on a counter in front of him. He fills them with what looks like a variety of different meats, and then a big spoonful of beans. He yanks something that turns out to be two rolls out of a bag, and plops one on top of each plate. Then he turns around to hand them to me. I clearly can’t take the plates while simultaneously holding Brekka, and there aren’t any tables or chairs. Obviously the smell addled my brain and I didn’t think this through.
“Gunderfulgin warren blonkerstien.”
Uh huh. I imagine he’s suggesting I put her down. I’m afraid if I take her back to the car, he’ll think we’re leaving without the food. I let go of one leg again and pull my wallet out. I yank forty bucks out and plonk it on the counter. Then I point at the car just in case he can’t understand me either. “I’ll take her back to the car and come back to grab those plates. Thanks so much.”
I jog back with Brekka. I hope I didn’t just embarrass her, but she’s smiling when I set her on the seat.
“Wow, that guy is completely unintelligible,” she says. “I wonder if he’s speaking another language, or a dialect, or whether he just doesn’t make sense.”
I grin widely. “No idea which it might be, but that smell.” I shake my head. “I’ll be right back.”
When I grab the plates, the man tries to hand me change. I shake my head. “No way. If this tastes half as good as it smells, we’re already cheating you.”
He beams at me and I notice that he’s missing several teeth. I wish I’d tossed another twenty on that counter.
