“What is the matter with you? I just want to talk.”
“Don’t. Touch. Me.” She reached the handle of her passenger door.
“What about your daughter?” He pointed to the window without realizing I was standing there. “You’re just going to walk away from her?” he said, but she continued to look at him with a far-off distance in her eyes.
She was already gone.
My final glimpse was of her in her blue couture tracksuit, sliding into the driver’s seat, heading off toward her new life. We were left to return to ours, a single father raising his daughter. That damn tracksuit … I get hives every time I see something made of velour. It’s crazy how you remember the most insignificant details, but I guess that’s better than remembering something far worse, your heart being smashed, trampled, and kicked to the curb.
I always wondered what had motivated my mother. The reason was never sufficient to overshadow that I still wanted her in my life. How can you omit someone who’s given birth to you? Initially, when Joyce was around, there were moments when I felt her love, and that was why her departure had been so surprising.
“What was she like as a kid?” I leaned my head on my father’s shoulder, holding out an old photograph of my father and Joyce, well into their teens. They were sitting on the steps of what must have been my grandparents’ home. My dad once told me they had known each other since kindergarten. He had stolen her red Crayola from her desk, and she called him out on it. They had remained friends through the years—until they were something more. It amazed me that, after all this time, he had never once spoken a bad word about her, at least never in front of me. I guessed it would be difficult to do about someone you’d known and loved all your life.
“Your mom was wild; she wanted to do all sorts of crazy things.” He took the picture out of my hand. “And well, your grandparents never liked me very much. They thought I was a bad influence, but it was all her doing.” My mother’s family came from money and my dad’s didn’t. Possibly that might have played a part in it.
I felt his breath on my head.
“Does it hurt you to talk about her?” I asked, sitting up and placing the picture on the pile nearby.
“Well, it’s always difficult for me to speak about your mother, but then I figured it would be harder for you not to.” He ran a gentle hand through my hair.
“Why do you think she left?” I asked the question I had always been afraid to ask. All my life I had wanted to know the truth—what had happened the day she disappeared—but knowing wasn’t as important as hurting him with the pain of reliving it.
He inhaled a long breath before turning to me. “I can’t tell you how many nights I spent thinking about that question, but your mother is the only one who could answer that.” He rubbed his eye under his glasses. “When we were young, your mom and me, we would spend hours talking under the stars. I thought I knew everything there was to know about her, but what I wasn’t counting on was that people never stay consistent … we grow toward each other, and sometimes we grow apart. I guess at some point she stopped being the person I thought I knew …” He shook his head. “Because the Joyce I knew would have never abandoned her daughter.” His eyes softened.
“Where do you think she is?” It was a question I asked myself all the time, but this was the first I’d said it out loud.
He focused his eyes on the wall across from us. “To be honest, I don’t allow myself to think about it. I haven’t heard or seen your mother in years, but somehow I can’t stop myself from believing she will come back one day.”
“But she won’t.” I was livid that my dad refused to move on, especially from someone who didn’t deserve it.
“You wasted almost two decades and—what—for her? She broke your heart.” I turned to look at him.
“You will understand one day. Love is one of those things you don’t forget how to do, like riding a bike. The only thing is … God, I still want that same damn bike.” He paused. “Maybe that’s why I don’t have the heart to find someone new. Your mother was my best friend, the love of my life, and that’s something you can’t forget.”
“See, that’s why I’m cynical about love. Even if you find it, it will ruin you.”
“That’s not true,” He said. “No matter what happened between your mother and me, I wouldn’t have changed a single thing. I hate to think you see me as someone wrecked by love. I’m not. It enriched me, because now I have you. My little light in the midst of clouds; that’s all I needed to keep on going.”
I sank into his side, feeling like I was six all over again. How can I leave him? I felt guilty that I had been flirting with the idea of moving back to New York.
“It’s time to let go, Dad.”
“I thought that’s what I’ve been doing.” He knitted his thick eyebrows together.
“You don’t see it, do you? Living in the same house, still holding on to the same phone number. You’re like a train that should move forward, but’s been stopped at a station waiting for a passenger that will never come”
“I like this area. I have sweet Mrs. Shaw next door, and what’s wrong with having a landline?”
It concerned me that my father’s social life comprised of a bunch of people well into their golden years. So much so that he dressed like them.
“She’s not coming back,” I said with the utmost sincerity.
He sighed. “So, what can I do?”
“Go to the next station, where your friend Lauren is waiting.”
“Do you think she would be interested in someone like me?”
“Yes!” I shrieked. “Why else on earth would she give you her number? You’ve got to swing into action, Dad.”
“Yeah … Yeah, I think I will,” My father said, more defiantly. “I will ask her out next Saturday, maybe bird watching on Mount Royal.” He looked down at me. “No?”
“No!”
“Dinner and a movie?” He replied.
“Now you’re talking! Geez, we have so much work to do,” I said to him as he slowly got up.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to call Lauren.” He nodded his head, and a sudden light went on in his eyes that I hadn’t seen in a long time.
“Hold on, Romeo, wait until it’s at least eleven A.M.” I laughed.
“Right. I guess I got carried away.” He grinned, coming back down, picking up the magazine off the floor.
“What does this mean now?” He sighed, making my heart dip a little. “You know, I let you go off to New York … secretly hoping it wouldn’t work and you’d come back. Am I selfish, that I want to keep my little girl here with me?" He inhaled deeply. “But you’re an adult, and this is your decision alone to make.”
“I hate leaving you again.”
“I’ll be here whenever you need me, Mable.” He smiled. “When does this go on sale?” He held the magazine higher.
“It will hit newsstands in March.”
“Well, I’ll buy a few copies and show them off on bingo night.” His eyes cast down at my face. “I’m proud of you, Mable. I really am, but please forgive me if my insecurities are stopping you from following your dreams, because you’re all I have left, the only thing that matters.”
“I will always need you, Dad. You’ll never lose me.” I sat closer, nestling in the crook of his arms.
“Just promise me one thing? Go live out your dream, but please hurry back when you can,” he said, while I hugged him tighter around his waist. He reminded me of a particular guilt I had held on to. I had spent the holidays in New York not because I couldn’t pay for a ticket, but because I couldn’t tell my father that my aspiration had been a complete bust. Now, thinking back, I was so foolish, because none of it mattered. We are never failures in the eyes of the ones that love us.
“Let’s get to bed,” He said, and I pushed myself off the floor, but my eyes trailed down to the glossy paper, looking at the girl who was staring back at me; her eyes had never looked
so bright.
This is a big deal. Simon’s words echoed through me, ringing like a brass bell. This was a dream on the verge of blossoming. I knew what this meant, but I didn’t think about the fame.
No.
I didn’t think of money.
Nope.
I thought about her.
If Joyce saw this, would she come out of the woodwork? Maybe seek me out, because now I might be something worth having in her life?
I wasn’t sure what Simon had planned or who he wanted me to meet, but I spotted him outside the restaurant, looking down at his phone, balancing a half-finished cigarette between his fingers. The substantial amount of snowflakes that rested on his thick, wavy hair only made me feel dissatisfied with myself. As the pedestrian signal counted down, I made my way toward Simon. It was impressive how unbothered he was with the cold, exposed, only wearing a leather jacket worn open, revealing a black cotton tee underneath. It made me wonder if it was some small penance he liked to subject himself to. When I got a few feet from him, Simon’s eyes snapped up, revealing discontent. Well, he wasn’t the first person to discover I was a complete letdown, but for some inexplicable reason, it bothered me.
“Hey, I was worried about you.” His voice was tight.
“I tried to get here as fast as I could.” My voice came out breathless. Guilt had kicked in the last few blocks, so I had run the rest of the way to get here.
“What happened? Don’t you read your texts? I thought I told you this was important.” His tone didn’t sound furious, but his eyes expressed disappointment.
“I’m sorry. I got stuck between stations, so I couldn’t call you, but believe me, I tried to get here as fast as I could.” I had the urge to smile.
“Mable, from here on out, I can’t put enough emphasis on the fact that being on time is of the essence in this business,” he said. “I’m putting my name on the line for you. You think it’s no big deal, but it is for me.”
He saw right through me. Being stuck between stations was partly true, but it only counted for five minutes of the forty of tardiness. The remaining I had spent chatting with a classmate and a quick detour to Starbucks for a cappuccino. It made no sense. I mean, deep down, I had wanted to be there on time, but somehow I had gotten sidetracked. Maybe I was trying to derail this, because if I showed him how untrustworthy I was, he could finally stop believing in me. Why should he, if I didn’t believe in myself?
“Do you want this?” His voice was quiet but firm.
“I’m not sure what this even is.” Now it was my turn to be annoyed, on top of the fact that he was so secretive.
“You’ll know soon enough.” His eyes softened. “Look, there are many doors that could open to you, Mable. I want you to take this seriously. You only get one chance at this, so don’t earn a reputation for being unreliable.”
“Do I at least get an A for effort?” I half smiled, holding the faux fur-trimmed hood of my coat from flying backward.
“You’re forty-five minutes late. Where’s the effort?” He exhaled a long breath. “You’re lucky I like you,” he said, without smiling.
“You like me?” I teased, but he didn’t answer, not with words, anyway.
“Let’s go inside. We’ve kept her waiting long enough.”
I walked past Simon as he held the door open for me. Then we walked together all the way to the back of the trendy restaurant, where I saw a very recognizable South Sudanese woman, sitting alone at a round table.
I suddenly stopped, pulling on Simon’s arm, causing him to retract back into me.
“What’s the matter?”
“Oh my God, Simon.” My voice came across as a mixed whisper and scream. “Is that who I think it is? Why didn’t you tell me it was Amanie?” I leaned my forehead into his back. I was a little starstruck. Maybe nobody in the room knew who she was, but if you followed the fashion world like I did, then you would know that Amanie was an international supermodel in the nineties, now well into her forties. She had retired from the business about two years ago.
“Would you have been on time if I had?” He cast me a side-glance.
“Possibly.”
“Possibly?” He shook his head in disbelief. “What am I going to do with you, Mable Harper?” he said, looking me over in a sincere way that made my heart leap. He’s doing this for me, and I’m acting like a complete jerk because I’m suspicious that everyone wants something out of me. They always did, but I wanted to believe Simon was different.
“Do you need a moment?” he said, turning around to face me.
“No … I think I’m good.” I breathed in a sufficient amount of air. Simon smiled, like he wasn’t sure what to make of me, and continued to walk ahead, but this time he held on to my hand.
“Sorry, Amanie, we’ve kept you waiting.” Simon moved to the left, allowing me through. “This is my friend Mable.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mable.” Amanie stood up, holding out her hand. “Simon talks so much about you. He believes you’re capable of building a long, productive career.”
I accepted her hand and looked up at Simon, who was standing right beside me, smiling like there was a bright sun in the room, unaware that the dark clouds were rolling in behind him. I’m the cloudburst; he doesn’t know it yet. My heart tugged farther down, and I was not feeling good about myself.
“I apologize for my hands being so clammy. It’s just— I can’t believe it’s you. I don’t want to sound like a crazy fan, but it’s a dream come true to meet you,” I rambled.
“That’s so sweet, and now you’re on your way to inspire other young girls. It’s a big responsibility to be in the spotlight, but you’ll learn that soon enough.” She was tall and slender, and when she smiled, it seemed to light up her round face. Her eyes went from me to Simon and back again. “Congratulations on the Elite cover. I don’t have to tell you this will open doors.
“So where do you see yourself, two years from now?” Amanie asked after we sat down and placed our orders with the waiter.
My throat tightened. “Um, I don’t know … I mean, this is so unexpected. I’ve been home for a while, throwing myself back in my studies. I thought my career in modeling was over,” I said, glancing at Simon sitting across from me, trying to figure out what he had up his sleeve, because this was feeling like an interview.
“You’re thinking of retiring when you just got started?” Amanie hiked up her brows. “Life can be funny. Sometimes doors spontaneously open, and you have to make a quick decision to bounce through them or not.”
Do I bounce? I believed the only thing that could prevent me from crossing that threshold was another possibility of disappointment. But aren’t we all destined for a shortfall at some point? Maybe the difference is having a healthy outlook on failure. Now how did that translate to the industry I was trying to break into? It was a good question.
“How did you get discovered?” I asked, digging into my salad as the waiter placed it in front of me.
“I was approached in a grocery store, back when I used to live in London.” She looked up for a minute. “Hmm. About twenty years ago. You two were babies back then.” Amanie winked at us.
“Simon was probably watching Power Rangers.” I gave him a side-glance, imagining for a minute what Simon must have been like as a child. Unruly, for sure.
“Never heard of it. I don’t think we had that back home,” After a short moment, he said, “I used to watch Ocean Girl on the telly.”
“Ocean Girl? That doesn’t sound like something a five-year-old boy would watch.” I was aware we had contrasting upbringings. Besides having an age difference, my world comprised of living under six months of snow, and his consisted of none at all. And yet we somehow managed to get along. Too well, I reminded myself.
“Yeah—don’t judge if you haven’t seen it. It’s about a girl with superhuman strength who lives on a deserted island. She was a little hottie too.” He grinned.
I shook my head. “Ah, your fir
st girl crush? Is that what kick-started your fascination for photographing beautiful women?”
“No, in fact, I always wanted to go into journalism. Fashion is something I fell into,” he said, leaning back in his chair. I wasn’t sure what I caught in his eyes. A hint of disappointment?
“So, Mable, have you given any thought about coming back to New York?”
I diverted my eyes to Amanie.
“I’ll be honest, I’m a little apprehensive. I’ve spent a little over a year living in New York, and it left me deflated. The thing with the magazine cover is amazing, but it doesn’t guarantee something will come out of it.” I was now aware that Simon had brought me here because he thought Amanie could guide me in the right direction, but I was more stubborn than I’d originally told him. “I don’t think I can muster the energy to go through with it again … spending countless hours in casting and playing yo-yo with my weight. Um, really, I don’t think I fit into the mold.”
“And yet you’ve been chosen to be on the cover of the biggest magazine publication in the fashion world.” Amanie leaned in closer, like she was about to share a secret. “Let me tell you something: molds are made to be broken, or at least break what people believe the mold is. In life, you will inspire people without knowing it, just in being yourself. So never apologize for who you are.” She smiled. “You’re different, but it doesn’t mean you have nothing to offer. Your distinctiveness makes you stand out from the rest. I should know.” She sat further back in her chair. “When I first started in this business, I was a bit controversial, especially for those days. I think for high fashion, they didn’t know where I would fit. I wasn’t beautiful, not according to the norms of what designers thought a model should be. I’m dark as night with small eyes, and I didn’t have long, silky hair like the other mannequins,” Amanie said. “In my first shoot, the photographer was appalled because the stylist had me in this long blond synthetic wig.” Amanie showed from the top of her head, painting with her fingers how long the hairpiece must have been.
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