Eluding Fate

by Delilah Mohan

  Her idea was simple enough, even if I resisted at first. Twenty cranes a day. That’s it, twenty cranes and twenty questions, less than an hour of my time. At first, it was almost painful. How could I commit to her without knowing how much time to give her?

  The first week quite literally caused me jitters. My fingers would tap against my thigh, and I could hardly concentrate on what Victoria was saying. But, time. I needed to know when this excursion would end, everything needed a start and end time, and Victoria’s game broke all the rules I had set.

  As the weeks went by, it got easier. In fact, I looked forward to it. It wasn’t just a game anymore, it was time together, learning about each other, becoming more than just uncle and niece . . . becoming friends.

  “Not there!” I yelled from the bottom of the stairs. We had walked to Main Street this time, searching for new places to leave her cranes.

  “Shhhh, you’re too loud, Uncle Spens. We are supposed to be ninjas here.” She scowled at me.

  I held my hands up in surrender, “Sorry, sorry. Continue.”

  She stood on her tiptoes, trying to reach the planter by the residence window. “There?”

  I nodded in agreement, and she released her grip on the crane, leaving it on the weathered wood as she skipped back down the stairs. “Okay, it’s your turn.”

  I thought about it hard, trying to pull up a question I hadn’t asked, surprised about how much I’d learned over the past few weeks. “Crest or Aquafresh?”

  She punched me in the arm, “That’s a crap question, and you know it.”

  I pushed her with my hip, “Hey, dental hygiene is important.”

  “Fine, Crest.” She handed me a crane from her bag as we walked, and I searched for a place to leave it. We were slowly making our way through the whole thousand, leaving them in places for people to find, passing on the good fortune and longevity that they represented.

  I found a tree with a little, knotted hole in its trunk and placed my crane inside of it. Victoria waited until I placed the crane then tapped her chin thoughtfully, trying to think of a question. “Oh, I know, who was older? You or my dad?”

  I felt a little jab just like I always did whenever her questions involved him, but the jab wasn’t as sharp as it had been the first time. I got it, though. I did. I am her link to knowing her father, and even if it made me uncomfortable, she deserved to know it all. “He was, by three minutes. Three minutes hardly counts, if you ask me.”

  She laughed, “Don’t be sulky because you’re the baby.”

  “I’m not the baby, we were equals.” I was the baby, and he reminded me that he was older every chance he got.

  “Sure, sure. If you say so.” She patted my arm to pacify me.

  We did this every day, rain or shine, and as the pile of cranes slowly decreased, my knowledge about her grew. I still had the ache in the center of my chest, the ache that longed for Mari to open her door and talk to me. But, almost two months into Victoria’s project, and we still hadn’t spoken.

  I’d seen her, through the door of the yoga class, glimpses through the window of Jolts, quick moments as she rushed into her apartment. Seeing her is not the same as touching her, talking with her, being near her.

  She seemed different as if something had changed, but maybe I was a little different, too. It wasn’t until we were down to the last crane that Victoria had forced me to see that I needed more. Not just more with Mari, but more with Victoria, more time to work out my issues, more time to be.

  “Last one, where are we going to place it?” I asked, holding the giant crane she had made as her thousandth.

  “Nowhere.” She took the crane from my hands and placed it into her bag.

  “Nowhere?”

  “That one is Mari’s,” she stared directly at me, challenging me and making me feel naked and raw under her appraisal. “When you’re ready.”

  “I’m ready now,” I informed her.

  “Are you? Are you really?” She crossed her arms, seeing right through me, asking the same question she had asked me weeks before.

  “No.”

  I wasn’t, but the fact that even my niece knew encouraged me to take whatever steps I needed to change the things I could fix and accept the things I couldn’t. Four months later, I found myself outside Mari’s door again. One hundred and twenty-three days since we first argued, one hundred and fifteen days since my knuckles last touched the wood of the door, and I was nervous.

  Nervous she wouldn’t answer.

  Nervous of rejection.

  And so fucking nervous that I would never be good enough or what she deserved.

  My knuckles rapped gently against the wood, and I waited, knowing she was inside but terrified she wouldn’t answer. But then I heard movement, and seconds later her lock tumbled, and her door opened.

  I took a step back, slightly in shock, but completely in love. She was just as beautiful now as she had been the last time I saw her, more so, and I struggled to come up with words, any words, something to let her know I was there with her.

  All intellectual thoughts fled as I looked at her, so instead of saying something fancy, professing my love, I held out the crane to her, offering an olive branch, a fresh chance, a beginning.

  She took the crane from me, and when she didn’t slam the door in my face, I took that as a good sign. Maybe the time we took had been enough for us to talk now because I had words that needed to be said, and she obviously had words that needed to be spoken. We needed this; we needed closure for a chapter of our lives that was neither good, nor bad, but incomplete.

  Epilogue

  SPENCER

  2 YEARS LATER

  “Have you been working on the exercises we discussed at the last session? The ones on managing your time without letting it interfere with your life?” Dr. Porter pushed his horn-rimmed glasses up, smearing some blue ink on the bridge of his nose.

  “I’m working on it,” I pushed out the words slowly. I’d been working on it almost every day for the past two years. Ever since Mari pushed me to work on myself and encouraged me to seek help. And it had helped, but that didn’t mean every day wasn’t a struggle.

  “But?” He tapped his pen on his yellow lined notepad.

  “Why does there always have to be a but?” I asked defiantly.

  “Because there always is and unless I push you to say it, you won’t.” He looked at me sternly, forcing me to squirm in the chair, causing the fake leather to squeak underneath me.

  “I’m trying, but it’s hard to break old habits and let go. If I’m not controlling time, I feel like there is nothing else left for me to control.” Admitting that out loud to anyone took some work, but I’d come to terms with it now.

  He nodded his understanding and noted something on his notepad. I forced myself to not strain my neck to see his notes. “Good, that’s good. Admitting something out loud will help bring the situation to the front of your mind when you cross it next. Have you brought the list of things you would change if you could rewrite your past?”

  “No,” I admitted.

  “Spencer, part of us working together is based on you doing your part and participating. I sent you with homework, and it’s important to me and your progress that you do the exercises accordingly.”

  I glanced out the window for a long minute before bringing my gaze back to him. I twirled my feather, Mari’s feather, in my fingers, running the soft tip against my palm. It was worn out now, browned from age and my constant touch. I cleared my throat, “What I meant is no, I didn’t write it down, but I know what I would change.”

  He nodded his head, “Care to share it?”

  I took another glance outside. “You say that like I have a choice.”

  Dr. Porter sighed, “You do have a choice, Spencer. You know, if you stopped trying to control every session and let it run its course, you might, just maybe, be done with it already. Or at the very least, your weekly time would be shortened some.”

  I fought
not to laugh. He was probably correct, but I wouldn’t tell him that. He liked the challenge, even if he wouldn’t admit it. “If I could rewrite my past, I would be more considerate of time, but not let it control me as it had been. I wouldn’t blame my brother’s death on myself because as much as it felt like it at the time, it wasn’t my fault.”

  He nodded his approval, and I continued, “I would make a greater effort to be a better father to my niece because it would have been what Simon wanted, and it’s why Simon trusted me with her care.”

  “But you are a good father figure now?” he interjected.

  “I am. Well, at least I try to be.”

  He tapped his pen again, and I let my eyes roam from the pen to the window and back again. “I think she would agree that you do your best.”

  “I do. But, I think sometimes it’s hard to remember that your best isn’t always the favorable choice with teenagers.”

  He laughed, “It most certainly is not, which is how you know you’re doing it right. Was that the conclusion of your list?”

  “No. I have more. If I could change my past, I wouldn’t fight my feelings for Mari for so long. I would have told her the truth from the beginning. All my truths, and I wouldn’t try to hurt her when I was feeling insecure.”

  “Did you succeed at hurting her?” The pen tapped.

  “I did.” I looked down at my feather, ashamed.

  “So, the lesson you can draw from this experience is that withholding truths is harmful to everyone. Placing blame on others isn’t solving the root of the issue, it’s merely an attempt to cover up your own pain and guilt.”

  “And it doesn’t feel all that great on my end either,” I added.

  “Do you think that she has forgiven you?” I wasn’t looking at him, my attention on the grassy hill outside, but I answered anyway.

  “I think that it might have put a little chip in our relationship that we can’t get back, but we can move forward from it.” We had moved forward, but that didn’t happen overnight. It took a lot of work, a few tears, and relinquishing some trust that I struggled to let go of. In the end, I couldn’t bring myself to regret what happened. Maybe at first, when I felt raw and exposed, and when my secret struggles were no longer private. But, after that, I was thankful it was Mari who plucked my paper from the wall, who found inspiration and a love story in what I had known only as pain.

  “And, have you?” The sound of his pen scratching the paper filled the otherwise silent room.

  “Have I what?” I asked, not really paying attention.

  “Mr. Sully. If you could stop looking out the window for five minutes, we could wrap this up. Your family isn’t going anywhere.”

  I smiled a broad, genuine smile and pulled my eyes slowly away from the window. Away from the view of my wife and niece, holding the pudgy little hands of my boys as they toddled through the grass, tripping on the uneven ground with their unstable movements.

  “Have you been able to move forward?” he asked again.

  I risked one last glance out of the corner of my eye, hating not being able to watch my family. “Yes. We had some struggles at first . . . '” My eyes caught a glimpse of Victoria chasing the boys around the grass with tickle hands out, “But I think . . . the only place we could have ever gone was forward.”

  Thank you for Reading!

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  Other works by Delilah Mohan:

  Obscured Love

  Questions or comments?

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  Acknowledgments

  I wish there were words to express how thankful I am with having all of my book girls in my life. Each on has inspired me and encouraged me in so many ways, inside and outside of the book world. But, I absolutely couldn’t have done it without Becca. She’s my ride or die. My mistress cracking the whip. The one person who always tells me I’m being ridiculous - but loves me anyway. I’m pretty damn thankful to have a piece of her in my life, and I’m positive she won’t be getting rid of my anytime soon.

  I’m also thankful for Maria P., Maria R., Wanda, Isa, and the rest of the gang who took time to read through my hot mess, and still decided I was worth it. You guys are rock stars!

  Another book down, and I still am thankful that Tee has continued to put up with me and patiently guide me through the book world. It’s authors like her who make the world of indies publishing a community, and I’m thankful every day that I have found her.

  Lastly, a massive shout out to my husband, who still hasn’t read my first book, but continues to receive my love. You’re a pretty okay guy, mostly. XOXO