The Sometimes Daughter

by Sherri Wood Emmons

  She draped a long strand of beads around my neck.

  “What do you think?”

  I could only nod. I looked so stylish, so much older. And, I realized with a jolt, I looked like Mama. Not in the face, of course. But this was how Mama dressed. Well, except for the hat.

  “Good,” Treva said. “You look great. And no one else will have anything like this at the dance, trust me.”

  And that was okay, actually. I didn’t mind having this outfit, one that no one else would have.

  Treva paid for the clothes using Daddy’s credit card. Then we walked out onto the busy street.

  “Let’s go to the Parthenon,” she said. “You’ll like it.”

  We sat by the window in the little Greek restaurant, watching people go by. I stared at the menu, unfamiliar with the choices.

  “Have you ever had Greek food?” Treva asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Try the gyro,” she said. “It’s a sandwich with beef. You’ll love it.”

  So I ordered a gyros sandwich and Treva ordered something called a falafel, which looked like a hamburger but was made with garbanzo beans instead of meat.

  “I wish we lived here,” I said absently, gazing out the window at the busy neighborhood.

  “Yeah, Broad Ripple is fun,” Treva agreed. “But it’s not really safe at night. Not like Irvington.”

  “Do you hang out here a lot?” I asked.

  “I used to,” she said. “I used to date a guy who lived not far from here.”

  “Why’d you stop dating him?” I asked.

  “Well ... I guess we just wanted different things,” she said, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. “We started dating in college and had a lot of fun. But then I was ready for a more serious relationship, something with a future, you know? And he just wanted to keep on the way we were.”

  I sat for a moment, thinking, then said, “Do you think you have a future with my dad?”

  She smiled at me. “I’m not sure, Judy. We haven’t been dating very long. But, I like your dad a lot. He’s such a good guy. So, maybe, I just don’t know yet.”

  “You know he still loves my mom,” I said, not looking at her.

  “I’m sure he does,” she said softly. “You don’t have a child with someone and then just stop loving them.”

  She sat quietly for a minute, then said, “But your mom has remarried. And your dad has been pretty lonely. I think there’s room in his life for someone new, don’t you?”

  I shrugged, wishing I hadn’t started this whole conversation.

  “I’m not trying to replace your mom,” she said. “You know that, right?”

  I nodded. “I guess so.”

  “And like I said, it’s too soon to know what the future will bring for me and your dad. Right now, we just like being together.”

  “I’m done,” I said, not hungry anymore. “Can we go home?”

  Treva took a last bite of her falafel and went to pay the bill while I sat staring out the window.

  26

  In June, Daddy and I flew back to California. I wasn’t so afraid on the airplane this time, relaxing enough to enjoy watching out the window as we landed. Mama was waiting in baggage claim, holding Kamran on her hip. She waved as we came down the escalator.

  “Oh my God, Judy. Look how much you’ve grown up!” She scanned me from head to toe. “I love your new haircut!”

  Treva had taken me for a haircut before the dance and my long curls were gone, replaced with a stylish bob.

  “Hi, Kirk.” She kissed Daddy on the cheek.

  “Hey, Cassie.” He smiled and then touched Kamran’s cheek. “Hey, look at you, big guy!”

  Kamran was now a year old and cuter than ever. He hid his face in Mama’s shoulder and peeked shyly at us.

  “I can’t believe how big he is,” I said.

  Mama laughed. “He’s getting huge, isn’t he? But he’s a good boy.” She nuzzled the baby. “Aren’t you a good boy? Yes, you are Mommy’s good boy.”

  Kamran smiled then, revealing four small teeth.

  We drove to Pasadena in Mama’s car, Daddy sitting in front, me in the backseat with Kamran, who stared at me with huge dark eyes, as if I might just bite him.

  “How are you, Cassie?” Daddy asked.

  “I’m okay,” she said. She was frowning at the traffic. “I hate the traffic here.”

  I watched as she switched lanes, glaring at a driver in another car who tried to cut her off.

  “Jackass,” she muttered. Daddy smiled at her.

  “Sorry,” she said, smiling into the rearview mirror. “I just get so mad at people when they act like jerks.”

  “Do you have to do a lot of driving on the freeway?” Daddy asked.

  Mama sighed. “You have to get on the freeway to go anywhere here,” she said. “To get to Navid’s parents’ house or visit friends or go to the movies. Everything is an hour away. Not like home.”

  She sighed again. “I really do miss the pace of things back home.”

  We drove to Pasadena and she parked the car in front of the apartment building. When I climbed out of the car, the heat was stifling.

  “It’s so hot!” I said, pulling my suitcase from the trunk.

  “Yeah,” Mama said, unstrapping Kamran from his car seat. “It’s pretty miserable in the summer.”

  The air-conditioned lobby felt like bliss. I was dripping with sweat from the short walk to the building.

  In the elevator, Kamran began tugging at Mama’s shirt. “Nus,” he said.

  “Yes, baby, just a minute. We’ll nurse when we get inside.”

  “Nus!” he said again. “Nus!”

  Mama was fumbling in her purse for the key to the apartment. She looked hot and flustered, her cheeks red.

  “Nus!” Kamran was yelling now. “Nus!”

  “Damn it, Kamran,” Mama said sharply. “Just hold on.”

  The baby began to cry as Mama dropped her purse.

  “Well, shit,” she said.

  “Here.” Daddy bent to pick the purse up. “I’ll get it.”

  He unlocked the door and opened it. Mama went in with Kamran and I followed her inside, then stood staring. The apartment that had been so bright and clean the summer before was a mess. Laundry spilled from the couch, dirty dishes sat in the sink, and toys lay strewn across the floor.

  “Sorry about the mess,” Mama said, pushing clothes from the couch and setting Kamran down. “I can’t seem to keep up with it all.”

  She flopped down onto the couch and pulled the baby into her lap, then raised her shirt for him to nurse. Daddy stood by the doorway, looking away from her.

  “Do you want something to drink?” she asked. “There’s Coke in the fridge. Or tea?”

  “I’m okay,” Daddy said.

  I walked into the kitchen to get a Coke.

  “Sit down,” Mama said to Daddy. “Just push those toys off the chair, it’s okay.”

  Daddy perched on the edge of the chair, his eyes fixed on a point far above Mama’s head.

  “Do you want a Coke, Mama?” I asked.

  “No, honey. But you know what I would like? A beer. Would you get me a beer from the fridge?”

  I pulled a bottle of Corona from the refrigerator and searched for a bottle opener. The kitchen was a disaster. Dirty dishes filled the sink and counters. The dishrag I picked up to wipe away a spill smelled sour.

  “Here you go.” I handed the bottle to Mama, and she took a long drink.

  “Thanks, honey,” she said.

  “Should I put my stuff in the bedroom?” I asked.

  “Sure,” she said. “It’s a little bit different from last time you were here.”

  And it was. The room was now a nursery, with a crib and changing table and more toys strewn about. My bed sat along one wall, opposite the crib.

  “Will Kamran mind me sleeping in his room?” I asked.

  “He’ll be fine,” Mama said. “He hardly ever sleeps in there anyway. M
ostly he sleeps with us.” She sighed again.

  “I’d like him to get used to sleeping in his own bed, but he just cries and cries and I can’t stand it.”

  “Are you okay, Cassie?” Daddy asked softly. “You look ... tired.”

  “I am tired,” she said, moving Kamran to her other breast. “I don’t remember being this tired with Judy.”

  “Well, you were younger with Judy,” Daddy said, smiling.

  “Yeah, I know. But ... Kamran just never sleeps. I mean it, he never sleeps. He doesn’t take naps, he won’t sleep in his own bed, and when he sleeps in our bed he’s always kicking and rolling and he wakes up every two hours and wants to nurse. I’m just exhausted all the time.”

  I sat down beside her on the couch and leaned my head on her shoulder. “Maybe I can watch him for a little while and you can take a nap,” I said.

  “Oh, honey, that’s sweet, but I’m okay,” she said, smiling at me.

  “No, Cassie, I think that’s a very good idea. I’ll stay a while with Judy, and between the two of us, we can keep the little guy busy. You go take a nap. You’ll feel better.”

  Mama started to protest again, then gave a sharp yelp.

  “Ouch,” she said, pulling Kamran from her breast. “Don’t you bite me!” she said, shaking her finger in his face. He smiled at her and touched her face.

  “Seriously, Cassie, go lay down. We’ll take care of him.” Daddy reached for the baby, who buried his face in Mama’s lap.

  “But you just got here,” Mama said. “I want to visit, not nap.”

  “We’ll be here for a week, and there’s plenty of time to visit. You need a nap.” Daddy’s voice was firm. He picked Kamran up and held him high in the air. “We’ll be fine, won’t we, buddy?” He grinned at the baby, and finally Kamran smiled back.

  “Go now,” Daddy said softly, still grinning at the baby. “Before he notices.”

  Mama hesitated for a moment, then rose and walked to her bedroom, carrying her beer. “Just fifteen minutes,” she said. “Then I’ll feel better.”

  She closed the bedroom door behind her.

  “Okay,” Daddy said, bouncing Kamran in the air, “let’s get this place in shape. Do you want to hold the baby or wash dishes?”

  I watched him as he bounced the baby. He knew exactly what to do.

  “I’ll wash dishes,” I said.

  Half an hour later, the kitchen was clean. I sat down on the floor in the living room and pushed cars across the carpet with Kamran while Daddy folded laundry, stacking everything neatly in a laundry basket. Then Daddy read books with Kamran while I dusted the furniture and picked up toys. By the time Mama emerged from her bedroom an hour and a half later, the apartment had been transformed.

  “Oh my God,” she said, standing in the middle of the living room. “You guys didn’t have to do that. Wow!” She walked into the kitchen. “It’s like a whole new place.”

  She sat down at the kitchen table and Kamran toddled toward her, arms outstretched. She scooped him into her lap and smiled, but her eyes sparkled with tears.

  “Thank you, Kirk,” she said softly. “And, my Sweet Judy, thank you. Thank you both so much.”

  She gazed around the room again, then said, “Navid will be thrilled.” She sighed heavily.

  “Where is Navid?” I asked. I knew he didn’t teach classes on Saturdays.

  “He’s at the Bahá’í Center,” she said. “They’re doing a service project downtown, so of course he had to go.” She sighed again. “I think he goes just to get away from me and this.” She gestured around the apartment. “He can’t stand the clutter. But does he ever lift a finger to help? No, of course not.”

  “When will he get home?” Daddy asked, sitting at the table with Mama.

  “God knows,” she said. “He said he’d be home by five, but I’ll believe that when I see it.”

  I looked at the clock. It was four thirty.

  “Well,” Daddy said. “When he gets home, maybe you can drive me to the car rental place?”

  “Sure, Kirk,” she said. “That’s the least I can do after you did all this.” She waved her arm around the room. “Honestly, it’s like a whole different apartment, isn’t it? And I feel so much better. Thank you guys so much.”

  “No problem,” Daddy said.

  “Now I can even get to the stove to make us something to eat.”

  She rose, Kamran on her hip, and began moving about the kitchen, pulling out bowls and pans. “How about stir-fry?”

  “That sounds great!” I said. “Can I help?”

  “Sure,” she said. “You chop and I’ll fry.”

  I chopped broccoli and onions and carrots and tofu while Mama cooked rice and made the sauce. Then she dumped all of the vegetables and the tofu into a big wok and began stirring them around in the oil. Kamran, perched on her hip, played with her necklace for a while. Then, without warning, he leaned forward and put his hand into the wok.

  “No!” Mama shouted, but it was too late. His shrill cries filled the apartment.

  “Oh, baby, oh no!” Mama ran to the sink and turned on the water, putting Kamran’s hand beneath the flow. His fingertips were red. He howled with pain.

  “Is he okay?” Daddy asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mama said, her voice shaking. “Look at his fingers.”

  Daddy held Kamran’s tiny hand beneath the water and looked carefully at his fingers.

  “He’ll be okay,” he said after a minute. “It doesn’t look like he burned himself very badly. No blistering.”

  Still the baby cried, great gulping sobs, tears and snot running down his face.

  “Shhhh,” Mama crooned. “It’s okay, baby. You’re okay. It’s all right.”

  “Do you have any first aid cream?” Daddy asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mama said. “Maybe in the medicine cabinet in our bathroom.”

  Daddy went in search of first aid cream while Mama shushed the baby. I stood helplessly in the kitchen, unsure what to do.

  “Oh, damn!” Mama said suddenly, “Judy, will you turn off that wok?”

  Smoke was rising from the wok, the vegetables now burned black. As I reached for the pan, the smoke detector started blaring, which made the baby scream even louder.

  “Got it.” Daddy reappeared with the medicine, which he smeared onto Kamran’s hand. Then he reached overhead to pull down the smoke detector. With the sudden silence, even Kamran stopped crying for an instant, then began again. Daddy began opening windows to let out the smoke.

  “So much for dinner,” Mama said. She looked as if she might start crying herself. “I’m really sorry, guys.”

  “It’s okay,” Daddy said. “Here, you sit down and put his hand in here.” He placed a bowl of cool water on the table. “Judy and I will make something, right, peanut?” He turned to me and grinned.

  “Okay,” I said. I wanted to do something to help.

  “Oh, Kirk, you can’t do that.” Mama smiled weakly. “You don’t cook.”

  “I will have you know that I have become quite a decent cook,” Daddy said. “Well, at least an adequate cook.”

  “He makes good spaghetti,” I said.

  Daddy dumped the burned vegetables into the trash, then opened the pantry. “You’ve got pasta, you’ve got spaghetti sauce, you’ve got tomatoes and onions and garlic. Do you have any sausage?” he asked.

  Mama smiled and shook her head.

  “Well, then we’ll have vegetarian spaghetti,” Daddy said.

  I chopped more onions and some tomatoes and mushrooms while Daddy started the water to boil. Then he made the sauce while I set the table. This was a routine we had down pat.

  By the time Navid arrived home, Daddy was putting dinner on the table.

  “Hello, Kirk. Hi, Judy.” Navid shook Daddy’s hand and gave me a quick hug.

  “Hi, Navid. You got here just in time. Dinner is ready.” Daddy gestured toward the spaghetti and sauce on the table.

  “Kirk and Jud
y cooked,” Mama said, smiling at us.

  Navid kissed Mama’s forehead, then reached for the baby. But when he lifted Kamran into his arms, the baby began to cry again, his fingers removed from the cool, healing water.

  “What happened?” Navid asked, looking from the baby to Mama.

  “I was making stir-fry, and he touched the wok,” Mama said, reaching for Kamran.

  “Let me see,” Navid said, still holding the baby. He examined Kamran’s red fingertips and frowned.

  “We should take him to the doctor,” he said.

  “I think he’s okay,” Daddy said softly. “No blistering, just a little burn.”

  “And are you a doctor now?” Navid’s voice was sharp.

  “Navid!” Mama said. “Kirk is only trying to help.”

  Navid gave her a cold look. “How could you be so careless?” he asked. “Look at him.” He held Kamran’s hand toward Mama. Kamran was screaming.

  “It was an accident,” Mama said, reaching again for the baby.

  “It was a careless accident,” Navid replied. “I am taking him to the emergency room.”

  “Navid, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Mama said.

  I stood wide-eyed, watching them argue.

  “I don’t care what you think, Cassie. It’s your carelessness that caused this, and now I am taking care of it.”

  He wrapped a wet dishcloth around Kamran’s red fingers and pulled his keys from his pocket.

  “Well, then.” Mama rose. “If you insist on taking him, I’m coming, too.”

  “Do as you like.” Navid’s voice was cold.

  “Judy, why don’t you stay here with your dad and eat.” Mama kissed me briefly. “We won’t be gone long.” She followed Navid from the apartment, closing the door behind her. We could hear Kamran’s cries as they waited for the elevator. Then, it was quiet.

  “Daddy, why is Navid so mad?” I asked.

  “He’s just scared about Kamran,” Daddy said, sitting down at the table. “It’s scary when your kid gets hurt, especially when he’s so little. Navid will be fine once he realizes Kamran is okay.”

  “He was mean to Mama,” I said.

  “It’ll be okay, honey,” he said. “He’s just worried. He’ll calm down.”

  He ladled sauce over my spaghetti and then served himself. We ate in silence for a few minutes. I wondered if Kamran was all right. I wondered even more if Mama was all right.