by Suzie Carr
“Wow, working for Colin.”
“Maybe he’ll be better able to convince you to escape the stronghold of the fiche room finally.”
I had to set my dad straight. I had to prove to him that the fiche room was where I belonged for now and that accounting would never be the right place.
“Come with me.” I led him over to my briefcase. “I’m going to share something with you.” I pulled out a sketch of us. “I drew this from an old photograph we had.”
“It’s incredible.” He held the sketch up close. “You even managed to get my crooked smile right.”
I had never been brave enough to show him my serious work. To see his face light up as it just had supplied me with more courage to continue showing him others. I reached into my briefcase and pulled out another. “And here’s one I drew of Mom planting those mums she so diligently did every spring.”
“She sure knew how to make our house one of the prettiest on the street.”
“The morning when this picture was taken, she had just found out I won the scholarship to attend Rhode Island School of Design’s summer art program. She had been proud of me and promised that after she planted, she’d take me out to buy all new supplies. I still have the portfolio case we bought that afternoon and even my first charcoal set of pencils.”
“She bragged about you that day, saying your artwork would adorn the halls of every fine museum in the country. I’m sorry you never got to go.”
“I wanted to spend as much time with Mom that I could that summer. I’m glad I did.” The memory of that last summer still ripped at my heart. We bonded over the gardening and painting we did together in our backyard.
I pulled out another one. “Here’s one I drew of our home on Wenscott Ave. I used to think this place was haunted.”
“Every night before you slept, your mom would make me point out to you that no ghosts were present. She fed into that fear and I would disagree with her vehemently about that. But, I’d cave every night because she’d give me this look that told me I had no choice.”
“I still sometimes get a head start running from my bathroom and leap onto my bed so my legs don’t come too close to the underneath for someone to grab. Then, I glance under my bed, just to make sure.”
“If she were still alive, she’d have to add an ‘I told you so’.”
I handed him another one. “Here’s one of you at your desk.”
“Look at that old calculating machine,” he pointed. “You always wanted to play with it, but your mom would scold you for touching it.”
My mom dueled with my dad for my attention. My dad would try to steal me away from my very own easel and my mom would stare him down until he caved and walked away unsuccessful. She talked endlessly about the art studio we would have together. And I vowed to make that dream a reality someday. Nothing would stand in my way.
“She didn’t want me playing with numbers did she?”
“No, she didn’t,” he confessed under a deep sigh. “She wanted you to make pottery and sew clothes and do girly things. You were her little diva.”
“What do you think she’d say if she knew I worked with numbers?”
“I’d get scolded for priming you towards it.”
“I think she had a point.”
“Nonsense. She knew I was right. She was just stubborn.”
Both of them were stubborn. They wanted their little girl to appreciate what they did in life. My dad still didn’t give up his hope that his little girl would learn to love numbers as much, if not more, than he. “You do believe you’re right, don’t you?”
He nodded. “I’m assuming you’re showing me all these pictures to prove a point?”
“I just wanted the chance to show you where my heart is and what I’m determined to accomplish.”
“I know you love art. But I also believe making a living at it would be extremely taxing if not impossible.”
“I just want to make sure you don’t go on thinking that I’m wasting my time in the fiche room. Without stress, I can create. My fiche room doesn’t give me stress. That’s why I like it. Colin doesn’t understand this. I need you to.”
“You’re asking me to see something that I just don’t fully understand. I just worry that you will become a slave to this hobby and have your heart broken. Working here is a sure thing. And you’re too smart to be a hermit in this basement.”
“Dad, leave the worrying to me.”
“I’m going to have to do that. I’m also going to need to count on you to keep an active view on the business once I leave. I built it for you. I trust Colin, but I trust you even more. I just want to make sure all the sacrificing we did over the years doesn’t just disband when I walk out the door.”
“What exactly are you asking of me?”
“To put your fantasizing aside and focus your attention on this business.”
I wanted more than anything to make him happy. I couldn’t sacrifice my passion to do that, though. My heart wasn’t in the business. “Dad, no one is going to be able to love this business like you do. When you walk away, you need to without looking back at it. If you can’t do that, you shouldn’t leave.”
“Are you saying I can’t count on you, Emma?”
“I just—”
“It’s okay.” He planted a quick kiss on my cheek and walked towards the door. “The pictures are nice, Emma. You should place them in scrapbooks for safe keeping. Someday, you and your kids can look through them and you can tell them how when you drew them, you dreamt of a day when dreams could come true without screwing up real life.”
And with that he closed the door. For minutes, I continued to stare at the steel door, willing for it to open and my dad to come back in again so I could tell him I could not, would not, live this life he wanted me to live.
Truth was though, my art choice scared him. Looking at me he saw his wife. I had the same slender body frame, same long legs, same defined waist line and curved hips. My mom even had the same style in dress: refined, classic-style Ann Taylor type clothes. With a paintbrush and easel in front of me, he would have seen a mirror image of his wife when she was healthy and at her prime. To witness me go down the same path as her would be painful. If I abandoned my art, maybe the pain of his loss would go away for him finally.
****
Stunned still by my dad’s words, I welcomed the easy-going email conversation I had going on with Haley later that afternoon.
“If you’ve never been on the skis, how do you know you wouldn’t like it?” she asked.
“I like safety.”
“Yes, well, safety can be boring. Just as opting for sugar-free, fat-free ice-cream instead of a pint of Ben & Jerry’s can be.”
“Sailing down a mountain side on two sticks attached to your feet and savoring a spoonful of delicious, creamy ice-cream are way different things.”
“Same principle though. You know what you’re missing if you’ve had the Ben & Jerry’s, just as you know what you’ve been missing if you’ve felt the freeing sensation of riding with the wind in your face as you breeze down a snowy trail. You have to have it again and again.”
“But you’re from Denver. Of course traversing down a forty-five degree snowy slope is natural to you. Now snow-shoeing, that’s something I could see myself enjoying.”
“Have you ever?”
“Once I did, in Maine. I went on a ski trip. Here I was all set to tackle the bunny slope, and I chickened out as soon as I attached myself to those skis. I tore them off before moving an inch in them and headed back to the lodge. I sat next to a group of middle-aged women who were talking about snow-shoeing at a place down the road. I asked them if I could tag along and to this day, we still keep in touch.”
“Well, if you ever venture out here to Denver, I’m taking you skiing. I’ll get you up on those skis if I have to drag you up the hill myself. I promise that you will fall in love with the sport.”
“I’ve never been to Denver. Though, I have to te
ll you, I’ve dreamt of visiting the Rockies since being a kid.”
“You have a free invitation anytime. I live right at the foot of the Rockies.”
If I weren’t so scared of my attraction towards her, I’d fly out there the next day and trek through the mountains with her.
“I’ll keep that in mind should I ever feel the need to jump on a plane and get out of town for a while. After the conversation I just had with my dad, that offer just might get accepted.”
“Parents can do that to you.”
“No, you don’t understand. My dad is capable of bringing me to the brink of a nervous breakdown with his guilt trips.”
“It’s a parent’s responsibility in life to challenge our emotions like that. How do you think I became such an avid risk-taker? My parents basically threw danger in my way just to teach me how to deal with it. My father is a retired Marine Sergeant. My house was boot camp. I still fold my damn shirts three by three.”
“My dad wouldn’t make it past the haircuts they give new recruits. The closest he ever came to military treatment was when he was a Boy Scout. My dad’s been pampered all his life. His idea of roughing it would be staying at a motel instead of a five-star penthouse.”
“Have you ever slept under the stars?”
“Without a tent?”
“A tent is for sissies,” she wrote.
“I’m not afraid to admit that I’m a sissy. Let’s just say I have a thing against insects crawling on my skin and making themselves comfortable in my hair.”
“Once in your lifetime you need to sleep under the stars. Nothing in this world is as humbling, especially in the Rockies. When the sun has set, the night sky comes alive with a brilliance that will make your jaw drop to the ground. You will never see stars as big, bright, and close to you.”
I imagined asking Colin to sleep outside under the stars without a skylight window above. He would laugh in my face at such an absurd request. He would ruin the whole experience, amplifying my fears of insects and wild animals with his own unease. But, with Haley lying next to me under a backdrop of stars, with her soft fingers within centimeters of my own, with her taunting magnetism reeling me closer, all trace of fear would disappear.
“I guess having a militaristic upbringing has its advantages.”
“It’s helped me to take risks without vulnerability. It’s given me thick skin.”
“A plastic spoon could do damage to me.”
“I’ll help you develop a tougher exterior. We’ll work up to it slowly.”
Haley possessed that extra layer of strength and that carefree attitude that I always wanted. Maybe being gay helped a person carve out her own path, a path straight people wouldn’t dare travel on out of fear of judgment. Whatever path it was, I wanted to find one just like it so that I, too, could have that same fearless mentality that made her so damn magnetic.
****
Colin had arranged for us to meet the harpist that would play at our wedding ceremony.
In one of the practice rooms at the University of Maryland, I sat back and watched the girl adjust her hair in a makeshift bun using a pencil. I always wanted to know how to pull a crop of heavy hair up with a simple twist of the wrist and secure it with one six-inch stick. When I wanted to pull up my hair, I had to go to a stylist and spend fifty dollars and have her use a noxious amount of aerosol hair spray and two, if not three, dozen bobby pins. This girl flung it up in two seconds and looked like she could walk down a runway.
She ran her slender fingers up and down the strings like they were part of the instrument themselves. The sweet chiming sound echoed in the acoustically-designed room with its cathedral ceilings, sprouting goose bumps on my arms. The theme to Ice Castles took on a whole new level of beauty.
“Brilliant.” Colin rose from the seat next to mine and applauded the perfect-haired woman. She bowed her head and looked up at him from under her long eyelashes, embarrassed at the attention. “I can tell my fiancé likes what she heard, too. You’re definitely free on August twenty-fourth, right?” he asked her.
She nodded like a shy kid afraid to say the wrong thing.
“We’d love to have you play at our wedding.”
That’s how we decided on things as a couple. Colin approved first and then, to give the illusion that he wasn’t egocentric, he would bring me into the loop to witness. Finally, he would take it upon himself to assume I agreed with his opinion and then would place the final verdict himself.
I saw no reason to have even gone that day, other than to feed into his idea that he was acting like a good fiancé should. My job as his fiancé was always about making him feel good about himself.
The day I had told him I was thinking of buying a used Jeep Wrangler, he showed up three hours later with a new BMW for me instead. When I told him I still wanted the Jeep his answer was, “They’re unsafe. They flip over if you round a corner too fast, and the way you round that corner on the I-95 on ramp, I’ll be sure to get a call from the hospital. You need something safer.”
So from then on, when I favored something, I didn’t bother getting his opinion. I simply showed it to him after the purchase, which is exactly what I did the very next day.
I had decided I wanted a new kitty for Snickers to play with. So, I went to the animal shelter later that Sunday afternoon and came home with a little black and white fur ball named Spitfire. I realized why the shelter honored him with such a name as soon as I released him into my apartment. He sure did have a fire in him. He climbed, leapt, ran, dove, moved in every way but a slow crawl.
I would break my newest family addition to Colin gently, with a picture first, then formal introduction. So, first thing the next morning, I rode the elevator up to the main floor at Hill Financial with the photo in hand.
And as I turned the corner near his office, I spotted him talking with Meredith Green, a fresh-out-of-college accountant with a smile that would light up a whole city. He mirrored her gaze and grinned while the girl strategically placed her hands on her hips, projecting her big chest closer to him. He looked at her with eyes that sparkled and a smile that showed his sexual prowess. This was a side of himself he had yet to show me—a flirty Colin, an even sexier Colin.
He stared at the girl’s lips as she spoke, seemingly mesmerized. He never looked at me that way.
Before me stood a man that loved me enough to marry me. He always took great care in showing off his love for me for anyone willing to look, yet there he was, in his glass encased office, flirting with a woman who had breasts twice the size of mine. And now curious spectators, peering around cubicle walls, witnessed as I watched my fiancé lock his lust-filled eyes with someone other than me.
As I watched him drool over this young girl with her sleek, black flowing Rapunzel hair and deep brown eyes, my knees melted into the floor, like they did before I was ready to faint from too hot of a shower. I wasn’t jealous. I was embarrassed.
I watched Meredith touch his sleeve when she laughed and he didn’t seem to mind. How dare he disrespect me like this?
As if he could sense my looming gaze, he tore his attention away from the woman and dropped his eyes straight on me. His face turned red and as though instinct took over, he raised his arm and waved at me, like he hadn’t seen me in months.
Meredith bowed out of the room and floated by me, peering up at me through her long eyelashes.
Shaking, I turned and walked away, stuffing the new photo of Spitfire into my dress pants’ pocket. If he wanted to see the new addition in my life, he would have to get past my front door first.
“Emma, wait.” He called after me, his tone way too enthusiastic.
I raced towards the stairwell. Before I could get through the door, he blocked me with his arm. I clawed at his silken dress shirt, trying to get past him.
“It’s not what it looked like.”
I eyed him. “Then what was it exactly?”
“She’s a flirt. I can’t help that. But in all honesty, she was a
ble to smooth-talk Peterman about the miscalculation and, seeing as no actual money got lost and he hadn’t spent what he thought were profits, he left here understanding. She even talked him into having dinner with me next week.”
“I’m sure she did.”
“Sweetheart, you know I was just being polite.” He poked me in the side, “Let’s go grab a cup of coffee and forget about this silly little insecurity.”
And just like that, he assumed I should just shut off the anger.
“I don’t have time. I’ve got work to do.”
“I’ll stop down if I get a chance, okay?”
“Sure.” I slipped by him and before he closed the door I said to him, “By the way, you might want to brush off Meredith’s long strand of hair from your shoulder. Don’t want to give anyone the wrong impression, you know?” I winked and ran down the steps.
I barely got to the fiche room before the tears poured down.
“I don’t understand men,” I wrote to Haley.
“Men are easy to figure out. That’s why I don’t bother with them. They’re too simplistic and predictable.”
The moment of truth had arrived. I had to tell her about Colin at some point, preferably before our visit. “I’m engaged to one of the most predictable. I’m not sure if I told you that already or not,” I wrote, trying to sound nonchalant in my delivery.
“Engaged, huh? When’s the big day?!”
The exclamation point jabbed at me. Her words sounded bright and cheery like my engagement was the best news she’d heard all day.
