by Arthurs, Nia
I’d mastered the delicate art of playing hard to get while leaving hints of my interest, but Stanley had gotten me to doubt myself. He knew how to play the game too.
It had taken a bit more elbow grease to get his attention, especially with all the girls constantly throwing themselves at him.
And who could blame them?
In addition to his toe-curling good looks and huge muscles, Stanley Preston was the son of Bernard Preston, a business genius.
The younger Preston was known to lavish gifts on his girlfriends because anybody associated with Stanley had to look their best.
I’d worked my butt off to get an in with him. It physically hurt me to throw out nearly three months of excessive primping, a little Facebook stalking, and hooking up with his two best friends.
“Stanley, I’m so sorry. I have to go.”
“Whatever.” Stanley sniffed and leaned against the car door handle like a sulking child.
I leaned over to kiss him good and proper in case he thought about replacing me with someone else while I was gone.
“Later?” I arched an eyebrow.
He grinned that innocent grin that had convinced countless girls to drop their drawers. Despite the appeal in his eyes, I managed to straighten and grabbed the door lock.
“Clark?” Stanley mused. “That’s the kid you call Farm Boy, right? The one that’s hopelessly in love with you?”
“Yup,” I winked. “Don’t worry, there’s no competition.”
Stanley snorted. “Of course not.”
I laughed and exited the car.
The afternoon sunlight was surprisingly bright now that I was out from behind the protection of the tinted windows.
I slipped my sunshades on my face to guard me from the rays. The short distance from the parking lot to the library loomed like a road that stretched on forever.
I knew it was my own sense of rebellion at work because reality was far less dramatic.
The buildings at Saint Joseph’s Junior College were relatively close together. Their stately size loomed before me, giant backdrops against the gorgeous sky.
Birds twittered as they soared and made their homes on the rooftops of the various halls. My feet crushed the green grass that sprouted like tufts of silky hair.
As I walked, my mind slowly made the trek from more base instincts to the contents of Mrs. Thornton’s assignment.
Clark had managed to pull me from what could have been a very enjoyable afternoon. The least I could do was make the essay a smashing success.
Our English homework revolved around compare and contrast essays. I could write in my sleep. The tricky part was working with someone else’s opinions.
I could be a little aggressive when dealing with personalities like Clark’s. Hopefully, I didn’t send him running and crying to the bathroom before our essay was complete.
I mounted the steps to the second story with relative ease, greeting my acquaintances on the way.
When I finally crested the landing, I strolled confidently to the cubbyholes at the front of the room.
Quickly shrugging out of my knapsack, I collected my pen and notebook before stashing the bag in a row near the middle and stepping deeper into the library.
My search for Clark Fisher did not take long. He was relatively easy to spot. But not in a good way.
Clark had the most outdated bowl cut this side of the Americas. His shaggy, golden hair splayed across his forehead, nearly touching his dark eyebrows.
His eyes were a dull grey that couldn’t quite decide if they wanted to put energy into becoming a definitive shade of blue.
His nose was long and thin and his lips even thinner and pink. So pink. He was tall and lanky with limbs that extended from his shoulders and didn’t know when to stop.
Clark was clearly still in his awkward stage.
Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t even blend in to hide the imperfections. Belize was a melting pot of cultures but those of the pale skinned variety were vastly outnumbered by those of us with darker tones. His height and his race naturally drew attention.
Poor Clark never could catch a break.
I plopped onto the hard, wooden chair across from him and folded my hands on top of my books.
“Hello, Clark.” I said.
It was no secret that Clark Fisher had had a crush on me since primary school. Unfortunately, I did not, and would never, like Clark Fisher in such a way.
“Audrey!”
His eyes lit up and struggled to shift to a more engaging color. They brightened and then faded away to the lifeless grey that I was accustomed to.
“I hope you weren’t doing anything too important,” he said.
“Oh, not really.” I lied through my teeth.
“Great. That makes me feel so much better. I was really freaking out about that.”
“Try to calm down, dude.” I said, avoiding his gaze. “It’s all good.”
“Perfect.” He grinned.
When Clark Fisher smiled, he was almost kind of appealing. Almost. Like barely scraping the surface.
While I stared at him, he stared right back at me. The moment turned awkward quickly.
“Alright,” I ducked my head and opened my notebook. “Let’s get started.”
Chapter 2
A few hours later, I waited for Mom to come pick me up from school. While most of my friends caught the bus, walked, or drove home on their own, I was always chauffeured.
At first, my mother’s overbearing practice annoyed me. I was eighteen for crying out loud! Kids in pre-school were allowed to walk home on their own.
Over the past few months, however, I’d come to appreciate the free ride. Belize’s temperatures could reach obnoxious heights.
Why would I give up a comfortable ride in air conditioning for the discomfort of catching the bus or the displeasure of walking? My thirst for independence melted beneath the force of the Caribbean sun.
Mom’s small SUV pulled up to the curb. I hopped up, putting my playlist on pause. Mom hated when I wore my headphones around her, especially when she picked me up in the evenings.
“Good evening, Audrey,” Mom greeted me. She forced a smile but I could see right through it.
My mom and I were close. It had been just the two of us growing up. My mom’s family all lived in Cayo, a district a couple hours away. We barely got to see them.
My dad was not a part of my life. He’d left my mother when she refused to abort me and he never looked back.
Eh, such was life. I didn’t want to know scum like that anyway.
“Mom, are you okay?”
“What?” Her distracted gaze fell on me. “Yes, I’m fine.”
I didn’t believe her.
Mom smiled. “I’m serious. Stop looking at me like that.”
“Are you sure you’re fine? Because when I first came in here you looked like death.”
“Wow… harsh. Did I look that bad?”
“Yeah.”
A lot of people said that Mom and I looked alike. I guess I could see the resemblance.
We were both short, not a stick over five foot three inches. I got my curly hair from her though my strands were longer and looser. Mom’s sloping nose and thick lips were passed down to me as well.
But there were facets of my face that I could only attribute to my father. My almond shaped eyes, my cocoa-colored shade, and the dimple in my left cheek were all features that Mom did not possess.
“What do you think about ordering fried chicken tonight and watching a movie?” Mom said.
I leaned back in surprise. We never ate fried chicken on weekdays. Ever since I could remember, the deliciously greasy meal was reserved for the weekends.
“Mom, what’s going on? You’re scaring me.”
“Please. Stop being so overdramatic. It’s just fried chicken.”
I shook my head and rejected her idea anyway. “I’m good. I ate a big meal at lunch.”
“Okay.”
Mom focused on
the road. Her grip on the steering wheel was tight and she seemed extra taunt as she flicked her indicator to turn onto our exit.
“How was school today?” she inquired as the silence in the cab lengthened.
“It was fine.” I replied and then stared at the toes of my worn tennis shoes.
I’d define my style as eclectic chic. I loved vintage T-shirts with ridiculous sayings or random pictures.
I adored jeans and had a bunch in a million different colors. My arms were decorated with string bracelets crafted by the local talent at the tourism village down by the sea.
I studied the intricate pattern of the blue bracelet on my left hand. Maybe I’d return to the village to purchase another bracelet from Jeremy. The Rastafarian artist could turn any everyday item and make it fabulous.
Sometimes, when I went downtown, I’d sit and watch him work. The idea appealed greatly to me. As long as Stanley didn’t call to hang out, I’d most likely head to the tourism village.
Buoyed by my weekend plans, I followed Mom into our modest, split-level home in a nice neighborhood just outside of town.
The sun was beginning to set behind the pointy spears of the green trees on the lot across from us. I kicked a coconut that had fallen from our sprawling tree to the side and hopped up the verandah two steps at a time.
Mom was still eerily quiet. I wished I could pester her into telling me what was wrong. Instead, I decided to wait her out.
Mom was a lot like me. We clamped up if we felt harassed.
I rushed inside and threw my bag into the sofa, tumbling into the soft cushions after it.
I pulled out my phone and instantly connected to the wi-fi so that I could check my various social media pages and post new pictures.
I’d taken an impressive photo last week and knew it was the perfect little tease to the game Stanley and I were currently playing.
Mom disappeared into the kitchen. I barely noticed as I thought of an amazing caption to publish with the photograph.
After about ten minutes, I decided on a trite phrase about feeling ‘lonely’ and published it.
Take that Stanley Preston!
He’d be crawling on his knees in no time.
I felt the sofa depress and glanced to the side, surprised to see Mom there. I hadn’t even heard her reenter the living room. She had the moves of a ninja.
I put the phone down and adjusted myself so that I could watch her without craning my neck.
She clutched her hands together and set them in the taunt fabric of her blue skirt. Mom worked as the head secretary for a prominent law firm in the city. I’d never seen her go to work in pants.
“Audrey…” Her voice was hoarse and her expression so grave that I immediately sat up and scooted closer to her.
“Mom, what’s wrong?”
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Anything, Mom.” I rubbed her back.
She flinched and moved her shoulders so that my hand was drawing circles in the air. I felt a bit hurt by the action but buried it down deep.
Mom squeezed her eyes tightly shut and blew out a breath before admitting. “It’s about your father.”
I tensed. We didn’t speak about him. Ever.
When I was old enough to hear the story, Mom had explained that my Dad had abandoned us.
It was the truth though it had pained her to speak of it. I knew she carried guilt from my younger years.
As an innocent child, I’d often asked why the other kids had daddies and I didn’t. Looking back, I could now recognize how hurt she’d been by my questions.
I made up for it when I got older by never mentioning him again. Mom seemed to pick up on the unspoken rule.
Her words today were so out of the blue that I was genuinely taken aback.
“He’s not a father, Mom.” I corrected her. “He’s a sperm donor.”
Mom nodded and then glanced at me. I saw something I couldn’t recognize in her eyes and steeled myself for a bombshell.
“Actually, I wasn’t very honest about that.”
“What do you mean?”
Mom sighed. “I did meet your father during my last year of college. That’s true.”
“Okay…”
“We did date for a bit and then I found out I was pregnant.”
“He asked you to have an abortion and when you said no, he bailed. I know this already.” I wondered why Mom was putting herself through this torture just to repeat the same story again.
“Well… not necessarily.”
I froze.
“I didn’t tell him,” Mom confessed.
I rubbed my eyes and then pulled my ears, wondering if I’d heard her wrong. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“He broke up with me before I could tell him and I was so angry… I figured I’d punish him by keeping you a secret. I returned to Belize a few months later and he didn’t know a thing.”
“Mom,” I shot to my feet. “Mom, please tell me you’re joking.”
My mother shook her head. Tears began to spill from her eyes. “He found out. I don’t know how, but he’s coming to Belize to meet you. He wants to meet you, Audrey. I’m so sorry.”
“I-I need to be alone right now.”
Mom was bawling her eyes out on the sofa. I felt like joining her. Instead, I headed to my room and locked the door. The rug had just been pulled from beneath me and I didn’t know how to react.
I had a father. I really had a father.
It was just too much. I curled up in a ball on my bed and stared at the wall for a very long time.
Chapter 3
The next day, I got dressed in a blue shirt with a video game character emblazoned on the front. I wore my favorite, white washed jeans and my leather sandals.
One by one, I pulled on my bracelets and quickly applied eyeliner and mascara to my face.
I moved with mechanical precision as if stuck in a dream. The world around me had changed. Completely. I had to step carefully incase the floor beneath me gave way.
I opened my bedroom door and ventured to the kitchen, noting the smell of something sweet in the air.
Mom was baking pancakes.
My shuffling feet caught her attention. When she turned around, I recoiled. Mom looked awful.
Her eyes were red-rimmed and her hair was mussed. She’d obviously been crying.
Ironically, I hadn’t shed a tear. My mind, like a broken record, had repeated the same phrase.
He didn’t know. He didn’t know.
All the Father’s Days spent crying in my room, the lonely nights, the broken hearts, what would have been different if I’d had a father actively involved in my life? The what if’s killed me and yet I couldn’t escape them.
I had a father.
He wanted to see me.
That was huge.
“How did you sleep?” Mom inquired. Her voice was hoarse. She looked hopeful when I took a seat around the small breakfast table.
I wasn’t quite ready to speak to her yet. She’d lied to me. We didn’t lie to each other.
It was a pact that we’d made a few years back after I’d snuck out to go to a party with my friends.
Mom had been out of her mind with worry and I’d felt guilty for keeping her up. We vowed to always be honest with each other.
It was a promise that I’d taken seriously. She obviously hadn’t.
Mom shifted and waited for my response.
“I slept fine,” I said.
I answered because Belizean children were raised to be respectful, not because I felt any compunctions to speak with her.
Mom rolled her hands across her apron and pointed toward the pancakes with her spatula. “I thought you might be hungry.”
“I’m not.” I poured myself a glass of water and drank it.
Mom took off the stove and plodded to the small table. She drew out a chair and sat across from me. “Look, I know that this news may have come as a surprise.”
I sn
orted.
Mom hesitantly continued. “First of all, I’m very sorry for not telling you the truth.”
What did she expect? Was her apology supposed to magically fix everything?
“Anyway, it is your choice if you want to speak to your father or not. He’s got a new family now. A wife and two daughters. If you don’t want to see him, just say the word and I’ll send him back to the States. You and I can try to get back to where we used to be.”
My heart softened at her obvious pain but I steeled myself against the pity stirring in my soul.
She had lied to me. I had a father. All this while, I had a father. Tons of questions fluttered around my head but I wasn’t quite ready to discuss any of them.
What I did know was I wanted to meet him.
“I’m ready to go to school.” I said.
Mom nodded and undid the apron strings behind her back. “Sure. Of course.”
The drive to school was tense and very, very quiet. Mom put on the radio and turned the talk show to its loudest volume to drown out the awkward pause.
A few minutes later, Mom parked in front of Saint Joseph’s. “I hope you have a good day, Audrey.”
“Yeah.” I climbed out of the car, careful not to slam the door when I closed it.
Yesterday, I’d been fatherless. Today, I had a father.
There was no way my day could be anything but long.
I pressed my backpack further up my shoulder and stepped through the crowded gate to my first class.
I was early as usual. Mom had to be at work for eight so I usually arrived at class around seven thirty.
The classroom was empty when I slapped my backpack in my regular desk and sat down. Every few minutes, a student filtered in.
I pressed my headphones into my ears and ducked my head so that people knew to leave me alone. I did not want to be disturbed this morning.
“Hey, Audrey!” I heard a familiar voice above the loud tones of my music. Annoyance spread through my head.
Clark Fisher.
The guy knew nothing about social conventions and the fact that he liked me was just cherries on a crap cake.
I glared at the interruption and tore the headphones from my ears. “What?”
Farm Boy wore a plaid shirt rolled up at the cuffs and worn jeans. His bowl haircut was brushed to perfection and the gold shade of his hair gleamed like hay.
