Julian stopped before reaching the kitchen. He came back to Cleo, holding out his plastic blue yo-yo. “This is for you, Cleo.” His face was serious, his chin held high.
“No, JayJay. It’s okay. Melanie meant for you to have it.”
He pressed the yo-yo into her chest, right over her heart.
“She made a mistake,” he said matter-of-factly. His brown eyes were determined.
Cleo took the yo-yo. She wrapped her arm around his neck, pulling him close. “Thanks, JayJay. You’re a really good brother.” He dashed from the room. Cleo looked up at her parents. They didn’t say anything, and neither did Cleo. But she smiled, and things felt a little closer to normal.
“So …” Mom said. “You want to have a sleepover. This Friday night.”
Cleo grinned and rushed to the couch. She was suddenly energized, like a stockbroker being told to buy. “Can I? Dad?” Mom pulled on her arm and she landed in Dad’s lap. “And it’s not just a sleepover. It’s a —”
“Passion Clips/Power Makeover/Ad Shoot party. I know, I know.” Mom turned to Dad. “What do you think, Charlie? You all right with ten girls taking over our family room for the night?”
Dad’s eyes opened wide. “Ten? Sounds like trouble to me.”
“We won’t be. I promise! We’ll be perfect!” Cleo looked straight into his eyes.
He smiled. “I don’t need perfect. Just considerate. But there’s one condition.”
“Anything!” Cleo said, bouncing a little on his lap.
“You absolutely can not have any fun.”
She bopped him on the chest. “Da-ad!”
“Okay,” Mom said, taking a deep breath. “I guess we’re doing it.”
Cleo threw her arms in the air and cheered. “Thank you! We’re going to do our hair, and maybe … makeup?” She batted her eyelashes at Mom.
“Don’t push it, kid.”
“Okay, okay,” Cleo rushed on. “And order pizza, and make a very persuasive ad for Passion Clips!” She paused. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask before inviting friends over.”
“Nine friends.” Mom fixed one squinty eye on Cleo.
“What can I say? I think big!”
Mom’s eyes turned smiley. “Apology accepted.”
“At least I didn’t invite any boys.”
“Are you sure?” Dad dug his fingers into her ribs. “Because if any show up, I’ll have to run them off.”
She laughed and squirmed off his lap, into the space between her parents. “I’m sure! Boys aren’t my key demographic.”
Mom’s eyebrows popped up. “Your key demographic?”
“Yeah, you know, my primary customers. Except Micah Mitchell. He wants a pair.”
Mom put her arm around Cleo. “You’re amazing. How do you know so much about these things—business and selling? And demographics, for heaven’s sake!”
They all said the answer together: “Fortune, of course!”
Cleo pressed her knees together, kept her eyes on her clasped hands. “My birth parents could be business-people. Maybe I got it from one of them.”
“It’s possible,” Dad said. “I read recently that scientists think they’ve discovered a risk-taking gene.”
“That’s not one I got,” Mom said. That was for sure. Mom was always telling Cleo and her brothers to be careful. To stay inside the fence.
“You have to take risks in the world of business,” Cleo reminded her parents.
“So I’ve heard,” Dad said. “Well-calculated, but risks, nonetheless.”
Cleo sensed the risk of her next question, but she had to know. “Couldn’t we try to find out more about my birth parents? Like their names or where they live?” Had she felt her mom stiffen beside her? Cleo couldn’t look her in the face.
“Well … it’s tricky, honey,” Mom replied. “That information isn’t available to us.”
“But Josh and Jay know Melanie. They even get presents from her! And I know nothing.” She had almost added, “I get nothing,” but the blue yo-yo in her hands stopped her. “All I have is Beary and those few things from when I was a baby. It’s not fair!”
Mom sighed. “Oh, honey. I would have loved for you to know your birth parents, but that’s not the way they chose to do it.”
“But why?” Cleo searched Mom’s face for an answer, but it wasn’t there.
“I don’t know.” Her eyes were sad.
Cleo looked back into her lap. “She’s probably a homeless person. A crazy homeless person. Who lives in her car.” In her mind, she added, I could have lived in her car with her.
Dad put his hand on her arm. “Whoa, now. We’ve told you, remember? Your birth mom was a young college student. She wasn’t married to your birth dad. She did what she thought was best.” Dad took her chin in his hand. His round eyes were kind. “I have no doubt, my Sunshine, no doubt —” his voice broke. Was Dad about to cry? “It caused her a world of hurt to part with you.”
Cleo nodded, but she didn’t really understand. Why did people do the things they did? Mom had said something the other day … We all do things that aren’t good for us. Had adoption been good or bad for her? For her birth mom? And what about her birth dad? Where was he?
She had to admit she was glad she didn’t live in a car. But if her birth mom had been a college student, they could have done all right. Couldn’t they have?
Thursday morning (picture day!), Cleo was up early to take out the curlers and twists the stylist had put in the night before at Salon Go Natural, the place Mom took Cleo to for occasional conditioning treatments, trims, and in this case, the twist-n-curl style that Cleo loved. One, it was more mature-looking than braids, and two, it was how Fortune wore her hair!
Cleo practiced her smile in the bathroom mirror. Outside of the last day of school, picture day was her favorite day of the year.
She made eyes at herself, trying out different expressions. Could she look as radiant and successful as Fortune did in her poster? She raised her eyebrows, opened her eyes wider, showed more teeth, less teeth, no teeth. More teeth made her look like she’d eaten one two many Kit Kats; less teeth made her look like her pants were too tight; no teeth made her look as if she were plotting world domination. Nothing made her look as carefree and confident as Fortune.
Mom knocked. “Ready to unveil those gorgeous locks?”
Cleo cracked the door. “I guess.”
“What’s up? You’ve been begging me for a twist-n-curl since school started.”
Cleo shrugged. She slumped on the toilet lid. Mom unsnapped the perm rods at the ends of Cleo’s twists and gently unrolled them one at a time. The lines between Mom’s eyebrows made her look mad, but the way she was holding her tongue between her teeth told Cleo she was just concentrating.
At the salon, Cleo had thought that if her birth mom were her mom, they’d be sitting side by side getting their hair done, instead of her mom sitting in the waiting area reading a magazine. “I wish we had the same hair,” she said.
“That’d be kind of awkward, wouldn’t it? We’d have to take turns wearing it.”
Cleo scowled. “Mom.”
“I’m sorry. Bad one.” She started to undo the twists. “Why do you wish we had the same type of hair?”
“It would just be easier. Don’t you think?”
“Easier in what way?”
“Well …” Cleo wasn’t sure how to put into words what she was feeling. “We could get our hair done at the same place, instead of you going to that other salon.” That wasn’t even her biggest concern, but she didn’t know how, or whether, to say what was.
“Ah, yes … Ruby-Do’s. They’re pros with boring, straight hair like mine.” She looked in the mirror and fluffed her short, brown “practical mom bob,” as she called it. She finished undoing the last twist in Cleo’s hair, then put her fingers deep into Cleo’s thick mane and scratched at her roots to loosen everything up. “You know, I never really thought
about it, but now that you bring it up, maybe I can get my hair done at Salon Go Natural.”
“Do they do hair like yours?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to ask Miss Merlean. It sure is kind of her to display Passion Clips at her front desk.”
Cleo got as perky as her new hairdo. “I know! We’ll get more orders for sure. Miss Merlean’s almost as much of a salesperson as I am!”
Mom laughed and then stepped back so Cleo could look in the mirror.
Cleo saw and felt the real smile that beamed from her face. She shook her head, enjoying the feel of her springy curls bouncing against one another. She stood still again as Mom finished off the ends by wrapping them one section at a time around her finger to smooth the ringlets. Mom may not have had the same hair as Cleo, but she worked hard to help Cleo with the hair she had—thick, coily-curly, and with a mind of its own, just like Cleo. And Cleo loved her mom for it. But she still wished Mom had hair that was more like hers.
“Will you send my school picture to the agency again?” Cleo asked. In her head, she added, Just in case …
“Of course. And an update. Like I do every year.”
Cleo knew the picture and letter weren’t really for the adoption agency. They were for her birth parents. In case they ever wanted to know how Cleo was doing. Cleo stuffed the thought that one of them might see the pictures and letters and get in touch. Why would this year be any different than others?
*
School went quickly. Picture day helped. Cleo’s class spent more than a half hour in the multipurpose room getting their photos taken. When it was her turn in front of the camera, Cleo flashed her biggest, brightest CEO smile ever. She was confident this year’s picture would be her best one yet. She was the president of her own company, and her and Caylee’s current product was a stunning success! Nothing could stop her now!
When Cleo got home that afternoon, Mom had out her fancy Global Chef!® knife and was chopping like a maniac.
“What are those?” Cleo asked, looking at the plump, brown, dried-fruit-like things on Mom’s cutting board. “They look like mealworms that’ve been fed too many Kit Kats. If they ate chocolate, that is. Which they don’t—crazy worms.”
“They’re dates. For Cleo’s Canine Cookies.” Mom kept chopping. “I’m aiming for a product launch in three weeks.”
Cleo grinned. “Really? At the farmers’ market?”
Mom nodded.
“That’s great! Can I help you sell them?”
“Can you?” She swiped the dates into a bowl. “I’m counting on it!”
The boys came running in. “We’re hungry!” Jay yelled.
“Can we have something to eat?” Josh asked.
Mom asked Cleo to get out what they needed to make ants-on-a-boat: apples, peanut butter, and raisins. While Cleo did that, she told them all about picture day, including how Micah Mitchell was entertaining everyone in line with his talking kneecaps.
“How do kneecaps talk?” Josh wanted to know.
Cleo pulled up her pants above her knee and pinched her loose knee skin so that it looked like a pair of lips. She pushed on the folded skin so that the lips “moved.” “Hello! I’m a talking kneecap,” she said in a silly voice.
Josh and Jay giggled. Immediately, they made their kneecaps start talking to each other.
“Micah calls his kneecaps Ron and Hermione.”
“He sounds like a creative kid,” Mom said, spreading peanut butter on an apple quarter. Cleo topped that with a row of raisins.
“Micah? He’s unique, all right. But I like him. I might even recruit him to work for Cleopatra Enterprises—product development, perhaps. I’ve been thinking we should do more to tap into the boy market.”
Mom put the finished apples on a plate. “To the table, please.”
Cleo took the ants-on-a-boat to the other room. She felt like she could eat a real boat she was so ravenous.
Barkley sniffed around the edge of the table. Jay scooped peanut butter from one of his apples and let Barkley lick his fingers.
“Jay! Don’t feed the dog peanut butter,” Mom said, coming into the room. “He’s still on a diet.”
Barkley’s tongue had gone into overdrive trying to get the sticky stuff off the roof of his mouth.
“Plus it’s cruel.” Mom shook her head, but the rest of them snickered watching Barkley smack his lips.
Cleo bit into the crunchy-gooey-sweet-salty snack.
“Hey, speaking of Cleopatra Enterprises,” said Mom, “I’ve got some good news for you.”
Cleo dropped her apple. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m telling you.”
“What is it?” Cleo looked around for a pile of mail. “Did Fortune write back?”
“Sorry, hon. Not that. But it is a promotional opportunity.” Her eyebrows lifted. “Nationwide.” Her face wore a satisfied smile.
“What! Mom, what is it? You have to tell me right now!”
The back door opened and shut. “Anyone home?” Dad called.
The boys zoomed from the table, shouting, “Dad! Dad!” A moment later, Dad appeared, one son hanging from either arm. “Soc-cer! Soc-cer!” Josh shouted. Jay joined in the chant.
“Stop yelling!” Cleo yelled.
The boys stopped and stared.
“Can you please just get to my good news?”
Mom and Dad exchanged a look.
“Go warm up your kicking feet, boys,” Dad said. “I’ll be out in a few.”
Josh grabbed his Dodgers cap (he never went outside without it) and made a break for the front door.
“Wait for me!” Jay yelled. Barkley loped after them in a hurry not to get trapped inside.
“As you were saying …” Cleo looked expectantly at Mom. Dad pulled up a chair. Something in Mom’s eyes had changed. She seemed a little less happy, as if a small amount of a different hue had gotten stirred in and changed the color of her expression.
“Something about a promotional opportunity?” Cleo prompted.
“Right. The promotional opportunity.” Mom put on her business face. Cleo liked when they talked this way. “Well … I spoke with the adoption agency today. I told them about what you’ve been up to … that you’ve had a string of businesses, which you’re now calling Cleopatra Enterprises, and about your latest business and how it’s really taking off.”
“And … ?”
“Of course they loved that you and Caylee are donating a portion of your profits to help orphans attend school.”
“Mom!” Cleo couldn’t wait any longer.
“They want to do a feature article in their national magazine—online and in print! Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Wow! That’s fantastic! Thanks, Mom.”
“And, there’s something else.” Mom took a sip of air. “It may be kind of surprising at first.”
Cleo’s heart was thumping. Why was she suddenly nervous?
“It’s sort of crazy … the timing of it all … but I say I believe in divine intervention, so this must all be part of God’s plan.”
Dad rested his hand on Mom’s fidgeting ones.
Cleo’s heart surged. She felt a little sick to her stomach. “You asked about my birth parents. They’re dead, aren’t they?” It was something she often thought but had never said out loud.
Mom looked shocked. “Oh. No. I don’t think … well, your birth father for sure isn’t.” The space between her eyebrows wrinkled. She looked to Dad. “Charlie?”
Her birth father? Cleo hardly ever thought about her birth dad—not nearly as much as her birth mom. And how did Mom know he wasn’t dead, anyway? What had she found out? And what about her birth mother?
“Your birth father,” Dad said, “lives in West LA.” He looked Cleo straight in the eyes. “And he would like to meet you. If you want.”
Cleo’s head was spinning. If she wanted … she could meet … her birth father?<
br />
“What about my birth mom?” Her words felt sticky on her tongue.
Mom’s lips tightened. Her wrinkles stood out like parentheses around her mouth. She shook her head.
“But he could tell me about her, right?”
“Possibly. But we need to take this one step at a time, Cleo. First, we need to talk about whether you want to meet him.”
Cleo had a terrible thought. What if he wasn’t the right one? How did they know he was her birth father? How did he know he was her birth father? What if someone had made a mistake? What if he was only pretending to be her birth father for some reason?
“Cleo?” Mom’s hand was on her arm.
“How do they know it’s really him?”
“They know his name. And other information about him.”
“They do?” Cleo felt confused. “How come they knew but we didn’t?”
Mom took a deep breath. “It happens sometimes that the birth parents prefer not to share that information with the child or the new family. We’ve talked about this, honey.”
It was true, they had. She’d just never put it together that the agency had this information. Had always had this information. While she hadn’t.
“But how come we can know about him now but we couldn’t before?” This was all very confusing.
“Apparently, he contacted the agency and let them know he was open to us getting in touch with him,” Dad said, “a while ago. But someone made a mistake and the message never got passed along.”
“A mistake?” She felt a surge of anger and then light-headedness. Her fingertips tingled.
“Your mom and I were always open to having a relationship with your birth parents, like we do with Melanie. So —”
“You’re still our daughter,” Mom cut in. “That will never change.” She looked at Cleo intently. This was the face that had drawn near to kiss Cleo almost every day of her life. Round and pale, like the moon. Blue eyes, freckled cheeks, short nose. The only face Cleo had ever known as “mom.”
She looked at Dad. Brown eyes, square jaw, long nose, olive skin. The only face she had ever known as “dad.”
Cleo Edison Oliver in Persuasion Power Page 8
