Chapter 8
8
brADY
I 'm up early, cleaning my apartment, making space for Mindy and Kira. I put fresh sheets on the bed, leave clean towels in the bathroom, then go shopping, though I have no idea what they like to eat, so I buy what I consider the basics.
And then all that's left is waiting.
Again and again, I pace through my small living room, turning at the front door, only to have to turn again after barely ten steps.
What am I supposed to do with myself?
And more importantly: What am I going to do when they arrive?
What if Kira hates me?
What if she wants nothing to do with me?
What...?
The doorbell rings.
I rush to the door, nearly tearing it off its hinges as I open it. Mindy is standing outside with a little girl.
Until now, I didn't believe you could feel when you're related to someone, but the moment my eyes fall on her, I know she's my daughter. For one thing, she looks like me. Brown hair, blue eyes. The O'Brien nose, the same face shape. The few freckles that also adorn my nose. The same mouth that greets me in the mirror every morning.
She's my girl. No paternity test needed.
But I also feel it. Here I go again getting super cheesy, but love flows through me. With such intensity that it scares me.
For quite a while, I just stare at her, soaking in the sight of her. Wow. I helped create her. Incredible. A wave of pride joins the love. Amazing.
"May we come in?" Mindy asks hesitantly.
"Oh, sure, of course. Sorry. I forgot my manners."
I step aside, let them in, trying to hide my excitement.
"Kira, this is my friend Brady," Mindy says.
Kira looks up at me. "Hello, Mr. Brady."
"Uh, just Brady," I stutter.
"Nice to meet you."
"Likewise. You have no idea how much."
"Okay. Mom, can I draw?"
"Sure." She looks at me. "That's okay, right?"
"Of course. Make yourselves at home. I've made space for you everywhere."
"Thank you, Brady."
I nod, watching as Kira sits at the table and unpacks her drawing supplies. When I look back at Mindy, she's watching me thoughtfully. I point to the bedroom door and she follows me.
"I never noticed before how much she looks like you," Mindy says when I close the door behind us.
"Yeah. I guess no test is needed."
"We can still do one."
"We will, but it's pretty obvious." I rub my face. "Wow."
"Overwhelming?"
"Definitely." I open a drawer. "I bought a test at Walgreens."
"You trust me so little?" she asks resignedly.
"No, I know she's my daughter. But I'd like to have proof."
She nods hesitantly. "I can understand that." She opens the package, takes out the instructions. After a while, she hands me a cotton swab. "Wipe it inside your cheek and then put it in here."
She closes the little bag. Then there's one swab left.
She looks at me once more, then shrugs, goes back to the living room.
In this moment, I feel like a huge asshole for the third time in three days because I'm insisting on doing this damn test. But I don't want to get emotionally involved and then find out she's not my daughter. That would be too painful.
When Mindy comes back, she packages everything up. "It says here you can pay the lab costs online, and then it takes two days after they receive it, or there's an express option."
I transfer everything with my phone. "I'll take it to the mailbox. Should I buy anything else? What does she like?"
We walk back to the living room together. I watch my daughter drawing. I really have no doubts. She's my spitting image.
Mindy checks the fridge and the cupboards.
"Do you have paper and a pen?"
"In the drawer," I say distractedly.
It's just incredible. I have an eight-year-old daughter. Unbelievable.
While I'm still trying to process this, Mindy hands me a note. "This would be great."
"Should we order something for lunch?" I ask.
Kira looks up. "Can I have fries?"
Mindy nods. "Just this once."
Kira smiles, and I notice she has a gap in her teeth.
"What would you like?" I ask Mindy.
"A salad. Anything with yogurt dressing."
"Okay, why don't you two get settled in. I hope it's okay if you share my bed? Or should we get an extra bed for Kira?"
"Where will you sleep?" she asks with a clearly suggestive undertone.
I shake my head in warning. "I'll be staying at Orla's for now."
"Oh," she says, disappointed.
Before I can think too much about this, I say goodbye. You could also call it escape.
Man, I am in over my head. Way over my head.
MALLORY
I hadn't actually planned to, but I spontaneously decide to go home this weekend. My family lives in Folsom, near Sacramento, and whenever I'm emotional, I long to be wrapped in my gran's arms, breathing in her scent of yeast and vanilla that always surrounds her because she's constantly baking, and then hearing her somewhat gruff voice telling me everything will be alright.
My brother and I spent most of our childhood with her. Mom died when I was six, and Dad lost his job through grief. Eventually he found something new, but it was on an oil rig, which meant he worked in the Gulf of Mexico. We stayed with our grandparents.
Although he wasn't around much, we never lacked anything, because the dangerous work pays well, especially as he gained more experience and worked his way up. Thanks to that job, I don't have to pay back student loans. Thanks to that job, my brother Neil can travel the world to find himself.
But what we've always lacked is a bond with our father. Gran and Gramps made up for it, but when I meet my father today, he's a stranger to me.
The drive takes just over two hours, and as I park in front of my Gran's little house, my heart already feels lighter.
I get out, step onto the porch, place my hand on the yellow-painted wood. Home. Everything here welcomes me, wraps me in love.
I know where the spare key is hidden, but I knock anyway.
When the door opens, my plump Gran appears with her gray bun on top of her head. She clasps her hands over her mouth when she sees me.
I open the screen door. "Hi, Gran."
"Oh sweetheart! How lovely of you to visit."
And just like that, I'm pulled into her arms. I breathe in her scent and know I'm safe.
"Why didn't you say you were coming?" she asks, stroking my back.
"It was a spontaneous decision. Is it not a good time?"
"Of course it is! You don't need an invitation to your own home. Come in, come in."
I follow her into the kitchen, which has always been the heart of our family life. As expected, the oven is on and the table is dusted with flour.
"What are you baking?" I ask curiously, peeking into the bowl covered with a kitchen towel on the windowsill.
"Now you leave that alone," she scolds, but there's nothing but love on her face.
"Yeast dough," I observe, quite the expert, having grown up in a baker's household. "So, cinnamon rolls?"
"Good guess," she says dryly.
"Hey, that took skill."
She laughs. "I find your inability to bake almost a personal affront."
"Don't worry. I can't cook either," I state matter-of-factly.
She playfully throws her hands up over her head. "What will become of you if you're the worst housewife in the country?"
"The Boss."
"Good girl."
I laugh before sitting down on one of the chairs and watching her take the Dutch oven out. The aroma of sourdough bread wafts up to my nose and my stomach immediately starts growling.
"Seems like today's my lucky day," I observe.
Cinnamon rolls and freshly baked bread are two things I would die for.
"Me too, I think," says a voice from the door.
My head whips around and I jump up with a shriek before throwing myself into the young man's arms. He catches me with a laugh and nearly crushes me, hugging me so tightly.
"Why didn't I know you were coming home?" I ask, pressed against my brother's shoulder as tears stream down my cheeks.
"I only arrived this morning. I was going to tell you." He sets me down on the floor, cups my face. "Pretty as ever."
I roll my eyes. "You must be blind. I'm a mess from crying."
"But they're tears of joy," he points out. He kisses me on the forehead before going to the refrigerator and taking out butter.
Fresh, still slightly warm bread with salted butter. Heaven.
I go to the bathroom because I know I have raccoon eyes. With my wipes, I remove my makeup and look in the mirror. The birthmark that stretches from my forehead across my temple to my cheek gleams back at me. I gently run my fingers over it. Mom had one too, which is why I can't hate it, but my environment taught me early on that it was something to be ashamed of, which is why I hide it under makeup. But at home I don't need to hide, can be who I am, which is why I don't apply makeup again.
Although I know that Gran and Neil know and love my face like this, it's still somehow a struggle after hiding it for so long. Not even Carrie and Tina know about it. Nobody in my new life knows.
Dad knows about it, of course, and never saw it as a flaw. How could he? After all, he fell in love with a woman who had the exact same mark. But she was braver. She didn't cover it up.
I once asked Gran why she could do it and I couldn't. She said it was a time that was kinder to women because there was no internet where every flaw is immortalized. Besides, the eighties were still imbued with the hippie spirit, the nature-loving flower child hadn't completely disappeared. Today, perfection is the standard. Always and everywhere. Of course, she also experienced ridicule and mockery, but on a different level, Gran says.
I don't know if that's true, but I'm not ready to go out on the street without my mask. Maybe I never will be. But I also can't condemn myself for being so superficial and caring so much about others' opinions.
Gran is rolling out the dough for cinnamon rolls when I return to the kitchen. Neil is slicing the warm bread, spreading thick butter on the slices. I go to the refrigerator, take out the pitcher of iced tea that I knew must be there, and fill three glasses.
I bring them to the back porch, set them on the table, sit down and enjoy the sunshine on my skin. Neil comes to me, hands me a plate before sitting down as well.
Almost simultaneously, we bite into our bread and moan with delight. The taste of our childhood. We grin at each other as we chew.
"Why did you come home?" I ask him. "I thought you were somewhere in Africa."
"South America, but suddenly I had this urgent need to come back home. I missed you all."
"I missed you too," I admit.
"How are you?" he asks, smiling at me. "Still so busy?"
"Oh, worse! I wrote to you about my new position, didn't I? It's a huge opportunity, but at the same time I sometimes want to send my boss to the middle of nowhere."
He grins. "That's why I've always avoided that."
"Yeah, yeah, that's just envy talking. What project were you working on?"
"I'm working at a children's home in Chile, near Talca. It's one of the best jobs I've had so far."
"That's nice. Sometimes I regret not doing that, but instead immediately starting to study and building a... well, a normal life."
"It's not like my life is perfect, you know? As long as you're happy with what you're doing, everything's fine. Are you happy?"
I look inward, trying to give him an honest answer. I'm surprised when I find it. "Partly, yes and partly no. Sure, my boss can be a jerk sometimes, but I actually enjoy the job. The organizing and planning and the role as a disaster relief worker appeal to me. It's stressful, but I really like it."
"And in your personal life?"
"I can't give a definitive answer about that, if I'm honest. I push those thoughts away because I don't have the energy to deal with them. But I think it's okay."
He smiles. "Then I'm somewhat relieved. I worry about you sometimes."
"You don't have to."
"I do anyway, because you're my little sister."
"You'll always play that card, won't you?"
Neil laughs before stuffing the rest of his bread into his mouth and taking a big gulp of his drink. "By the way, I think Gran has an admirer."
"Who?" I ask, my eyes lighting up. She's been alone for ten years now. After losing her daughter so early, that was the next cruel blow of fate. So I would be so happy for her if she had found new love.
"I don't know, but she was on the phone earlier with someone and said that her grandchildren were visiting so she didn't have time. Then she giggled like a teenager and said, 'You're a naughty one, Theo.' When she saw me listening, she turned red, hung up, and disappeared into the kitchen."
"Theo? Do we know a Theo?" I ask thoughtfully.
"You told her," comes Gran's accusing voice as she pushes open the screen door. She glares at Neil.
"Sorry, Gran, but it was on my mind," he answers, tilting his head slightly. A look Gran has never been able to resist.
She strokes his head before sitting down. "So? What do you say? That I shouldn't make a fool of myself at my age?" she asks bitterly.
"Who says that?" I ask, because it feels like someone must have said that to her.
She stares into the garden as if debating with herself whether to reveal the name. "Louis."
"Uncle Louis said it would be ridiculous if you fell in love again?" I ask.
She nods.
"What a jerk. Gran, you absolutely shouldn't listen to your son. Such nonsense! It's wonderful if you've found someone with whom you can spend a nice time."
She smiles lovingly. "Thank you for saying that, sweetheart."
"I agree, by the way. To hell with Louis. You deserve to be happy. And if Theo makes you happy, I'm already his biggest fan," Neil chimes in.
"Me too," I declare.
She smiles at us gratefully before getting a dreamy look. She's clearly thinking about him right now.
"Why don't you invite him over for dinner tonight?" I suggest.
"I don't know," she answers. "He might not be comfortable with that."
"Why don't you ask him?"
"Maybe."
"What's he like?" I ask, taking a sip of iced tea.
"Hmm, he's five years younger, retired a year ago, handed his business over to his son, and doesn't quite know what to do with his time. We met at the soup kitchen. At first, I was uncomfortable with his advances. I wondered what people would say. But he was always just nice, never pushy, and eventually... Well."
She beams like a teenager swooning over her first boy band crush.
"That's so great," I say. "What do his children think about it?"
"They were skeptical at first, but my apple pie won them over."
She laughs.
I look at her. Really look at her. She seems so much younger than the last time I saw her. That's what love does to you. The is radiant.
Neil says: "Your apple pie would bring warring nations to peace."
"You charmer."
"It's true. When will the cinnamon rolls be ready?" he asks, grinning.
"You'll have to be patient a little longer," she says teasingly.
"Alright." He looks at me. "How's your love life?"
I shrug. "My what?"
"Going that well, huh?" he jokes.
"I'm just not familiar with that word," I retort.
Gran pats my cheek. "Someday the right one will come along, see that you're the most wonderful girl of all, and never let you go again."
"As long as he doesn't lock me in the basement for it," I reply dryly.
Neil laughs while Gran smirks. "You can ruin anything romantic."
Neil holds out his fist and I bump mine against it.
"You kids are impossible," she says, shaking her head.
"So, will you invite Theo?" I ask her.
"I'll ask if he'd like to come." She smooths down her apron. "Though I have no idea what I should wear."
Laughing, I reply: "Not a good sign that women never stop asking themselves that question."
"But it's nice to dress up for a gentleman caller."
Neil chimes in: "The right one will like you even in sweatpants."
It would be nice if that were true. With the right person, you don't need to pretend. And if you feel like you have to, then he's not the right one.