7
Past, Las Vegas, Nevada, Age 5
The small apartment I share with my mom is just minutes away from the famous Las Vegas Strip. The faint neon glow from the big casinos reflects on my bedroom wall at night. They’re like a nightlight, comforting me when I wake up with nightmares, which is often. That brightness chases away the shadows in the darkened corners of my room.
It’s been a magical time, just me and my mom. Days spent at the park or wandering the musty aisles of the local library. Nights cuddling on the couch with a bowl of popcorn between us, while she runs her fingers through my long red hair. Disney princesses promise happily ever after on the television. My mom dances with me around the kitchen, twirling us in circles until my head swims with dizziness, until my heart could burst from happiness.
Over the past few weeks, Mama has become more withdrawn. Worry etches the soft lines of her face, her eyes tight, and her words clipped. No more spinning around in the kitchen. Rose petals fall onto the kitchen table, and she doesn’t clean them up.
“Mama’s going to have to get a job soon, Kitten. Money’s running out,” Mama says.
This scares me. A job means I won’t always be with Mama. I hate the thought of something stealing her away. I’m Mama’s special girl, and we belong together, the two of us against the world. That’s what she says, anyway.
She tells me brightly one morning, “You have a play date today. There’s a little girl downstairs who can’t wait to meet you.”
I’ve seen the girl from far away and am curious. She always has a dirty Barbie doll clutched in her hand. I’ve been itching to get a closer look at it. As exciting as it might be to play with that doll, I still feel unease knot deep in my stomach. Mama spent the morning carefully putting on makeup. Covering her faint freckles with ivory concealer and twisting her blazing red hair into a spiral of curls.
“Don’t touch! Too hot,” she warned repeatedly, holding the curling iron far away.
I think my mother is beautiful, like one of those cartoon princesses. I’m not the only one who sees it. Strangers turn their heads to watch her walk through the grocery store. Men stare at her long, slim legs. Before today I thought my mama didn’t care about her looks, maybe didn’t even realize she was so pretty. Now I’m not sure. The easy way she applied her lipstick and fluffed up her hair made it seem like she’s done it before, many times. There’s something unrecognizable in this painted version of Mama. I don’t trust it.
After slipping into some brand new clickity-clack heels, Mama takes my hand. We walk together down the stairs to knock on the neighbor’s door, which opens to reveal a lady with hair dyed so blonde it’s almost white. There’s a faint line of darker roots at the base of her hair, contrasting against overly tan skin.
Mama bends down to my level. Her hazel-green eyes are the same shade as mine. “Baby, this here is Ms. Brandi. She’s going to look after you today. You be a good girl for her and listen to what she says. Okay?”
I nod solemnly. She doesn’t ask for much, so I’m eager to please. I gulp against the fear choking my throat. “Are you coming back soon?” I have a sudden terrifying thought that I may never see her again.
“Of course, Kitten. I won’t be gone too long. Don’t you worry.” Mom looks away quickly but not before I see the faint sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. That makes me want to cry too, but I’m a big girl so I don’t.
My mom stands to talk to Ms. Brandi, and now I see the little girl peering curiously around her mother’s legs. She stares openly at me, brown eyes scanning me from head to toe. A warm smile breaks over her face as she steps out into the doorway with a quiet, “Hi.”
“Hi.” I’m suddenly shy. I’ve played with kids at the park before but never spent more than an hour or two with another child. I’m not sure what the rules of friendship are. Do we hug? Share each other’s lunch? I try to think of the movies and TV shows I’ve watched for clues but come up blank.
Luckily, the other girl is more self-assured. She grabs my hand with sticky fingers and pulls me deeper into the apartment. “Come see my toys,” she shouts over her shoulder as she drags me along. A thrill of excitement tingles through me. I’m bored with all my toys at home. The thought of playing with something new distracts me so much that I barely hear Mama call out good-bye before the door closes.
“I’m Shelly. What’s your name?” asks the girl as we walk into her room.
“Tiffany,” I answer, looking around in awe. It’s pretty and girly in here, with pink-painted walls and a ruffled bedspread.
“I thought maybe your name was Kitten, because that’s what your mom said.” Shelly tilts her head, a tiny wrinkle forming between her brows.
For the first time, I’m embarrassed by my nickname. “No, that’s just something my mama calls me.”
“Oh. Too bad. That would be a cool name. Cats are my favorite animal. What’s your favorite? Do you want to play kittens?” The little girl speaks lightning fast. I have to concentrate to follow her words.
“Sure. How do we play?” I look around for some cat stuffed animals or toys.
“We pretend, silly!” Shelly gets down on her hands and knees and makes surprisingly realistic meowing sounds.
A grin stretches over my face. My mom plays with me all the time but not games like this. I’ve always wanted a cat, but Mama says the apartment manager won’t let us. I copy Shelly’s movements, and soon we’re roaming around the room, purring and pretending to lick our paws.
We spend hours playing together. Barbies, Hot Wheels, hide and seek. In the middle of the day, Brandi feeds us peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with bright orange Cheetos. It’s my first-time eating the crunchy chips. I watch with fascination as Shelly sucks the thick cheese powder off her fingers one by one. Imitating her, I lick my fingers clean.
Brandi gives us popsicles for dessert. She lets us each pick our favorite color. Shelly takes red, and I choose purple. Brandi shoos us outside with the frozen treats, saying, “Don’t you dare spill and make my floors sticky. Get out, you two.”
I don’t mention that Brandi’s floors are already sticky. My mama taught me manners. My mama says, “If you can’t say something nice, then don’t say anything at all.”
Outside, we sit shoulder to shoulder on the stained concrete steps that lead up to my apartment. Sighing happily, I tip the melted grape popsicle into my mouth.
“Where’s your daddy?” asks Shelly out of the blue.
“I don’t have one.” Popsicle juice spills onto my hand, and I lick it off.
She laughs, an adult laugh. “Everyone has a daddy. Mine went away. Mommy says he’s no good.”
I’ve seen some dads around, but my mama has been with me so much that I never felt the need for one. I haven’t stopped to consider where mine might be.
The sound of heels on concrete makes us look up. Mom’s home. She looks tired but triumphant. I jump up, leaving the empty popsicle wrapper behind me on the ground, forgotten. I fly to Mama and hug her legs.
Suddenly I’m crying. I don’t know why. I’ve been having fun with Shelly, but seeing Mama releases a weight I didn’t know I was carrying. It crashes down around me. The thought of someday losing her reoccurs, and I sob jaggedly.
Brandi comes outside to see what the commotion is all about. “Goodness!” she exclaims when she sees my tear-streaked face. “I swear she was fine a minute ago,” she tells Mom and shoots me an irritated glare.
Mama scoops me up into her arms and rocks me like I’m a toddler. I’m too upset to care that I’m being treated like a younger child instead of the big five-year-old girl that I am. I wrap my legs around Mama’s waist and bury my face in her neck. She smells sweet, like wild roses.
Rubbing a comforting hand on my back, Mom tells Brandi, “I’m sure she’s just tired. It’s been a big day for her.”
My mom talks to Brandi for a few more minutes and then carries me upstairs. We snuggle together on the old worn-out plaid couch for the rest of the night. I keep a close eye on her, following her into the bathroom and kitchen the few times she leaves the room.
Later, Mama tells me, “I got a job today, Kitten. I’m going to work in that big casino we drive past sometimes. You know, the fancy one with the marble columns in the front that looks like it’s from Italy. Ms. Brandi will watch you in the daytime when I’m gone. Then I’m going to watch Shelly here at our place when Brandi works at night. Won’t that be fun? You’ll finally have someone to play with.”
I don’t know what to think about this. I like Shelly but hate to be away from Mama. “Do you have to?” I ask in a plaintive voice.
She sighs. “Yes, honey, I do.”
As she tucks me into bed that night, I suddenly remember. “Mama, where’s my daddy?”
She steps back, a glimmer of alarm passing over her so quickly I almost miss it. She’s quiet for a moment, thinking. Finally, she says, “He died. It was a long time ago. I’m sorry, Kitten.”
That night I cry in the dark for a father I’ll never meet.