41. Laila
41
LAILA
“You don’t need to do this.” Mom squirms in the salon chair, refusing to look in the mirror. “You should be resting.”
“I promised you a trip to the salon and that’s what you’re gonna get, so help me God.” I snip an uneven strand of hair from the back. “Even if it’s to a salon where the hairdresser is too pregnant to bend over and you leave looking worse than you arrived.”
“That’s impossible,” she mutters.
Mom has never been vain. She’s always been too sturdy for that—too busy raising me and carrying our family on her shoulders to worry about the aesthetics of it all. But my heart still breaks to hear how low her confidence has sunk.
As if cancer hasn’t stolen enough from her.
I bend as far as I can—which, to be clear, is not far—and spin her chair around so I can look her in the eyes. “You’re beautiful, Ma, and if you even think about arguing, I’ll dye your hair blue. I have that kind of power.”
She can’t help but smile. “Blue could be fun. It’s not like it matters, anyway. No one is going to see me.”
I turn her chair back to the mirror. “ I have to look at you, and blue isn’t your color. And I don’t think Arsen built a salon in his house for you to start experimenting.”
“Arsen did this?”
I smile like an idiot the moment she mentions his name. “Well, I mentioned that you wanted to go to the salon, but with the germs and your immune system, it wasn’t a great idea. Next thing I know—” I gesture to the salon chair and standing mirror that’s tucked into a corner of the sitting room. “ This.”
Her eyes linger on my face, a small, secretive smile playing across her lips.
“What?” I ask when she won’t stop staring at me in the mirror.
“Oh, nothing.”
“That look is not ‘nothing,’” I accuse. “That look is definitely something.”
“You’re glowing, Laila. And I don’t think it has anything to do with the baby.”
My heart does a nervous flip, the same one it’s done every time I’ve thought about this conversation with my mom. The same one it’s done every time I’ve thought about this topic at all for the last two days, really.
Which brings me to the inevitable next part. It’s now or never. “Mom, I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you something.”
“You and Arsen are together?” she blurts.
“And maybe I shouldn’t have waited,” I laugh. “Looks like someone ruined the surprise.”
“No, you told me. In your own way.” She reaches out, and I have to bend to let her cup my cheek. Her hand is cold to the touch, and frightfully thin. “You’ve been so happy. Plus, I was waiting for this. I had a sense the first time I met Arsen.”
“You did?”
“He obviously cared about you. And it was just as obvious that you’ve been smitten since the beginning. I assumed you were waiting out of respect.”
“Respect for what?”
“His wife,” she says softly. “I know they didn’t have the best relationship, but still… he needed to mourn.”
I almost forgot about Natascha, which calls for some kind of unholy smiting, I’m sure.
Smiting or not, at least I’ll die happy.
The day after our little heart to heart, Arsen presented me with an updated contract. One that gave me equal rights and custody over our daughter whether we stay married or not, though Arsen made it clear he’d like to stay married.
I signed without hesitation.
“Mom, there’s more,” I admit, swiveling her chair around and sitting down opposite her. “This is going to come as a shock…”
“Tell me.” Her gaze locks on me. All the unconditional love in her eyes makes me feel even worse for keeping so many secrets.
“First of all, it happened fast. So fast that I wasn’t thinking. If I had been thinking, you absolutely would have been there. Because I wanted you there. It just happened so fast, and I was caught up in the moment and?—”
“I’m working with limited time, and you’re eating it all up, sweetheart. Out with it.”
Heat floods my cheeks as I spit out, “I’m married. To Arsen. Arsen and I are married.”
Mom’s hands slip from mine. “Married?”
“Yes. I know this is a shock, but?—”
“You eloped?”
“Well…”
Actually, he dragged me out of bed and pulled me into a surprise marriage ceremony in the living room. You were just down the hall, but since it was against my will, I decided not to wake you.
“Yes,” I say, sidestepping that shitshow of an explanation. “Yes, we eloped.”
I don’t want to lie to her, but the grisly details of the truth seem unnecessary. Especially since it doesn’t reflect how far Arsen and I have come.
“Okay, let me get this straight.” She holds up both hands. I don’t miss the way they tremble in the air. “Arsen is the father of your baby, and now, the two of you are married?”
I brace for impact. “Er, yes. That more or less sums it up.”
“Oh my God!” She lurches out of the chair and grabs me, screeching as she shakes me around in excitement. “I can’t believe this! You’re married!”
My ear is ringing. “You’re not mad?”
“Oh, honey!” She releases me with a laugh, squishing my face between her hands. “Of course I’m not mad. This is wonderful news!”
“But I got married,” I repeat stupidly. “And you weren’t there.”
“I would’ve loved to be there—I’m sure you were a beautiful bride—but I’m so relieved.”
I decide to never tell her I got married with puffy sleep face, wearing a pair of Arsen’s sweatpants.
“‘Relieved’?”
“I’ve been worried about you the last several months, what with the pregnancy and putting your yoga dream on the back burner. It just feels like you’ve had to sacrifice a lot.” She brushes away her tears and takes a staggering breath. “It’s no secret that I didn’t want you to give up this baby. And now, you don’t have to.”
I nod, hardly believing it all myself.
“Now, not only do you get to keep your child, but you’ll have a family of your own. After I’m gone, you’ll still have them.”
“You’re not going anywhere any time soon,” I say firmly, hoping that my words will make it true. “You have to meet your granddaughter.”
Tears drip down Mom’s cheek, right over her scars. “You have no idea how much I want that.”
We stare at each other for several long seconds, a pair of matching, tear-stained messes, one of whom has a slightly worse haircut than the other.
Finally, I swipe at my cheeks and shake my head. “This is silly. We shouldn’t be crying.”
“You’re right—we should be celebrating! My daughter is married. And I’m going to be a grandma soon.” She gasps, clapping her hands together. “We should organize a baby shower!”
“No, no, no,” I veto quickly. “This baby already has everything she needs.”
“A baby shower isn’t just for the baby; it’s for the mom, too. You’ve had a tough go of it lately, but now, you have something to celebrate. And celebrate, we shall.”
I have to admit—the idea does sound nice. But as I take in my mother’s waxy complexion and the dark circles under her eyes, I don’t feel much like celebrating.
“After she’s born,” I assure her. “Once you feel stronger.”
“Lai—”
A sharp rap on the door interrupts. I set down my scissors and open it gratefully.
Gratefully, that is, until I find Matvei standing on the other side, his clothes drenched with rain.
“Sorry to disturb you, ma’am,” he says respectfully. “But there’s a visitor for you at the front gate. He’s not on the approved list of guests, so I didn’t let him in. Now, he’s refusing to leave.”
Showing up uninvited and refusing to take a hint is all the description I need. Still, I drop my voice and ask, “Older man, big nose?”
Matvei nods, and, fuck me, I should’ve seen this coming.
Nothing good can happen in my life without my father finding some way to spoil it.
“I’ll be right there.”
I take my time putting the finishing touches on Mom before I settle her into bed. If my dad wants to drop in unannounced, the least he can do is wait patiently for me to kick him right back out.
By the time I’m walking to the front gate, I’m jittery. This confrontation has been brewing for months, and I wasn’t sure it would ever come to a head. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel when the time did eventually come. Now, I have my answer.
Feisty.
It’s raining, and I told Matvei I didn’t need an umbrella, but he trails just behind me with one anyway.
“Thanks, Matvei,” I say before I step through the side gate. “I can take it from here.”
“Miss Laila?—”
I hold up my hand. “Stay close by if you want. If he so much as touches me, feel free to haul him off. Deal?”
He glances around like he expects Arsen to swoop out of the shadows and fire him at any moment. “Deal.”
I pat him on the back and walk through the gate.
My father has become some hulking, shadowy monster in my mind, always lurking on the edge of things, waiting to strike. But as I turn the corner and see him, he looks so much smaller than I remember.
He’s wearing a thick coat that’s a size too big. His hair is graying at the temples and his cheeks are caved in enough that I wonder if he isn’t sick, too.
“Charles.” I mean it to come out calm and confident, but it emerges in a squeak instead.
He pulls his hands out of his soaking wet coat pockets and turns to me, not even glancing at my huge stomach. “They wouldn’t let me in.”
“You need special clearance to enter.”
“I’m your father. That should be all the special clearance I need.”
So many things about him are so familiar. The way he moves, the sound of his voice, the way my heart tugs just a little at the mere sight of him.
But none of it changes what he’s done. Who he is. Who he’s shown himself to be.
“No, you’re not,” I say quietly. “I’ve never had a father.”
His eyes narrow. “Don’t be like that.”
“Don’t pretend like we have a relationship.”
“I wrote.”
“A couple birthday cards where you misspelled my name. I wouldn’t pat yourself on the back for that.”
His jaw flexes. “I called.”
“To speak to Mom.”
His eyes flick past me towards the house. “Where is she? Is she in there? You can’t keep me from my own wife.”
The snort comes out through my nose. “Last I checked, you divorced her because she got into a car accident that left her—how did you put it?—‘ hideously disfigured .’”
“Who told you that?”
He didn’t know I was listening in. Good—I hope he dies ashamed of himself.
“If you have any decency at all, you’ll crawl back into the hole you came out of and leave us the hell alone.”
He lifts his chin high into the air. “Marie will want to see me.”
I make a disgusted sound and twist around, prepared to leave him outside to stew in the rain if that’s what he wants.
“That house is mine!” he yells at my back. “You clearly don’t need it anymore. You’ve got yourself a sugar daddy.”
I turn around long enough to shake my head. “You are pathetic.” When I try to walk away, though, his hand clamps down on my arm. “Ow! Let me go. That hurts.”
His dark eyes are slits of anger. “Listen to me, you little?—”
But he never gets to finish his sentence, because he’s ripped off me. Matvei must’ve taken my words to heart.
But when I turn around, I realize that it’s not Matvei who has come to my rescue.
“You must have a death wish, Charles.”