12. Maya
12
MAYA
“ Y ou look lovely tonight.” Dad insists on walking arm in arm with me through the restaurant doors. Always, it’s about what other people think. How they perceive us. And right now, the people seated closest to where we enter perceive us as a doting father and his smiling daughter. If they looked closer, they would notice how my smile is a little too hard. Forced. Painful. But nobody ever looks that close, do they? Not even my father.
I have to wonder if he would care, even if he did look closer. But he’s not capable of that. He’s too busy thinking about himself, adjusting his silk necktie discreetly while waiting for the hostess to flag down our server.
“You really didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” I tell him in a soft voice. This is the kind of restaurant where they serve fancy, pretentious food. The sort of place where the chefs win awards and try to innovate. I would be happy with a burger and fries.
“A girl only turns eighteen once.” Our server motions for us to follow her, and we fall in step behind her, passing tables full of people. Some of them recognize Dad and nod their acknowledgment while he does the same in return. I might as well not be here.
When we reach an empty table and the server steps back to give us room to sit, I pause at the sight of three place settings waiting for us. Dad clears his throat and shoots the girl a look. “There are only two of us dining tonight.”
She murmurs an apology and clears the third setting away while Dad scowls. I wonder why, but I have bigger things on my mind.
As much as I can’t stand this charade, this dinner has its uses, too. There’s something I need to talk to him about, and doing it here in such a fancy restaurant where there are so many witnesses might be the safest way to approach the topic. He’s not going to be happy either way. I have to try to protect myself.
“Iced tea, please,” I murmur when the server asks what I would like to drink. Dad orders scotch on the rocks. Once we’re alone with our menus, I turn to him, since I might as well get it over with quickly. Otherwise, there’s no way I’ll be able to eat a bite of food with my nerves as raw as they are when I imagine how he could blow up.
“So, Dad.” I try to smile happily, but it’s not really possible feeling the way I do right now. “I’ve been thinking.”
“I’ll alert the press.” Somehow, he manages to sound pleasant, like he’s teasing me. We both know the truth. He means it.
“And now that I’m eighteen,” I continue, “I think it’s time for me to move out. Just to the dorms.”
Record scratch. His eyelids flutter, his fake smile slipping. “Excuse me?”
Okay. Not a terrible first reaction. “Yeah, into the dorms. Everybody else lives there. They get to stick around on campus and hang out, and you know, have social lives. I have to drive straight home after class. I feel like an outsider.”
It all trips so smoothly out of my mouth, I could almost believe I actually mean every word. Not that I’m lying, exactly—it would be nice to roll out of bed and walk to class the way so many people get to do.
But it’s not like I would make any friends. I don’t need to. I just need to get away from him. I can’t stand the idea of spending another day walking through the front door and looking at the foot of the stairs to where my mother died. Every day, I see her just as fresh and clear as I did when it happened. There’s never any escape—not that I deserve it, but still. It would be nice to not have it thrown in my face.
And then there’s the idea of not having to see him anymore, which is even more attractive.
“You think I would let you do that?” His voice is quiet, but tension simmers under the surface, bubbling a little, making me wonder how long it will be until he reaches a boil. “You think I would let you live there? Away from me, where I won’t know whether you’re safe? Do you know what happens to college girls with no one to look after them, Maya?”
What would he think if he knew what has happened to me so far? “Dad, be serious, please. I just want a little freedom. That’s all I’m looking for. To start a life on my own.”
“On your own?” He snorts softly, showing me exactly how much respect he has for my wishes. Not that it’s a surprise. “Interesting, hearing you describe it that way. You wouldn’t be able to do it on your own. Have you forgotten I am the person who pays the bills? I subsidize your entire lifestyle. I’ll be the one paying for your new tires. I am the one who pays your tuition. I keep you fed and clothed.”
“I know that,” I whisper, looking down at the menu and scanning its contents when the server returns to ask if we’ve had a chance to make a decision. Feeling the way I do, something tells me everything will taste the same, anyway. What difference does it make? I order a pasta dish that looks at least reasonably edible, without too much fussiness, while he orders a steak that was supposedly aged for years or something.
While he orders, my mind races. I knew he wouldn’t just roll over and give me what I want. After we’ve handed back our menus, I murmur, “Then I’ll just go off on my own. I’ll find a way to make it work. I’m an adult now.”
Snorting, he retorts, “Just because you’ve reached a certain number of years on this planet does not make you an adult, little girl. You aren’t capable of supporting yourself. You are not truly an adult yet.”
“How could I be without a chance? I need to at least try. I could find a job.”
“Right. An eighteen-year-old can make enough money to get an apartment on her own while still going to school. You live in a fantasy world. All the more reason for you to remain under my roof.” He wears a triumphant smirk as he lifts his glass to his lips.
He thinks he’s won. Maybe he has. I don’t want to drop out of school. There’s no way I could afford it on my own. I knew those were the terms he would set, but somehow, I hoped. I’m still na?ve enough to hope.
What would he do if I got up now and walked out? The idea floats through my mind as we wait for a shared platter of meats and cheeses to start the meal. I could walk right now, and he would have no choice but to let me go unless he wanted to make a big scene. But where would I go? I don’t have a friend to turn to. Not even Wren. Besides, it would mean staying with her and Briggs, and I couldn’t impose, even if we were on speaking terms right now. I painted myself into a corner, basically.
“Thank you,” Dad tells the girl when she leaves the antipasto and bread. Eating gives me something to do besides sit and wish I had thought to bring something sharp with me. What am I going to do? How do I escape?
I notice the way Dad’s posture changes out of the corner of my eye. “Clark, what are you doing here?”
Lifting my head, munching on an olive, I find a middle-aged man approaching the table. Average looking, a pencil pusher for sure, with thinning brown hair and a slight paunch. He wears a wide, beaming smile, shaking Dad’s hand before turning to me. “And who is this?” he asks, his smile going wider. I’ve played this role before. The smiling, dutiful daughter who is always expected to be a credit to her father. One of my many roles.
“Clark Jenkins, this is my daughter, Maya. Maya celebrated her eighteenth birthday yesterday,” Dad explains, and nobody would know the conversation we just had. The way he talked down to me, the way he routinely degrades me to make sure I know my place. I am so tired of the hypocrisy. Literally weary from it.
There’s nothing to do about that now. I force a smile I don’t feel and shake the man’s hand. It’s clammy, making my skin crawl in distaste, but I’m good at disconnecting from reality.
He holds it a moment or two too long before letting go and looking at Dad with his eyebrows lifted. “Please, have a seat,” Dad invites, while my insides go cold in disgust. I shoot him a confused, surprised look, since this was supposed to be a dinner for the two of us.
“If you insist.” Clark chuckles as he takes the seat to my right, his knee brushing mine under the table before I pull it away. Now I wish I had worn something to cover every inch of skin rather than a knee-length dress with a cardigan over the top. I’m starting to get a creepy feeling about this. Dad wouldn’t go to these lengths, would he?
Wait, what am I saying? Of course he would. I would put nothing past him.
“Congratulations,” Clark murmurs with a twinkle in his eye that turns my stomach. He’s around Dad’s age, if not a little older, but he’s looking me up and down like I’m dessert. He doesn’t even bother hiding it. These are the kind of people my father spends time with. That shouldn’t come as a surprise.
“Thank you.” Looking at Dad doesn’t help. He doesn’t offer any clue what I’m supposed to think about this, how I’m supposed to feel. The appetite I was struggling to find is nonexistent, so I pick listlessly at my food, silently praying this will end quickly. Before I start screaming.
“Now that you’re a young woman, officially,” Clark continues, “what are your plans?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You must have some plans. A beautiful young woman like you?”
What has that got to do with anything? This is getting worse by the second. I want to crawl under the table and never come back. Dad just sits there smiling and murmuring his encouragement, but it’s an empty expression. There’s nothing behind it, nothing in his eyes. They’re just as empty as he is.
“I haven’t thought too much about it.” I can’t stand looking at him for another second, so I don’t, looking down at my plate instead. It’s a good thing I’m so practiced at disconnecting. It comes in handy at moments like this, when it’s either stop caring or start screaming. Wouldn’t that be a memorable birthday dinner? If I started screaming for everyone in the restaurant to hear? I would rather make a scene like that than suffer through this another moment longer.
He hasn’t given up. He still wants to sell me to the highest bidder. What is he getting out of it, I wonder? How much money would I go for? My fingers tighten around my fork and, for one brief but thrilling second, I imagine the satisfaction of sliding it through his eyeball. Hearing him scream. At least it might mean getting a little of my own back. Respecting myself a little after being humiliated this way.
“You know,” Clark suggests as a third plate is added for him by the very confused, slightly exasperated server. Now I see this entire charade for what it was. Clark was always going to join us. Dad just didn’t want to let me know too soon. “I would love the pleasure of taking you out to celebrate, just the two of us. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a beautiful young woman on my arm, and you are certainly beautiful.” He has to search for my knee under the table, reaching for it before making contact. His touch leaves me biting the inside of my cheek to keep from shrieking at him to leave me the fuck alone.
Between the intimacy in his voice and the way he looks at me, like he’s undressing me with his beady eyes, I might have to throw up. How do people like this actually exist? Don’t they know how disgusting they are?
“Now, I know you’re not so overwhelmed you can’t be grateful for a compliment.” Dad nudges my foot with his under the table. “Don’t be rude.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, willing myself to get through it. The steak knife next to Dad’s plate is looking awfully appealing right now—my fists tighten, and I wish I had the guts to reach for it. Later, when I’m alone in my room, I can take care of it.
Somehow, I manage to make it through the rest of the meal, with Dad and Clark making quiet plans as we wait for the valet to bring the car around. Clark’s hand touches my lower back as he helps me into the car, even though I don’t need it. It takes everything I have to not shudder in revulsion. Only once he’s closed the door after shooting one last, lingering look at my boobs can I release the breath I was holding.
Not that my relief lasts long. “I have to say, I’m disappointed.” Now that we’re alone, Dad can let the mask fall away, and he wastes no time once we are on the move. “You sat there acting like some blushing little idiot while a man like Clark treated you so well.”
“Did I ask him to? Dad, he’s your age. That’s gross.”
“Grow up,” he sneers. “You want to be treated like an adult? Then start here and now. You live in the real world, not some fantasy land where everybody gets what they want. And to think, you’re so eager to get out on your own.” His nasty laughter sends a chill down my spine. “Here I am, offering you the opportunity.”
It finally sinks in. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse. “Dad, I’m not going to marry him.” There’s nothing funny about the situation, but I laugh, mostly in disbelief. Which century does he think we live in?
“I wish you wouldn’t shut the idea down without giving it some honest thought.”
“I don’t understand what there is to think about.” I feel like I’m in deep water, dark, kicking and moving my arms, but in just as deep as ever. There’s no pulling myself out of it. I could scream all I wanted, but no one would hear me.
“He’s a decent man. I trust him.” Glancing my way, he asks, “What, you think I would hand you over to someone I don’t trust? You don’t think I would consider every possibility when it comes to your safety and protection?”
And my happiness? Who am I kidding? He doesn’t care about my happiness. My chance at having a parent who gave a damn about anything like that died years ago, thanks to me.
“I can promise you one thing, Maya.” Any attempt at tenderness has drained out of his voice, not that he was trying very hard in the first place. “You will not do better than him. Clark is your best hope of finding a good husband who will keep you comfortable and cared for all your life.”
How does he know? Does he honestly have such little faith in me? That’s a stupid question. Of course he does. He has no faith in me at all, because he doesn’t think of me as anything more than a pawn. Something to be sold or traded. I’m not a person with wants or needs or dreams of my own. I’m an extension of him, like his arm or his leg. Although something tells me he would care more about one of his limbs than he does about me.
There’s no point in arguing right now. I need to figure out how I’m going to handle this, and begging isn’t going to make a difference. If anything, he’ll only be more determined the harder I beg.
There’s nothing for me to do but wrap my arms around myself and gaze out the window, watching the world fly past. That’s how I feel. Like the world is passing me by while I sit still. Right now, I can’t imagine things ever getting any better.