Authors: Jackie Lee Miles
I get a letter from Bridget. She’s been gone for exactly two weeks. Finally I have her address. I tear open the envelope praying that by some miracle she is coming back to Atlanta. Maybe her father hates his promotion, or better yet hates London.
Dear Andi,
Charlotte is the pits. Not that there’s anything wrong with the city. It’s my Aunt Ellen. She is driving me bananas. She’s some kind of history nut and insists I need to learn all about Charlotte, like I could care that it’s known as The Hornet’s Nest, or the reason why. Which in case you’re interested, is because this British General was driven out of this place during the American Revolution and he wrote that Charlotte was a hornet’s nest of rebellion. Where am I ever going to use that fact? I don’t plan on being on
Jeopardy
. This city is also known as the City of Churches. Take one guess why. It’s also where Billy Graham was born. Every morning at breakfast I get a quiz from my Aunt Ellen. “What is Charlotte the historic seat of?” she asks. Ashley, that’s my cousin, doesn’t wait for me to answer, even though this time I know it. It’s the seat of Southern Presbyterianism. Ashley just butts right in and gives the answer which makes my Aunt Ellen light up like a match. Ashley’s twelve years old and has never had a sister. So guess who’s nominated? She hangs all over me. Worse, she is a Camp Fire Girl and now my Aunt Ellen insists I have to join, too. Ashley’s been in it since she was a Blue Bird, which is what they call the younger ones. Each year the organization does something different to further their cause. This year they introduced the second phase of “Teens in Action.” That part’s kind of cool. You learn all about serving your community. But the uniform’s awful. I told my aunt I really don’t want to wear it. She said, “Nonsense. A uniform creates a sense of belonging. You’re going to be part of something important.” This means I have no choice in the matter.
They’ve been letting boys join for a while so now it’s known as Camp Fire USA. Our group doesn’t have any boys. What does that tell you?
One nice thing is we get snow here. Last year they got four inches. But I probably won’t be here then. At least I hope not, but if I am at least I’ll get to see snow.
That’s all for now. Are you doing okay? Do you see your Dad and Donna? If my Dad had never married her none of this stuff would be happening. Who would have thought that saying “I do,” especially when she didn’t, would change entire lives?
Bridget
I put the pages back in the envelope. I need to show them to my mother, so she can see how unhappy Bridget is. Then maybe she could come and stay with us until her father gets settled and maybe it would take him years to get settled and me and Bridget could finish growing up together. There are so many maybes.
***
Tonight my father is taking me to dinner again. You’d think he could think of something else to do for once. I’m only going because my mother wants me to. I have three outfits laid out on the bed and I can’t decide which one I want to wear. It really shouldn’t matter, but I’m thinking maybe my clothes could make a statement like all the fashion magazines refer to. My clothes could jump out and say you’re a low-down dirty rat and you’ll be sorry.
I decide on a black skirt with two T-shirts worn one over the other, a white one underneath and a pink and black paisley one worn on top. It’s the new look—layered. I just got my hair cut and it’s clean and shiny. All I need is some gloss and mascara and I’m ready. I look in the mirror. Beth stares back at me. I blink. It’s hard to believe but I look more and more like her with each passing month. A year ago I never thought I’d grow up looking so good. It’s a miracle.
“Well, don’t you look nice,” my mother says. I shrug my shoulders. I guess the statement I wanted to make is a lost cause. The door chimes ring. My father’s right on time. Rosa opens the door. I can hear her chattering away.
“So good see you,” she says.
My father walks into the library like he owns the place and then I realize he does. It won’t really be my mother’s ’til after the divorce, which won’t be long. Turns out you can get a divorce in Georgia quicker than you can get a dentist appointment.
“Hello, Andi,” my father says. “Margaret.” He nods his head at my mother and offers a slight smile. My mother doesn’t smile back, but she doesn’t frown either. She just stands there looking like an animal that’s jumped in front of a car. I’m thinking it still isn’t real to her, my father not being here, my father divorcing her, my father getting ready to marry Donna.
There’s a lump in my throat as big as Texas.
“All set?” he says.
I don’t bother to answer. I sling my purse over my shoulder and head for the door.
“Have a nice time,” my mother calls out.
I climb into the front seat of the car. My father pulls out of the circular driveway. “I have a reservation at Chima Brazilian Steakhouse,” he says.
Whatever.
“You’ll like it. They serve sixteen meats tableside and have the largest salad bar in Buckhead.”
The thought of food starts to dissolve the lump in my throat. I realize I didn’t have lunch and I’m starving. At least I’ll get a good meal.
“All of the artwork on the walls comes from Brazil as do most of the furnishings,” my father explains. “It’s a very impressive place. You can tell your friends about it.”
He is so out of it. My best friend is hundreds of miles away all because of him and he expects me to chatter away about what restaurant I’ve been to.
“Bridget’s in North Carolina,” I say. “There’s no one to tell.”
“Surely she’s not your only friend,” my father says as he pulls into the restaurant parking lot. “What about all your friends at your party?”
I just nod my head. No sense getting into it. He comes around and opens the door of the car for me. He places his hand in the small of my back and escorts me to the front door of the entrance. His hand feels warm. It makes me feel safe. I want to turn and throw my arms around his neck and beg him to come back to us. The very thought of it makes me catch my breath.
“Here we are,” he says and reaches for the door.
The maître d’ greets us. My father steps forward, “Reservation for St. James. Party of three,” he says.
Party of three—he’s so used to having my mother with us when we dine out. Tears gather in the corner of my eyes remembering just how many times we’ve done that and will never do it again.
I follow the maître d’. The dining room is enormous. It could easily seat three hundred people. Even so it feels warm and cozy. The lights are low and the tables are placed close together. There are crisp white tablecloths and candles. The salad bars are islands located on one side of the room. On the other side is a wall of windows to the kitchen where you can see the meat being cooked rotisserie-style. The meat is brought in by gauchos who wear Brazilian cowboy outfits, including tall boots, black pants, a white shirt and a red scarf. They’re constantly in motion. They’re carrying skewers of meat and stopping at tables here and there to cut slices of meat directly onto the customers’ plates. My father is right. It really is an interesting place.
We’ve reached our table. At first it’s hard to see in the dim lighting that someone is already sitting at it. Party of three—I should have known. I’ll give you one guess who is already at our table.
“Hello, Andi,” Donna says. “How nice to see you!” She’s trying to be so sweet. I turn to my father.
“You didn’t tell me Donna would be here.” I’m being a brat but I can’t help myself. If I act nice I’ll feel like I’m being disloyal to my mother.
“We wanted to surprise you,” my father says. “We have some exciting news.”
Nothing they say can be exciting for me. My whole life is one big mess and they’re all smiles. Plus Donna looks especially beautiful. She has on a white eyelet sundress and a simple silver chain around her neck with a heart edged in diamonds. It looks very simple, but elegant, and I wonder if it’s a gift from my father. Of course, my mother is also very attractive and elegant, but Donna is a lot younger and it makes me mad. My father’s fifty-three. He has to be old enough to be her father, which is totally disgusting, even if they do this in Hollywood all the time. Atlanta is not Hollywood.
Menus are placed in front of us. Our gaucho explains that we may select the all-you-can-eat meat option at $48.50, which includes continuous service from the gauchos along with the salad bar.
“Or you may select to fill your plates only from the salad bar for $28.50,” he says, and hands us a menu that has the full selection of meats available.
“We’ll each have the full selection,” my father says.
Good. At least it will cost him plenty and I won’t eat a bite. If I’m going to be a brat I might as well be a big one. I’m going to cut up the meat and scatter it all over my plate. I’ll mush it around with my fork. Let them see what a mess I’ve become. Let them know they’ve totally ruined my life.
But when our gaucho brings our first order—filet mignon—I remember how hungry I am, that is, my stomach remembers. I’m drooling. I can hardly cut up the pieces fast enough. Our server brings side dishes of fried bananas, and tasty fried polenta with Parmesan cheese and mashed potatoes that melt in your mouth, along with a huge basket of cheese bread fresh from the oven. It’s no use. I’ll have to find some other way to be a brat. Right now I eat like I’ve never seen food before. They place a medallion by the side of our plates. If one side is up, the gaucho appears again with a large selection of meat to choose from. If the other side is up they pass you by. They don’t pass me by. The next go around I choose the leg of lamb. It’s smothered in spices and is heaven on a stick.
I’ve decided that I am going to bury myself in the other parts of my life and pretend my father and Donna don’t even exist—though I must admit this is going to be difficult to do. Already they are entangling me in their plans. The good news they had at dinner is they have decided to get married in Mallorca and would like me to go with them for the ceremony and to stay for a few days afterwards to tour the island. Then I can fly back and they will continue their honeymoon.
“I’ve never heard of Mallorca,” I say, making a face.
“Certainly you’ve heard of that. It’s a beautiful island off the coast of Spain. You’ll have a very good time,” he insists, and pats my hand.
“There’s a magnificent fourteenth-century Gothic cathedral in nearby Palma,” Donna says. Her eyes sparkle like sequins. “That’s where we want to be married. It’ll be a trip of a lifetime, Andi. You’re going to have the best time.”
It’s hard to have a good time when your mother is sitting home newly divorced and all alone.
“I can’t go,” I say. “It would be hard on my mother.” I stare into her eyes and try to put out the sparkle.
“Nonsense,” my father says. “She and Vivian are planning a trip to the south of France. I’ve already talked with her about it.”
The south of France? When did that come about? It’s amazing you can live in the same house with a person and not know anything that is going on in their life.
I have to admit that I’ve never seen my father happier than he is when he’s with Donna. They’re very attentive to each other. Every once in a while my father will brush his hand against the side of her face. It’s a very small gesture, sure, but it is so tender it makes my heart sit up and pinch itself.
“Well, I’ll talk to mom.”
My father pays the check and we leave the restaurant. Donna puts her arm around me on the way out the door and says she looks forward to many more nice evenings out. “You’re always welcome, Andi,” she says. “Don’t forget that.” And she squeezes my hand. She’s being so nice it’s hard to hate her.
***
“Andi,” my mother says when I get home. “Come sit with me.” She pats the sofa and scoots over to make room for me.
I take a seat next to her. She puts her arm around my shoulder. “I thought it would be good for us to talk about what’s happened. Are you doing alright?”
I don’t know what to say. I want to tell her I’m miserable and my life is a total mess and I won’t ever forgive my father. But I’m afraid that would make her feel even worse than she already does. But if I say I’m fine, that seems like I don’t care at all what she’s going through. I just can’t win. I decide to tell her exactly how I feel and see what happens. I hope she won’t start crying. I haven’t seen her do that in days, so I’m hoping she’s got the crying part out of her system.
“Well, I’m not really okay,” I say. “I never counted on you and Daddy getting a divorce—even when I found out about Donna. I just thought he’d get, you know, over it and come back to his senses, and be real sorry over it and spend his life making it up to you, to us.”
“Mostly that only happens in fairy tales.” My mother turns toward me and takes my hand in hers. “Tell me what’s going on with you and your father. Are you able to forgive him?”
“Never!” I nearly jump up off the sofa. “I think I hate him! I definitely want to hate Donna, but she’s being very nice and—”
“Andi, Andi,” my mother whispers my name. “I know this will be hard, but let me tell you something. You don’t hate your father. You’re angry with him. There’s a difference.”
This makes me start to cry, because she’s right. I don’t really hate my father. I want him to come home. I want things like they were before, even if he wasn’t always so nice to my mother.
“The thing is, Andi,” my mother explains, “when we love someone—really love them—we want them to be happy.” She takes her hanky and dabs at my eyes. “Your father was no longer happy with me. I’ve had to face that. And when he met Donna, obviously she made him happy again and he wasn’t willing to give that happiness up.” She turns and puts her arm around me again and pulls me close. “I’ll always love your father, Andi. At least I think I will, but if I’m not what he wants in life than being with him would not bring me much joy, now would it? Don’t you want me to have joy? You wouldn’t want him to stay with me and just pretend he wants to be here, would you?”
I look at my mother and tears are running down my face. I don’t want her to know it, but that’s exactly what I want. I want him to come home and pretend my mother is all he ever wants in life and keep pretending until he no longer has to. Keep pretending until he no longer needs to. Until he falls in love with her all over again.