Vanished in Chicago (Vanished)

“Jakub.” I am putting on my shirt when I hear her call my name.

“Hey baby. Come here.” Opening my arms, I exhale the moment she is in them. “How was school?”

“It was okay.” She sounds upset about something and it has me gnashing my teeth.

“What happened, Tink? Was it your teacher?” She has this fucking teacher that seems to be a bit of a prick and I get this uneasy feeling when she talks about him. I think it might be time for me to pay him a visit.

“Yeah. He was just an asshole today. Nothing new. Is your mom going to be here?” I kiss her head as I continue to hold her and breathe in the smell of her shampoo.

“Yeah baby. She should be here any minute. Are you nervous?”

“A little.” So fucking sweet.

“No need to be, baby. She is going to love you.” She nods her head but keeps it tucked into my chest. I hold her for a bit longer until I hear the beep of the door and I know my mom has returned. “Give me a kiss and let's go do this.” She lifts her head giving me her mouth. The moment her tongue touches mine I roar to life. I begin walking her into the wall, intent on fucking her against it, and then I hear my mother call my name. My little fairy whimpers in my arms when I pull away. “Come on greedy girl.” Let’s get this over with.

“Mama, this is my Chiara. Princess, this is my mama, Paulina.” I make the introduction as soon as we walk in, and I watch as my mom scrutinizes her.

“Chiara. What a beautiful name. It is not Polish, is it?” I look at my mom, surprised she even asked. She has never once expressed a desire for my brother and I to marry a Polish girl so what the fuck is this?

“No. It is Italian.”

“I see. Italian girls have quick tempers, no?”

“I mean, I guess. Well, except my twin sister, Lily. I have never even heard her curse before.” My mom continues to study her and nods her head.

Are you from Chicago?”

“New York. I came here to study art for the summer at the University of Chicago.”

“So, you like art?” I want to give my mom a look, so she cuts the inquisition, but she is expertly ignoring me and not looking my way.

“I love Art. I love the expression of individuality. There is something to be said for being able to put your personality on a canvas.” My chest puffs out in pride as her passion comes through.

“I agree. What are your plans after school?”

“To be honest I don’t really know.” She looks at me when she says that, and I get her hesitation. She is not ready to admit to herself we are a done deal, but in her heart she knows.

“Do you want a family? Children?”

“Of course. I can have both a passion and a family, can’t I?”

“That’s what I hear.'' The melancholy in my mom's voice at not having those choices, pierces a part of me that wishes I could give her everything she deserves for the shit hand she was dealt. “My son is in love with you. Do you feel the same?” Hell. I am glad I had nothing in my mouth, it would have been sprayed everywhere. What the hell has gotten into her?

“To be honest, I feel something, I won’t lie. But how can I trust what I feel is real and not just for survival considering how I came to be here?” Ouch. Even though I know the truth, hearing her answer hurt like I didn’t anticipate. I know she loves me. I see it when she looks in my eyes as I am pounding at her womb planting my son in it. A woman not in love wouldn’t let a man plant his seed inside of her. I just need her to believe in us and trust me. My mom shocks me again and grabs her hand.

“That is a very good question, sweet girl. A very good question.” She says it with such compassion that I know she is thinking of her own situation. It is vastly different, but the not knowing is what she is aligning with.

The rest of dinner is silent and slightly awkward. I try to engage them both in conversation, but it seems they would rather be in their own mind. When everything is done, my mom pulls her to the side and I don't know what the conversation is, but when it is over, she pulls her into a hug and walks out the door. “Is everything ok baby?” I ask.

“Yep.” She dismisses my question and walks up the stairs. Oh really?

“Chiara. Look at me. Don’t walk away from me.” She ignores me and starts undressing. I watch as she takes off her clothes, her face set in a determination I find adorable. Oh, is that how she wants to play it.