23
I couldn’t believewhat I was hearing. He was basically saying we weren’t worth fighting for. That I wasn’t worth fighting for. What could possibly be the harm?
Drake was the succinct type. “Fairy…”
He softened, and I did, too, at the sound of the silly nickname that always reminded me of the magic of our meeting.
“If I am going to die…”
Fuck, I hated it when he’d said it the first time. This time was even worse because he wasn’t joking.
“If I don’t make it, I don’t want to find out my own dad didn’t love me before I go.”
“How do you even know that he doesn’t?” I hung on. I hung on to the one comment Nora had made in her bedroom.
“Stop the wishful thinking. He was a deadbeat who was never around.”
“It’s not wishful thinking, Drake. It isn’t.” I took a deep breath because I felt my words get faster, more desperate, and too urgent. “Listen, when I was in Seattle, getting ready with your mom, she told me that she loved your dad for a long time after he left. He can’t be that big an asshole. Your mom isn’t some silly lovestruck teenager.”
I didn’t hear it with my ears, but his body sent me an inaudible humph. Though he folded his arms across his chest, I knew he wanted to know more.
“You don’t know the story. Have you ever really spoken to your mom about him? And that letter from your grandma. Why would she ever leave you his contact information if he was so horrible? It’s not like he’s going to be a serial killer or something.”
Just when I thought he’d started to soften, he shook his head. “No. Even if I did want to face him, and face being rejected all over again, you brought up an even more important point. Why should my mom have to talk to him? Why should I bring someone who caused her so much pain back into her life? I don’t want a year of drama if that’s all I’ve got left. There are other options, Maeve. I’m on the meds, that could work. There could be a match in the registry…”
“But Dr. Chidozie said…”
“No. I said no, Maeve, and that’s the end of the discussion. When I say no, I mean it. I don’t need any more conversation or deliberating. It’s not happening. We’ll figure out another way.”
Drake may have saidno and meant it, but no wasn’t in my vocabulary. Unlike for other people where no meant “stop” or “never” or “it ain’t happening,” my translation was different. It meant try harder until I get what I want.
The next day was my first day of not going to the office. The vibe in the house was confused as none of us were exactly sure what the rhythm of the day should be. Whether a person worked or not, individuals had daily rhythms and families, too. People eventually ended up getting up, eating, peeing, using the shower or whatever at times that worked for each other.
Mostly, we could have all danced to different downbeats. Drake and I had our quarters, Nora had her own bathroom, and Dixie had a master suite to die for, but until Drake and I got groceries and figured out how to couple down, we shared one thing—the kitchen.
Were we supposed to eat breakfast all together? Should I have made four coffees instead of one like I usually did?
Fortunately, that first morning, Dixie treated us all as guests and had made a buffet of breakfast food when Drake and I entered the kitchen. I wore my pajamas, because it was a pleasure to not put on work clothes so early on a weekday for once. Drake had thrown on a pair of jeans to look more presentable.
Nora and Dixie already sat at the kitchen island when we entered the room, the smell of bacon thick in the air. The moms held coffee mugs in their hands, both dressed, and I realized perhaps when it came to rhythm, I was the only one treating this as a vacation.
Pots and pans warmed on the stove top. I peeked into them, wondering what there was to go with the bacon. “Mom, you made the grits.” I glanced up from a pot. “Same recipe?”
Dixie stood and walked over to the “barista” station in our kitchen where a high-tech coffee maker was embedded into a wall. “Same recipe.” She glanced at Drake. “How do you take your coffee? Nora tells me it’s a crime to live in Seattle and not drink coffee. A bit like sweet tea for us Southerners.”
He wandered closer to where my mom stood. “Thanks, I’ll have it black, please.”
“You sure? I’m going to show you how to make it with this crazy thing we had installed. It can do you anything you like. Even an iced mocha with sprinkles on top. But we don’t do dairy alternatives. You drink milk?”
He nodded. “Sorry to disappoint. Black is how I take it. Assuming that thing can actually make black coffee?”
She laughed lightly. “That’s a good point. Would be funny to find out it can do everything but the basics.” She slid her reading glasses off her head, onto her nose, and pressed a digital interface. “Hm. Is that an espresso? No… Americano, right?”
“That’s it.”
She placed a mug in the machine and promptly made him a coffee. She handed it to him. “We’re going to need more beans with all y’all here.”
“I’ll head out to the shop.” I wandered over to the coffee maker and popped my own mug in for a cappuccino “I actually need to go to work one last time.”