"Where have you been?" I hear a screeching woman's voice say as I step into the house. I close my eyes and silently wish that my mother isn't talking to me. I may be a full grown woman but my stomach still plummeted every time my mother scolded me.
"I had gone to see dad." She entered into the entrance hallway connecting the kitchen and the living room. She glares at me, her angry not have waivered. I gulp.
"So, you couldn't tell me and go? It's 9 in the night and you're off loitering who knows where with that Chinese boy." I remove my purse from my shoulder and walk past her into the kitchen. She simply turns around and watches me with a stern expression as I walk to the fridge. I wanted to tell her he was Korean, not Chinese per se. But I shut my mouth.
"Mom, I was with dad. Just calm down." I think me saying that angered her even more than she already was. Bad choice.
"Calm down?" She questions in a mocking tone as if that was the most absurd thing a person could do. "Young lady, I have been calling you for 2 hours now and it says that your phone is switched off. SWITCHED OFF." I shuddered as I searched my pocket and fished out my phone. Yeah, battery dead. Perfect.
"What happened?" I remove a bowl of freshly cut strawberries and walk towards the small table in the middle of the kitchen and sit down.
She composes herself as if remembering what she had wanted to talk to me about.
"It's Jen. Something happened." I had just lifted a strawberry to my mouth when she said that. I put it down, sigh, and ask her what the matter was.
"Well, some tabloid finally got hold of the entire Dad story." I still. I look up the strawberries forgotten.
"How much of it?" I run a hand over my face, willing myself to remain neutral and not blast entirely. Mom knew this subject was touchy so she took a seat opposite me.
"Just that he has Parkinson's. Nothing else." I sigh. That wasn't so bad. Part of a story is better than the entire truth.
"What exactly happened?" I questioned. If we were going to solve this, I would need to know what had taken place for Jen to call my mom as well.
"Someone screamed 'Jen is your dad alive' when she was walking through the streets and she, like her old stubborn self," Mom smiled a bit at that and continued, "turned around and screamed at the poor guy for asking such personal questions. He continued pestering her till she agreed and said that he had Parkinson's. All of this would have been okay if some guy standing across the street hadn't captured it and sent it to E!News." I took a deep breath, nodded and chewed solemnly on a strawberry. I didn't know what to say. After a few minutes, I got up, walked up to my room and sat down on the windowsill looking at my slanted ceiling. The blue, chipped paint beckoned a few tears but I smiled as I saw the rolling waves crashing and churning in some phantom wave. I put my phone on a charge as I rushed for a quick bath. Even though I hadn't done strenuous activities, I was mentally tired and found that a bath would help the most.
I put on some music when I entered the room and opened my little cabinet in the corner which housed all my paint. I removed blues and grays and some greens when my hand stilled over a pallet, splattered in colors of every sort. It had been my dad's. I picked it up and turned it over in my hand. I smiled at the memory that flashed through my head. Him humming in the backyard as he painted my mother as she went about gardening and tending plants. That painting now hung in their room, near the cupboards.
Something in the bottom of my stomach tugged at me and remembered that I still had to thank Flynn for today, so I shot him a text saying just that.
It wasn't even two minutes before he replied.
Flynn: No problem, Ms. Bookworm. What am I supposed to do with those five books you had in your hand?
Me: What do you mean?
Flynn: Well, I bought them...
Me: What? Why?
Flynn: You gave me this huge lecture about loving books and what-not. So I was inspired.
Me: ...
Flynn: Just kidding, you seemed to really love them so I picked them up.
Me: That's...awfully sweet of you. But I can't accept them.
Flynn: Oh don't be so timid. I know you're internally dying at all this cuteness. I don't often do this for people so you should be mighty proud of yourself.
Me: Thank you.
I smiled as I locked the phone, put it back down and began painting.
-
"Hi," I say in a small, unsure voice as I hear Jen's clear voice on the other side. She seems to be as unsure as me because an awkward silence ensues.
"Is everything alright?" I continue. I scratch the back of my hand with blue, stained hands. I looked like those creatures in Avatar, save for the long tails and yellow eyes. And, well graceful demeanor.
"Yeah, I'm guessing mom told you." She scoffs and seems to have lied down as her voice gets deeper.
"I'm just worried. It seemed pretty rough." I look over at the computer screen, the video on pause.
"Yeah, it was." For a second I am taken aback by the honesty, integrity in her voice, but then I smile. I smile because she finally thought I at least deserved that small amount of truth.
"So...you've been practicing your stance. I mean, you almost punched that guy. With your hand hovering above his face, you looked ready to kill." I remembered our mom forcing us to go to boxing classes till twelfth grade. They clearly paid off.
"Mom said the exact same thing! Do you guys plan this out and call me?" She laughed, lightening the mood. I laughed too. After eons, it seemed by the stone slowly lifting itself out of my chest.
"No...you looked furious. You looked like Mr. Faulkner when we hadn't done Math homework." I chuckle as I reminisce back to our high school days. She giggles on the other line and after a few moments quiets down.
"How's dad, Leia?" She asks with a grim tone. I could almost picture her lying on her large bed in New York, at two in the morning while I stare out of the little window in my room.
"He misses you. A lot. Every time I see him he says 'I need to see my little caterpillar. I need to know if she finally turned into that butterfly she promised she would.' And I always tell him that you have." I say as I pick at the paint on my legs. She seemed to say silent on the line for a long time before she murmured a 'thank you'.
I stayed quiet as we talked, into the wee hours of the morning.
