Where We Stand

10 | Where We Stand

Chapter 10

I enter my room, freshly showered and fed. Tonight, I will not think about the promise I made to Dad in order to earn my camera back. Earn because that's exactly how Dad put it. Nope, not going down that road. I'm swinging it the devious dodger style. I will pass out faster than a grizzly bear shot with a tranquilizer dart. Then, tomorrow, I will wake up brave and ready to take on the world.

My phone vibrates from the vanity table and I hurry up to unlock it.

Don't wear anything flashy tomorrow. Stick to muted colors.  I'll pick you up at 8:30am. Remember, simplicity is elegance.

-Love, Mom

Great. Thanks for the reminder, Mom. I shove the text aside with a flick of the back button. I throw my phone on the bed and fold my pajama pant legs to my knees. My phone rings and I growl, wondering what else my mother has to say. My shoulders droop in relief. The caller ID shows Carlos' name.

"Hey, what's up Mr. My-Guitar-Has-A-Ghost?" I say.

"How did it go with Mrs. Davis?" Carlos asks in a playful cadence. I hear the rustling of pages over the line and the soft pattering of rain against the roof. No crackling of burning wood, clinking of beer bottles, crashing of waves against the shore or even the babble of voices and laughter. Did the bonfire end so early?

"Horrible," I tell him, lathering my legs with a moisturizing lotion. "She took way too long to finish the inspection. She even checked under the sink and in between the slats in the tiles. Can you believe it?"—I blow out a breath—"I swear she's slower than a slimy zombie snail trekking up a tree branch."

Carlos groans. "Gross. You ruined the image I had in mind."

I set the lotion on the nightstand and face-plant on my bed. The headboard creaks as I roll over. My bed is as ancient as it sounds but the giant mattress is fluffy and the lush pillows are comfortable. Dad bought it from the Wilson family when they auctioned their furniture and other household items before selling their 1920s mansion to a rich investor. He'd painted it himself, fixed the loose bed frame and restored it to its former vintage glory—white, with baroque carvings and a velvet padded headboard. It's glamorous and big enough to fit Laila and me.

"Look around, princess," he'd said to me the first time I'd entered my new room. He had stood at the doorway, a skein of shadows and light dancing over his dark skin. "You just might find a pea under the bedding."

It had been two months since their separation. No divorce. None of that legal mumbo-jumbo on paper. Technically, they're still married. Mom said she wanted some time off to find herself and focus on her career. And my sweet, accommodative Dad agreed. He did it for her even though it tore his heart out. We all hoped and prayed that Mom would revert to her old self, the compassionate and non-judgemental woman I knew from my childhood. The one who combed my hair even when I was too old for that, danced with Dad under the stars, played a game of rowdy but exhilarating monopoly with my sister and me, slurped soup from a bowl without caring about table etiquette.

Back then, the agreement was that I'd spend one month staying with Mom and another with Dad. Later, when the berating got too frequent, living with her became a game of cat and mouse. I turned into an artful dodger, always going to sleep before she came back home and leaving for school before she got ready for work. I spent more time at Dad's place than I did at our old house. No, her house.

I dove for the mattress, my hand crawling beneath it. My fingers grasped a coil spring binder, an A4-sized book and I pulled it out to reveal a scrapbook. The cover was brown and plain just like the pages, and it was the most beautiful thing I beheld. I could picture it: blank pages waiting to be filled with memories, scraps of poems, unforgettable lyrics, random quotes, birthday cards, journal entries and most of all, photographs. A seedling ready to bloom into a flower of art and literature.

I hugged Dad so tight and teared up a little.

"Easy there, supergirl," Dad said, laughing. "When did you get so strong?"

I released him, looked at the speckles of grey hair at his temples and the bags under his eyes. I knew the separation was hitting him hard. Dad loved my mother. But the toothy grin he gave me chased away my worries. He was happy because I was happy. Dad, my eternal supporter, the one who accepted me entirely, without judgement. Without question.

The thought brings me back to the present and I'm reminded of the days I skipped work at his clinic. The guilt is eating me alive.

"Nana nana nana," Carlos singsongs. I realize, with a bout of indignity, he's been trying to get my attention since I blanked out on him. "I just might make a song out of your nickname."

I wriggle my toes in the sheets. "Sorry, I just...ah—"

"Brainfreeze, huh?" That sound again—the flipping of pages and then the tch tch tch of a pen scribbling against paper.

I chuckle. "Something like that. So what image did I so ungraciously ruin?"

"You in lacy underwear," he says with that lazy drawl of his. I imagine him grinning as he speaks. "You are in bed."

Lacy underwear, indeed. I'm clad in my cotton pajamas—pale yellow like lemon chiffon cake with Friesian cows printed all over the fabric—and bite the inside of my cheek, trying hard not to laugh. "Wouldn't you like to see?"

My voice sounded like a whisper, sinful and sultry. I have no idea where that came from. It was out before I could stop myself. Me, the flirty type? Hell no. I'm the classic prude for crying out loud. In movies, I fast-forward all the intimate scenes (the kind with a lot of skin showing and limbs twisted in compromising positions) and in novels where the heat intensity can rise to galactic levels because your imagination is uninhibited by forced visuals, let's just say my ears burn in shame.

"Yes, would love to,"—more tch tch sounds, a sigh and then—"but I prefer seeing you face-to-face and not on some pixelated pic. Get what I mean?"

"Touché." I look up as the pounding of raindrops on my window softens into gentle taps. The rain has transformed into a light drizzle. The clouds have turned the deepest shade of gold, almost grey, as if the moon and her starry companions are battling for control.

"So Tora tells me you haven't forgiven me," Carlos says. More tch tch tch sounds. He's definitely writing something.

"Of course not. Your punishment will be slow and deliberate. Am I not merciful?" I picture that epic moment when Joaquin Phoenix, playing as the villainous Commodus in the Gladiator movie, screams at Lucilla, "Am I not merciful?" and let out a witchy laugh which eerily sounds similar to Laila's. Holy mother of all cookies, I must have picked that one from her.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Punish me, baby."

"And you say I'm weird. I didn't take you for a masochist."

"For you, I'll be anything."

A fire ignites in my cheeks. I fiddle with the hem of my shirt, pulling at a stray thread that has come undone. There he goes again, saying things that jangle my nerves and steal my voice. I can't come up with a witty response.

"Gotta go now." I hear the screeching of a chair and the padding of footsteps. He's moving around, probably done with whatever he was writing. "I have an early practice session with the gang."

I'm so flustered. I forget what I said as soon as the words are out of my mouth. I might have told him to rest well and have fun tomorrow. I am about to hang up when Carlos speaks up, in a voice so quiet, I can barely hear him.

"Sleep tight, star of my sky," he says before he disconnects the line.

I snuggle in bed, burying my body in the folds of my quilt, the scent of cherry blossoms soap and the warmth of his words. And as I seek one last glance at the sky above, a smattering of lights blink through a parting of clouds, like diamonds glittering in a dark cave, and I think:

Stars in the rain. 

_____________________________

Dedicated to @EndofMay for her love and support for this story <3

This one is unedited so if you spot any errors, let me know. Now, come on, light up that vote star and just maybe you might see stars in the rain ;) I got the inspiration for this chapter from a certain song by two amazingly talented singers. The clue is pretty obvious. Take a guess!