Velvet Mirror

Chapter 5

I read through the letter for the fifth time while I ate a jelly-covered English muffin. I knew that no matter how many times I read it, the words would not change. I liked to read his letters a few times through before I wrote a response to them.

It was from Peter Rosette—Colin's father. This letter was not a rare occurrence. Peter and I had kept in touch since the day he left me.

*****

I touched my abdomen, only eight weeks in and I could feel the skin becoming more like that of a pregnant woman's; hard and smooth. I knew now that a human life is growing within me, and that thought scared me. I was terrified of the thought of providing for another life. The upcoming reality. I had a good, stable job at a large gallery in Los Angeles, so providing financially was not a true concern or fear. I was afraid of being a bad parent. I wanted to be able to be the best parent I could be. I was worried I would not be fun enough; I was worried I would not be around enough. I was also worried that Peter would be upset with me because I was now pregnant. I was nearly certain he would be mad, even though it was his baby.

I finished setting the table and I walked back though the kitchen and out to the deck. I was making steaks for dinner; Peter's favorite. I always made it with this special mixture of spices my father passed on to me when I left for college. He told me I needed to be able to make at least one decent meal for myself. He really liked cooking, and he was actually the person who taught me to cook. When my mom died, he cut back his hours at work in order to be there for me. He was a great dad. I hoped my baby could have that, a great parent.

I pulled the steaks off the grill and brought them to the table. Peter walked through the door literally at the same moment as I set the steaks down on the table.

"What is this?" he asked, putting his satchel down on the chair beside the door.

"Um, I made dinner," I said. "I know you really like steak."

"Yeah, but you're dressed kind of fancy for just a steak dinner."

"Well, sit down and I'll tell you why," I said. "Pick whichever steak you'd like. I have wine to drink if you want."

"Yeah, that'd be great, Val," he said.

I walked into the kitchen and grabbed our best bottle of wine. Peter had just come home from a class at the university. He was trying to get a degree in education so he could teach art in elementary schools in case money was hard. He was an artist, obviously. He painted and did a few sculptures, mostly with glass as the medium. We did not have room for him to have an art studio in our town house, so all of his glass blowing supplies were shoved into the garage in boxes. I felt bad, but he just painted on our lower level. Sometimes I joined him. I enjoyed painting, though it was not my passion. My passion was writing poetry, but for some reason every time I tried to write something, all I ever ended up with was crap, so I had kind of given it up.

I reentered the dining room with the bottle in hand. I opened the bottle and poured him some. I had already poured some water for myself. I sat down across from him and took the remaining steak. I began to cut it. Then I thought better about it.

"So, um, I have something I need to tell you," I said, putting my utensils down on either side of the plate.

"What's up?" he asked without looking up at me. I was sure he knew I was not breaking up with him because of the whole extravaganza I set up in our dining room. I wondered if he knew what I was going to say.