When Bluebirds Fly | ✔

Part Two : Chapter One

"Papá, open this." I handed him the glass jar of apricot jam that my abuela had lovingly prepared and instead of twisting the lid, he absently began pulling it from the top. With a buttered toast in his mouth, his phone tucked between his ear and shoulder and his eyes focused on the television news, he looked comical. I let him struggle for a while for fun.

"Carajo!" he swore loudly, the toast dropping on the floor and his fingers turning crimson from all the forceful pulling.

"Give it," I said complacently with a little smile, opening the lid with one jerk. "See, it's easy. I was testing you."

He started insolently, "I don't have time---" Then he inhaled deeply and relaxed to a placid countenance, holding back his tension. "I'm sorry for snapping. I was talking to a potential customer and he's not picking up the call. Hijo de puta---"

He was interrupted by the phone's ringing and he hastily picked it up, his demeanour changing like the switching on and off of lights. Sometimes, I wondered if he was my father or simply my mother pmsing under the guise of hairy arms and legs. He greeted as politely as a butler from a five-star hotel, "Oh hello sir . . . No it's quite alright, of course I understand . . . "

"Camaleón," I mouthed playfully and he shook his head, rare laughter twinkling in his otherwise joyless eyes.

He disappeared to the bedroom, talking about the specifics of his services and soon emerged with another unaccustomed, triumphant smile. I stared dubiously at him and he nodded smugly, confirming my thoughts. I squealed in delight, clapping my hands childishly, giving him a loud high-five and he sunk on the sofa, pulling me beside him.

"This is only the beginning Mariana, I bet we'll get many more customers that it'll be a daily occurrence," he said proudly and his optimism was honestly a breath of fresh air. I didn't want to spoil his cheerful mood by adding my pessimistic comments, so I remained quiet. He ruffled my silky hair, sighing. "What will I do without you?"

You won't have one mouth to feed. But what will I do without you?

"The credit all goes to you papá, I did nothing. Seriously," I said truthfully and he seemed to appraise my words as modesty rather than honesty.

"Let's go out for dinner!" he said impetously and I raised my eyebrows.

I tried to contradict him as delicately as I could, "Don't you think we should wait for the money to come first---"

"Money will come and go dear, happiness like this comes once in a while."

"In our case, once in a long while."

"Right," he admitted abashedly. "You didn't have to remind me that. So we're going!"

* * *

I was ardently writing a review on the movie 'Marriage Story' after watching it for the hundredth time and getting mesmerized by Scarlett Johansson and Adam Driver's performances. A pessimist like me thrived on movies which captured reality as effortlessly as this movie did. I published it on my blog and although I wasn't famous, I accumulated a dedicated bunch of followers over the past months and received their lovely comments on it.

I was deeply engrossed revelling in my few minutes of positive feedback and glory that I completely forgot about my day job and the necessary money that it brought home. I bolted to Bailey's Nuts armed with a box of tissues for protection against the manager's tsunami of spit which would inevitably follow as a result of my lack of punctuality. In the corridor itself, I nearly bumped into my next-door neighbour Abel who chuckled in his gruff voice and humorously asked me to slow down.