An Illusion of Trust (Sequel to The Brevity of Roses) (29 page)

J
oy and apprehension keep me awake most of the night. I'm happy because Brandon is coming today for Thanksgiving, but I'm worried because there's a strain between us. We've argued. He insisted I invite our father to come too. I told him flat out I never want to see my so-called father again. Brandon threatened not to come without him, but in the end he agreed. I think he wants to see his big sister again as much as I want to see my little brother.

When dawn begins to lighten the room, I check the clock. The kids and Jalal probably won't wake for at least another half-hour. So I'll have extra time to fix myself up for Brandon, I slip out of bed to get my shower early, but when I step out into the vanity area, the whole crew greets me from the bed. It looks like my plan is shot. "Just let me comb my hair so it doesn't dry too wonky," I tell Jalal.

"Take your time," he says. "We woke up plenty early. I know you want to look your best today."

Adam runs to me and hugs my knees. "Mama, you beautiful." I lift him for a kiss.

"See?" Jalal says, "We are already impressed."

"Just promise to have my back today, okay?"

"You have nothing to worry about, sweet love."

The minute I glance away, there's a thump followed by a wail. Mia Grace lies on the floor by the bed. Jalal snatches her up and examines her for injuries. "No blood," he says. "She might get a little bump on her forehead."

Adam kicks to be let down. He runs back to the bed and shakes his finger at Jalal, "Be careful with Mee-Grays."

Maybe I should have Adam watching my back.

Waiting for Brandon is excruciating. Jennie and Eduardo arrived an hour ago. Judith and Hank will arrive later. Kristen, Jason, and Ryan are outside, keeping the kids amused and out from under foot. While Jennie, Aza, and Jalal cook, I clean up around them and take out the trash. In between those tasks, I offer appetizers and drink refills to Eduardo and Paul, who are playing chess in the dining room. I've slipped upstairs three times to check my hair and makeup.

I don't know what else to do with myself except watch the clock. Brandon should be here any minute. Trying not to think, I open a Coke and sit at the kitchen table. When everyone outside files into the playroom and Kristen starts a movie for the kids, I join them, but after two minutes, I'm back in the kitchen trying to help. When the doorbell rings, everyone looks at me. I look at Jalal. He takes the towel off his shoulder, and wipes his hands. The bell rings again as he guides me into the hall. "Breathe," he says.

I can't open the door. I just can't. Jalal steps forward and does it for me. "Welcome," he says, "I am Jalal."

My brother steps into the foyer and all I can think is how familiar he is, and yet he's totally different. "You grew so tall," I say.

Brandon grins. "And you finally grew some boobs." He steps forward and grabs me in a hug, lifting me off my feet. "Damn, girl, you're a looker."

I'm laughing and crying at the same time.

"Stop that stuff," he says. "You're too tough to cry. Remember?"

He punches me in the arm and I punch him back. Just like we used to do.

Brandon turns back to Jalal and offers his hand. "It's great to meet you, Jalal. This is our dad."

What!

My father steps forward, ruining everything.

"Steve Marshall," he says and shakes hands with Jalal.

What the hell. I can't believe Brandon betrayed me, but more than that, I can't believe Steve had the audacity to come. There's no doubt he's a jerk, but even so, how could he not feel at least a little awkward coming here? I mean, what's he going to say?
Yeah, I abandoned my daughter—twice—but let's just forget that and be one big, happy family.
He damned sure better not call himself grandpa to Adam and Mia Grace.

After an incredibly awkward pause, during which a normal father and daughter would hug, Jalal says, "Come on out to the kitchen and meet more of the family."

I shoot Steve a poisonous look, but he doesn't notice. He's avoiding me. I step aside and let the three men pass me. Brandon's right leg was crushed in the accident, leaving him with a slight limp. The scar on his forehead is more noticeable in person, but he's still a handsome guy. He and Steve are the same height, and have the same shade of brown hair, except Steve's is graying. How old is the creep anyway?

It would be difficult, I guess, for everyone to be friendly with Brandon and just ignore our father, so within minutes they're all talking and drinking and laughing together. I try to keep up, but I'm overwhelmed by the strangeness of my two lives blending, and at the first hint of fussing from Mia Grace, I take her upstairs for a nap. I linger there until I suspect Jalal's about to come looking for me. After a few deep breaths, I return to the kitchen determined not to let my father steal the joy from this reunion with Brandon.

"Renee will tell you," Brandon says when I walk in the room.

"Tell them what?"

"About how you could handle any guy in the neighborhood. Her nickname was One Two," he tells his audience.

"Oh my god, Brandon. They don't want to hear that stuff."

"The hell we don't," Jennie says.

"Wait a second," Jalal says as he closes the oven door. He drags a stool closer to the table, sits, and motions for the story to begin.

"If you think Renee is tiny now," Brandon says, "picture her at twelve. Everyone that didn't know her took her for an easy mark. But she was fierce. No one picked a fight with her twice, that's for sure. She always carried this little shoulder purse. A lot of the time, there wasn't any money in it, but there was always a big rock. Anybody messed with us kids or her and she'd come out swinging that purse. And if some macho jerk came on to her, she'd back up, grab that strap, and swing. WHAMO, right upside the head. If they were too stupid to run, they got the second swing in the balls. One, two. She got the nickname after a few guys learned the hard way."

Everyone laughs. Eduardo slaps me on the back and Jalal gives me a high five. Brandon wraps his arm around my neck and kisses the top of my head. I never thought I could laugh about those days.

Brandon continues with a story about the first time I cut his hair and he had to walk around looking like a mangy dog. I glance at my father. He's looking at me and, if I believed it possible, I'd say he's about to cry. I jump up and grab two handfuls of empty bottles. As I'm turning from the table, Judith and Hank walk in.

"Take a seat, guys," Jennie says. "You're missing all the fun."

Jalal makes the introductions and then turns the floor over to Brandon again. I stand back, only half-listening, while I remember stories Brandon's not telling. If you didn't know better, you'd think he survived his childhood intact. I know better. He has a hole inside as big as mine. And that selfish bastard sitting right there beside him deserves at least half the blame.

Dinner was delicious, of course, and the kids behaved so well that Kristen was able to stay in the dining room through dessert. I think she took her eyes off Brandon once or twice. Now she's watching a movie with the kids in the playroom. The men are in the living room with their coffee or wine and their business talk, and we four women are just about finished cleaning up the dining room and kitchen.

Judith pours herself a glass of Pellegrino and perches on a stool at the island. "I do believe this is the most delightful Thanksgiving I've ever spent."

"I agree," Jennie says. "And your brother is a hoot, Renee."

"Thank you. It's gone better than I expected."

"What did you expect?" Judith asks.

I just give her a look. She knows I didn't want my father here. And I'm a little pissed at her for talking to him all during dinner.

"You didn't tell me Steve has almost twelve years sobriety," Judith says.

I didn't know. "Good for him. He's still a fucking jerk."

"
Renee
."

"Oh, come on, Jennie. You know how he treated me and you're going to stand up for him?"

"I wasn't standing up for him." She points behind me. "The kids."

"Oh great. All I need is for Adam to start saying effing jerk, so Jalal can jump down my throat." I slam a glass into the dishwasher rack, cracking both it and the one next to it. I can't even play it off because Aza's standing next to me, rinsing a pan. She says nothing as I throw them both in the recycle bin under the counter.

I'm shocked to see Judith slide a wine glass from the rack and fill it almost to the rim from an open bottle of shiraz. "Judith, what are you—"

"For you, my dear," she says. "You need to chill."

I take the glass from her and drink. "I just don't want any trouble with him."

"Well, unless you start it," she says. "I doubt there will be a scene."

"What's that mean?"

"It means," Jennie says, "it's obvious Steve didn't come here to fight."

I look to see if Aza wants to add her opinion, but she just smiles and goes back to drying the pot.

"Anyway," Judith says, "you haven't said a word to him, except to translate for Adam, so unless you're going to treat us to a mime battle …"

"Are you
trying
to tick me off, Judith?"

Aza sets the pot down hard. "No. She—
we
—are telling you to talk to your father."

"Well, don't waste your breath."

Aza hangs up her dishtowel, Jennie puts the last leftover in the fridge, and Judith says, "I'll go see if the men need anything before we join them."

I cross the room and sit down with Kristen and the kids. I hug and kiss Adam and Mia Grace, but inside I'm raging at those three women. They all know my history with my father. Why would they expect me to talk to him?

After fifteen minutes or so, Brandon sits down beside me. "Did I make you mad telling stories on you?" he asks softly.

"Of course not."

"Then why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not. It's … you know."

He drapes an arm around my shoulders. "You're going to have to deal with him sooner or later."

"I don't see why. I haven't talked to him for eleven years. Why start now?"

"Because there's a lot you don't know." At that, he gets up and walks back out of the room.

I know Brandon expects me to follow him. And I know if I don't, Jalal will probably come get me. I don't move. Kristen gives me a look.

"What?" I snap at her.

She just shakes her head and turns back to the TV. It's pretty bad when a teenager thinks you're acting childish. But here I am, sitting in the playroom watching a kiddie movie. How grown-up is that?

That's the worst thing about being part of a family. Everyone thinks they have a right to tell you what you should do. Jennie, at least, should know better. Isn't that why Eduardo had such trouble convincing her to marry him? When you're on your own, you make your own decisions and don't have to answer to anyone.

Adam hands me two train cars to connect. I do that and hand it back to him. When I look up again, the TV's turned off. "What happened to the movie?" I ask Kristen.

"It ended a couple of minutes ago."

I've been staring at a blank screen? I'm losing it for sure. Adam points to Mia Grace and holds his nose. "I guess she needs a diaper change, huh? How about you? You need to go potty?" He nods, so I pick her up and take his hand. "Go join the others, Kristen. You shouldn't be stuck watching the kids." I start up the back stairs just in time because before I get to the top Jalal's in the kitchen asking Kristen where I am.

After I clean up Mia Grace, I ask Adam if he'd like me to read him a book.

"No," he says, "I want go see Baba Daddy."

It seems everyone is conspiring to get me back in the same room with my father. "Okay. Let's go, but you'll have to be quiet because the grown-ups are talking."

"You're just in time," Aza says when we enter the living room. "Jennie just started another pot of coffee and we're having dessert again before Brandon and Steve have to leave."

Adam runs to Jalal and whispers in his ear. "Yes, you get some," Jalal replies and lifts him onto his lap.

Steve, watching them, sniffs and wipes his eyes. I'd like to slap him. Save your tears, daddy dear. It's your own damned fault you missed out on those tender moments with your son.

Jalal has already gone up to our room. I pass through the kitchen and playroom one more time to make sure everything's in place. I'm a little spooked by the silence after all the activity today, and when my phone vibrates in my pocket, I yelp. It's a text from Brandon to let me know they arrived home safely. I wish he could have spent a few days here, but he has to work tomorrow.

I've almost forgotten what's it's like to worry about losing a crappy job because that's all you have. There's a fine line to toe when you have so much more money than others. I give Jalal a hard time about the way he spends so freely, but I also understand that a little guilt lies behind that. We could totally support Brandon, but I don't think it would be good for him. Maybe that's me projecting again, as Jalal says. I can't enjoy having all this money because I didn't earn it.

Jalal bounds downstairs, hair wet from his shower. "Your bath is ready, milady." He deliberates before the wine rack, for a moment, but then opens the cooler below it and chooses a bottle of viognier. "For you," he says. "I know you like the sweet stuff." He opens it, grabs two glasses, and nudges me toward the stairs.

Sometimes I'm amazed at how Jalal knows what I need before I do. He even remembered to use my favorite bath salts, and I sink into silky, tropical-scented water. I know what Mr. Vaziri is leading up to, but I appreciate that he loves me enough to help me relax first. He sits on the floor beside the tub and hands me a glass of wine.

"I think dinner was a success," he says.

"The food was delicious and everyone enjoyed themselves."

"I really like your brother."

"If you call me One-Two, you'll be sleeping in the south wing."

He laughs. "I can picture you swinging that purse. I have seen that look in your eye a time or two." His smile dies away. "I hate to think of you having to be so tough, though. Brandon makes it sound funny, but you must have been frightened so much of the time. I see how hard you work taking care of Adam and Mia Grace and when I think of you as a child trying to …" He looks toward the ceiling and swallows hard, but tears spill over anyway.