Getting by (A Knight's Tale) (4 page)

One swoop with the fish net and I got the thing out of the tank and transported it to the kitchen, where Gaby had set up the operating room. I held the flashlight while she opened the body with a knife and— “What are you two doing with my fish?” Grandpa had cried.

“Judah, those girls vandalized my room,” Grandma had seconded him.

Busted!
We both mouthed and laughed silently. They called our moms, who canceled their shopping-girl day.

Mom had defended me from Dad’s rage. “One parent lecturing her is more than enough, Nick,” she had said. He wanted me to be like Chloe, who during those years was serious and responsible.

Grandpa moved me from his favorite people column to the persona non-grata one. Sad, of my two grandpas, Judah was my favorite. Mom swore he adored me because I looked a lot like Grandma Lily. Brown hair with natural streaks of auburn highlights, hazel eyes that played tricks by going from green to brown as they pleased, slender and a little on the tall side—five foot seven and three quarters. Tall, compared to Mom and Chloe who were five two, less three quarters.

“I miss Mom.” The words came out without my permission. It was the first time I told a living person about it. Loathing the pity looks and sympathy for the orphan, I had always bottled everything inside.

“We all do, Em, I’m sure she’s looking out for you.” She squeezed my hand and continued the long—forty-five minute—drive. “Thank you for coming and dropping your master for me.”

“That’s what friends are for,” I said, and continued sightseeing in silence. My master and only constant in life—work—saved me from the world and loneliness. Once my parents died, I threw myself toward school, avoiding any and all emotions. Art included. “You better stay married, because I won’t go to another wedding.” I offered a weak smile and looked out the window.

Welcome to Menlo Park,
I read, and a shocking wave to my body followed by my erratic breathing startled me. It was time to redirect my thoughts to something different. My next presentation, a software company, we heard they were in the market for a new advertising agency. Yet, memories from the life Mom and Dad faked together tried to sneak out of the vault. They looked happy together; like the perfect couple. One day, when everything ended, we got a peek behind the curtain at the lies, deceits and false happiness they shared.

Dad didn’t have a mistress; no he always did things bigger. One would be subtle. He slept around San Francisco with clients, employees and women galore. Was Mom aware? If so, she took that piece of information to her grave. The perfect household, choreographed by Nick and Anna Anderson, came down right after their deaths. Another reason to close myself off from the world and live inside the universe I created.

From afar I spotted the Japanese style hotel where I’d be staying and where the wedding would take place. It had thatched roofs with reds and creams, and black railings and walls with the same colors. Gaby stopped around the hotel curve where guests loaded and unloaded their vehicles or cabs. The bellboy standing next to the revolving doors approached with a chrome luggage cart when we opened the trunk. I handed him my bags and he rolled them toward the concierge desk.

“The barbeque tomorrow, no excuses.” Gaby’s firm tone didn’t give me room to negotiate. Which I wasn’t planning to, but a soft melodic reminder would’ve been nice. “Mom won’t be happy with you, Em.”

“One night, Gaby, it’s all I need,” I pleaded like a child. Tina Clement had offered me a room inside her home, but I politely declined in one of my emails to her. Instead, I booked a room like the other guests, a refugee after being around so many people that knew my parents and the tragedy.
Deep breaths, Emma, keep the memories behind the wall.
“The flight, Gaby, it made me fuzzy. By tomorrow I’m all yours, Gabs.”

We hugged one more time before I headed inside the hotel, where Melinda, the front desk clerk awaited for me to check-in. “May I have your identification and a major credit card, Miss Anderson?” In a matter of minutes she swiped my credit card, gave me two key cards for my room and instructions on how to get to the elevator. Room five fourteen was of course on the fifth floor. I had to take a left out of the elevator and then it would be to my right. Telling me to follow the bellboy had been a better, but I guessed her job was to give all the details to the guests. The old couple that waited to check-in behind me returned my smile and walked forward when I left the concierge area following my luggage.

The decorations inside weren’t as aesthetic as the usual Japanese décor I had seen. A modernist and simplistic busy style filled the lobby. Each corner had big statues, Asian style furniture and a pond which harbored a Koi fish, lily pads and other greenery I wasn’t familiar with. The entire place reminded me of the latest account I landed in Japan—a cosmetics company. My trips wouldn’t only be to the European continent and America, now I’d be expanding my working horizons to Asia. A tiny smile crept onto my lips, but I forced it back because my previous trips to Japan, China, India and other countries from the oriental hemisphere were for pleasure and I didn’t visit alone. Three months ago I ruined the little piece of ordinary life I had. I, no one else, ended it. Another set of memories and feelings I chose not to grieve upon.
Reality sucks, get a grip and pull yourself together. Under the rug, remember?

My best therapy, work, took over my mind and I began to play in my head with slogans, images, numbers and everything to forget my past. I was good at my job. I hated to sound conceited, but one thing my parents told me was to work toward perfection in order to achieve excellence. My boss and clients liked to think I did, and they adored me for it. The latter group confused my professional skills with my personal ones and thought I was a friendly, smart woman. My bosses knew better, for they were a different story. My fake friendly smile captured everyone in a room and my work impressed them. “Would you be proud of me, Mom?” I asked out loud, but no one answered. The room was empty.

My sister and I were a disgrace. Not that I got along with Chloe after our parents’ deaths. “You two are sisters, best friends for life,” Mom had repeated a thousand times when we fought at a young age, but we didn’t learn much from her lectures.

“Oh, mother, you lived in wonderland, when you left I crashed and burned so bad; I can’t stand up straight.” Mom never answered my questions, nor did she defend herself against my fury.

Anna remained silent, the same way she’d done for the past several years. I was her artist, her “sensible soul,” she proudly told anyone that would listen. While growing up, I believed her. My aspirations ranged between being a painter and a sculptor. But the only art I did these days was to promote my clients’ products. I wrote slogans and catch phrases to accompany them. I worked with art software but never allowed myself to touch a pencil or a sketchbook. Dad would be proud of who I became.

“Anna, stop filling her head with nonsense,” he had repeated constantly. “She needs to grow up.”

Mom had an art degree from the University of New Haven, and a teaching degree from Stanford. She moved from the East coast to California in search of greener grass and warmer winters. My parents met at a coffee shop. It was love at first sight. They dated for a few weeks before he proposed. Truth be told, the marriage happened due to Chloe’s unsolicited presence inside Mom’s womb.
Oops.

Dad, the financial guru who played with other people’s money for a living, would shut his mouth and leave the room defeated. But not before giving me his usual two words. “Independent” and “self-reliant”.

Mom passed on to me her artistic abilities, and I perfected them. During Chloe’s early years she only practiced finger painting and enjoyed doing silly animal pictures with her fingerprints. It was when I began to show promise that she retook her gift and taught me all the techniques she knew, initiating me at the tender age of two. Dad didn’t think much of it at the beginning and transformed the guest room into a studio—for her. Though when I became fixated with my art, he regretted giving me the space, and he had tried to take not only the studio, but my love for it away.

He’d be happy the artsy girl had gone away and made room for a creative director. I was independent and self-reliant. No one came between me and my job. I didn’t need anyone—financially or emotionally. I grew up fast after their deaths and tried not to look back into what once was my life. My only escape from reality was writing scenes where Mom saved the day. She came out alive, the illusion that she never died.

Chapter 5

Jake

I CRACKED MY NECK for a second time. Five hours flying a plane and another driving, wore me out, but there was no one else to blame but my need for control. Mitch offered to drive from the airport to the small town in California. Part of me begged to accept, but my freaking controlling disorder overpowered the exhaustion. Mom and Dad flew a couple of days earlier, to meet the parents and family of the bride to be. My cousin was getting married to a tiny but loud firecracker, who pulled together most of our resources and spent our money, to create the perfect wedding in under three months. Poor bastard, he got sucked into the married life. Though my brothers and I abstained from commenting and supported him—like Mom told us.

Mom, the general of the house hold—Queen of the Knight family, expected us to be on our best behavior and join all the wedding activities—without any complaints. The tiger Moms in the world had nothing on mine. The woman raised three boys, copyrighted the term and wrote the guidelines everyone should abide by on how to raise the perfect children. My head pounded and I disregarded Mom’s nagging. My body demanded a shower and a couple of aspirins. I pulled into the Asian style hotel; a replica of a Pagoda stood in front of me. Refusing to use the valet parking and depend on their ability to bring my car when I needed it, I parked the rental myself, making sure it was near an emergency exit. While my brothers complained about the distance to the main door, we unloaded the trunk and headed toward the revolving doors.

God I’m so tired I’m hallucinating,
I thought as we approach the check-in desk and I spotted a girl who looked a lot like my ex…ex-girlfriend, ex-lover, ex-fling, ex…. We never had an exact title. But we had a great time together, until she called it off out of the blue. I wanted her to turn, her body structure—tall and willowy was similar; my body was reacting to it. I knew every line of it, studied it thoroughly once nightly—or more if allowed. A bellboy helped her with a couple of black bags similar to hers. They even had the ridiculous yellow ribbons to differentiate them from others. Her auburn hair was tied up into a bun, no curls or frizzy aura around—all flat and business like; a protection from the outside world. She wore a pair of jeans and a jacket and a pair of flat shoes I had never seen. I still didn’t see her face. Definitely not my girl, she loved high heels.

“It’s her.” I pointed out to my brothers, once she turned slightly when the front desk clerk began to chase her—she forgot her credit card. Definitely my girl. Emma was easily distracted, she tended to forget everything. The only reason her head had stayed on for so long, had been her long stylish neck that held it. I placed my carry-on on top of my luggage and walked toward the elevator. “Be back in a second,” I voiced out, leaving my brothers to check in.

I followed close enough not to lose her, but far enough so she wouldn’t catch me. I was not sure if seeing each other was a good idea. The subject moved fast, her shoulders stiffened and the tension in her body was palpable. Weird, she never came to the west coast. The elevator doors opened and she made her way inside, and the bellboy moved to the employee elevator. On the fifth floor the elevator stopped, and I had a partial location. I moved on from the land where that woman took me to and headed back to reality. My brothers waited behind an old couple who were taking their sweet time.

Melinda, the front desk clerk gave us a devilish smile, and apologized for the delay, when our turn came. I debated between requesting my own room and staying with my brothers. The debacle ended when Melinda announced they had full occupancy. Mitch handed his credit card and ID to her and she worked her magic, giving us a set of keycards for our suite. My phone alarm announced we had fifteen minutes to get ready before my parents met us at the lobby. I took a deep breath and I knew this was going to be the week from hell if I didn’t take a chill pill and go with the flow. Code for follow Mom’s lead and forget about the pretty girl with a sweet scent and quirky personality.

“Was it her?” Mitch asked. I nodded and growled because of his wicked eyes. The man loved paybacks and this one spelled perfection. “From here, she seems hot. What are the odds?”

I shrugged because…why was she here? We made our way to the elevators, and when the doors opened, her roses and lavender scent remained trapped. Just like the first time we met, the waft of her aroma attacked my nostrils triggering the memory of our first encounter.

It was an out of the norm experience. Fitting for her, since the girl lived like she was in the middle of a sitcom and threw tons of—only on TV—lines.
Forget her, Jacob,
I told myself. We had arrived at easy-palooza, where any single girl would be available for me. Why torture myself with the inexplicable Emma Anderson?

Arriving at our suite, I took one of the rooms and freshened up before leaving for the first of many engagements with the in-laws. My brother pushed me lightly when I came out of the bathroom dressed and ready to meet the Clements. He knocked me out of the foggy dream I had entered into after leaving the elevator. “Jake, Dad’s downstairs waiting for us, are you coming?” I nodded and pulled a couple of condoms from the big box Mitch brought and placed them inside my wallet. My need to get laid increased after seeing her; three months made me a wimp wallowing in self-pity.

“Finally,” Liam said. “As long as you don’t go and look for her.”