So Much More (4 page)

She returns less than a minute later and trades me the joint for a cup of tea.

“Thanks, Mrs. L.”

“Anytime, Seamus. Have a good one.” She flashes me a peace sign before she shuts the door.

The housewarming mango

present

“Bloody hell, who’s eaten all the Lucky Charms?”

“Language, Rory,” I remind him. In my head, I’m repeating,
Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh
.
 

He’s shaking an empty box of cereal into a bowl, and all that’s drifting out are the powdery remnants of grain and sugar dust that’s left behind to illustrate his point while he looks at me in utter disbelief.

“Sorry, buddy. I think your sister killed what was left this morning while she watched TV.” Cereal is on the short list of foods Kira will eat, along with mac and cheese, pickles, bananas, hot dogs, and bologna sandwiches.

He mumbles something under his breath, something I’m glad I didn’t hear, and walks to the trashcan and dramatically deposits it. Then he turns to me and says, “It’s
rubbish
.”

I don’t know if he’s referring literally to the box being trash or to the situation in general, but I humor him and nod.

He nods in return, apparently pleased with my act of solidarity, and walks with new resolve to the loaf of bread, from which he takes two slices and goes about making toast for breakfast.

There’s a knock at the door. And it’s not your average knuckle rap. It’s a succession of raps that vary in length and intensity. The knock is odd, to the point that my hesitation to answer the door is exaggerated, I’m questioning if it was actually a gesture asking for entry or something else entirely, like Morse code. When I come to my senses and shake the early morning fog from my brain, I walk to the front door and answer.

The stranger standing at my front door is wearing a white, strapless top with a big, red heart on it and frayed denim shorts. She has long dreadlocks in different hues of blues, greens and purples so vivid that rainbow doesn’t seem a sufficient description. My first reaction is one hundred percent male, instant initial appreciation. She’s eye catching. I’m not a perv, but no one would argue she has the face of an angel set atop a strikingly, well-proportioned body. Her hand is extended across the threshold in what I assume is greeting, like she’s offering to shake my hand, but then I notice she’s holding a mango in it. “Good morning, neighbor.”

I look from the mango to her glittering blue eyes and shake off the momentary shock of being unexpectedly greeted by a Technicolor goddess. “Good morning.” She smiles, and it makes her look younger. Innocent. Friendly. I take off my
male admiring female
hat and put back on my
neighbor greeting neighbor
hat.
 

“This is for you.” She shakes the mango like a maraca. Her hips follow the silent rhythm that only she’s hearing. “Little housewarming gift.”

I take it reluctantly. “A mango?” I question. I hope my surprise doesn’t sound inconsiderate.

She shrugs and when she does my eyes are drawn to the words tattooed below her collarbone,
Life blooms in second chances
. “Sorry, I know it’s a little unconventional, but it’s all I have.”

My hand reflexively tries to hand the mango back at her admission. “You should keep it then. If it’s all you have.” That sounded stupid. She wasn’t making a literal statement. Think before you speak, Seamus.

She smiles at my response and gently places both hands on top of the fruit in my right hand and slowly pushes it back until it’s touching my chest. “It’s a gift. Keep it. There’s this store a few miles down the street.” She raises her eyebrows as if she’s letting me in on a secret. “It’s called a supermarket. They sell replacements.” Her smile softens her teasing, and I find myself chuckling a little with her.

“Okay. Well, thank you…for the housewarming mango…” I pause and lift my eyebrows and chin, silently requesting her name.

“Faith,” she says as she turns and walks to descend the stairs. There’s a bounce in her step that reminds me of Kira when she’s playing. It’s carefree. She glances back over her shoulder and waves. “Nice to meet you…”

When she pauses on my name I fill in the blank, “Seamus.”

“Nice to meet you, Seamus.” When she says it, it sounds like she means it. That it really was nice to meet me. Nice. Genuine nice is such a rarity.

“Nice to meet you, too, Faith.” I look down at the mango in my hand and repeat the next word only for me, “Nice.” It feels at odds with the bitterness; the bitterness resents even the fleeting consideration and stomps it into oblivion.
 

I shut the door and take the mango to the kitchen where Rory asks, “What’s that?”

I tuck it away in the refrigerator while I answer him, “Housewarming gift from the neighbor.”

“Looks like fruit,” he responds dryly.

“It is.”

He’s looking at me for further explanation while he crunches through his slice of toast.

“A mango,” I offer.

“That’s right weird.” Rory sounds so proper with the accent.

“It’s a bit odd, yeah,” and I quickly add, “but it was nice too,” because I don’t want my kids putting the
weirdo
label on the neighbor on day two.

Hope your day is as awesome as you are

present

“Kira, darlin’, you need to wear real clothes today. It’s your first day of kindergarten.”

She tilts her head to the right. She always does this when she’s contemplating a comeback. She negotiates everything. “I want to wear this.”

“It’s a nightgown, not acceptable for school.” I counter while making three bologna sandwiches for their lunches.

“It’s a dress,” she challenges sweetly, complete with batting eyelashes.

“Nice try. It’s a nightgown with a cat wearing a tiara on it that says
I’m feline like a princess
. Nope. Not wearing it to school.” It’s not that their school is strict on dress code, but I know a nightgown would earn me a call from the office as soon as she walked in the door.

She slips down from her chair at the kitchen table. It’s one fluid movement, sulking down out of the chair, rather than standing from it. She grabs Pickles the cat from the table and looks determined as she heads to her room. That determination will translate in the nightgown being replaced with something equally as obscure, I’m sure of it. Kira is agreeable but she has a rebellious streak. Problems are rectified quickly, but always with a twist. And always with a sweet smile I can’t say no to.
 

“You want some help picking something out?” I call after her. Getting her dressed is always a production. She takes forever.

“Nope. I’ve got this, Daddy.”

I put extra pickles on Kira’s sandwich, wrap them all in baggies, and put them in their insulated lunch sacks along with a banana and a juice box. And then I grab the pizza flyer that’s lying on top of a pile of junk mail on the counter, tear it into thirds and I write the following note on each of them, along with tons of hearts because it embarrasses the boys, and put them in their lunch sacks along with the food:

   
When I walk into the living room, Rory is sitting on the couch with his backpack in his lap. He’s fiddling with the straps, needlessly adjusting them. He’s always been fidgety. “It would be ace if they had a quidditch team at my new school.”

“Yes, it would. But alas, Montgomery Academy is not for wizards. Sorry, mate.” I play along because I can tell he’s nervous about the first day at his new school. He likes it when I call him mate, the little prideful smirk on his face every time I say it tells me so.

“You think there’s a chance I could be a wizard, though? Maybe I just haven’t discovered my powers yet?” he says with a straight, hopeful face.

“No such luck. You’re a Muggle. No powers. Except your sense of humor.” I wink and walk out of the room to check on Kira and Kai.

“I’d rather turn someone into a toad than make them laugh,” he yells as I walk down the hall.

“Ribbit,” I yell back.

He laughs. I love to hear that laugh. It’s hard earned, and I feel triumphant when I can coax it out of him.

Kira is standing in the kids’ bedroom wearing a pink skirt with yellow polka dots, a blue plaid shirt, lime green flip-flops, and a sparkly tiara. I’d likely be a bit disappointed if her outfit matched. “You look beautiful, princess. Your chariot awaits. Grab your backpack. We’re off.” I smile as I hang my hand low, palm exposed.

She giggles and picks up her backpack from the floor near the closet and high fives me as she walks through the door into the hallway.

I knock on the closed bathroom door. “You ready, Kai?”

He’s brushing his teeth when he answers the door, but gives me a thumbs up.

We’re all loaded up in the car by seven-thirty and on our way to the schools—two of them. Theirs and mine. Their school, Montgomery Academy, is the neighborhood charter school, kindergarten through eighth.

Before the divorce, we lived twenty miles from here, which meant the kids had to change schools when we moved. I feel guilty about that, but it made sense to be closer to my job. And the apartment is affordable. Our old neighborhood wasn’t. But I still feel guilty. And guilt is heavy, like an anchor holding me in place and hindering any and all advancement.

Disturbingly human

present

“Isn’t that our neighbor?” Kira asks.
 

“She looks knackered,” Rory adds.

It takes me a few seconds to scan the people gathered on the beach and to translate knackered into American English. And when I see Faith standing on a milk crate on the boardwalk a few feet from the sand, both make sense. “Yes, that’s Faith. And she does look tired.” The kids like Faith. They’ve all met her in passing and think she’s nice and funny.

She’s holding a sign that reads
Free Hugs
. Everything about her looks exhausted, from her mildly slouched posture, to her half-lidded eyes, to the sallowness of the skin on her face, but her smile shines true and pure through the fog. It’s the beacon that lures people in. As I stand here with my children, we watch person after person approach her. And each time she steps off her milk crate, puts her poster board sign on the sand, and she hugs them. Sometimes the recipient is enthusiastic. Sometimes the recipient is shy and guarded. Sometimes the hugs are quick and sometimes they linger on for five to ten seconds. That doesn’t sound like a long time, but when you’re trading physical contact with a complete stranger, five to ten seconds is an eternity. My emotions sway from complete and utter awe, to cringe-worthy apprehension, to cautious alarm for her safety within the span of the few minutes we look on. But, what’s most astounding to me is that no matter what Faith receives from the huggee, she as the hugger consistently delivers a sound, loving, strong, heartfelt embrace. She’s consciously transmitting kindness to each person through touch. It’s the most disturbingly human thing I’ve seen in a very long time.