Triangles (7 page)

UNEXPECTEDLY

Shane gets up, rinses his plate,

puts it in the dishwasher, then

comes over and puts a hand on

my shoulder.
I can take care of
Shelby for a couple of hours.

You go to the baby shower.

I shake my head. “If something

happened, it would take me too

long to get back. And it’s not

that important for me to go.”

Mom, you never get to do any-

thing. It’s really fucked-up of
Dad to load everything onto

you. She’s his daughter too.

He’s saying everything I’m

thinking. “I know. But it is

what it is. Right now, will you

please help me take her outside?”

Sure. But only if you stop crying.

Then he does something he hasn’t

in I can’t remember how long—

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he hugs me. Like he loves me.

Shelby will have to wait a few

more minutes. Tears fall in earnest.

A FEW MINUTES

Late waking, you could

miss a train. But while

you wait for the next one,

your

world might start spinning faster.

Someone new saunters

off the subway and into your

life

with nothing more than

a smile at the exact right

moment. Sometimes fate

is

generous. The challenge is

acknowledging the gifts

she offers. They are

not

always obvious. At times

one appears, subtle

as a moon shadow. A smile,

the same

as a thousand other smiles,

except for the intent

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behind it.

Andrea

IF I HAD TO TELL THE TRUTH

Every time I opened my mouth,

my sister wouldn’t be speaking

to me right now. Because the truth

is, I could have waited a couple

of hours to go pick up Harley. Not

like her dad is on his deathbed.

But Shelby is. I see her slipping

closer and closer to her destiny.

And it’s a damn hard thing to watch.

Poor Missy. She deserves a few

hours away from the overwhelming

pressure. But today, I just couldn’t take the weight myself. I feel selfish.

I feel relieved to be in my car, almost to Fallon—a forgettable town at

the very edge of the Great Basin playa.

Farmers and Navy families. (Whose

idea was it to put a naval air station 100/881

smack in the middle of sand dunes?) And not a few antigovernment

libertarians, one of them being my ex.

A HIGH SCHOOL HOOKUP

That’s what we were, me a stoner

and Steve a defensive lineman

jock who liked getting buzzed

when he wasn’t knocking down

quarterbacks. Not a partnership

made in heaven, but dating anyone

on our state champion football

team put you at the top of our

very short social ladder. I liked

being up there, even if it meant

taking a fair amount of verbal

abuse from the boy who supposedly

loved me. Back in the day, I didn’t classify getting cussed out regularly as abuse. Maybe because my dad

treated my mom the same way.

It was normal. And so was sex,

of the unprotected variety. I had

an unforgettable senior year—

cherry popped just before Christmas.

Pregnant by Easter. Married right

after graduation. I miscarried a week 102/881

later. After I healed, I went straight to Planned Parenthood for birth control.

Steve found work as a roofer. DMV

was hiring, and somehow I qualified.

The daily fighting began. But I refused to admit our marriage was a mistake.

Four years into the ugly mess, for

some ridiculous reason, I decided

a baby could fix things. Harley

was like an umbrella in a hurricane.

When I had to take maternity leave, Steve worked ever-longer hours.

He came home, relaxed with a beer

or ten. Then he took a major fall.

Back surgery. Hospital bills. Meds

for the pain. Addiction to meds.

It isn’t an unusual story. But it

turned out to be his story. Mine too.

I stayed with him way too long.

At the end, the decision was easy

to make. Harley was six and in

school. I already had a decent

job, with bennies and a generous-

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enough salary to pay rent, utilities, and feed my daughter and me.

Steve didn’t even try to keep us.

IT’S AN HOUR

From Reno to Fallon. At least

on the return trip, I’ll have

Harley’s enthusiastic conversation

to keep me from getting swept

away by a river of painful reverie.

Steve is sitting outside, smoking

with an auburn-haired woman, a few

years younger than he. She is tall, and straighter than she should be

considering the size of her breasts in relationship to relative body fat.

Fakies, for sure. Not that he’d care if they’re real or silicone. Not that I care, either. Steve doesn’t bother to introduce us, so I say, “Hi. I’m Andrea.” That’s all it takes.
Harley’s mom,
right? God, she is just the sweetest
thing. I’m taken with her, ya know?

Uh, yeah. She’s my kid.
Oh. I’m
Cassie. Cassandra, but, ya know.

I don’t exactly know much, but

I’m starting to guess a lot. She talks about a hundred miles per hour

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and weighs about the same number

of pounds. “Where
is
Harley?”
FINALLY

Steve opens his mouth.
She’s inside,
playing XBox 360 with Chad.

Okay, but “Who’s Chad?” Somehow,

I guess the answer before it comes.

Cass’s kid.
When I start toward the door, Steve says,
Wait. I have something to tell
you. I got a job in Reno. I’m moving back
next week. I want to see Harley more …

Yeah,
chimes in Cassie.
I told him
a father needs to be in his kid’s life.

Thank you very much, Ms. Anorexia.

“Uh. Yeah. Well, we can discuss it.” Not right now, however. I semi-storm the door. Inside, my sweet, preadolescent daughter is sitting practically knee to knee with a completely adolescent boy who looks exactly like his mother. Minus the fake tits, of course, and plus a few zits. The two kids 107/881

are completely absorbed by some sort of gun-fire game. “Hey, Harley. What are you playing?” She doesn’t even look at me.
Wicked
Warfare. It’s really cool.
She does glance at Chad, and I do not like her expression—

total adoration. She just met this guy, and he’s not all that, and he’s way too old, and … “Okay. Well, we’ve got to go.”
Just one minute. Let me finish this
round.
She keeps blasting away at something on-screen … “Wait.

What are you shooting? Not kids?”

Don’t worry,
says Chad.
They’re not
American kids. They’re Muslims.

What the hell? “Harley …” I keep my voice controlled. “Let’s go. Now.”

Finally, she turns her face toward me, and what she sees convinces her I’m not kidding.

She puts down the controller.
Bye,
Chad. I’ll see you soon.
I only hope 108/881

she notices he doesn’t acknowledge

her, except to say,
Yeah. See ya.

ON OUR WAY

To the car, Harley goes over to Steve, gives him a big kiss goodbye. Then, against all reason, she rewards Cassie the same way. When was the last time she kissed me? A little monster, not positive of its color, but likely green, begins a slow nibble in my belly.

Not fair! Where was this man

through eight years of parent-teacher conferences? Where was he when

she sang holiday carols and recited two-line soliloquies in school plays?

As for his girlfriend, regardless

of how long she’s been in his picture, Harley never met her before yesterday.

She doesn’t deserve my child’s

affection. And neither does her son.

Guess we’re past due for that mother-daughter talk. Wonder if a churn of stomach acid can kill that little monster.

HALFWAY HOME

I’m still working on how to approach the subject when Harley saves me

the trouble.
How do I lose weight,
Mom?
She has always worn a few extra pounds, but not a whole lot.

“Fewer calories, more exercise.”

She assesses herself in the mirror.

Would you help me? Please?

“Of course. But why are you

worried about it, all of a sudden?”
I want to wear skinny jeans, like
Brianna does. They’re the style.

“You and Bri have totally different body styles, Harley. Even if you lose—”
I don’t care! All the boys like her,
and they never like me. I hate it.

Where is this coming from? Oh.

“This isn’t about Chad, is it?” It is.

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He’s really cute. And he’s really nice.

And he doesn’t have a girlfriend.

YIKES! MAJOR CRUSH

Her first, at least that I’m aware of.

And it happened so fast. Oh my God.

Do they all strike like rattlesnakes—

quick and venomous and relentless?

As she goes on about Chad and how

he taught her to play
Wicked Warfare,
something he said comes back to me.

They’re Muslims.
“So does Chad go to Fallon High?” Please, please say yes.

No. He goes to Reno High. Isn’t that
awesome? Cassie got Dad his new job
at Terrible’s, and they’re going to live
together. So when I go see Dad, I’ll get
to see Chad too. Isn’t that awesome?

I’m on a diet as of today. Can we stop
at the store and get healthy food?

’Cause you buy too much junk food,
and you know me. I can’t say no to …

I stop listening. Not even her chatter bombardment can keep me from plunging into that river of reverie. It’s not that 113/881

Harley’s growing up. That, I can (sort of) take. (Minus all the “awesomes.”) What I can’t take at all is Steve helping her do it.

REVERIE

Is a place to cozy into

when you’re alone and

in need of understanding.

It’s a familiar space

where

candles light the corridor

to yesterday. Or tomorrow.

Take the left fork to what

will be, the right into

memory.

There, in that vast,

mirrored hall where

dreams echo without

change, illusion

gains

transparency. Linger

awhile and the murky

water of recollection parts,

allowing essential

clarity.

Sometimes it happens

like that. Sometimes

you just get lost.

Holly

FAMILY DYNAMICS

Are not static. They can change with a choice.

A whim. Happenstance. Mikayla goes to a party.

Gets busted. Gets grounded. Without technology.

She actually picks up a magazine.
Time.
Sees a story about how the Internet is changing the way adoptees locate their birth parents.

Have you ever thought about trying this?

she asks.
I mean, c’mon, Mom. No-brainer.

And the weirdest thing is, no. I never thought about using Facebook to try to find my birth parents. I’ve talked about searching for years.