Niavi And The Ice Chapter 1 Part 3
Nia goes in depth.
It was then that I remembered the mail. Every Sunday, as I sat in the lobby of my Father's office, mail would arrive and Courtney (the lady at the front desk) would always give me my Father's mail to give to him when it was time to head back home. Sometimes they would come in bulk due to my Father's constant business trips and traveling, so we'd miss the mail every now and then. As I sat in the lobby, I would rifle through his mail, discarding any unnecessary ads or offers, keeping business letters sent to him from his colleagues. I came upon an invitation card, to an opening of a bridal boutique in Seattle. Imprinted across the pearly white paper was the word Graceful written in fancy, loopy writing. I read the date, time, and where it would be taking place, wondering how this was relevant to my Father or his interests. And like so much else that didn't deal with work, I threw it into the pile of ads and coupons of cheap suntan lotion and ninety nine cent candles.
But then they kept coming, but this time it would have something about new summer lines, autumn lines, depending on the season. Pictures of stick skinny models dressed in frilly whites and body hugging chiffon would take over the pages of catalogs as if getting married was like a constant practice, every dress for every occasion. So I would keep discarding them until one day I asked him at dinner as we sat across from each other at a table so far apart in length that it felt as if you had to shout just to close the distance between us, candles lit and million dollar chandelier gleaming above our heads.
"You've been getting a lot of wedding stuff...you know, in the mail?" I would say to him.
He would look up from his plate before taking a sip of his wine. "Wonder why that is."
"You tell me."
"Marriage is the last thing on my mind." He couldn't say it any better. And before we could even deepen our conversation, a random phone call from the office would lure him out of his seat and into the den, only coming out to see me already clearing the table.
*******
I opened my eyes to a door closing. I rubbed my eyes, positioning myself better in my seat. Gardening tools, hammers, wrenches, and other manly junk hung on the wall I was facing. I looked around the car and saw Dylan through the window carrying my luggage in front of the garage door, we had arrived.
"You fell asleep," He said through the open window. "I think I was blabbing on like an idiot only to find you already knocked out. By the way, I think you drooled a bit on the window; your head was pushed up against it. Might want to wipe that off, Grace would bitch." And he smiled this goofy smile, he had a crooked grin with dimples to complement it while my eyes were ready to pop right out of their sockets in mortification. I furiously swiped at the window with my sleeve, careful not to leave a mark, I did not want to upset a woman who I would be staying with but never even met.
I got out of the car and then walked out of the garage, my uggs thudding with every step. I looked back up the house, a thick blanket of snow covering the roof, icicles dangling from every corner. There were pine trees on the side, little lamps planted in the snow alongside the stone steps that led all the way to the double oak doors. It looked as if Grace did well for herself. I had only seen her in pictures as my Father would show me as a child. But they were always the same beat up old photos back when he still had a full head of hair. He'd sit me down on his lap and we'd both look down on the picture at the red haired girl in pigtails, her freckles drastic on her face.
Clearly, Elaine Barker had wild, fiery red hair, unlike my Mother, who had raven black curls and eccentric blue eyes (which I had inherited, but instead, I had gotten my Father's light honey colored hair). My Father would tell me that she was my sister, only that we had different Mothers but deep in my heart I didn't believe that she ever existed as a sister of mine because my whole life, I had been alone with my Dad. Alone was what I was used to that it became almost ordinary to me, that not being alone was almost abnormal.
"Hey, you'll be alright?" Dylan's deep voice brought me back. "I gotta go pick up my car. I'll see you around...I guess." With that, he pulled his beanie over his head and walked to the house right next to Grace's.
I watched him disappear into the frosted bushes dividing the two houses from each other before pulling my phone out of my pocket. Without thinking, I dialed my Father's number, I knew better than to expect a warm conversation with him the way ordinary families did when they were millions of miles away from each other. I would just inform him that I had arrived safely and that the story behind the mysterious bridal wear catalogs were now solved. My Father and I were always like that, a bit awkward due to us having nothing in common other than hair color. But we were used to it, no one but the two of us could ever understand a relationship like ours.
But nevertheless, I sometimes wondered if my Father ever wore an expression or even had a soul underneath that serious facade of his, underneath all the business suits and phone calls, all the private jets and models of every building being created, underneath money and his obsession to provide his family with it when he knew very well that it was only me at the end of the day. There was no need for him to provide for his other kids for they have their own lives now and could care for themselves. But despite all this about my Father, I was content, staying quiet and out of his way, letting him do what he did best.
But then they kept coming, but this time it would have something about new summer lines, autumn lines, depending on the season. Pictures of stick skinny models dressed in frilly whites and body hugging chiffon would take over the pages of catalogs as if getting married was like a constant practice, every dress for every occasion. So I would keep discarding them until one day I asked him at dinner as we sat across from each other at a table so far apart in length that it felt as if you had to shout just to close the distance between us, candles lit and million dollar chandelier gleaming above our heads.
"You've been getting a lot of wedding stuff...you know, in the mail?" I would say to him.
He would look up from his plate before taking a sip of his wine. "Wonder why that is."
"You tell me."
"Marriage is the last thing on my mind." He couldn't say it any better. And before we could even deepen our conversation, a random phone call from the office would lure him out of his seat and into the den, only coming out to see me already clearing the table.
*******
I opened my eyes to a door closing. I rubbed my eyes, positioning myself better in my seat. Gardening tools, hammers, wrenches, and other manly junk hung on the wall I was facing. I looked around the car and saw Dylan through the window carrying my luggage in front of the garage door, we had arrived.
"You fell asleep," He said through the open window. "I think I was blabbing on like an idiot only to find you already knocked out. By the way, I think you drooled a bit on the window; your head was pushed up against it. Might want to wipe that off, Grace would bitch." And he smiled this goofy smile, he had a crooked grin with dimples to complement it while my eyes were ready to pop right out of their sockets in mortification. I furiously swiped at the window with my sleeve, careful not to leave a mark, I did not want to upset a woman who I would be staying with but never even met.
I got out of the car and then walked out of the garage, my uggs thudding with every step. I looked back up the house, a thick blanket of snow covering the roof, icicles dangling from every corner. There were pine trees on the side, little lamps planted in the snow alongside the stone steps that led all the way to the double oak doors. It looked as if Grace did well for herself. I had only seen her in pictures as my Father would show me as a child. But they were always the same beat up old photos back when he still had a full head of hair. He'd sit me down on his lap and we'd both look down on the picture at the red haired girl in pigtails, her freckles drastic on her face.
Clearly, Elaine Barker had wild, fiery red hair, unlike my Mother, who had raven black curls and eccentric blue eyes (which I had inherited, but instead, I had gotten my Father's light honey colored hair). My Father would tell me that she was my sister, only that we had different Mothers but deep in my heart I didn't believe that she ever existed as a sister of mine because my whole life, I had been alone with my Dad. Alone was what I was used to that it became almost ordinary to me, that not being alone was almost abnormal.
"Hey, you'll be alright?" Dylan's deep voice brought me back. "I gotta go pick up my car. I'll see you around...I guess." With that, he pulled his beanie over his head and walked to the house right next to Grace's.
I watched him disappear into the frosted bushes dividing the two houses from each other before pulling my phone out of my pocket. Without thinking, I dialed my Father's number, I knew better than to expect a warm conversation with him the way ordinary families did when they were millions of miles away from each other. I would just inform him that I had arrived safely and that the story behind the mysterious bridal wear catalogs were now solved. My Father and I were always like that, a bit awkward due to us having nothing in common other than hair color. But we were used to it, no one but the two of us could ever understand a relationship like ours.
But nevertheless, I sometimes wondered if my Father ever wore an expression or even had a soul underneath that serious facade of his, underneath all the business suits and phone calls, all the private jets and models of every building being created, underneath money and his obsession to provide his family with it when he knew very well that it was only me at the end of the day. There was no need for him to provide for his other kids for they have their own lives now and could care for themselves. But despite all this about my Father, I was content, staying quiet and out of his way, letting him do what he did best.
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