Chapter/ The Pickup

My mother’s voice nudges me out of an unreal place and time in dreamland.

“It’s time to wake up, Sweetie.” Before opening my eyes, I remember: Daddy is coming to get me. We’ll be spending the long weekend together at his house in Southampton. It’s been a long time since we’ve spent more than a day together. Not since last summer. I am nine, and have only known my parents as separate beings: our house, and Daddy’s house; our car, and Daddy’s car; her rules, and his. I’ve been careful to contain my excitement about this visit, afraid that he might cancel. Now, I’m bubbling inside. It’s coming true.

From my bed, I check the night sky out my window. It’s just as we planned, the starry black middle of the night. Mom’s faceless shape is a flat silhouette, backlit by the slip of light peeking around my bedroom door. “Wake up,” she repeats gently. “You have about half an hour before Daddy gets here.”

            “What time is it?” I ask, my arms and legs still stuck in a sleepy twist.

            “It’s four.  He said he’d be here right after he got off work.”

            “Did you listen?” I know she has long since broken the habit of monitoring Daddy on the radio, but maybe she’s checked on his timeline tonight.

            “No. I’m sure he’ll be on time,” she says with certainty.

We packed my bag and set my clothes out before going to bed, so getting ready is simple. We move through our usual morning routine, with Mom pushing me along, like she doesn’t trust me to get it all done. We share a quick and quiet breakfast of Rice Krispies, too early for our regular morning news shows. My mother sits in somber detachment, not her usual chatty self. I won’t be seeing her for four days, and she’s already come disconnected. The anticipation of Daddy’s arrival has her on edge.

“He should be here any minute,” she finally says. And on cue, the intercom buzzer rings. “You can get it.” She smiles, knowing how eager I am to see him. I run to the door, stretch on tiptoe to reach the intercom box, and answer.

            Talk button/ “Hello?”

Listen button/ “Hello! It’s your Daddy!”  His words ease across his warm, toothy smile.

Talk button/ “Hi Daddy! I’m ready!” I holler.

Listen button/ “Ok, ok. Buzz me in now,” he coaxes.

So I do. Then I listen for the telltale sounds of the lobby door closing behind him. The click of the latch. The trailing echo of hollow sound in the empty vestibule. Mom comes at me, flustered. “Go get your things. And make sure your toiletries make it into your bag.” I’m wide awake now, and look at her fully. I notice her outfit and am horrified.

“Mom! Your bathrobe! You’re not dressed!”

She glances toward her chest, down to her toes. “So?”

            “Daddy’s on his way up! He must be in the elevator already!” How can you greet him in your pajamas?!

            “He doesn’t care if I’m in my bathrobe,” she explains dryly, as if I should know. She’s not going to discuss it any further. Their relationship – or what’s left of it – is their business. Not mine.  They’ve each told me that. I hope that when I’m older, they’ll trust me with their stories. Because I find it hard to believe that they ever liked each other. They are as different as two adults can be. They have nothing in common. Except me.

I try to forget Mom’s bathrobe and slippers. In the bathroom, I check my own reflection, smooth some stray flyaway hairs, and square my shoulders. Pretty good, I think. Daddy will approve of this shirt, with the alligator logo, like the ones the big kids at school wear. He likes the preppy look. My jeans are crisp and new. Saved, from our last shopping trip, for just such an occasion.

I realize I’m hearing Daddy and Mom already exchanging hellos, so I hover, down the hall, out of sight.

            Hi, Clar. Punctual as always.

            Good morning. Sorry about the ungodly hour.

            Come on in. She’s just getting her bag.

            All right.

            Sweetie! Daddy’s here!

            Coming!

Standing by the door, Daddy’s hands are casually jammed into the front pockets of his blue blazer, unbuttoned over a crisp light yellow oxford shirt. He’s clean-shaven, wearing pleated khaki pants and black loafers with no pennies in the slots. As I run at him, he bends to receive me into his long, loving arms. He smells so good I pull my face into his soft ribcage and breathe him in, locking my hands together behind his back.

            “Hey, Melon Ball! You’re going to crush my lungs! When did you get so strong?” He asks, laughing.

            “She’s doing gymnastics. Her teacher says she has great upper body strength,” Mom answers.

            “I told him about gymnastics, Mom,” I mumble, with my face still pressed against Daddy’s torso. He takes me by the shoulders and forces me out in front of him. He takes a long look at me, the way most relatives do when they haven’t seen you for a while. He smiles his approval.

            “I like that shirt. The color’s very nice on you.”

            “Thanks, Daddy.” I beam. It’s going to be the most perfect visit. Four whole days, and no working in between. Just us, and the beach, and Bobo the dog. McDonald’s for dinner, and Entenmann’s chocolate doughnuts, and bologna sandwiches. And badminton, and Frisbee, and basketball in the driveway. We’ll stay up late watching scary movies, and maybe we’ll even go to the drive-in.

            “What time do you think you’ll be back Sunday?” Mom breaks in.

“Well, I have to be at work by five, so we’ll shoot for between three-thirty and four.”

“Wait. Sunday?” -  I’m stunned - “I don’t have school Monday. Aren’t we coming back Tuesday?”

“Oh, no,” says Mom. “You can’t miss school Tuesday. You’ll have to come back Sunday, and hang out with me on Monday.”

“Can’t I stay with Daddy? At least Monday?” Please don’t make me beg.

He chimes in, “I’m not coming into the city until Wednesday night. You’d have to miss school Tuesday. Mom says you can’t miss school.”

Daddy has let her decide, as usual. I’m scared to look at him. Scared that he’ll see how close I am to tears. I don’t want to look like a crybaby. I can’t make eye contact with Mom either. This is her fault. So I look at the door, and I wish I could become invisible and run straight through it, far away from this.

“Come on, baby. Don’t look so sad. We’ll have a great time,” Daddy says. “I

have a surprise for you in the car. I promise, it’s going to be a great weekend.”

Mom isn’t backing down. “I’m sorry you’re upset. I thought you understood the plan. You know you can’t miss school.”

Our “perfect visit” is already cut short. I don’t care what the surprise is. There won’t be time to do all the things I imagined. And Monday, I’ll have to sit around the apartment with Mom, instead of being out at the beach with Daddy. The school year is almost over, and this holiday weekend is supposed to be the start of something grand. There will be lots of weekends at the beach this summer. It’s going to be great. So I have to be cool, or the invitations won’t come. I have to be sensible and not blow it. Be agreeable, so he doesn’t get upset. He won’t make the effort if I’m a pain.

Daddy picks up my bag, stuffed with two days’ too many clothes, and reaches his free hand toward the door. “Let’s get going. No sense standing around being upset.”

            “I’m ok, Daddy. I’m just really happy you came.” I smile. I want to hug him again but he’s already halfway out the door. He calls over his shoulder at Mom, “We’ll see you Sunday,” just as she’s bending down to kiss me. I give her a quick hug around the neck, then grab Daddy’s arm and follow him out. As the door clanks shut, Mom’s voice calls “Bye,” behind us.

            We ring for the elevator and wait, me still holding onto Daddy’s arm, and him still holding onto my overnight bag. The hum of the elevator approaches, then swallows us down. Nineteen stories is a long descent; over a minute, by my calculations. A long time to stand in uncomfortable silence with your beloved Daddy. I’m grateful when he speaks.

            “Do you remember that I said I have a surprise for you in the car?”

            “Yes,” I answer shyly.

            “Well, it’s Ara. She’s so excited to see you again.” He doesn’t seem to comprehend the burn of this announcement.

I smile, because I know I should. But inside I am crumbling. It’s clear that his girlfriend Ara will be spending the weekend with us. She will come between us, and dance around us, and distract Daddy’s attention and affection as only a girlfriend can. My knees lock as the elevator door opens. Daddy drapes a heavy arm around my shoulder and leads me out into the lobby, and out to his car. To Ara, smiling and waving.