She’s chewing on her nails and staring timidly out the window. She’s probably trying to figure out if I’ve kidnapped her, given that she’s already warned me not to be a mass murderer. “Where are we?”
“I opted for the scenic route. I figured we could use a break from the 405.” I flash her a wink.
The acidic tone of her mother’s voice put me on edge, so I can only imagine what it’s doing to her. I wanted to grab the phone and toss dear old mom out the window into oncoming traffic. It all hit a bit too close to home for me. Too much familiarity. Not in the exact words, but in their meaning—the painful lash they inflict.
That old saying they tried to teach kids about sticks and stones? It’s utter bullshit. Words have fangs. They sink into the skin and burrow deep in the mind. They gnash and claw at happiness and confidence. Like a spell or mind control, these words give the speaker a power only they can control. The closer to your heart that person is, the more pain their words inflict.
“No, that was…appreciated. Thank you.” She tries to smile, but it doesn’t last long. I don’t want her to be locked in this shell, but I don’t want her to have to pretend either. “Did, uhm, you hear any of that?”
“Nah. I was way too busy watching traffic and thinking of how next to embarrass myself in front of the pretty girl next to me.” She doesn’t need to know I heard every damn word. I wish I could tell her I understand, but somehow, that feels hollow—like I’m trying to make it a competition. ‘Whose mom is the worst’ isn’t a game I’d care to play with her.
“Okay.”
Her entire demeanor has changed, so I’m treading lightly for now, trying to find a crack in the shell she’s hiding inside. The speed at which she shut down isn’t foreign to me. We’re too much alike, and that scares me. I want to hold her, to whisper how badly I want to help her. I’ll open my own wounds and pour out my soul if I thought it would help heal hers.
As we drive, I remember something from last night. It’s small, but it might help. I reach behind her and pull my jacket out, laying it over her. She instantly snuggles into it, and I can see some of the tension loosen its hold on her. I’m not taking her to the conference like this. I need to give her somewhere safe, somewhere she can hit the reset button and tuck away the insecurities her mother brings up again until Lexi can deal with them on her terms.
“Hey, uhm, there’s this excellent breakfast place up this way. What do you say we start the day over with better coffee and the closest thing to home-cooked food you can get from a restaurant? It’s better than convention center food.”
“Can I leave my phone in your car?”
“Do whatever you need to, Angel.” I glance over at her while we wait for a light. She doesn’t flinch when I reach over and wipe the tear from her cheek. “I thought you might appreciate a little comfort food and time to shake that call off. We can probably get a table away from anyone else.”
“Okay. Yeah.”
When I park down a crowded side street near a golf course ten minutes later, Lexi is confused. For whatever reason, she’s trusting me and I’d like to keep it that way. Inside the house-turned-restaurant, memorabilia and framed pictures of different water skiing events from years ago decorate the walls. The place has a comforting atmosphere of someone’s lakeside home with pictures of real people on the walls instead of those ugly corporate paintings of fruit.
She slips her arm through the jacket sleeve and into my hand as a man walks toward us with a big smile. I squeeze her hand twice. Once to tell her I’ve got her. A second time to tell her I understand. She tucks her head against my shoulder, as if she gets what I’m trying to tell her without words.
“Hey, hey! Long time no see, pal! And a good morning to you too, young lady.” The man’s bright white smile is flashy but kind. He owns the place and takes pride in running it. It’s why it wins all sorts of local awards. “End of the patio?”
“Yeah, please.” He walks us outside, and after Lexi takes the seat facing the road, I slide into the patio-length booth across from her.
“If you order the cappuccino or anything with foam on top, that guy comes out and draws a little duck in the drink. It’s kind of his schtick.”
“Guess you come here a lot?”
“Enough. My dad and I came to this place as much as possible when we lived closer. He and the owner would talk each other’s ears off about anything and everything under the sun.” Realizing I should veer the conversation for my own good, I change gears. “Do you like muffins?”
“Uhm, I dunno. I mean, coffee’s fine.”
“I’m not convinced. What if I order one, and if you want, you can try it? I promise only healthy stuff in your half. All the calories or glutens or whatever people say is bad are in my half. Okay?” I want to see her eat something, but I’ve got a feeling her mother is why she’s not.
She nods reluctantly, right as the waitress steps outside and rounds the corner. “Hey, hey, stranger! I haven’t seen you and your pops down this way in forever!”
“Yeah, it’s been a while.” I order one of their giant muffins and coffee for both of us, flashing Lexi a smirk and a wink as I do. I wait for the waitress to leave before I ask, “Would it be better if we talked about work?”
“No, I’d probably get annoyed with myself that we’re here instead of at the convention.” She looks at her watch and then at the menu. She simply wants the day to end. She needs to be in her safe space, hidden away from the pain. Mine was in the closet as a kid; in bed as an adult. “Do you bring people here often?”
“No. Only you.”
“Only me?” She bites her lip and I can tell she’s trying to come out. Struggling to resurface. “And all the girls you try to flatter after making out with them in a bathroom and bailing?”
“Ouch.” I lean forward and gaze into her eyes; it’s like staring into a strange mirror, like seeing all my hurt in someone else’s eyes. I want to take it all from her, but I know that’s now how it works. “I’ve never brought anyone here. Not dates, not friends, not even clients. Because this is mine, this is a secret place I could go to when I needed reassurance that I’m in a safe place. Well, it’s not very secret; the place is packed on weekends.”
This was a private getaway for my dad and I. We’d sit for hours after my therapy sessions. I would sketch and work through my issues while he talked to people and made sure I ate. When I tilt my head and peek through the window, I spot Dad’s sketch on the wall. A waterskiing duck. It’s cartoonish and silly, not his typical style, but I can see him in each pencil stroke. He loved sharing art with people, making them something unique. He also loved bringing me here. Something about the place always helped me.
“Oh!” she gasps. I get the sense that she finally sees something familiar in me. “I, uhm, I thought that…never mind.”
