Picasso's Promise

Episode 43| Bending the Rules

SYDNEY'S POV

The story my dad told me, at least as a kid, on how he met my mother was one that left a lot of gaps in between. He said that they both took the same bus ride to school. And one morning, he decided to say hello to the pretty girl that always had her hair parted down the side, braided into a ponytail. She happened to be a student at the catholic girl's school across the street from his.

I wished I could call beyond the grave and ask him questions about that encounter. Regardless of where my mind went, each of them started with Why.

Why lie to me for all these years? A girl needs her mother. 

Why disclose a different place as your hometown? You're from south central.

Why, why, why...

I wanted to decode every detail he told me about his love for my mother, put it under a microscope and see if I could find answers of my own.

"How did they know each other?" Danielle asked. "Did your dad ever tell you about how they first met?"

"All the time," I sighed, "But I'm starting to doubt it the more I think about it."

"Why is that?"

"He said she went to an all girl's catholic school, and based on the fact that my aunt said that he was born and raised in south central, it makes me wondering what school would he be mentioning? The only all-girls school I know of around here is immaculate heart."

"There's no way your mom went there. I don't know of any city busses that go by there."

"I think he was lying about how he met her," I admitted, crossing my arms over my chest. "Where are we driving to, Picasso?"

"We're going to the one person who I know knew your dad," he replied, "Mister Langston. He's always at the diner around this time."

Picasso pulled into the parking lot, putting his sunglasses up his face and checking his reflection. He looked at a pimp that was developing on his nose and hissed after pinching it.

"Don't poke at it. You'll make it scar." I said. He didn't respond well to my remark, rolling his eyes only. "Have you been stressed lately?"

"Not more than usual," he noted, hopping out the car. "Let's get this over with. I have a test for my fifth period – and I don't want to miss it. I don't think Mrs. London will let me take it late. And this is the last place I'd want to be."

"Well, aren't you in a good mood," Danielle said the words for me. "You can wait in the car."

"What the hell," he huffed, "I wouldn't dream of it. I'm not letting you guys converse with that man alone. He needs at least three separate onlookers just to make sure he doesn't pull some shit."

"Then why are we talking to him if you think he's so bad?" I inquired. "We could ask my aunt."

"And what? Get lied to? She told you the truth once – but she's been consistently telling you lies the moment you got here." He put his arm around me in a securing way, almost as if he was afraid I'd fly away like a balloon.

Picasso planted a kiss on the top of my head and I let out a soft breath in relief. Nothing felt more right than the way he held me and translated his care for me in his little subtle ways.

"You matter so much to me, Sydney. I want to be here for you at a moment like this. You deserve my undivided attention. I should've been there the night you found out your mom was alive. And I'm sorry," he said with a stern voice, meaning every bit of it. "I'm sorry I've been acting real flakey. I promise it won't happen again. Sorry for saying I don't want to be here. It's just that I don't want to see Mr Langston. I want to be here for you though - always."

I snuggled up next to him, nodding my head. "Thank you for saying that."

"Now, if you two love birds are done," Danielle chimed, "I'd like to order something actually. And since we're short on time, I'd like to put my order in for hashbrowns real fast."

Picassos rolled his eyes again, but more playfully this time, letting out a stiffened laugh. "I'm not okay with you eating in my car. You better finish it here."

Mr Langston wasn't at the diner as we had thought. We walked inside and he was nowhere to be seen. The place wasn't packed. It had about ten people in total, checking the menu or sipping on their morning coffee.

An hour after we had arrived, a new car pulled into the lot, parking next to the empty spot next to ours. I was distracted with my phone when the door opened, looking up from it when I saw a man dressed in a colorful attire.

It was Mr Langston, dashing in with a pressed suit. Picasso did the job of grabbing Mr Langston's gaze, waving him over to our table.

"What can I do for you, youngblood?" Mr Langston took off his hat and set it on the table. "I don't have much time. I'm meeting someone here."

"We won't take up much of your time," Picasso said, "we wanted to know if you had any information about a particular person."

"Who exactly?"

"My father," I said at once. "I just learned that my mother is alive...and," I didn't want to break down, but there was a crack in my voice. "I want to know if you have any clue where I could find her."

"Doesn't your father have a sister?" Mr Langston asked. "I could've sworn he had a sister who lived in this neighborhood."

"He had a sister?" Picasso turned to me, facing the table with a new sense of excitement. He was smiling. "That's great - where can we find her?"

"You'll have to get an appointment."

"Why is that?"

"She's the card reader down Lincoln Blvd. Only way you can get a chance to talk to her is if you ask for a palm or a card reading."

Looks like we're meeting a psychic.
++++

A/N: new cover, do you like it? Please vote and comment your predictions