James stays for dinner, which is homemade pizza, but has to leave around eight because June is crabby. He leaves with promises to bring me back to the beach tomorrow. We may bring Patrick and Emma, because Elise isn’t feeling so good, but it may just be an ‘us’ day, which I’m very much looking forward to. I actually have a heart to heart talk with my Mom before I go to bed, which I have my room to myself again because Elise’s caught something from the park. “I know you’re probably mad at me,” she walked in while I was reading, and sits down on the edge of my bed. “I’m not,” I close my book, “I’m mad that you didn’t tell me.”
“I’m sorry. I was trying to protect you.”
“From what? Reality? The truth?”
Mom smiles, “You couldn’t handle the truth.”
I laugh, “I probably could have. I’ve been pretty independent my whole life.”
“I know. I kind of wish you were a little more dependent, but I guess it’s better that you weren’t.” After a long pause I ask, “Why didn’t you tell me Mom?” She sighs, “I don’t know Elizabeth… I really don’t.” “You should have,” I say. “I’m sorry, really.” “What was he like?” I ask. “He was just like you are; level headed and smart, and funny, of course. I could never love someone who doesn’t make me laugh,” she looks almost sad when she says this. “You loved him?” I ask, to be honest I can’t picture my Mom with anyone but Phil. She smiles, “Of course I loved him! I had a baby with him!” I shake my head and smile, “What did he look like?” She hands me a picture she pulled from her back pocket. It’s a picture of a very young looking Mom, and a man I had never seen before, holding a baby, who I assume to be me. “How old were you?” I ask. “I was 17, you were a month or two old,” Mom says, peeking around my shoulder to look at the picture too. The man (man used extremely lightly) is tall, he towers over my Mom, a good seven or eight inches. They both have a sprinkling of pimples that cover their face. He has long hair that flops into his green eyes; his hair is dark brown and straight. He’s smiling, and I can see why I needed braces. His teeth are anything but straight. I look up after a long time, “What’s him name?” “Your Dad? His is name Andrew,” Mom explains, “He got called away to the army when he was 18, just before your first birthday. We tried, we really did. We couldn’t stay together because we were so far apart. I moved to Florida with you when you were three, Grandma and Granddad said they would pay for me to move if I got my GED. I met Phil and we got married when you were four. Andrew calls sometimes, but I told him that I didn’t want you to grow up with two fathers. I apologized every time called, until he stopped. He wrote you a letter that he wants you to read on your wedding day. He loved you very much.” She beamed, she was so happy to be talking about him. “Can I… Can I meet him? Doesn’t he live down here?” I ask timidly. “You can try to get a hold on him. The last time he called was your thirteenth birthday. He most likely has the same number. We can try tomorrow okay?” Mom says, and then she smiles really big, “His birthday is July fourth. Maybe if he still lives close enough you can meet him. He would love that.”
I fell asleep easily. I don’t dream, at least I don’t remember if I did, but I wake up smiling. I call James, just because, and he asks if I still want to go to the beach. “Of course I do, but just me and you, or Emma and Patrick too?” I ask. “Doesn’t matter, I’m sure Patrick would love to see Emma,” James says. “I’ll go see if she’s awake. When will you be over?” I ask, getting out of bed. “Twenty minutes okay?” he asks. “Yeah, I’ll go see if Emma’s awake. Bring Patrick just in case, she’s more than likely awake,” I say, “If she’s not I’ll text you.” We hang up and I go and try to find Emma. “Where’s Emma?” I ask Mom. “She’s in her room with Ethan,” Mom says, “I think she’s upset, she’s shut me out all day.” When I walk into Emma’s room she’s anything but upset, she’s dancing around with Ethan. “Whoa,” I say, taking Ethan from her, “Why the good mood?” “Patrick asked me to be his girlfriend!” she beams. I try not to laugh, “Well Mrs. Emma Goyas, would you like to go to the beach with James, Patrick, and me right now?” “Yes! I’ll go put on my bathing suit,” she runs to the bathroom. “Brush your teeth,” I call, setting Ethan on the floor. He scampers out the door and down the hall.
I shouldn’t have brought so many bathing suits; I can’t decide which to wear. I brushed my hair into a ballerina bun, and pulling Emma’s into a tight pony tail. I brush my teeth quickly then throw on my floral bikini and pull on denim shorts and a half shirt (that I’m only allowed to wear to the beach) and meet James and Patrick outside. Thankfully he has his truck and not his Mom’s minivan.
“So, did you hear?” I ask James. “Hear what?” he looks at me, confused. “Patrick and Emma are boyfriend and girlfriend,” I mumble, loudly so they can hear, to James. James chuckles a little, “Congratulations guys.” He turns around and smiles. I tap his shoulder, “Go.” He turns around and drives, on account of the fresh green light. “Did you get any news?” James asks. “We’ll talk later,” I say, turning on the radio. “Patrick, can you get that thing that we got yesterday from the glove compartment?” James asks, smiling. Patrick fishes out something, and hands it to me. It a small, thin square, which is poorly wrapped in newspaper and on the front in James’s hand writing, says: To Elizabeth then sprawled underneath in, more likely than not, Patrick’s handwriting it says: and Emma. “Open it,” James says. “Emma can open it,” I hand it back to her. She looks over it, and then opens it. “It’s a blank CD… With your name on it Elizabeth,” Emma says, confused. “There are four blank CD’s, that one, and three at our house. Every time something happens over the summer, we’ll add a new song to the list I have. I made copies so we can all have individual ones. I’ll show you when we get there Elizabeth. It’s not dumb right?” I feel sad, and happy, and like I want to hug James all the same time. I lean over and kiss him, “It’s so entirely perfect.” Emma and Patrick giggle from the backseat. “Are you sure? We don’t have to…” James says. “No James, really it’s perfect. Thank you so much,” I can’t help but smile, even though I want to cry. It’s probably one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for me.
At the beach, Emma and Patrick have contests to see how far they can go out in the water before feeling something brush against their foot. James and I sit together on a blanket I brought under an umbrella. “Here’s the list,” he hands me a neatly folded piece of paper that he fished out of his pocket. On the top of the paper is says Elizabeth/ James’s CD. Then underneath that is one song written down, it says: In Bloom/ In Utero/ Nirvana. “What does that song symbolize?” I ask, pointing to it. “That’s my favorite song,” he explains, “I didn’t know yours, so I was just going to wait to see.” “You like Nirvana?” I ask. I’ll admit, I thought James was into rap, and hardcore music. “Among other things,” he shrugs. “I don’t think I can choose just one song, I have so many. I like The Beatles and Journey and Nirvana…” I say, shaking my head. “Well, okay. My favorite three bands are Nirvana, Metallica, and Iron Maiden. I’ll choose my favorite song from each, and you do the same, okay?” James suggests. I nod, “That sounds okay. You do yours first okay? It will help me think.”
Under number two, James writes: Run to the Hills/ The Number the Beast/ Iron Maiden, and then he goes to the next line, and writes: Enter Sandman/ Metallica/ Metallica. “But you wrote Metallica twice,” I say. “That’s the album name,” he smiles. I nod. “Okay, ready?” he asks, handing me the pen he was using to write. “I think so,” I say.
I write:
3. Let it be/ Let it be/ The Beatles
4. Don’t Stop Belivin’/ Escape/ Journey
5. Smells like Teen Spirit/ Smells like Teen Spirit/ Nirvana
“Okay?” I pass the paper back to him. “Nice choices. This is good, six already, only July 2nd. By the 1st we should have plenty of songs. Are you sure you like this idea? We don’t have to do it?” James says, furrowing his eyebrows together. “No I’m sure. This is probably one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me,” I smile. “So, Patrick and Emma are going to write their lists and I’ll put it on their CD’s before you guys leave, okay?” James says. I nod.
“My Mom told me about my Dad yesterday night,” I say after we get home and de-sand ourselves. James is sitting on my bed, because I was brushing my teeth. I crawl up into his arms. “Tell me about him,” he says. I turned the radio on before I sat down, so I grab the paper and scribble the name: Summertime/ New Kids on the Block,and then next to it I write that it was the first time I talked about Dad. Then I crossed out Dad and wrote Andrew. “What did you write?” James asks. “The name of this song, because it’s the first time we’re talking about Andrew,” I explain, resuming my place under his arm.
I explain what he looks like, why he left, what my mom said, and that I’m going to call him tomorrow. “Good luck,” James says, kissing my forehead, “I’m going to get leaving. See you tomorrow?” “Okay, bye. Call me tomorrow.” We exchange a quick good-bye kiss and he goes and tells everyone in the kitchen goodbye. I fall asleep quickly, nervous and excited for tomorrow. I want James to be there when I talk to my Dad the first time.
When I wake up, it’s pouring. Not like a cute little rain, no. It’s an I-want-to-drown-you kind of rain. I groan and roll over. I dial James, and when he picks up he seems excited. “Are you ready to call him?” James asks. “Dude,” I say, “Look outside.” “This? This is nothing. I’ll be over in half an hour,” he hangs up. It’s amazing what you can do in half an hour if you’re rushed. I’m expecting James in any minute… when the power goes out. When he comes in, he doesn’t knock, “You guys don’t have power either huh?” We all shake our heads, except for me. I’m, well I’m just shaking. Mom shoves a piece of paper into my hand, with Dad’s number written neatly across it. “Come on James,” I mumble, grabbing him by the hand and dragging him to my room. By the time we get there I’m almost crying. “What if he doesn’t want to talk to me?” I ask, hugging his waist. “Why wouldn’t he want to talk to his own daughter?” James asks, hugging me back. I shrug. “I want the radio on, write down the song that’s on if he answers, okay?” He nods and pulls the paper out of his pocket. I open my phone and type in my Andrew’s number. “Are you ready?” I ask. He nods, “We’re waiting on you.” He pats the radio. I stare at him for the longest time. Then finally he nods and I press send. It takes a few seconds for it connect, and I nod when the ringing stops. James sprawls something down on the paper. “Andrew,” I clear my throat, “Dad? It’s Elizabeth.”