April 16, 2009
CALEB SHOWED UP at the airport twenty minutes after we arrived. So for a second there, I panicked. My dad asked him to pick up some documents at the last minute, so that's why he didn't ride with us to the airport. But he showed up, and everything was as it was supposed to be.
Before we even took off, my father had a mobile office installed in front of him. So I knew I couldn't count on him for conversation. That's why I made Caleb sit in front of me for most of the flight because God knows I've so much trouble sleeping on planes.
We arrived home on April 12th. I stayed in my father's apartment for a few days because mine wasn't ready yet. But it was ready now, and Caleb was driving my father and me there, alongside Aaron, for a change. He wanted to familiarize himself with driving around New York.
I couldn't believe I was finally going to move into my own place.
Caleb was thriving in New York. He seemed thrilled. His reflection in the rearview mirror gave him away. He kept biting his lower lip, probably hoping to prevent an over-enthusiastic grin from sneaking out.
Aaron was being Aaron: calm, cool, and collected. His navy-blue eyes stared out the window and through the side-view mirrors, casually looking out. He always managed to look relaxed yet in control of the situation.
My father refused to let go of my hand. His embrace felt warm and safe, and although we were home, I could feel his reluctance to keep his word regarding my second birthday present.
At some point during the flight back to New York, my dad closed his laptop and asked me to sit next to him to talk through the conditions attached to his gift. We both had to compromise but finally found common ground after a few rounds of negotiation.
My father asked for three conditions. The first one, he said, was a simple request. I had already transferred my credits from PCA to Parsons, but my father wanted me to enroll in a summer course. He didn't want me lazing around all summer.
I agreed. It was a perfect idea because I would get to know the school before starting the fall semester.
His second request consisted of having Mrs. Mullins as my housekeeper.
A trap. I was getting a nanny.
Mrs. Mullins's job would surely include a weekly report to my father. And again, I was okay with it as long as I could experience a more independent life.
My father said I met Mrs. Mullins (or Mimi, as he called her) when I was a child. And after years of having so many people living with us, I realized it couldn't be that awful to have just one person helping me out.
Lacking real privacy was exhausting, and my father knew that. But it wasn't an unknown fact that I couldn't cook. So for my safety and for the safety of those living in my building, it was best to have Mrs. Mullins handling the cooking for me.
And last but not least, a third security agent. Yup. Necessary and non-negotiable—that's what my father kept repeating on the flight. The new agent would come directly from the DSS, unlike Caleb and Aaron, who were approved by the DSS but hired independently. I had overreacted to this request, and it incited a heated debate. It felt unfair, like going backward instead of making progress in this specific area of my life. But I had to agree with him if I wanted to "roam freely" in New York City.
My dad explained how I would still have only two agents on duty. The third agent would provide rotation to their schedules. My father supposed I would have a more demanding agenda in New York.
I had my doubts.
This was going to be my first attempt at living a life of my own. It was frightening as hell, but I needed it. I owed it to myself. Feeling trapped had been the norm to the point that I'd become unaware of the comfortable cage I lived in.
The first step was to convince myself to get out.
Even though Aaron and Caleb did an excellent job keeping me safe and comfortable, I would've thought progress meant having less security and not an additional agent following me around. But when did my opinion matter?
The last months in Paris felt more careless, free. But a glacial sensation still gnawed at my chest and stomach as I tried to block out the memories and trauma of my mother's death.
Four years had passed since she died, but there were days when it felt like yesterday. The worst part of all was not knowing why it happened. My father insisted they were still looking into it, and I bought that for a while. But it was evident that he was keeping something from me. Was it best to stop asking questions? To give up on the truth? I didn't know what was best anymore.
But how does one simply stop thinking about it?
I refused to talk about this matter with anyone, which wasn't very useful in helping me process everything that happened. I thought I was strong enough to deal with this myself. Sometimes I'd walk a few steps back but only to keep thrusting myself forward.
The car approached the sidewalk. A green canvas sunshade with golden poles sheltered the Midtown East's pre-war building entrance.
"Four eighty-five Park, Mr. Murphy," Caleb announced with his thick sexy accent, cutting the engine.
We were greeted by a couple of doormen: Senad, a tall, slender man, and Bruce, who was shorter and rocked a shaved head and frameless glasses. They were friendly and asked if we needed help with my things. But Aaron and Caleb had everything under control.
Mrs. Sullivan, the real estate agent who supervised the apartment on my father's behalf, approached us with keys and a manila folder. My father introduced us and talked to her while I wandered around the lobby, secretly anxious and excited about the whole thing.
"Come on, kiddo. Ninth floor." As we walked to the elevator, my father wrapped his arm around my shoulders.
The first thing that came to mind as I stepped into my apartment was: It's too big, considering I'd be living by myself. It was too big even if I had a roommate, but it was still cozy compared to the Residence in Paris.
Mrs. Sullivan gave me a brief tour of the tastefully decorated place. Across the foyer, an empty gallery tempted me to hang a few of my photographs, followed by a living room with the coziest grey lounging sofa and large windows overlooking Park Avenue. We continued into a modern six-person dining room beside the living room. The kitchen was at the far end, just beside a small bedroom and a pair of closets.
"Mimi will use this room as needed. You can expect her to arrive tomorrow afternoon. She'll help you unpack and fix a few meals," my father explained.
"David's coming tomorrow to meet you. He'll be working his first shift with Caleb. I'll ask them to send you their shift schedules each week. That way, you'll know who will be following you around." He raised a brow and smiled at me.
But his smile quickly evaporated. "And sweetheart, let's make this easy. This transition is new to all of us. I expect you to cooperate with the guys if they advise on anything. They know what's best." He sighed with a defeated air to it. I knew it would be hard for him to let go of the control he'd been used to having over me. And it's not that he was letting go completely, but this was a big change. For all of us.
I nodded and stepped forward to hug him. He was feeling anxious, I could tell.
"Come on, let's go see the rest of the place," I suggested, pulling his arm. There was still the other side of the apartment awaiting inspection.
After dropping my backpack and camera bag on the loveseat of the master bedroom, I jumped back on the king-sized bed with my arms open and the biggest smile on my face. It was getting harder to hide my excitement.
"Could you at least pretend to be sad about leaving me?" My father groaned playfully. But he was right. I was thrilled.
The doorbell rang.
It was Aaron and Caleb with my things. They placed the suitcases and boxes in the foyer. I glanced at Caleb, who was eyeing the place around with curiosity and amusement. "Nice view, Miss Murphy," he said proudly. You could tell how excited Caleb was about moving to New York. I was too.
We both knew things were going to be different compared to how we lived in Paris. Less protocol, more ... freedom? I hoped. Perhaps he did too, and that's where his excitement was coming from.
"We'll see you tomorrow. Let us know if there is anything you need." Both Aaron and Caleb excused themselves and left.
They were living in a smaller apartment on the second floor of the same building. My father wanted them to be available 24/7, just in case.
I took out the Eiffel Tower keychain with the symbolic key my father gave me on my birthday and added the new keys.
"I'm keeping the fake key," I told him, "as a good luck charm." His lips went into a pursed, warm smile, and I thanked him again for the hundredth time. I walked him out. We hugged each other and said our goodbyes.
The large window in the living room invited me to step closer and enjoy the view, to stare at how the night came upon the city, lighting it up in a million tiny, bright lights. And without notice, that gut-wrenching feeling that hadn't overpowered me in a while kicked in.
Would I ever stop missing my mom? Unlikely.
The unyielding grief remained challenging to conquer at the most unexpected moments. And after sobbing for an undetermined amount of time, I finally dragged myself to bed and fell into a dreamless sleep. It was as if I'd unplugged myself from existence.