Forever An Ex (6 page)

My hands dropped to my sides and I swallowed hard. I'd said what I said to hurt Caroline, but she'd turned around and cut me, slashed me straight through to my soul.

She was telling me things that I didn't even know. Angel had talked to her about things she never mentioned to me.

It wasn't like Angel and I didn't talk. But our talks were kind of limited to clothes, music, the latest gadgets, and decorating her room. Sometimes we talked about TV shows and favorite movies, but we never had deep conversations the way she and Caroline seemed to.

I'm grown, Mom. Dad and Mom Caroline talk to me like I'm mature.

How many times had she said something like that to me? Now, I knew what she'd been talking about. She was talking to Caroline about real issues, the types of talks a mother and daughter should have.

“Well,” I began, praying that my voice stayed steady, “it's good to know that she would be taken care of.”

Now Caroline smirked.

Turning to Bobby, I said, “I'm still not sure.” My voice was much softer now.

He reached across the table and covered his hand with mine. “I understand. There's still plenty of time for us to talk, and to work this out.”

I nodded and blinked and prayed that my emotions wouldn't betray me. I wrapped my purse's chain strap around my hand.

Bobby added, “Whatever we do, we'll all agree.”

I glanced at Caroline and her smirk had turned into a smile. A smile that dismissed me. A smile that said,
Yeah, you may have that old ring, but I have Bobby
and
Angel!

Slowly, I rose from my chair.

“Are you sure you don't want anything to eat?” Bobby asked.

I shook my head. “I'm not hungry, but thanks.”

He stood, and this time, when he wrapped his arms around me, it wasn't just one of those church greetings. He held me tight, though there was no desire inside his embrace. He held me like he felt sorry for me. He held me like a father who knew that he was about to get custody of a child from her mother.

I swallowed the sob in my throat and turned away. I couldn't even give Caroline a fake good-bye; I just got out of there.

I ran out of the restaurant, holding my tears in until the valet attendant brought my car. When I jumped inside, my hands were shaking as I grabbed my cell and pressed Noon's name.

When she answered, all she said was, “You need me?”

“I do!” I shrieked. “They're trying to take Angel from me and I think they're gonna win!”

Chapter

Seven

A
ll I could think about were Caroline's words. Whether my eyes were open or closed, Caroline was in my daydreams and my nightmares, teasing me, taunting me, tormenting me. In my dreams, she was Angel's mother . . . and I was the step, the substitute, the surrogate.

I still couldn't believe how deep Angel's relationship was with Caroline. Honestly, I'd never given any thought to the woman. I thought that when Angel went to stay with her father, she did the same thing with Bobby that she did with me—hang out in her room, talk on her phone, or play games on her iPad.

But I was wrong. Angel had a whole different life with the married Johnsons. A life with depth, where she spent quality time with Bobby . . . and Caroline.

By the time I got over my crying spell, I was ready to do better with Angel. Because there was no way Caroline was going to win this.

So on Sunday, when I left the restaurant, and after I shared all my sorrows with Noon, I got right to work. The moment I walked into my condo, I went straight up to Angel's room.

“Hey, Mom!” Angel pushed the headphones from her ears and hooked them around her neck. Then she wrapped her arms all the way around me as if she was so glad to see me. Caroline may have been trying to steal my daughter, but she hadn't stolen her heart . . . not yet.

“How was your weekend?” I'd asked her.

“It was cool.” A second later, the headphones were back on her head. She closed her eyes as she bounced back onto her bed, then bobbed her head to the music. My daughter looked so content; I didn't want to disturb her.

But then I thought about Caroline, and so I poked Angel. She jumped like she'd been struck by lightning.

“Mom!”

“Take those off.”

She did as she was told, but curiosity was all over her face when she looked up at me.

Now that I had her attention, I said, “Let's . . . let's . . .” I paused. As hard as I tried, I couldn't think of anything to do with my daughter. How crazy was this? Then I said, “Let's make dinner . . . together.”

“What?” She frowned.

“Yeah,” I said, starting to think that this was a good idea. “Let's go downstairs and make dinner. You haven't eaten yet, have you?”

“No, but Ms. Martinez cooked. She said to tell you she baked a seafood casserole and it's in the refrigerator.”

“Well then, let's make a salad to go with the casserole. And you know what? We'll even eat together. Downstairs. In the dining room. No eating in our bedrooms tonight.”

“Mom,” Angel began, now sitting up straight. “What's wrong with you?”

If I wondered whether I had a problem before, I knew I had one now. My daughter thought me wanting to spend time with her meant that something was wrong. I shook my head. I'd taken care of my daughter, providing everything that she needed—physically. But clearly, I'd neglected a huge part of her life. The part where we were supposed to bond beyond me supplying her daily needs.

“Nothing's wrong. I'm going to change my clothes and then we're gonna go downstairs and cook together.”

As I rushed out of my room, Angel yelled after me, “Making a salad is not cooking!”

We made that salad, and then ate together at the counter, since Angel thought eating in the dining room was a little too much. But the point was that we ate together and talked, and laughed. And though we didn't get as deep as I knew Angel got with Caroline, that was our beginning.

From that point on, I woke up every morning thinking of something that I could do with my daughter. On Monday, I drove her to school. But that lasted for just that day, because she told me it was so not cool to show up at school with your mother. The next day, I sat with her as she did homework, though my eyes glazed over when she began explaining the basics of calculus. Calculus? Really? In the sixth grade? But I hung in there, pretending I understood when the truth was I couldn't do anything without a calculator. And then the next day, I let Angel curl up with me in my bed while I checked my Facebook and Twitter accounts, something that I'd hope to keep away from her, at least for the next couple of years.

My plan was that this was going to be my habit, to connect with my daughter every day. My prayer was that my plan would work and Angel would never want to leave me and Los Angeles.

But to be honest, though I was working hard, I didn't expect my plan to work so well, and so quickly. It wasn't until this very moment that I knew I was doing everything right.

“Mom, why're you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” I said, finally closing my mouth.

“Like with your mouth all wide open and your eyes all big and everything.”

“I guess I'm just surprised.”

“ 'Cause I want to take you out to dinner?”

“Uh, yeah, you've never done that before.”

“I know, but I'm only eleven, Mom. It's not like I've had money forever. So, let's go to dinner.”

I jumped right off of my bed, thrilled. My efforts were being reciprocated. My daughter wanted to spend time with
me
. “Where're we going?” I asked, rushing to my closet. “Do I have to get fancy?”

Angel laughed. “No, Mom. Keep on those jeans. I only have twenty-four dollars.”

“That's okay,” I said. “I can give you extra money.”

“If you did that, then I wouldn't be taking you out. I just want to spend my money, okay?”

“Okay.” I smiled. “So where're we going?”

“Let's do the Chinese Bowl in the mall,” she said, with her chest poked out like she'd just announced she was taking me to a four-star restaurant.

Now, you know, I was used to going to the best places. But the fact that I was going with Angel, and it had been her idea, made it feel like the Chinese Bowl was the best restaurant in the world. “I love the Chinese Bowl,” I told her, though I hadn't eaten at one of those fast-food joints in the mall since I was a teenager.

“Great. I'll go get my stuff.” As she dashed out of my bedroom, she shouted over her shoulder, “You'll have to drive, though,” as if I didn't know that.

I laughed as I grabbed my purse, called down to the valet to have my car brought up from the garage, then met Angel right at the top of the staircase. Together, we bounced down the steps and chatted as we took the elevator to the lobby.

“So is this a special dinner?” I asked when I pulled out of the circular driveway of our building. “Are we celebrating anything?”

“Nope!” she said. “I just thought it's my turn to do something for you.”

Right then I wondered if she'd ever done this for Caroline. But I tossed that question aside. No need to keep score; I was already ahead. I was Angel's mother, and that was the winning shot at the buzzer.

It only took us a couple of minutes to get to the Beverly Center, and after I parked, we took the elevator to the top floor. Then, with our Chinese bowls filled with fried rice, broccoli, and chicken, we sat down.

“Do you know how great this is, Angel?” I said. “To have my daughter take me out to dinner?” I shook my head. “Just so, so cool.”

She nodded as she used her chopsticks to scoop up some rice. “I keep telling you, Mom. I'm really mature for my age.”

I laughed. “Yes you are.” I guess I had to finally admit that.

We chatted leisurely, about her upcoming dance recital, and the school play where she was auditioning for one of the lead roles. We talked about her classes and how world geography was her favorite subject.

“World geography?” I said. I didn't remember having a class like that even in high school!

“Yeah, I love learning about all the continents of the world and all the countries. Do you know how many countries are in the world?”

I didn't have a basis to guess, and thankfully, my child gave me the answer before I proved to her that I wasn't as smart as a sixth grader.

“One hundred and ninety-six,” she said. “Though lots of people say that it's only one hundred and ninety-three because that's how many countries are part of the UN. But there are independent countries, too.”

“Wow!” I said. Not because of the number, though I had no idea there were that many countries. The wow was for how my daughter so often blew me away.

“I have this big paper due for world geography and you should see all the pictures I've collected,” she said. In a single motion, she swooped up her phone, logged in, and then in less than ten seconds had a montage of pictures on the screen.

“Look at this, Mom. The Leaning Tower of Pisa. Can you imagine being right there to take that picture?”

“Wow!” I exclaimed again. And that was all I said 'cause, though I'd heard of the Leaning Tower, I had no idea where I had to be to take the picture.

“Can you imagine being in Italy?” she asked me, and schooled me at the same time.

“No, I can't.”

“And look at these.”

Angel took me on a trip around the world: from the Taj Mahal in India (“Mom, did you know that this was built in the seventeenth century?”) to the Great Wall of China (“Mom, the wall is something like five thousand miles long!”), I sat at that little table and received an amazing lesson from my own child.

Not only did I admire the pictures, but I admired my daughter's knowledge and zest for all of this. Her mind and life were so different from what I'd experienced at her age. When I was eleven all that impressed me were the drug dealers and their girls who always had their hair and nails done, who wore the freshest clothes and the baddest gold earrings.

But my daughter lived beyond her neighborhood. She had grand dreams. She had aspirations at eleven that I didn't even have now.

“Have you ever wanted to go to any of these places, Mom?”

I didn't want my child to know that her dreams were far greater than mine. So, I said, “I've thought about it, but my priority has always been you. Once you were born, that's all I've been thinking about.”

Her eyes got wide. “You've wanted to travel but you didn't because of me?”

Clearly, I'd said the wrong thing. “No! I'm just saying . . .” And I paused right there. Why was I lying to my child? “You know, I haven't had much of a desire to go anywhere,” I said truthfully. “I love Los Angeles. This is one of the best cities in the world.”

“But loving where you live doesn't mean that you won't love other places,” she said. “I want to see”—she spread her arms wide—“the world! And by the time I get old, like to thirty, I'm sure they'll even have trips to outer space, like to Mars or the moon. And I'm gonna be on one of those spaceships.”

In that moment I more than loved my daughter, I truly respected this child.

“Then that's my hope for you,” I said. “I pray that you get to see the world every single chance you get.”

She grinned. “Do you really mean that?”

“Of course.” I scooped the last bit of my dinner from the bowl. “I want you to have every desire of your heart.” I paused. “And you know what? Maybe we'll do that together. Maybe during the summer, we'll go somewhere.”

“Really?”

“Yup, and you can even pick where you want to go.”

“I want to go to Paris.” She pulled one more picture up on her phone. “Look at this.”

Now, this was a picture I'd seen. “Ah, the Eiffel Tower. I know where that is,” I bragged. “In France.”

“Yes, Paris,” Angel said as if her answer were more correct than mine.

“Okay, so that's where we'll go!”

She put down her phone and lowered her eyes at the same time. “I have a chance to go to Paris now.” She looked up at me. “Like right now. Like next week.”

I laughed. I had no idea how Angel thought she could go to France. “Well, that's not gonna happen. You have school and you have ballet lessons, and acting lessons and—”

“Mom Caroline took care of all of that.”

Those words knocked the laughter right out of me. Slowly, I pushed my empty bowl away, rested my arms on the table, and leaned toward her. My voice was low and my words were slow when I asked, “Mom Caroline took care of what?”

“Now don't be mad. Just listen to me.” I squinted as she continued, “Mom Caroline has to go to Paris next week for a last-minute meeting with one of her foundations, and the lady who was supposed to go has to have surgery, and so Mom Caroline is going to speak in her place, and she's going to be there for a week, and Dad can't go because he has an important meeting here, and so Mom Caroline wants me to go with her.”

My mouth was shut so tight, I started grinding my teeth. I shook my head hard. “No.”

“Mom! How can you say no to a trip to Paris?”

“Because I'm the mother and I'm the only one who can say yes or no.”

“But Dad has a say and Mom Caroline has a say, too.”

“No, she doesn't,” I said, my voice rising. “Caroline doesn't have a damn say in your life.”

Now, here's the thing—once Angel was born, I decided to live my life better. And one of those better things was to stop cursing. I wasn't perfect. I'd said that word a time or three every month. But never had I cursed my child, and her shock was as evident as mine. Her eyes widened and filled with tears.

Bringing down my voice and my tone, I touched her arm. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it like that.”

A single sob escaped her throat.

“Do you accept my apology?” I asked softly.

When she nodded, a tear slipped down her cheek.

My heart broke every time my child cried, but there was nothing I could do in this moment. Because her pain was about to get worse.

“But here's the thing, Angel. I'm the only one who gets to make the big decisions in your life.”

“What about me? Don't I get to make any decisions about
my
life?”