never answer them, but somebody has to. I know my aunts are convinced I should know who I am without knowing anything about my mother, but I feel like I just can't. How can I? And the fact that my aunts are so dead set against it makes me feel like I really have to know. I'm not usually such a brat, but in this case I can't help it. I just have to go see my father. He is not always lucid enough to answer questions like that'the poem about my name being a prime example'but I can at least give it a try.
The day is mostly sunny, although there is a chill in the air, and Ben is doing a brisk business in sweatshirts. I wait impatiently for him to give change to a customer. I haven't seen him glance my way, but as soon as he's done, he turns toward me, his pale eyes sharp.
'What's wrong?'He has obviously immediately seen my agitation.
'I'm going to see my father,'I say.
Ben and I have never discussed anything about our family lives'Ben and I know both everything and nothing about each other'but he doesn't ask me anything about why my father is someone I have to visit. He just says, 'Why?'
'Because I have so many questions, Ben. I don't have a mother''
'Everyone has a mother,'Ben interjects calmly. 'You have a mother; you just don't know your mother.'
It seems like a pointless distinction for him to be making
right now. 'Fine,'I agree. 'Whatever. I don't know her. And no one will tell me anything about her. I have to ask my father. I have to try to ask my father. I have to know. I feel like I have to know. I need to hear the words.'
Ben is silent for a moment. His eyes darken as the sun passes behind a cloud. He says carefully, 'Do you think he'll tell you?'
'I don't know. But I have to try.'
There is another long moment of silence. Ben's eyes search mine. I feel like he is asking me a question that I don't understand.
'What?'I say.
He just shakes his head, and it might be my imagination, me projecting my own emotional upheaval onto him, but I think he looks sad, and on impulse, I hug him. I have never done this before, and the awkwardness of having done it strikes me as soon as it happens, and I let go so quickly that I don't even have time to register how it feels. I am suddenly embarrassed, and I have no idea why I've done it'why am I constantly doing things without thinking?'and I have the fleeting impression that Ben looks surprised before I turn and flee to the subway station like a coward. I am almost relieved when the train predictably gets stuck underground for a little while; it gives my cheeks time to stop burning.
x
I take the Red Line all the way to the Alewife end, where there is a small, nondescript, charming-looking building that you would never know houses the less sane members of Boston's better families.
'Selkie.'The nurse at the front desk smiles at me. I am on a first-name basis with everyone at this place. I have been coming here, after all, for sixteen years. 'Where are your aunts?'She looks past me for them. I have never come alone before.
'Just me this time,'I say confidently, as if this isn't unusual. 'Is my dad around?'It's the most ridiculous question for me to ask. Where else would he be?
'Of course he's here,'she answers, which highlights the absurdity of my question. 'I'll have someone fetch him for you.'
There's a little room where you meet with people. It feels like a pretty little sun porch, filled to the brim with too many flowery patterns on the furniture and the drapes, but you always know that people are watching'politely but close enough to intercede should anything happen. There's a grandfather clock in this room, but it always tells the right time. I find that odd and unsettling.
'Selkie,'says Dad as he walks into the room to see me, and he holds his arms out for a hug, and I hug him back, and he smells vaguely of hospital, which he always does, but that is not a bad smell to me; that is my father's smell. 'What brings you here? Where are your aunts?'
'They're home,'I tell
The day is mostly sunny, although there is a chill in the air, and Ben is doing a brisk business in sweatshirts. I wait impatiently for him to give change to a customer. I haven't seen him glance my way, but as soon as he's done, he turns toward me, his pale eyes sharp.
'What's wrong?'He has obviously immediately seen my agitation.
'I'm going to see my father,'I say.
Ben and I have never discussed anything about our family lives'Ben and I know both everything and nothing about each other'but he doesn't ask me anything about why my father is someone I have to visit. He just says, 'Why?'
'Because I have so many questions, Ben. I don't have a mother''
'Everyone has a mother,'Ben interjects calmly. 'You have a mother; you just don't know your mother.'
It seems like a pointless distinction for him to be making
right now. 'Fine,'I agree. 'Whatever. I don't know her. And no one will tell me anything about her. I have to ask my father. I have to try to ask my father. I have to know. I feel like I have to know. I need to hear the words.'
Ben is silent for a moment. His eyes darken as the sun passes behind a cloud. He says carefully, 'Do you think he'll tell you?'
'I don't know. But I have to try.'
There is another long moment of silence. Ben's eyes search mine. I feel like he is asking me a question that I don't understand.
'What?'I say.
He just shakes his head, and it might be my imagination, me projecting my own emotional upheaval onto him, but I think he looks sad, and on impulse, I hug him. I have never done this before, and the awkwardness of having done it strikes me as soon as it happens, and I let go so quickly that I don't even have time to register how it feels. I am suddenly embarrassed, and I have no idea why I've done it'why am I constantly doing things without thinking?'and I have the fleeting impression that Ben looks surprised before I turn and flee to the subway station like a coward. I am almost relieved when the train predictably gets stuck underground for a little while; it gives my cheeks time to stop burning.
x
I take the Red Line all the way to the Alewife end, where there is a small, nondescript, charming-looking building that you would never know houses the less sane members of Boston's better families.
'Selkie.'The nurse at the front desk smiles at me. I am on a first-name basis with everyone at this place. I have been coming here, after all, for sixteen years. 'Where are your aunts?'She looks past me for them. I have never come alone before.
'Just me this time,'I say confidently, as if this isn't unusual. 'Is my dad around?'It's the most ridiculous question for me to ask. Where else would he be?
'Of course he's here,'she answers, which highlights the absurdity of my question. 'I'll have someone fetch him for you.'
There's a little room where you meet with people. It feels like a pretty little sun porch, filled to the brim with too many flowery patterns on the furniture and the drapes, but you always know that people are watching'politely but close enough to intercede should anything happen. There's a grandfather clock in this room, but it always tells the right time. I find that odd and unsettling.
'Selkie,'says Dad as he walks into the room to see me, and he holds his arms out for a hug, and I hug him back, and he smells vaguely of hospital, which he always does, but that is not a bad smell to me; that is my father's smell. 'What brings you here? Where are your aunts?'
'They're home,'I tell
Similar Books
The Poison Factory
Oisin McGann
Clockwork Captive
Anh Leod
Poison Dance Proofreading Epub
Livia Blackburne
Apple Brown Betty
Phillip Thomas Duck
Ironmonger's Daughter
Harry Bowling
All I Ever Need Is You
Bella Andre
The Hunger
Whitley Strieber
A Question of Impropriety
Michelle Styles
THE IMMIGRANT
Manju Kapur
Delectable Desire
Farrah Rochon