My mom fiddles with her hair some more and then moves to her jewelry box and pulls out a necklace I’ve never seen her wear.
“Are you going somewhere, Mom?”
She clasps the necklace and turns to face me. “How does it look?”
It’s a leaf with glittering green gems sparkling against her skin. “Gorgeous,” I say.
She gives herself one more look in the mirror and then turns to me. “Get ready.”
“Where are we going?”
“We’re going out for barbeque, Piper.”
My mom hates barbeque. She doesn’t eat meat. And we almost never go out. I tilt my head, trying to read her expression.
“Mom?”
Her eyes look past me. “What?”
“You hate barbeque.”
Her face is a mask, but there’s a certain light in it I never see. “So tonight I’ve changed my mind.”
I bite my lip while looking for more in her face. But there’s nothing there. Nothing she is willing to let me see. “Okay. Barbeque. Who with?”
My mom arranges the jewelry and bottles on her counter and then finally looks at me. “Your father, Piper. He can’t wait to meet you.”
Everything my mom’s ever told me about my dad starts spiraling around in my head. Because if he’s such a bad person, why is she bringing me to meet him now?
When we walk into Pok-E-Jo’s barbeque, the overwhelming aroma of smoked meat hits me; I focus on it to keep my mind off how nervous I am. I’m going to finally meet my father—something I’ve dreamed of since I was a little girl. And now it’s really going to happen. I close my eyes and suck in the smell, picking out the sausage, the brisket, and even the macaroni and cheese from the air.
I look over at my mom and see her nose is wrinkled up.
“Don’t you even like the smell, Mom?” I ask because I need to say something. My stomach is a ball of lead inside me.
“I had a bad experience with meat once,” she says. And I wonder if she’s as nervous as I am.
It’s dark already, and every single booth is taken. My heart skips a few beats as I scan the room, wondering if I can pick out my dad. My eyes settle on a man with a receding hairline and a pair of bright blue eyes staring at me. His hair is spiked and blond and looks like he should wear a hat to keep his scalp from burning. Even with his retreating hairline, he hardly looks thirty.
I turn to my mom and see she’s gazing at him, also. The ball in my stomach turns into an iron fist which begins to tighten. My father. The man sitting in the booth is my father. The lines of his face are familiar because they match my own. I open my mouth to say something, but my throat constricts.
My mom puts up her hand. “Let’s just get our food and sit down. The sooner we get this over with the better.”
I nod, not that I want to get the meal over with. After eighteen years of not even knowing who my dad is, I don’t want to rush the meal. I have a father, and he’s sitting in a booth waiting for me. He doesn’t look like a terrorist or a criminal. And he doesn’t look like a kidnapper either.
I manage to walk through the line, ordering my food without even thinking. My mom orders only a salad, holding my arm at the elbow the whole time. Like she’s afraid my dad’s going to snatch me away or something. It makes me feel like I’m five years old all over again.
I scoot into the booth, across from my father, and my mom slides in next to me. The red vinyl crunches under my legs as I cross them, and already I can feel it sticking to me and sweat forming. If the restaurant has eco A/C, they aren’t using it. Or maybe I’m just nervous. Or both.
My father looks over and cracks a grin which reaches far up his forehead. “You like the heat, Piper?”
It seems a funny question to be the first words spoken between my dad and me—simple chitchat about the weather.
I nod. “Yeah. I do. The hotter the better.” I reach across the table for the barbeque sauce. The sausage here is too dry without it. My hands shake, but I don’t want him to see I’m nervous. I want him to think I’m brave and independent and someone he should be proud of.
My father smiles. “Now that sounds like a daughter of mine.” He grabs a different bottle and passes it over to me. “Here, try this instead. It’s my own special blend.”
Before I can reach for it, my mom’s hand shoots out and grabs the bottle. “No.”
My mouth drops open. It’s barbeque sauce. What’s the big deal?
I watch my parents—my father raises an eyebrow and looks at my mom. She stares back, and it’s like she’s trying to shoot arrows out of her eyes. They stay there, locked in silent combat until finally my mother speaks.
“Piper doesn’t need anything from you,” my mom says.
My father inclines his head. “And what does Piper need from you? Let’s answer that question first.”
My mom’s eyes flash. “I have given Piper everything she’s needed. For eighteen years, I’ve been more than she could ever hope for.”
His eyes shift to me. “And maybe more than she wants. Too much if I could venture a guess.”
It’s like he can pick the memories of my oppressed life right from my mind. But I’m not opening my mouth to agree or disagree.
“Piper loves me.”
A smile breaks onto his face. “And Piper will love me, too.” He places one of his hands on my mom’s. “Piper can try the sauce, darling Lucia.”
And just like that my mom relents.
It’s rare I hear my mom’s real name. I never call her anything other than Mom, and we’re so seldom around people when we’re together. Lucia. It seems way old-fashioned and almost foreign. And I wonder where my parents met.
I take the bottle of sauce and dump it over the sausage and brisket, letting it spill so some dribbles into the casserole. My stomach is clenched hard again, but the sauce smells like ambrosia laced with pepper. I know I’ll love it because when it comes to sauce, hotter is better.
“Thanks.” I cut a piece of meat and put it to my lips, inhaling the fat and smoke blended together.
“You can’t buy sauce like this anywhere,” my father says. “I make it myself.”
I nod. “It’s really good.” There are at least three kinds of peppers in it. Habanero. Chipotle. And something else I can’t identify.
He leans forward onto his elbows and stares at me. “So this is the daughter who’s been hidden from me her whole life.”
Inadvertently, I lean back.
“What kind of father would you have been anyway?” my mom says. Unlike me, her posture matches his. She leans forward and fixes her eyes on him.
I look at my father. White blond hair gelled upward. Led Zeppelin T-shirt with a splotch of barbeque sauce on it. Three-meat platter in front of him. On first glance, it seems to me he’d be a lot more fun as a parent than my mom.
My father holds my mom with his gaze. “Well, for starters, I would let Piper have her own place in the world.”
Next to me, my mom shudders. “Piper’s place is with me.”
My dad stays forward, holding his pose and my mom’s attention. They battle back and forth with their eyes, and silence is their battleground. I chew slowly, thinking I shouldn’t draw attention to myself even though I am the center of attention. After an eternity, my father sits back and looks to me. “So, Piper, tell me about yourself.”
I force myself to laugh, though my muscles are rigid. I’m clenching my fork, so I set it down and think about the difference two weeks can make. If my father had asked me this question two weeks ago, I’d have given some pretty boring answers. Still, I’m not about to spill on my date with Reese and my journeys to the Underworld.
“Oh, you know,” I say.
His smile encourages me. “No. I don’t. But I’d like to.”
