Heart Like Mine A Novel - By Amy Hatvany Page 0,29
my fingers, until I could barely feel them. I walked back to my room; climbed into bed, shivering beneath my blankets; and, like a thousand times before, waited for my dad to come home.
* * *
“Do you have to stay at the restaurant so late?” Mama said. She and my daddy were standing in the bathroom, where he had just gotten out of the shower and was now shaving in the steamed-up mirror. I liked the squeak-squeak sound his hand made when he rubbed the fogged-up part away so he could actually see his reflection. Max was in his bedroom taking a nap, and I sat in the hallway, my back against the wall and my knees pulled up to my chest, listening.
My daddy sighed. “I can’t afford a general manager. It’s me, the kitchen staff, and the bartender. That’s it. You knew it was going to be like this.” Daddy had opened his own restaurant that year, but Mama said it was taking time for it to make enough money so he didn’t have to work every day. I liked that he brought us home treats. Sometimes, I even had pasta for breakfast or chocolate cheesecake in my lunchbox. None of the other kids had that, so I thought I was actually pretty lucky.
“Did I?” Mama said, her voice high-pitched and shaking. “Did I know you’d leave first thing in the morning, come home for a couple of hours so your kids will know you still exist, then leave again?” Daddy didn’t answer, so she continued, her voice becoming high and squeaky like one of my old baby dolls’. “I didn’t sign up for this, Victor. I have to do everything here. The kids, the cleaning, the shopping—”
“It’s what we agreed on!” There was a loud clank of something landing in the bathroom sink, and I jumped, slapping my hand over my mouth so they didn’t hear my surprised yelp. “We agreed that my opening the Loft was the way to get us where we really want to go. We agreed that you’d stay home with the kids. I know I’ve been busy, but I really don’t understand what you’re complaining about. I’m working so hard for us. For our family.”
“I miss you. That’s all.” Mama’s voice was so soft I could barely hear her. “I didn’t realize you’d be gone so much of the time. I need help.”
“What kind of help? What else can I do?” Daddy’s voice got quieter, too, and the icky feeling that had started to make me sick to my stomach began to get better. “Kelli, honey. Tell me what you want from me.”
“I don’t know,” she said, but her words were all crackly. “I wish my parents were here. Maybe I should call and ask them to come.” She paused and her tone suddenly lifted. “Maybe they’ve changed their minds.”
Daddy sighed. “Sweetie, you haven’t seen them in over ten years. They didn’t even want to meet their grandchildren. I don’t understand why you keep letting them hurt you.”
“They’re my parents,” Mama whimpered. “I miss them.”
“I understand that. I miss my mother every day. And I’m really sorry to say this, but if yours missed you, do you think we’d be having this conversation?”
A second later, Mama rushed past me in the hall, not even noticing I was on the floor. She was crying. I didn’t like how Daddy sounded when he talked with Mama lately. He never used to be mean to her, and now he said things that made her cry. But then, lots of things made her cry. Burned toast, or a messy bathroom. I rubbed her back for her when she got like this, the same way she did for me when I was upset about something, but it didn’t help. She cried harder when I touched her. I made it worse.
Now I waited a minute, then crawled into the bathroom on my hands and knees, pretending to be a cat. Mama had allergies so we couldn’t get a real kitten; pretending I was one was the next-best thing.
“Meow,” I said to my daddy, who was leaning against the bathroom wall, staring up at the ceiling. He looked back down at me and smiled when he heard the noise. “Meow,” I said again, pretending to lick the side of my hand and rubbing my face with it, then inched my way over to press my body against his long legs.
“What’s this?” he said. “An eight-year-old, brown-haired, blue-eyed cat?”