Tigers, Not Daughters - Samantha Mabry Page 0,8

finger down a long gouge in the wood. “You girls are my everything. You know that.”

Jessica couldn’t help it. Her lower lip started to quiver.

Iridian sat across the table with her arms folded, scowling at Jessica and scowling at Rafe. Rosa was also there, but she was distracted by something out in the backyard.

“Do you see?” Rosa said softly. “It’s—”

“I try to be a good father.” Rafe’s voice broke as he interrupted Rosa. “I am a good father, verdad?”

“Yes,” Jessica replied, automatically.

Rafe reached across the table for Jessica’s hand, and she let him take it. Iridian made a sound, a little cluck of disgust that their dad didn’t register.

“This year—” He squinted at Jessica with bloodshot eyes. “This year will be different. I’ll change. I promise. I have a plan.”

Jessica nodded, but the thing was, he’d said this exact same thing before, almost exactly one year ago.

After Ana died, and after a brief but catastrophic mourning period, Rafe had emerged from his bedroom one day in the middle of July and had made a plan. To his credit, he’d short-term stuck to that plan. He’d gotten up early on Saturday mornings and helped the neighbors fix their cars and their fences and let them use his truck to haul away bulk trash. He didn’t go to the bar so much. He paid back a guy that he worked with who had lent him some money. He’d taken Rosa to church, and then to lunch, and then to the art museum. He’d bought Iridian a book. He’d told Jessica to invite a couple of her friends over for a cookout. He’d grilled up hot dogs and cobs of corn. They’d had an okay time.

It didn’t last, though. By the end of summer, he was back to his old ways, breaking all kinds of promises. He said he was going to take his girls out for pizza, and then he forgot. He said he was going to be right over to give Jessica’s car a jump and then never showed up. Strange dudes started calling at all hours, asking to speak to Rafe, and then made Jessica and her sisters take down messages about “debts” and “payment for services rendered.” Those dudes had all said something like, “He knows what we’re talking about.” A couple of them, before they’d hung up, had asked the girls how old they were.

Back at the breakfast table, Rafe coughed without covering his mouth.

“Are you sick?” Jessica asked. “Do you want me to bring you something from work?”

He shook his head and gave her hand a squeeze. His palm, was it too warm?

“I’m alright.”

“Are you sure? It’s not a prob—”

“You should go, Dad,” Iridian said, interrupting. “It’s already after eight. You don’t want to be late again. Remember what you told us? About your boss? No more warnings.”

“Uh, right.” Rafe cleared his throat, removed his hand from Jessica’s, and checked his watch. “Right. Jessie, just give me a minute.”

He pushed his chair back from the table and went to his bedroom. The police had shown up the previous day, but since a sobriety test had proven Rafe wasn’t drunk and no one had actually seen him hit the dog, no charges had been filed. Still, Jessica was worried about her dad behind the wheel—for everyone’s sake—so that morning she’d hidden his keys and offered him a ride.

“We all know how you feel about him, Iridian,” Jessica said, once their dad was out of earshot. “You could make it a little less obvious.”

“He’s awful,” Iridian snapped. “He’s awful, and he doesn’t deserve our comfort or your hand-holding.”

Jessica wiped away the tear that was threatening to spill from the corner of her eye, and her finger came away smudged black from her eyeliner.

Iridian snickered. “I can’t believe you shed tears for that man.”

“Like you’re so fucking perfect,” Jessica replied.

Iridian shoved away from the table, the legs of her chair squealing against the linoleum floor. She stalked into the living room, turned on the television, and started to flip through the channels.

Rosa moved her chair