Page 40 of Frosty Felicity
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Moms and Dads
Brett’s Aunt Sarah had a full spread at her beautiful home, in Indian Hills. The place was chock full of family and friends, two dual fireplaces roaring at once. One, in the parlor, the other, in the family room. Christmas decorations literally hung from the rafters. The chandeliers were decked out with gold and silver tinsel, and the winding staircase was aglow with white and green lights. Children ran around, chasing one another, and laughing while, Brenda Lee crooned, ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.’
“Brett, so good to see you, honey,” Aunt Sarah wrapped her arms around him, smelling of something sweet and old fashioned– a perfume from his childhood. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
“It’s nice to be at your house again, Aunt Sarah.” He looked into her eyes and saw his mother– bright blue orbs with long lashes, short salt and pepper hair, and the same long, pointy nose, too. The two sisters were only a year apart and were often mistaken for twins as children. According to Mom, Sarah had been the shyer of the two, more subdued, while Mom was full of laughter, chatter and demonstrative.
“Brett, let me show you something.” Aunt Sarah took him by the hand and led him up the steps. “Move, Boss!” She shooed the orange and cream tabby cat out of the path. Boss was huge with no neck, his collar barely visible, and about fifteen-years-olds. He had the run of the place and was known to snarl and hiss at children that rubbed him too rough along the belly, and strangers that approached the front door, daring to darken his doorstep. Boss loved Brett, and he felt honored. The cat was often pushing into his leg trying to get a free rub on the head. He bent low, gave the little guy a quick scratch behind the ears, and carried on beside Aunt Sarah.
She opened the door and walked with purpose towards a sitting area in her gorgeous bedroom. It reminded Brett of old Hollywood. Aunt Sarah’s husband was an important guy at Procter and Gamble. He was due to retire soon but spent most of his free time on golf courses in Florida, or fishing in nearby Kentucky. There, on a white marble vanity, was a shrine of sorts to his mother. His eyes immediately moistened.
“Oh, Aunt Sarah… it’s beautiful.”
Golden framed photos were all around, some surrounding timeworn Christmas photos, starting from their childhood. Aunt Sarah snatched a tissue and dabbed at her eyes.
“I miss Susan so much, Brett!”
He held his aunt tight and squeezed her close.
“I do too. This is amazing, Aunt Sarah.” He released her, then crouched down in front of the elaborate display. There was a tiny merry-go-round, an angel snow globe, battery operated candles, a Christmas wreath, and a present all wrapped up in dark blue, with a big pink bow.
“That’s for her.” She stood beside him, smiling now as she dabbed the corners of her eyes. “Your mother always gave the best Christmas gifts.”
“She did…” His heart hurt at the realization that this year, there’d be no early morning ‘Merry Christmas,’ call from Mom. No gifts dropped off in the wee hours of the morning, no pancake breakfast, no presents under the Christmas tree at her home wrapped to packaging perfection. There would be no nudges for him to hurry up and get remarried, or harassing him about ensuring that his son, whom she considered her grandchild, came by to see her more often. It was gone… all gone. She took it with her…
“What I would give to have just 5 more minutes with her.”
“Oh, honey…” Aunt Sarah dropped to her knees in front of the twinkling display in honor of his mother and hugged him tight. Now, he was crying, too.
“She was the best sister a girl could have! Always cheering me on! Always pushin’ me, telling me I could be whatever I wanted. She was just so full of confidence, and so funny, too.” She patted his shoulder, reached for his chin and turned her towards him. “Your mother was always so proud of you, Brett. I bet if she could see you now, she’d tell you just that. I believe some way, somehow, she can visit us, she’s watching over you… over all of us.”
“…I hope that she is. I’ve had a crazy year…” She nodded in understanding. “You know, I’ve accidentally called her, forgetting that she’s gone.” Aunt Sarah kissed his cheek as tears fell from her eyes. “I hope that even though she can’t answer her phone, that in some form or fashion, she can still hear my call…”
In his redvelvet jacket and matching pants, Dad looked like a pimp-ish Easter rabbit. Pimp paw strong… Felicity rolled her eyes at the spectacle, then glanced at her watch. Standing beside her was her brother Fred, with his fiancée. He looked rather nice, and she told him as much. They hadn’t argued– and she was thankful for that. Her sister, Faith, was sitting on the couch with her daughter and husband, whispering as she turned the pages of a picture book.
It’s a Christmas miracle I’m even here, but Brett was right. I love my father, and I need to try and be there for him, even if I don’t approve of everything he does. I’d want the same consideration.
Dad’s house was full of people she didn’t recognize—most of them China’s strange ass friends. A couple were dressed like Pokémon characters for some odd reason. Dad was standing next to China, who had on an equally tacky getup, paired with a purple and silver wig. They held their glasses high—the ones Felicity had got him for his birthday two summers ago.
“And so, I say happy holidays, to all of you, or, as they say in Korean, meli keuliseumaseu. (?? ?????), and, Sung Tang Chuk Ha. (??? ???!)” Dad smiled proudly and bowed, as if he’d really done something spectacular there while almost everyone clapped. He then made a toast with China, their glasses filled with eggnog.
Felicity’s stomach had begun to rumble. She rubbed on her gut, through the fabric of her form-fitting green dress. I’m starving. She couldn’t wait to get out of there. Instead of the anticipated banquet of cranberry sauce, carved smoked turkey, and macaroni and cheese, Dad and China had big bowls of steamed rice, kimchi platters, and sweet potato motherfucking noodles. She wasn’t opposed to such cuisine if going to one of her favorite Korean restaurants for a weekend lunch, but not on Christmas, in the home of a Black man and a very confused Black woman. Most everyone had gobbled down the food, while she toyed with a plate of Samgyeopsal.
Sucking her teeth, she stood there and listened to the man ramble on about tales of him and China traveling abroad—On my dime; how they met—Online in some K-Pop fan group for African Americans; the various events they’d attended; and the people he’d gotten to know over the years. Not once did he mention his daughters or son, or his wonderful career as a schoolteacher. After all, he’d been voted one of the best math teachers in the entire state of Ohio. And yet, he can’t budget a checkbook. He also never spoke about what made him happy that did not include China. It was as if he and China were an island, and everyone else mere waves in the ocean—a great distance away, not even worthy of an honorable mention.
She stood there, growing angrier by the second. What once she’d identified as pity now became all-out rage. Clenching her fists, she fought back tears.
It had become clear what her problem was. It wasn’t China. It wasn’t Dad. It was his lack of concern and love for his family—the people who’d existed before China entered the picture. The people who visited him, played Chess with him, and made sure he had Sunday dinner. The people who listened to him when he said he was lonely and depressed. The people who loved him with all that was within them. His children…
Now, all of that was gone. She was lucky to get a text back from him a few days after the original one was sent. She felt quite clear about things now as she blinked back her emotions, chin held high. I’m not jealous of China. I’m angry that our father has treated us in this manner. That’s not her fault. He made this choice. Maybe he’s not even aware of what he’s doing? That still doesn’t make it hurt any less.
Here I stand, picking at my hurt like a lock. I’ve cracked it.
If it hadn’t been for this party, I would have still been blind, and never got to the bottom of the true reason for my resentment. I needed to stand here and hear this man talk for almost twenty minutes, watch him go into great detail about his life with this woman—and no one else. As if no one existed before her, and no one will exist afterwards. My father stood here and bragged about a woman he’s only known for a short while, never mentioning Mom, who was his high school sweetheart and gave him three children. He never gave us a nod, either. The adult children who continued to cater to him, including Fred. We’ve always had a good relationship with our father, in spite of the divorce. He was an excellent dad when we were young. Smart. Kind. Inspirational. Mom and Dad had grown apart—we understood that, even though it hurt all the same when they split. Dad didn’t want the divorce. Mom did. He moved out, and he had a hard time adjusting.
We’ve all been there for one another, notwithstanding me and Fred butting heads sometimes. Mom still on occasion cooked for Dad and had us take the dinners over when we were spending the night at his apartment way back then. She always said, ‘He’s the father of my children, and had been my best friend for many years. I will never stop loving your father. We’re just not IN LOVE anymore.’
