The Hunter's Secret

CASSANDRA

“You and me, kiddo.” - Dad

Stability. It’s one of the things social services look at to know if a parent is fit to get custody of their child or to regain it. If you’re thinking about adopting, a lack of stability will kill your chances. Stability is precisely the one thing my life does not have. 

I swear that, if my father was not my father, social services would have taken me away by now.

I don’t know where I was born. My mom died right after I was born. I don't know any family members; my dad will never talk about them. I used to ask, when I was little, about my grandparents or my uncles, but my dad's only answer would be "You and me, kiddo". At some point, I stopped asking. The sad part is that I don't even remember when that was.

We never stay long enough in one place for me to actually make good friends, let alone create roots. Every new school year I have to play catch up on one subject or the other. We have lived in some good places, but we have lived in some questionable places. I’d like to say that I move every year, but that would be a lie. There are times we moved twice in one year. So that’s me, the girl who collects acquaintances; the girl with no roots.

I should be used to that by now, but one messed-up thing about human beings is that we hope beyond reason. So, this year, when I actually started the year on the first day of school (not always a given for me) and we were still in town when the second semester began (again, not always a given), I let myself hope. Stupid, I know. You see, we moved 5 times in the past year and a half, so I was desperate for something constant. I think that’s why I didn’t see it coming.

My dad and I walked into Mr. Pasta for our monthly date. My dad insisted on taking me out once a month to show me “how a real gentleman treats a lady”. This coming from a man who said no boy will touch me until I’m 35. The restaurant was not full but had enough people in the middle of the week to show you it was good (another pearl of wisdom from dad). 

“Table for three?” The pretty, blond waitress asked with a smile.

“Two.” He replied and instinctively put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it. When I looked up at him to tell him to cut it out, I couldn’t: he had the brooding look in his eyes he always got when something reminded him we were only the two of us.

“Great!” The waitress sounded happy, but she turned as fast as possible and scurried away trying to avoid the awkward moment that was forming. Taking it as a cue to follow her, dad and I did just that. 

“Okay! My name is Tiffany and I’ll be your waitress tonight. Here is the menu. I’m going to give you some time to decide. If I’m not back once you have decided, you can just wave me over.” She handed us our menus and left, but not before flashing my dad what I knew she thought to be her most dashing smile. I just rolled my eyes.

“So, do you think they have pasta?” Ah, yes, the dad joke. 

“Maybe we should ask the waitress.” I said with a bit more snark than intended, and pretended to read the menu. I had recently realized women liked my father. Like, they were attracted to him. Cristina’s older sister told me - after she overheard me venting to Cristina about this lady that was supposed to be helping me find lady products in the store and spent the whole time telling my dad how hard and lonely it must be to be a single father - that my dad was considered “nerdy hot”. In her words: “He’s like… if Sam and Dean Winchester had a baby that was a hot professor.” I did not want to ask her what that meant, I simply corrected her saying my dad was a historian, but she did not seem bothered by her mistake.

“I believe I’ll have the lasagna bolognese.” my dad said after a minute or so. “Have you decided, kiddo?” 

“I’ll have the four-cheese ravioli with a side of french fries.” I love french fries.

Dad waved at Tiffany and she obviously came rushing and wearing an unnecessarily big smile. She brought us our orders and a jar of lemon water: dad has a strict rule about sodas. Since this was a “date”, dad asked me about my day, which book I was reading, which book I wanted to read next, what I was writing about… Our dates were always nice because we had one golden rule: there is no complaining during the date.

I asked him about his job working at the archives and he shared stories about his colleagues. Most of them were repeats of stories he had already told me and he always managed to turn the conversation back to me. I was starting to suspect he used these dates to find out more about my life. The joke was on him though; we moved so frequently, my life was boring and uneventful.

As we were finishing our tiramisu, dad adjusted his glasses and took a deep breath. “Guess what, kiddo?” When I looked up and saw a nervous smile on his face, I felt a pit forming in my stomach.

“No.” I knew what was coming. I had seen that face way too many times, and knew what was coming.

“I got a call this morning.” I started to shake my head. “It’s this metropole, and they need someone to fact-check their history as it’s their 200th anniversary!” To his credit, he tried to make it sound exciting.

I stayed silent. Too focused on not spilling the tears that were starting to form in my eyes.

“It’s an amazing opportunity." Here we go. I guess this was the new beginning to the speech."It will be more money… and it might even allow me to get a stable job after.” Don’t let this sentence fool you, this was not a negotiation. He wasn't even seeking my approval. My dad was giving me reasons so I could convince myself this was the best for us while I was packing to leave my whole life behind. He never had a stable job and I doubt he even wanted one.

“I can’t believe this.” I shook my head and looked down as tears started falling. I didn’t want my dad to see them even though I knew he knew I was crying and I hated myself for it. “Do I even get to finish seventh grade here?” I demanded. 

“They need me there on Monday.” 

---------

“I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHY I BOTHER TRYING TO MAKE FRIENDS!” I yelled as I threw my clothes into the suitcase. 

I was furious with my dad and he seemed at a loss about how to deal with me. You see, living a nomad lifestyle is fun when you're 5 and you get to travel all the time and go on “adventures”. After a while though, you smart up and realize friends and having the same bedroom for more than 6 months is actually a good thing. I had been unhappy with our arrangement for a while now, but this was the first time I was voicing my opinion this loudly. Of course, being 13 also meant I only knew one way of voicing my opinion.

“I CAN NEVER MAKE PLANS!” I took the books off the shelves. “I RARELY GET TO DO ANYTHING FUN!” Toiletries were going in the box. “I’M ALWAYS THE NEW KID! ALWAYS NEED TO GET USED TO A NEW… A NEW… EVERYTHING!” Pillow, blankets, and bed linens into the box. I looked around realizing I was done packing my room. “AND I NEVER GET TO HAVE STUFF!!” Okay, maybe that wasn’t a valid complaint, but we never stayed enough in one place for me to decorate my room or fill it with trinkets and memorabilia. Everything I had always fitted in a couple of boxes and a suitcase. 

As I was fuming in the middle of my empty room, my dad stuck his head in. “I made hot cocoa.” As if that was going to calm me down.

It was early Wednesday afternoon, the day after our date, and we were already leaving. My dad wanted to be there early to "get acquainted with the town", and "organize the house". What he really meant was that he wanted to avoid all the questions people might have about him pulling me from school and leaving yet another job so suddenly. I didn't get to say goodbye to any of my friends, well, the 2 acquaintances that were starting to become friends. We arrived late last night, well, late for a 7th grader, and we were leaving at the beginning of the afternoon.

Ah, yes, my dad has another stupid rule: I have a dumb phone, scratch that, I have a dinosaur phone. You know, those that only call and you need to press the number button several times to get to a letter? "No 7th grader needs a smartphone." He says it like we are still in the 90s. I looked down at my phone, wondering if it was even worthwhile texting them to say goodbye. Every new state dad changed my number and who keeps in touch with the girl they barely knew anyway? Sometimes I wondered if those people would even remember me some day. Probably not. Probably I'd be forgotten by everyone that once crossed my life with the exception of my dad.

"Well, I just got a call from the city, they found an apartment for us." We had stopped to get gas at the exit of town and dad was just getting back to the car. 

"An apartment?" I was so shocked by his words that I momentarily forgot I was mad at him and accepted the chocolate he was handing me. We had lived in some dodgy places, but nothing compared to apartments: my dad hates apartments. He always said he would rather "camp for a year having to find his own food and water than live in a box".

"It's the best they can do without sending us to the suburbs." He grimaced. That wasn't a point. The suburbs would have houses and my dad loved the freedom living in a house gave you. "The good news is that it's close to your school."

I couldn't help rolling my eyes. I wonder how long we will last this time.