Tenacious Engagements

Noelle The only good thing my two sisters and I inherited from our father, according to my mother, is his intelligence when it comes to academics. Both Belen and I have skipped one year in school so far. Our mom makes it sound that our intellect is a hindrance but not us. Intelligence is the only gift we all have received from our father. My sisters and I are two and four years apart, making me the eldest. We are as close as sisters can be. We love music and dancing. We even dance at stores if a good song is playing, completely unfazed. We sing along to songs whenever possible, to our mother’s chagrin. Most importantly, we have always learned to have each other’s back. Our baby sister Angela is proving to be as academically gifted as the two of us. I will not be surprised if she moves ahead with a grade this coming school year. Unbelievably, she is even more of an introvert than me. She is pretty shy, while Belen and I are not. She will only sing along in the safety of our home and car. Angela would rather stay at home and cook than play outside with kids her age. Angela is the milkman’s daughter. Well, that’s what Belen and I have concluded. She doesn’t look like either of us. While both Belen and I have large, almond-shaped brown eyes, Angela has huge round hazel eyes. She has straight light brown hair with red highlights almost overtaking it. Again, she doesn’t match our chocolate-brown hair. We joke about her “milk daddy,” and Angela always used to giggle at that, while my mom just rolled her eyes at us. Once, I asked Angela why she constantly giggles when we call her the milkman’s daughter. After calming herself from her giggle fit, she finally explained that men do not have natural breasts like mommies, and therefore do not produce milk to feed a baby. What she found funny was how silly both Belen and I were for thinking milk came from daddies! All this time, she has been laughing at us. Angela is truly innocent. Mom says that Angela is the closest to her namesake, and she is. No one would be surprised if she turns out to be a nun. Speaking of nuns, our middle sister Belen is everything not. She is the one who will not only sing along to a favorite song but also dance in the middle of a*****e like me, but unlike me, she will start dancing as if no one is looking. When people stop and stare at her, because they always do, she smiles and continues dancing. Both my sisters are beautiful. Belen resembles my mother physically but is her complete opposite in everything else. She has my mother’s fair complexion with a light dusting of freckles across her nose. She also has my mother’s bouncy curls that are as wild as Belen is. But aside from physical appearance, Belen is nothing like our mom. Belen has no filter and couldn’t care less if she upsets our mother or anyone else. Her last infraction, not washing the dishes on her night. Our mom grounded her for the weekend by not letting her go outside. Belen, in all seriousness, asked my mother for a spanking instead. When our mom asked her why she replied that she’d rather get a spanking than being trapped for one hour with her and our aunts during the gossiping fest. Belen did get the spanking she asked for and then some, but she still got stuck with her original punishment as well. I reserve my pissing-off-mom cards and only use them when I have analyzed every aspect of a situation and am ready to deal with the aftermath. Angela holds her pissing-off-mom cards with a death grip, while Belen could care less about them. Belen drops her pissing-off-mom cards like a flower girl drops petals in a wedding. Not caring about our mother’s wrath is easy for Belen because she is never home. When Belen is not playing soccer, she is busy with her friends having fun. Having fun is something that I am not good at, according to Belen. My favorite day consists of visiting the library for hours and my book club. I agree with Belen that my hobbies are consistent with those of a retired cat lady. That’s where I find myself this Friday night. Instead of going to tonight’s high school football game, I’m in the library. I find my new high school’s library extraordinary. It has two stories of books, plus it’s attached to the computer lab. It’s a win-win. The library is slowly becoming my new best friend. Donna is still my actual best friend, even though we have fewer things in common these days. She doesn’t find the library as interesting as I do and rarely joins me. She is a typical fifteen-year-old, and her hormones are on blast. If I thought she was boy crazy in middle school, she is certifiable. My body matured early and thoroughly, just like Donna, but I am not as boy crazy as my peers. I am still only fourteen, and I haven’t been inclined to mess around with boys. I do not find boys as interesting as Donna and Belen do. I’m sure that will change soon, but right now, boys are not in my mind. Not joining in Donna’s favorite pastime of flirting with boys, I retreat to the library whenever I get the chance. I am upstairs in the library looking over some new books in my favorite corner. I must have been entirely engrossed reading because I didn’t notice when a man came and sat across my table. “Hi, Noelle.” I am startled and jump in my seat and find an older man sitting right across from me. I tend to hyper-focus and get lost in my projects or books. I didn’t even hear him pull the heavy wooden chair. I need to pay better attention to my surroundings. I have never seen him before in school. I study him and rule out that he is a teacher. There is no way a teacher could afford those expensive clothes, and is that a Rolex he is wearing? I look around and find that we are alone on the second floor of the library. Not a single person heard me scream. My heart rate picks up. Stranger danger! He tilts his head and observes me like how a snake does its prey when they are about to attack. “Noelle, do you remember me?” My rising panic pauses when I hear his voice again. What did he say? I take another good look at him. I can tell that he is tall despite him sitting down. He has complete dark brown hair with sprinkles of grey, perfectly styled. Not one inch is out of place. I do not know name brands, but I can tell his suit is of quality. His cologne is subtle, pleasant, and somewhat familiar. This man has an aura of money, power, and coldness. He is sitting straight with his hands crossed on the table. He looks very uptight and severe. There is something about him, but I can’t place him. I shake my head no. “Noelle, I’m Victor Costa, your father. I am surprised. Don’t you remember me? Haven’t you seen a picture of me?” What the hell? My stomach drops. I can’t feel my extremities. I have not seen my father since I was five years old. The day my mother moved us in with her parents was the last day I saw him. I remember him standing outside our house, watching us drive away. He did not say one word, not even a goodbye. But wait a dang minute, what the hell did he say? Is our first conversation going to be about me not remembering him? The last time I saw him, I was five. I’m not going to be chastised for not remembering my so-called father—a father who has ignored my sister’s and my existence for the past nine years. I take a deep breath. “I don’t remember you or what you looked like.” That’s a lie—I do remember small bits. “My mother destroyed any pictures of you.” I lit the fire for her. It happened weeks after we moved away. Belen was crying her eyes out because she wanted her daddy to be there for her birthday. My mother told her that she would never see that Italian devil ever again, which of course, made my little sister cry harder. Our mother was in a terrible mood and was about to throw away Belen’s untouched birthday cake. She changed her mind at the last minute and gathered the few pictures we had of our father. She made Belen hold up each photo and instructed me to set each image on fire. Belen held on to each view as long as she could before the fire burnt her tiny fingers. That was the last day she cried about wanting or missing our father. I finally pick up my stomach off the floor and continue. “My parents separating, never seeing my dad again, basically losing the life I once had, must have been a bit overwhelming for my five-year-old self to handle. So, I apologize for not holding on to the mental picture of the father that I once had.” I feel my face heat up with anger and hurt. Victor takes a deep breath and blows it out. He looks slightly agitated. Good. “Yes, well, Sabrina has always been quite dramatic, especially when she doesn’t get her way. She assumed that I would give in to her demands. I am a man of my word. I told her what would happen if she left. Now, tell me, Noelle, did Sabrina tell you why she left me?” Again, what the hell? He ignored everything I just said. I can’t even begin to analyze all that he just said. So, I decided to focus on his last question. “My mom said you and her had gotten into an argument, and she left for Grandma’s. You never came back to her.” I didn’t mention that he didn’t come back for my sisters and me on purpose. I doubt he even picked up on that or even cares. Victor doesn’t bat an eye at the excuse our mother gave us. He is not surprised by my mom’s version of their failed relationship. “Noelle, the reason Sabrina left me was that she was not interested in my career choice. After Sabrina left, I devoted all my time and energy to my new business. I became very successful. However, I never forgot about you girls. I have silently kept an eye on my daughters from a distance.” He is vague. So, I pressed on for an actual answer, “What is this profitable business that my mother didn’t want any part of?” I ask, doubting he will give me a genuine response. To my surprise, he answers, “I sell drugs. Illegal drugs, to be more precise.” He speaks so casually that he just said he sold cars or life insurance. But no, he said drugs. My father is a drug dealer.