Pirate Smile

I was getting restless. It had been four days since the aquarium and I was spending every day with them, but Holly always had to work. Two hours a day was not was what I’d had in mind. It was all in slow motion, or little, tiny increments.

On Thursday, I brought Holly some coffee before she could leave for work. I had a plan.

I cornered her in front of the bathroom.

“You want to watch Delilah while I’m at work?” Her condescending tone stung a bit and she noticed. “I’m sorry, I just—are you sure?”
I nodded, starting to lose the smidgen of confidence I’d built up.
“Alright.” She finally smiled. “Let me call my mom.”
“Wait, you’re OK with this?” I was stunned. I might have even spilled my own coffee down the front of my shirt, but I couldn’t feel anything.
Holly frowned at me as she pulled her hair into a ponytail.
“Are you sure?” It was too late—the second-guessing had begun.
“Of course I'm OK with it." Holly nudged me as I felt myself go green. "If you are."

“Jared is.” Holly had called her mom right after we agreed. Apparently she was having a difficult time wrapping her head around the idea. “Mom, Jared is here. He’s going to spend the day with her.”
Her brow suddenly furrowed and a frown appeared. Without so much as a glance, Holly went into her bedroom and closed the door. April Finn always liked me; she used to tell me all the time. I guess that all went out the window once I’d knocked up her teenage daughter.

When Holly reappeared, the phone was no longer up to her ear. She fiddled with her hair a bit and walked straight to the kitchen counter.
“Is everything alright?” I’d followed her, resting up against the counter on my elbows.
“Yes.” Her eyes blazed as she looked away.
“No it’s not.” Holly was the one person I knew better than myself.
Holly looked at me with her eyebrows raised. Then she let out a breath and chuckled.
“She’s just…concerned.”
“Are you phrasing that for my benefit?”
“…Maybe.” She smiled. I used to call it her pirate smile—a crooked grin, her perfect lips parting ever-so-slightly.
“What would we do, me and Delilah?”
“Anything you want.”
Holly began explaining some things, and pointed out where the food was and what-not. I nodded. My palms felt a little slick, and my stomach was in knots. It was beginning to sound insanely difficult, but Holly kept assuring me the emergency phone numbers were just a precaution.
After a quick glance at the clock, she looked back at me as if to say, “Are you ready for this, sucker?”

Delilah, who had been dressing herself that entire time, finally walked out of her bedroom. She had on a tiny Pixies t-shirt. When Holly saw me smiling, she nodded.
“I made that for her, out of one of my old ones.”

One thing about Holly certainly hadn’t changed—her love for music. Of course she would pass that onto her daughter. Holly was the only sixth grader who was playing 45’s of David Bowie, let alone the only one who knew what a 45 and who David Bowie was. The day her record player played its last vinyl, Holly missed school on account of “needing time to mourn”. I could safely assure you that she still had that thing in storage somewhere. Her iPod was an entirely different story.

“Alright, girlie, you’re going to hang out with Jared today.” I watched as Holly swept Delilah into her arms and kissed her forehead. “How does that sound?”
Delilah nodded her head, her braids bouncing. She peered out from her thick lashes, hiding her face in Holly’s neck when she saw me looking at her. Holly put her down and grabbed her purse.
“If you need anything, please call me.” Holly’s eyes sparkled as she squeezed my hand. She bent over, kissing the top of Delilah’s head, and whispering something to her. “Have fun, guys.”

Delilah and I stood in the now silent apartment, staring at one another. I briefly excused myself to bathroom, where I proceeded to throw up. I was pretty pleased that I’d been able to hold off on it for so long—I’d been nauseous since Friday night. When I came out, Delilah was in the same spot she had been in earlier. Her smile was a little looser.
“Do you want to go to the park, kiddo?” I stuffed my hands in my pockets. Kiddo? Did anyone use that these days? I cringed, hoping I hadn’t offended her—if four-year-olds can be offended.
“Yes,” she squeaked.
“Right on.” I exhaled, nodding my head and walking toward the door.
“Wait!” Delilah barely raised her voice. “I need my shoes.”
“Oh,” I double-backed. “Right.”
“And my jacket.”
I nodded, looking around for any semblance of these things. Delilah disappeared into the narrow closet, knocking down several jackets as she did. The clock read a quarter to eleven. Holly would be back at eight o’clock.
Delilah reemerged with a purple zip-up and black sneakers. She set the shoes in front of her and stared at them like she was willing them to jump onto her feet. Then she looked at me uneasily.
Of course she would need some help. As I tried to help her step into the shoes, she grasped at my pants to steady herself. When she couldn’t, she grabbed my arm. My stomach knotted itself more tightly.

“God, help me.” I muttered as we walked out the door.
It was going to be a long day.