The Falling Man

“Mommy, is dinner almost done?”

“Katrina!” I shouted, peering around the door frame from inside the kitchen to look at her, “You have asked me this question six times in the last five minutes!”

She just lay on the wooden floor of the living room, grinning up brightly at me, a coloring book in front of her, markers and crayons everywhere, “I know.”

“And what have I told you?”

She stared up at the ceiling as if it was going to give her an answer, “Umm, that it’ll be ready in half an hour?”

I nodded, sighing, then headed back into the kitchen.

The water for the pasta was beginning to boil over, and I quickly turned the flame down as it hissed onto the hot stove. I broke the dry spaghetti in half, then let it lean on the sides of the pot, pushing it lazily down with the palm of my hand as it softened. Then, I set the timer for seven minutes, and sat down on the counter, waiting for it to boil.

Mikey’s receipt hung on the refrigerator, held by a brightly colored flower magnet a neighbor had given me as one of Katrina’s birthday gifts. He received no thank you from Kat, only a strange look. But he was an old, sweet man; we always walked by him on our way to the park. He was always feeding the pigeons bread.

The numbers seemed to be staring at me, just as Mikey had earlier. They were beckoning me to call him. After four years of no communication. No letters, no phone calls, not even a text message.

Wouldn’t it just be awkward anyways? I’d just have to pretend as if everything was OK, that I wasn’t hiding his daughter from him. Then, he’d want to get together; I’d have to find a babysitter for Katrina at some obscure time, on top of finding a new job...

All the stress didn’t seem worth it.

But those numbers were glaring at me in their blue ink.

The timer went off, causing me to jump and fall out of my chair. I laughed aloud at myself for letting this get to me. I didn’t have to call him. There was no obligation.

“Mommy?” Katrina peered in the doorway, a few crayons in her hand, looking a bit nervous, “Are you OK?”

I nodded, still chuckling, “I’m fine, honey. You can go back to coloring.”

She nodded, heading back into the living room, and I pulled myself up with the help of the kitchen table. I tore the receipt down from the freezer, tossing it carelessly into the garbage, missing. I figured I wouldn’t need it anymore.

I turned off the flame and pulled a strainer out from the cupboard, placing it in the sink, then dumping the hot, starchy water and pasta into it.

Then, I dug out a jar of Prego, and poured about a fourth of it into the pan. I never really liked a ton of red sauce on my pasta, but Katrina loved to have hers swimming in it. With the mountain of Parmesan she put on top of that, it looked as if some one had mutilated a white rabbit.

I set the pot back on the flame, letting it heat up.

“Mommy!” Katrina called from the living room.

“What is it, baby?”

“Come look!”

I poked my head out of the kitchen, “Can you bring it to me? I’m watching the dinner cook.”

“I can’t, Mommy. I have marker on my feet, and I don’t wanna get it on the floor.”

I shook my head as I sat beside her, resisting the urge to ask her how she got marker on her feet of all places. I was so concerned about her, sometimes.

“Watcha want to show me?” I asked, trying to playfully peek at the paper she was coloring so secretively.

“Hold on, Mommy! I wanna get it just right.”

I leaned back on my hands, glancing over to the kitchen in hopes that the sauce wasn’t burning as I waited for Georgia O’Keefe to finish her masterpiece.

“All done!” She tossed the crayons aside, and slid the paper over to me. It was then I noticed the framed picture of Gerard and I beside her. And how the child-like picture she drew resembled it.

“See?” She pointed at the stick figures in the picture, “This one’s Daddy, that’s you, Mommy, and there’s me.”

I took the picture into my hands, staring at the colored wax. It was so obvious she wanted him more and more in her life with each passing day.

How much longer could I deny her of him?

“I wanna mail it to Daddy. Do you think he’d like it?”

I pulled her into a hug, “I think he’d love it, baby. He’s gonna think you’re so talented.”

She leaned back into me, taking the picture from my hands, then looking up at me with wide, innocent eyes, “You think so?”

“I know so.”

I played with her long curling hair as she settled into my arms.

She deserved him. There wasn’t even a question about it anymore. I was being selfish to deny it. She needed him in her life, and meeting Mikey today was a sure sign of it.

I needed to call him.

I lifted her off me, placing her on the ground.

“I have to make a phone call, but after I’m done, we’ll eat dinner, OK?”

She pouted, “What am I supposeta do now?”

I waved at the crayons all over the floor, “Clean up. After, you can watch cartoons until I say when, OK?”

She grinned at me, then hurried on her hands and knees, picking up the crayons.

“And don’t forget to put the picture back,” I headed into the kitchen, my eyes glancing at the refrigerator where the receipt was previously.

“I won’t!” She called. I could hear her rushed footsteps about the apartment. The people below us must hate us.

I picked up the receipt from the ground, un-crumpling it, then tucked it into my pocket as I switched off the flame on the stove, then covering the pot. The sauce was bubbling violently, and it couldn’t hurt it to cool down a bit.

I headed into my room, Katrina now glued to the floor in front of the TV, and shut the door.

I picked up the phone, then put it down again.

What on earth was I going to say to him?

‘Oh, hey Gerard. I had your kid about four years ago, and decided to tell you now. Wanna meet her?’

I can only imagine how well that would go over.

I picked up the phone again, and dialed the first few digits. Then the last few.

The phone began to ring in a monotone voice, and I felt my heart race in my chest.

All these years of wondering had finally led to this.

I was half-hoping that he would answer, half-hoping he wouldn’t.

“Hello?”

His voice was choked sounding, and crackling slightly from the cell phone.

“Gerard?” I asked, unsure if I should really go through with this or just hang up while I was ahead.

“Who is this?” He was becoming annoyed quickly.

“Gerard? This is Ana.”

“Ana? Holy shit, how the Hell are you?”

I smiled, relaxing a bit against my bed.

“I’m alright. I bumped into your brother today. He made me promise a thousand times to call you.”

“Seriously? That’s so crazy,” he laughed a little, then cleared his throat.

“I know, right? So, how have you been? It’s been a while-”

“It’s been too long,” he corrected me, and I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see, “I’ve been better. I was working on this cartoon. Actually, you know it, the Breakfast Monkey.”

“How could I forget? Mikey mentioned that you were talking to Cartoon Network or something...”

“Yeah,” his voice became sullen, “We did today. They decided not to go with us, though.”

“Aww, really?”

“Yeah, they’re making some other food show thing. They said they didn’t want too much of the same thing.”

“I’m sorry, Gerard,” I softly said, tugging on the hem of my shirt.

“Don’t worry about it. So what have you been up to?”

My breath caught, and I wasn’t really sure what to say.

Should I tell him?

“Not too much. I just quit my job today, it was Hell there.”

“Really? Where did you work?”

I was wracking my brain, trying to figure out how to bring up Katrina.

“At some law firm. It was just a secretary job.”

“That sounds like a fulfilling career.”

“Tell me about it.”

I glanced at the clock, it was nearly 7:30. I needed to get Katrina fed, bathed and in bed in an hour.

Thankfully, Gerard had to go meet up with some people.

“Do you want to grab coffee sometime?” He offered, his voice quavering a bit.

I nodded, “That sounds alright.”

Then it clicked. I’d bring Katrina along to meet him. Although he might be pissed at me, he’d be able to see her immediately. And she’d be able to see him. And that’s all that mattered.

“So, do you know that shop on Murphy and West?”

“In Manhattan?”

“Yeah, I could meet up with you there.”

“When?”

“Umm...How about next Tuesday?”

I glanced at my calendar, then chided myself. I had no job to worry about conflicting times.

“You mean the eleventh?”

“Yeah, if that’s what it is.”

“Sounds great.”

“Do you think we could meet early morning, though? I’m usually at work by ten...”

“That’s fine. Do you want to meet up around nine then?”

“Yeah, sure. If that works for you.”

I smiled, “It does.”

I could practically hear him smiling, “Great. I’ll see you then, then.”

“Alright. Talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

The line clicked, and I was still smiling.

I walked into the kitchen, making up the plates of pasta then setting them on the table.

“Katrina! TV off, please. It’s time for dinner.”

“OK, Mommy.”

I heard the TV switch off and her rush into the room, sitting down in her seat at the table.

“So guess what?”

She looked at me with hopeful eyes, setting the Parmesan back down on the table.

“What?”

I twirled my fork in the pasta, “You’re going to see Daddy next week.”

“Mommy! Oh my gosh!” She gasped.

“What is it?”

“My dream that I had last night is coming true! We’re eating spasgeti-” She paused, furrowing her eyebrows and correcting herself, “Spaghetti, and I get to see Daddy!”

I looked at her, grinning, “It is, isn’t it?”

Maybe my daughter was a psychic after all.