Imdalind 01 - Kiss of Fire

to the bathroom where I held the skirt up to me, against my new shirt. They didn’t match. I was going to look like a style-defunct school girl. Of course they all declared I looked wonderful anyway. I could have worn a stuffed chicken and it would have received the same reaction. My frustration and irritation were turning into uncontrollable laughter.
    Once the food came, I bowed out of the conversation, and my grandmother seemed to lose her lackluster interest in me. I focused on my food as my mother and grandmother chattered away about work and neighbors, and aunts and uncles and cousins I had never seen. I caught glimpses of information about Uncle Robert’s new wife and Cousin Becky’s new (scandalous) tattoo, not taking anything in. The taste of chilies and guacamole consumed me so much that I was unaware of my grandmother’s question until my mother tapped my leg.
    “Joclyn?” she asked, repeating her question, “How is school?”
    “Fine,” I said, hoping I didn’t have to elaborate. There wasn’t much more that I could say about school, so we sat in uncomfortable silence.
    “Excuse me.” Mom spoke as normally as she could, although it was obvious she left in order to give us all time to talk. “I have to go to the restroom.”
    My grandparents had nothing to say without my mom there, so I sat staring at the last of my empanada and listened to the clink of dishes and bits of conversation around me.
    “Don’t open the bag until you get home.” My grandfather’s rough voice made me jump.
    “Excuse me?” I asked, taken back.
    “The bag. Don’t open it until you get home. There’s a letter from your father in it.” I think I may have leaped a few inches out of the booth. The words “your father” were never spoken, least of all by his own parents.
    “My father?” I spoke much louder than I had anticipated, my heart beating a million miles an hour. “You’ve seen him?”
    My grandfather leaned forward, but my grandmother looked at him so sharply, even I felt uncomfortable with her gaze. My grandfather shrank back against the booth.
    “Yes, dear.” Her voice was falsely sweet. “Your father asked us to give that letter to you. And we agreed.”
    “You’ve seen my father,” I repeated again, although I wasn’t sure if I felt joy, anger, or excitement at this. Each emotion was there, but they didn’t stop swirling around each other; my stomach turned into a bowl of butterflies.
    “Yes,” my grandfather supplied, ignoring a second look from Grandma. “He came by just the other day wanting to see you. He had a birthday gift for you, so we put it in that bag so you could have it. But don’t open it here; I don’t know if your poor mother’s heart can handle hearing a single word from him.”
    “He wanted to see me?”
    “Yes, followed us here no doubt. Poor lad seemed desperate...” Grandma cut Grandpa off with one stern look and he sank back in his chair, looking crabby again. But I didn’t care; I had begun spinning around in my chair in a futile attempt to look for my father. I knew it was pointless. I didn’t even know what he looked like anymore. Any man here could be him. That one had his eyebrows, another had his nose. Of course, I had pictures, but they were from so long ago. Besides, it’s hard to recognize someone from a twelve-year-old photograph.
    “You might want to make sure his gift has been properly paid for, dear. I wouldn’t be surprised if he stole it. I am not sure my poor son has had more than two coins to rub together in a while.” I stopped my frantic search to face my grandmother. Her face was somewhat hard and disappointed now. I wanted to hear more, to ask her what she meant, but my mother slid back into her chair, announcing herself to be done.
    The car ride home was quiet, unlike either of us. The little black bag sat on my lap as if it were a dead weight or a bomb waiting to go off. I didn’t want to look at it but couldn’t keep from stealing glances. I tried counting the stars, the fence posts, the houses; but nothing worked, and so, my eyes kept floating back to the bag.
    “So, Joclyn...?” My mom’s voice came out of nowhere. “Did you have a good birthday?” I looked down at my mismatched clothes, at the beautiful necklace, and smiled.
    “Yeah, Mom. I did. Thanks for everything.”
    “You should wear that outfit tomorrow.”
    “Not going to happen, Mom.”
    “Why not?” she whined, offended.
    “Well, I would get mugged