Page 19 of Meet Me in the Valley
I suppose I need to keep Professor Silva’s mantra in my daily practice. Without the reminder to submit to myself, I’m going to be wandering in an endless loop—left behind without the peace I seek.
Professor Silva beams at me with pride, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle. Another student vies for his attention, and I rise from the bench to give him a parting hug.
“I will see you next time I’m in town, Professor.”
He gently cups my cheek like a father’s affection. “Looking forward to it. Say hello to your mama and papa for me. And stay out of trouble.”
“I will. And maybe,” I tease, causing him to tsk and shake his head.
“Remember what I’ve taught you,filha.”Daughter.
I chuckle at the thickness of his Brazilian accent, waving him goodbye as he steps back onto the mat to return to his teachings.
If only he knew the trouble I was in.
Freshly showered, I hear a commotion in the kitchen. Pots banging, cabinets opening and closing. Quickly slipping on athletic running shorts and one of Logan’s long sleeve University of Texas shirts I stole from his dresser, I quickly finger the strands of my damp hair and head toward the noise.
I round the corner to see my mother moving like a swarm of angry wasps through the kitchen, frantically searching for something. Her thick black hair is up in a topknot, and she’s wearing the pale yellow, frilly apron I made her in home economics class freshman year.
“Mama? Do you need some help?”
She jumps at the sound of my voice, throwing her hand over her chest. “Oh, my God. You scared me,sayang.Yes, actually. I do need your help.”
She swipes a piece of notebook paper from the kitchen island. Thrusting it into my hand, she continues to rummage through her kitchen as I look over the contents of the paper. A list.
“Mama, why do you have ingredients for apple pie? Did someone request it or something? Also, what are you looking for?”
She stops with the scrounging and gives me an incredulous look. “Sayang, it’s for Daddy’s birthday. You know it’s his favorite. Now stop asking questions and please go to the store and pick up what I need. You know how much time I need for the crust, and I want to surprise your father by dinner.”
Dad’s birthday?
“What? But?—”
“Tia, please go now. I still have to prepare and peel the apples, and I don’t have enough. If the Honeycrisps are on sale, get those instead of Granny Smiths. I swear the price of apples these days is ridiculous,” she rambles, pushing me toward the front door.
I stumble back, eyes wide in shock at her frantic state. “But Mom?—”
“Daniel!” My mom calls out to my dad. “Where are my pie weights?”
“What the fuck?” I mumble quietly under my breath, slipping on my tennis shoes and grabbing the keys to my dad’s SUV off the hook by the door.
I hear my dad in his office, his faint voice filtering down the hall. My mom is acting like a complete lunatic, turning her kitchen inside out like she’s having some sort of nervous breakdown. Concerned, I walk to my dad’s office—the store can wait.
“Daddy?” I knock lightly on the double doors that are slightly ajar. I see him swivel in his office chair, talking to someone on the phone.
Putting his hand over the receiver, he beckons me. “Come in, sweetheart.”
I push open the door and take a seat on his leather chaise lounge that he’s had since I was a little girl. So many stories told on his lap, naps taken, and pictures colored on this chair.
They are such sweet memories, but my chest falls to some painful ones, too.
Hide and seek behind the chair. Late night secrets on the chair. My tears spilling into the leather as I watched her go.
“Sorry about that, honey. What’s up?” I don’t even realize I’m gazing longingly out the window until Dad’s voice brings me back. That—and Mom’s incessant clanging in the kitchen.
“Why is Mom making me get things for an apple pie for your birthday that was two months ago? She’s going psycho in the kitchen.”
“Daniel! Pie weights?!”
