Page 25 of The Baby Bargain
Our conversations join. Shift to work. To tattoo techniques and irritating clients and even more irritating coworkers. A lot of hinting that the people at the table are the most irritating coworkers of all.
I don't have anything to add to the discussion, but I don't mind. It's nice, hanging on the sidelines, observing everyone.
My social skills are… lacking. Something in me stopped growing when Mom died. I never learned the nuances of flirting or negotiation or secrets.
Maybe it's a good thing. Sure, I'm a little awkward and overly blunt, but that helps me cut to the point.
After dinner, Forest drops me off at home. He hugs me goodbye, asks if I'm okay, begrudgingly accepts a yes.
The house is quiet. It always is. Whether Dad is here or out of town.
At the moment, he's in New York. Or Chicago. Or maybe Boston. All those big cities run together. Cold, rain, snow, skyscrapers, attitude.
Los Angeles has its faults, but, God, the weather—
I love the sun. And the beach. And the warm air.
I love our house. Even though I'm usually alone. Especially because I'm usually alone.
Dad works in sales. His job requires travel. Before Mom got sick… she kept the house so warm and sweet and full of love.
I missed Dad, but I never felt like he was far away.
When Mom got sick, Dad put family first. He took a leave of absence. Stayed home to nurse her. To watch her die. To take care of us.
It stalled his career for a while.
Once I was in college, we convinced Dad to finally put his career first.
I live here to save money. And to stay close to Dad. He took Mom's death the hardest. For a long time, he was a shell of himself. Not that I can talk.
It's been more than a decade, but I can still feel her presence. She's in the purple couch (still my favorite color), the framed art on the wall (Lichtenstein, of course), the shelves of graphic novels and Disney DVDs, the giant TV.
It's a new TV (Forest found a Black Friday deal and surprised us), but it's still her. She loved movies. All movies. Especially animation.
It's where I got my name.
The Little Mermaidwas her favorite.
For a long time, she showered me in symbols of it. Walls in cerulean and aquamarine sponge-paint. Framed posters of aquatic animals. Mermaid t-shirts. Flounder plushie.
It's still there.
My walls are still painted like the ocean. Still adorned in Mom's favorites. Still childlike and innocent.
How could I cover the sponge-painting she did?
That's just…
Maybe I need to channel Ice Princess Elsa and let it go. But that feels more like forgetting.
I'm not giving up the gifts Mom left.
And, well… I kinda like Disney now. EvenThe Little Mermaid. Sure, it's the bane of my existence. Every person I meet asks if I can swim or sing or turn into a mermaid.
The movie is still one hundred percent Charlotte Ballard.
It's our connection.
