Page 103 of Nineteen Letters
“Possibly,” she grumbles in reply, without making eye contact.
“What about you, pumpkin?”
“I’ll have a vodka, lemon, lime and bitters, please … actually, make it a double.”I need it.The waiter nods before jotting my order down on his notepad.
“And a bottle of your best Sauvignon Blanc,” Stephen says, eyeing the waiter. “And two glasses, please.”
Hooray, they both like the same wine.That’s a start, I guess.
The three of us sit in silence until the alcohol arrives. I down my drink like a parched man in the desert; anything to take the edge off. I hope my parents will do the same, but the waiter pours just a small amount of wine into their glasses. I raise mine in the air, signalling for another vodka. I’ll be finished this by the time the next one arrives.
Stephen takes a small sip compared to Christine’s gulp.
“So,” I say, trying to get this show on the road. “I brought you both here tonight because you’re my parents—obviously—and we were a family once.” My gaze moves down to the crisp white tablecloth as I suddenly realise I should have planned this better. When I raise my eyes again, I see I have their complete attention. “As you both know, Braxton has been writing me letters about my past, things we both experienced growing up. What I was hoping to get out of tonight was some insight on my life before we moved here.”
If this doesn’t work, I’m not sure where to go next.
A genuine smile forms on Stephen’s face before he speaks. “You were such a happy baby … wasn’t she, Chris?”
My mum glares at him, before looking at me. “You were,” she answers as her features soften. “You were a good sleeper and eater. You never gave us any trouble.”
“You loved your dummy when you were little.”
“Didn’t she ever,” Christine chimes in.
“Remember those little noises she used to make when she’d suck on it?” Stephen says as his eyes move back to her. I’m waiting for her scowl again, but instead, I see a smile tug at her lips.
“I do. It was so cute.”
“Your mother and I would stand there for hours just watching you sleep.”
“We did,” she agrees. “We ended up taking it away from you just before your second birthday because it was starting to make your front teeth protrude.”
“God, she cried, didn’t she, Chris?”
“For three long, agonising days,” she replies, glancing in his direction.
“My heart broke for both my girls. You couldn’t bear to see her so upset. By day three, you were begging me to buy a replacement dummy on my way home from work.”
“I remember,” she says, with a small laugh. “Instead, you brought her home a baby doll and told her since she was a big girl now, she could take care of her own baby.”
A huge smile breaks out onto my face as I watch them.
“She loved that doll,” Stephen says.
“She did. She took it everywhere.”
“What was her name again?”
“She named the doll Annabelle.”
The conversation is solely between the two of them now. It’s like I’m not even sitting at the table, and my heart is smiling so big as I watch on.
“That’s right, Annabelle. Remember when the doll got lost?”
“How could I forget? She cried herself to sleep that night, sobbed in my arms.”
“I felt so bad for her,” Stephen replies.
