An Imperfect Father

I would recognize the scribble on the page before me anywhere. We hadn’t spoken in over a decade, but I felt the same shiver down my spine seeing my father’s words sprawled in front of me as the day I left. I slumped into my brown leather couch with the little black notebook that I received in the mail earlier today. The notebook housed a lengthy letter from the man that walked out on my mother and I when I was a child. I shakily read:

Reina,

The doc says that I’ve only got a few weeks left and I need you to do something for me. I wasn’t a perfect father but I’m not a bad guy. There’s so much you’ll never understand and I had to look out for mself.

I slammed the notebook shut. The old man was probably dead and his last words to me vilified him further. I often thought about how I would feel if and when I ever received news of my father’s death, but I didn’t expect the heavy feeling in my chest that was currently growing. I could barely call him a parent but somehow, the knowledge that he was gone still ached. I grabbed my phone and dialed my mother’s line which went straight to voicemail.

“Mom, you would not believe what was waiting for me in my mailbox today. A little black notebook from an address in Perth, Australia FROM DAD. I haven’t read it in full yet. It’s kind of hard to do but it looks like he’s dead. How many times did we sit and wonder whether Dad was alive and where he was? How many times did I secretly wish he would find a way to contact us? Looks like he finally found the time...” I hung up knowing that she would never return my call. My mother was also dead. She passed away earlier this year from breast cancer. Whenever I missed her or wanted to talk to her, I would leave her a voicemail knowing that I was speaking into a void but desperate for the connection.

I got up and headed straight to my small but immaculate kitchen suddenly painfully aware of how alone I was. Up until my mother’s death, we both worked long hours every day trying but never quit succeeding to build a stable life for ourselves. We convinced ourselves we were all we needed until my mother became the last in a short line of loved ones to leave me. I never got to go to college working odd jobs just to barely get by. I recently lost my day job as a secretary and my night job as a freelance writer didn’t provide enough to pay for the never-ending rotation of bills that came through my mailbox. I poured myself a glass of red wine craving something much stronger but denying myself lest I truly become my father. I sighed aloud mustering the will to finish. I took my glass into the living room and picked up the little black notebook once more.

There’s a girl. Her name is Alexis Giannini. She lives above the old jazz café I used to take you when you were a kid. I know you still live in our old house on Elmhurst Ave. There’s a box under the floorboards in the master bedroom closet. Feel around for a loose one. Please give Alexis the box.

Love,

Dad

I traced the word “love” with my fingertips. The man had absolutely no idea what the word meant. My mind raced as I flipped through the remainder of the pages of the little black notebook searching for further explanation and found a picture of my father and an unknown toddler on his lap tucked in the back. On the back of the photo in small lettering, the words Daddy and Daughter were untidily written along the bottom right.

I raced upstairs to the master bedroom that I had only recently taken over as my own and frantically started to feel around the closet’s floor for the loose floorboard. After several minutes of frustration, I felt the offending loose board and pulled it out with ease. I reached my hand in the shallow space and pulled out a red velvet box covered in dust. I opened the box to find stacks of cash with a discolored index card on top. 20k it read in my father’s handwriting.

I dropped to my knees. Images of my mother crying over unpaid bills flashed across my mind. I remembered having our phone disconnected and getting fired because my job couldn’t reach me. I recalled my senior year of high school when I did my homework by candlelight because we couldn’t afford to turn the electricity back on for six months. I remembered avoiding friendships because I was utterly embarrassed at the goodwill clothing I was forced to by two sizes too big, so I could grow into them. Unbeknownst to us there was twenty thousand dollars sitting in a box. Money that we could have used to have heat in the cold winters. Money that could have paid application fees for a chance at college. Money that I desperately needed even right now… and I was asked to give it away?

It didn’t surprise me that my father would have had an illegitimate child. In fact, I would be more surprised if he didn’t have a few more. What surprised me was the keepsake. Did he actually consider this girl his daughter? Why was he helping her? Where was my photo? Where was my box? My mind raced with questions as an unfamiliar rage burned within me.

I frequented the old jazz café often. It was now unironically called The Old Café. I would go there to get writing done in the evenings. I knew Alexis, the barista at The Old Café with eyes that had always reminded me of my own and dark tresses similar to that of the baby in my father’s photo. We exchanged pleasantries, but I knew nothing about her. I checked the time and it was only 5:36 PM. I got up and put on my coat to shield against the brutal New York winter. I needed to talk to her.

A bus and a transfer later, I was standing in front of The Old Café, little notebook in hand, hesitant to step inside. I thought about what twenty thousand dollars could do for my own life right now and wondered what my mother would have done if she were alive. I could go to school. I could breathe easy for a bit. My entire life, I tried to be everything my father wasn’t. I tried to be kind and giving but life had not been kind to me and I never had much to give.

I barreled through the front doors and saw her behind the counter wiping down the oak countertop. We looked alike both inheriting my father’s olive skin and dark hair but she had a smallness about her that she must have inherited from her mother. She looked up at me and gave me a small smile. “Hey! Your corner is empty. I’ll have your usual over to you in a second.”

“Actually, Alexis, I came to talk to you. No latte today.” I said nervously.

The color drained from Alexis’ face and she was no longer wearing a smile. “Umm… okay? Am I in trouble?” Alexis asked weakly.

“Is there somewhere private we can go to talk?” I asked again inching toward Alexis and closing the distance between myself and her.

Alexis lowered her voice to a whisper and said “If this is a message from Tony then please tell him that I promise that I will have his twenty thousand to him soon. I just need a little more time. How did he find me?” She looked at me scared. Of course, she was in the hole with the local sharks. We all knew Tony Baretti. Tony’s father was the same man that ran my own father out of town fourteen years ago. Was Alexis the apple that didn’t fall far from the tree? I reached into my pocket and pulled out the photograph of the baby I assumed was Alexis.

“Alexis, is that you?” I said slowly. Alexis parted her lips and looked at me in bewilderment. Confused, she reached out and grabbed the picture from my hands. “How do you have this picture? What’s going on?”

I was about to show Alexis my father’s words in the little black notebook I had received only a few short hours ago when my mother’s voice stopped me. “He made his bed.” It’s all she ever said about my father’s departure. She only ever looked ahead and tried to make the most out of the cards we were dealt. “I literally just found this out front and I figured it must be yours since that baby is definitely you.” I fake laughed.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to talk?” She asked obviously not believing me.

“I’m a writer. I tend to be dramatic. Sorry. I didn’t intend to stop in but I had to after finding that.” I said pointing to the photo in her hands. The look on her face was pure disbelief despite my best performance.

“Anyways! I have to go but I’ll probably be in tomorrow, so I’ll see you then?” I asked trailing off at the end. Alexis nodded and I walked away and out the double doors looking over my shoulder. She was still staring at the photograph. I walked two blocks down and sat on the discolored bench at the bus stop. I pulled out my phone and scrolled down my contact list to the entry named Frank and hit the call button. The line rang thrice before someone answered.

“Reina? It’s been so long. Is everything okay?” a low voice with a thick Staten Island accent asked on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, Frank. I was just thinking about my Dad today and how kind you were to us after he left even though my mother was too prideful to accept any help.” I replied.

“Really? Your mother was a good woman. This is kind of random. I haven’t heard from you in years. You sure there’s nothing else?” He was reeling. You would think years in the mob would have given Frank some charm, but Frank was a barrel of directness and had no time to waste.

“Actually, yes. Does your son, Tony, still collect for you? I think I know where someone is that he’s looking for.” I said looking around to make sure no one was listening. “Just tell him that Alex Giannini works and lives at The Old Café. She’s been there a few months.”

“Okay, yeah. I’ll let him know. Thanks. Does this mean that you’re interested in coming back and doing some more work for us?” Frank asked hopefully.

“No. Consider this just a one-time friendly favor.” I said quickly. “I gotta go but I’ll keep in touch.” I hit the end call button. The bus had arrived. I slowly climbed the stairs and hoisted myself on the bus settling on a semi clean seat in the back.

She made her bed. My mother’s voice echoed in my head. I had no idea what would happen to Alexis. Tony was known for being much more brutal than Frank but if Alexis was anything like our father, she would be on the run for the better part of her life. I had no idea what Alexis was involved in or why my father would feel compelled to help her, but it wasn’t my problem. It was time to look out for myself and I was only looking ahead.