Page 57 of Play With Me
The large space is suffocating with the scent of cotton candy, which I’ve learned comes from her perfume of choice. Pale pink walls and cream plush carpet give the first impression of a girl’s room. Gauzy pink material drapes over the white four-poster frame and the queen-sized mattress is neatly made up with a thick faux fur duvet and enough pink pillows for a ten-person slumber party.
None of that is what’s concerning, though.
What is concerning is the number of photos Maya has plastered all over her walls of Jackson Tailor, Carmela’s business partner. From magazine covers to gossip column printouts, Jackson’s face stares at me from every direction.
She’s even got a picture of him and his wife ontheir wedding day, but she’s pasted a cutout of her face over Mrs. Tailor’s.
Deciding now is not the time to question her about her choice in crushes, I let it go and watch helplessly as she dumps her bag on the floor and hops onto her bed, crushing a pillow to her chest. “Was the entire Jersey police force necessary?”
“Your mom was worried about you, Maya. We both were. Why would you get in the car with a man you don’t know?” I grab her desk chair and flip it around, sitting backward.
I’ve never felt fear like I did when Carmela said Maya was missing. After only a week of being around, I’m already beginning to feel like the two women are my family. It wasn’t even a thought when I was asked what my relationship with her was—claiming her as my kid was as easy as breathing.
She shrugs, pulling her thick, dark hair over her shoulder. “I guess I just wasn’t thinking. Like I said, he knew you all. Knew Aunt Lenni picked me up sometimes. I just trusted him when he said you sent him.”
A bitter sting of guilt stabs my chest. Logically, I know it’s not my fault, but I can’t help but feel responsible. “You’re fortunate he didn’t hurt you. This could have gone very differently. From now on, don’t get in the car with a stranger like that unless you talk to your mom first, okay?”
Maya nods, propping her chin on the frilled edge of her decorative pillow. “Okay.”
Silence fills the room—the significance of what could have happened weighing heavily on us both. Just when I’m about to tell her that homework can wait until tomorrow, she abruptly asks, “Is he my father?”
Surprise overtakes me, but I tamp it down quickly before she sees. That’s a bomb I’m not equipped to diffuse.
Shaking my head, I lie, “I don’t know, Maya. That’s a conversation you should have with your mom.”
I’ve been here before. I was younger than her when I had this same conversation with my mother. I know she’s hurting, not knowing who he is, but it isn’t my place to tell her he’s been here all along, watching over them both in his own twisted way.
“It would make sense,” she mutters. “I’ve always thought their relationship was weird. Why would my mom keep it from me, though?”
My chest throbs, the muscle aching like a charley horse cramp. “You know, I didn’t have a dad growing up, either.”
She looks up from her pillow, eyebrows drawn together. “You didn’t?”
I shake my head. “Nope. He wasn’t a good man, and my mom had the good sense to get out while she could. She and my grandma raised me.”
Maya is silent for a moment before asking in a small voice, “Did you ever miss him? Even if you never knew him?”
“I did.” I nod. “And when I was a little younger than you, I asked my mom why she kept him from me. He’d figured out where we lived and showed up when she and my grandma weren’t home. I didn’t know who he was when I answered the door, but I was old enough to realize I looked just like him. He asked how I was and if I was happy. I told him I couldn’t talk to strangers and he could come back when my mom was home. He just smiled in return, said he missed me and was sorry, and then left.”
The pain of that day took years to overcome. Years where I felt like I wasn’t good enough for the drug addict to overcome his addiction so he could get to know his son. But in the end, I realized it wasn’t my fault. And I want to make sure Maya knows this isn’t her fault, either.
“My dad had a drug habit. My mom got pregnant by accident, and when she told him, he couldn’t clean himself up. So, she did what was best for me and kept it a secret so I wouldn’t be disappointed. My dad chose drugs over his family. And that’s on him, not us. Do you understand what I’m saying, Maya?”
Her lips twitch at the corner, a quirk she gets from Carmela. “I think so,” she says forlornly.
“Whatever reason your mom hasn’t told youabout your dad? It’s a good one, I can promise you that. You just need to trust her. Everything your mom does is to protect you.”
Maya nods. “I know. I’m sorry I scared you guys today.”
“It’s okay, mijita,” Carmela says from the doorway. “We’re just glad you’re safe.”
We both turn to look at her. She’s wiping a tear from her eye as she smiles at her daughter and walks over to give her a hug. She sends me a watery smile over Maya’s head and mouthsthank you.
There’s no need to thank me, baby girl. You’re my family now. I’m never going to let anyone hurt you.
I promise.
Carmela