Freedom! The next morning when I wake up, I can feel it in the air. Freedom. Freedom from Nick, from Sean, from Arnold—freedom to do whatever I want to do without having to ask anyone’s permission, and it’s wonderful. So the first thing I do is log onto my journal and start to finish the entry from last night. I’m adding the part about Arnold and the lobster, when there’s a knock on the door.
It’s Mom. She’s holding two manila envelopes. “I wanted you to see something. I was up all night, working on them.”
“What are these?”
“I think you’ll be able to figure it out. You’re a smart girl. Why don’t you look at them. I’ll give you a makeover, if you want. But later.”
I nod and take the envelopes. I sit on the bed and take out the first one. It’s from Mom’s accountant, Mr. Lowman: a letter and last year’s tax return. I don’t know why she’s showing me this. I have no clue how to read a tax return. But I flip through it.
On the first page, there’s a section that says INCOME. Lines with numbers. The highest number is on the line that says BUSINESS INCOME and I practically fall off the bed when I see it. I had no idea Mom made that much. Is this all from real estate, or does that include her business of sponging off Dad?
I check out the line marked ALIMONY.
The number on that line is 0.
Point for Mom. But is child support the same as alimony, or is it separate somewhere? I flip through the rest of the form and find nothing about child support. Then I see that the second envelope says CHILD SUPPORT in Mom’s round, girlish handwriting. She’s written in purple and dotted the I with a circle.
Inside is a Post-it note from Mom that says CAITLIN, CHILD SUPPORT ISN’T INCLUDED ON THE TAX RETURN. LUCKY ME. It’s attached to copies of Dad’s child support checks. I recognize that handwriting too—his wife, Macy’s.
The second thing I notice about the checks are the amounts—they would maybe pay for my clothes if I didn’t wear anything extravagant like, say, sneakers. I remember the big deal Dad made about paying for my voice lessons. If you subtracted that amount, the check is practically nothing.
The third thing I notice is that the checks are always late. Sometimes two or three months at a time, and every one is signed by Macy.
I slip all the papers back into their envelopes.
I find Mom in her room. She’s putting on her makeup. In times of distress, it’s always makeup. I slide the envelopes over by the mirror.
“How about that makeover?” I say.
She pulls out a bottle. “Wash up first. I have this new cleanser.” She hands it to me. “And moisturizer. You need to moisturize, even when you’re young—to trap in the moisture and prevent damage. I wish I’d known that when I was your age. There are so many things I wish I’d known, but that one I think of every time I look in a mirror.”
I start to repeat the line about how there’s always Botox, but instead, I say, “You’re mad about what I said that day, about leeching off Dad.”
“Not mad.” She hands me the moisturizer. “Sad, a little. You were thinking it for a long time, weren’t you?”
“Years. But I thought Dad … I thought…”
“He used to pay alimony. We agreed I was going to be a stay-at-home mother. But then he married Macy and they contested the agreement. So I got my real estate license and started selling Emma Leigh. I liked those things anyway. They were fun, and with my looks and personality, I was good at them.”
I nod. It always comes down to her looks. Is that because she feels like that’s all she has? Scary thought. I finish with the cleanser and start moisturizing.
“Lance was still paying pretty much child support at that point—not enough, but something.” She looks at me and moves my hands away from my face. “No, no, honey. Like this. An upward motion, with the thumbs. The idea is to gently massage away any future wrinkles.” She works the moisturizer in like I’m one of her Emma Leigh clients. “But any time I’d start earning a little more, he’d come to me, wanting to make the payments lower. I think Macy saw my picture in the real estate ads. Never mind that real estate’s an iffy business. Never mind that Key Biscayne is an expensive place to live—we could always move someplace cheaper, as Lance pointed out constantly. Never mind that you were his child for God’s sake, and he should want to support you and want you to live someplace nice.”
I wince. Dad never wanted to pay for anything for me. Even I knew that.
Mom continues. “Finally, I asked him what he was willing to pay, and we settled on an amount that was maybe a quarter of what he should have been paying.”
“Why?”
“Sometimes you get tired of fighting.” She hands me a bottle. “Okay, now you’re ready to get started. I always make my clients do it themselves, so they learn how.”
I start to apply the foundation, with an upward motion like she suggested. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I guess I thought it was better if you didn’t know what a jerk your father was.”
“I think I always knew, but jerk isn’t the word I’d use.”
She laughs. “Right. And you thought I was a jerk because you thought I sponged off him.” She hands me a blush. “Excellent job on the foundation, by the way. You have such beautiful skin—such tiny pores.”
“Thanks.” I take the blush from her and start to sweep it on. “I wish I’d known.”
“I didn’t want you to. But I don’t want you thinking I’m lazy either.”
I apply the blush, and she nods that I did it right. “But Arnold. You acted like you needed him for support.”
She pushes her hand through her hair. “It’s always such a struggle to pay for the upkeep of this house. But it’s the only home you’ve ever known. I worry about college too. Your father’s child support stops completely when you hit eighteen.”
I look around her room, and think about our house. She was willing to put up with Dr. Toe-Jam just to stay here? For me?
“I might get a scholarship,” I say. “There are scholarships for music.”
I wait for her to say something awful about how you can’t count on those things. But instead, she says, “Well, we can hope.”
I finish with the blush and start with eye shadow. “Which colors do you think?”
She points to a small case. “This one’s the base, for the entire lid. And then this one’s for the brow line, and this one’s for the crease. It gives you the extra definition you need.” She points to a couple of colors. “And…”
“What else?” I say, assuming she means another eye shadow.
“Oh, I don’t know. I guess it felt … nice having someone like that, someone wealthy, wanting me like that. He made me feel…” She shrugs.
I remember the feeling I always had, walking arm-in-arm with Nick at school.
“Valuable,” I say, brushing on the base eye shadow. “He made you feel valuable.”
She nods. “Yeah. I guess that’s it.”
I say, “I think that you are way too valuable for Arnold Mikloshevsky and his clammy hands.”
She nods. “I know you’re right. But sometimes it’s hard to believe that. It’s so hard to find someone who loves you for yourself, and not just because you’re pretty or act the way they want you to act.”
I think of Sean. I have that with him. Yes, he’s a friend, but he’s a good friend.
“Are you okay?” I say.
She nods. “I think I’m getting better.” She takes out a different lipstick and holds it near my face, then recaps it. “Oh, Caitlin, he really was a toady little man, wasn’t he? Every time he kissed me, I’d think, Valerie McCourt, has it really come to this?”
I giggle, then stop myself. “He kept looking at my boobs.”
“Mine too—and he had some boobs of his own, let me tell you!”
I can’t suppress the giggle that comes after that, and Mom joins right in.
“Mom?” I say after a minute. “I wish … I have a performance tonight at school.”
She raises an eyebrow like, Were you going to tell me about it?
“Yeah,” I say. “I thought you were too busy with Arnold, so I didn’t…” I know that’s not really true. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t tell you. But it’s at eight tonight, and I’m wearing the dress you bought me, and I wish you’d come.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” She looks at the blush I’ve put on. “And maybe I could help you out with your makeup for it too.”
I nod. Things with Mom will never be perfect. They are what they are. But even when times are hard, we’ll always have makeup just like when I was little. Cosmetics are the glue that binds us together. But maybe we can have a bit more.