Pictures.

“How does this one look?”


I looked up from my dog-eared paperback to see my mother standing in front of the dressing room mirror examining herself, twisting and turning in a tight leopard print dress accented with black and brown ruffles. The bottom of it bound her legs together at the knees and the top had a low v-neck cut, showing too much cleavage for comfort. She turned and smoothed her hands over her belly and down her ruffled thighs.

“Well?” she prodded.

I blinked at her.

I think you look like one of Tarzan‘s call girls, is what I wanted to say.

“You look great.”

She turned back towards the mirror, fancying herself once again, and she discretely checked the size of her rear as she turned.

“You don’t think it’s a bit much? Oh, I hope Roman likes it.”

Roman. Her newest addition to the tall, dark, and sweaty divorcee club. I’d never met him, but if he was anything like the other men mom brought home, he was probably just about as repulsive as the dress my mother was about to buy.

My mom had joined an online group for singles called “Looking4Love.net” and it guaranteed “a perfect partner for every member or you’ll get six months free!” Just the fact that the number 4 had been included in the name of the website instead of the word ‘for’ told me this site was a joke. How could someone fall in love with another person just because they both like butter pecan ice cream and golden retrievers? Love has to be more than just matching similarities.

I reluctantly followed my mother to the checkout where she handed over her plastic visa in exchange for the dress. The cashier popped her gum, swiped the card, wished us a great night, and we were gone. It is sickening how credit cards have changed the lives of Americans. I would know, mine was burning a hole in my pocket.

My mother and I exited the bustling shopping center and hunkered down against the cold on our way to our Nissan. Mom popped the trunk and I ducked inside out of the freezing rain that was starting to fall. Once our purchases had been loaded in the car, we rushed home so mom could start dinner before Roman came over.



Seven knocks rapped against the front door, ripping me from the world of Tolkein.

“Honey could you get that? My hands are full,” my mom called from the kitchen.

No you get it yourself. It’s your boyfriend.

I inhaled and slapped my book down on the ottoman at my feet and trudged to the door. The rapping came again just as I was approaching the door.

“Daelyn, could you please answer the door?” my mother called again from the kitchen, her voice an octave higher.

I frowned and crossed my arms, standing pointedly in front of the door. I could see the faint outline of him through the frosted window next to the door. He peered in but could see nothing. Just as he was reaching out to knock again, I pulled the door open.

He looked surprised to see me and retracted his outstretched hand full of generic looking red roses. “Good evening. You must be Daelyn. Pleasure to meet you, I’m Roman,” he said very politely. “Flowers are for you,” he said, handing them to me.

I was a little taken aback by him. None of mom’s other boyfriends were so polite

“Come on in, my mother is in the kitchen,” I said politely, taking the flowers and stepping back to let him pass. He took a deep inhale as he hung up his coat by the door.

“Mmm, smells great,” he said. I eyed him for a few seconds, studying his attire. Under his long black coat he wore black pants, brown loafers, and a dark gray sweater. His dark chestnut hair was cropped short and spiked up in the front over his forehead. His eyes were an unusual green, and his features were handsome. He was quite nice looking, and I commended my mom on this one. We headed into the kitchen to find mom bent over, peering into the stove, wearing the tight leopard print dress she had just purchased. Her behind was perked up as she stuck a toothpick in the meatloaf that was sizzling on the oven rack. Roman surprised me by averting his eyes from mother’s rump and taking in our kitchen instead. I cleared my throat to let her know we were there. My mother turned her head, her pinned back curls protesting as she realized we were standing there.

“Oh hi! I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, sliding the slab of meat back into the oven and straightening up. The oven door closed with a loud thump. She rushed towards us, oven gloves on.

“Hello Rebecca,” Roman said. He leaned in and gave mom a kiss on the cheek, his smoothly shaven face gentle against her cheek.

“Have you two been introduced?” She looked between us expectantly. I nodded and smiled to reassure her. “Oh good, I’m glad. Well dinner should be another ten minutes, Daelyn honey can you fix drinks? Roman what would you like? Would you like a glass of wine?”

“No, thank you Rebecca but I’ll just have water. Help yourself though,” he said.

Not a drinker either? This was great, considering daddy was a drunk. Roses still in hand, I found a cheap vase and filled it halfway with water. I plopped the roses in the vase and set them on the counter. Mom and Roman headed down the hall towards the family room, probably seeking alone time. I set the table and placed two glasses of water next to the plates across from each other. I liked him so far, but I wanted to be front in center, in case he had any tricks up his sleeve.

Last time mom had a guy over for dinner it didn’t go so well. He had no manners, chewed with his mouth open, and what was worse, he did that weird moaning thing when he ate. I was so uncomfortable, and mom drank a half bottle of wine herself. Mom said she’d be sure to first go out to eat with someone before she invited him over for dinner. I thought this was an exceptional idea. Their voices carried down the hall as they came back towards the kitchen. The sound of mom’s giggling made me uncomfortable. I don’t know if it was because I had no clue what they were talking about, or if it was because I just hadn’t heard it in such a long time.

They came around the corner, mom in front with a big smile on her face. She squeezed my hand as she passed and went to the oven to pull out the meatloaf.

“Here Rebecca, let me help you,” Roman offered, grabbing the pot holders that were on the counter.

“No, no, no. You and Daelyn go sit in the dining room. It won’t take long,” she said, insistently.

Roman followed me as I led the way to the dining room table. He didn’t sit right away, gesturing at my chair for me to sit first. He sat next and folded his hands in his lap, smiling and waiting. I took nervous sips of water as we waited for mom to finish with the food. I guess he felt as awkward as I did because he broke the silence first.

“Daelyn, your mother was telling me that you were thinking about going to U of I next year,” he said, taking a drink of water. A respectably sized silver watch peeked out from his sleeve, winking at me as the overhead light reflected off its smooth face.

“Yeah, we’ve been going on college visits and I really like the photography program they have there,” I said, happy to have someone ask about me for once.

“Photography, sounds neat. What got you interested in that?” he asked, showing genuine interest.

My chest pained as I thought about dad. When I was little he would let me run around the house with our old Polaroid camera, snapping pictures of different things: our dog Nelly, plastic fruit, my Barbie dolls, the kitchen table legs and other majestic things.

When I was 12 he got me my first digital camera and I became glued to it for the next 2 years. Now it’s been 3 years since dad left, and I still wasn’t ready to talk about it. I hoped he was enjoying himself wherever he was, far enough away to where he couldn’t hurt me or mom anymore.

Roman was looking at me, his face wore a gentle expression as he waited for me answer. I was just about to open my mouth and then mom came in, carrying the meatloaf. She brought in a dish of green beans and mashed potatoes on her second trip. On her third trip, she returned with a bottle of wine and sat down in her chair.

“I hope you like meatloaf Roman,” mom said, placing her napkin on her lap. “It’s my special recipe,” she added with a loud whisper.

“Everything looks great. Thank you for cooking, it’s a real treat,” Roman said, also putting his napkin in his lap. I did the same, not wanting to be rude.

“You’re welcome,” mom said, her voice thick. Ugh, she got emotional over the littlest thing. However, having a nice man thank her for her hard work wasn’t just some small thing, especially for mom. Dad never said thank you for anything. Not for working to support us when he lost his job. Not for cooking our meals or folding our laundry. Not for helping me with my homework when he was too busy watching TV, and certainly not for picking him up from the bar when he was too drunk to walk.

“Daelyn was telling me about her interest in photography, is she any good at it?” Roman asked playfully. He smiled at me, and I wasn’t offended.

“Yes, she takes beautiful pictures. What I love most about Daelyn’s photos is that she doesn’t capture the big pictures, like a sunset, or a waterfall, or a rainbow. She finds the little things. Like the way someone’s hands look as they play piano or a dog smiling in its sleep. You laugh, but I’ve seen it,” she said as Roman started to chuckle. “Daelyn has a wonderful gift. I’m proud of her,” she said, quickly taking a sip of wine.

I swallowed the hunk of meatloaf I had been chewing, unsure what to say. Roman looked from mom to me.

“Maybe you could show me your photos sometime Daelyn. I’m no artist but if you’re as good as your mom says you are, you must be pretty proud of your work,” he said.

“Sure, I can, uh, grab them after dinner,” I said, nervously. What was this? I was not used to people being so nice, especially mom’s new boyfriend. Was this the part where he pretended to be nice so I wouldn’t make his life hell, or was he genuinely just a nice person?

We finished dinner and I helped mom clean up while Roman excused himself to the restroom. As soon as mom was sure he had gone upstairs and closed the bathroom door, she turned to me.

“Oh Daelyn, isn’t he perfect!” she squealed. “He’s such a gentleman and he is so handsome. He’s nice right, don’t you like him?” I felt like mom had turned into a teenage girl, gushing about a big crush. I was equally grossed out and happy for her. Finally a man with some respect came through this house.

“Yeah mom, he seems really cool. Where did you meet him? On that website?” I asked.

“No silly, I haven’t been on the thing for months. No I met him at your school. When I went to register you--oh I can’t believe my baby is a senior this year-- he was there helping us parents out,” mom said, rinsing our plates in the sink.

“Oh. Is he a teacher or something?” I asked, frowning.

“Yes he’s a teacher. He teaches Calculus or Algebra or something like that,” she said, squinting at the ceiling as she tried to remember details.

“Oh. That’s cool I guess. Did you get my class schedule then mom?” I asked.

“Yeah honey, I’ll get it for you later on. Let me finish cleaning up. Do me a favor and wipe off the table. Oh and don’t forget to go get your pictures so we can show Roman,” she said, loading the dishwasher.

I didn’t like her use of the word “we”. I wasn’t some showoff daughter. I did as she asked and headed through our tiny house to my bedroom to find my pictures. There were some on my bedroom walls, and ones I was less proud of hanging on the back of my door. I dug under my bed for the large shoebox I kept the really good ones in. I didn’t want to hang them because they were special, and reserved for special eyes. Dad had seen a few, some of the earlier ones, but he wasn’t anything special.

I tucked the box under my arm and trotted back to the dining room where Roman sat. Mom was fixing brownies in the kitchen, evidence of her chocolate fixation. Roman looked up as I entered the room, his hands folded gently atop the table. I sat down across from him and slid the box onto the table. I paused for dramatic effect.

“What’s in there?” Roman asked, eyeing the box suspiciously.

I contemplated sarcastic answers but didn’t want to be rude.

“These are my photos,” I paused, checking to make sure mom wasn’t listening. “I really haven’t shown them to anyone, just mom. I know we just met, and I don’t know you very well, but I can see that you make mom happy. Happier than I’ve seen her in a long time, and so I trust you, enough to show you my photos.”

“Thank you Daelyn, that means a lot to me. Your mother is a fantastic woman, and I can see a lot of her confidence in you. I hope that we can get to know each other better and become friends. Deal?” he said. He offered his hand, a symbol of friendship.

I nodded and shook his hand, rough and warm against my own. I could have sworn I saw mom peeking at us from around the corner, but I didn’t turn. He released my hand and I slid the box over to him. He softly gripped the box between his hands and lifted the lid. He smiled as he went through the photos, gingerly setting each one aside after having viewed them. I had opened that box so many times myself and each time I did made me proud of my accomplishments. There were so many random pictures. Some sepia, black and white, red-toned, and regular colored. There were old pictures of mom when I was a baby, funny moments from Nelly, and old pictures of dad. Even though those ones were nice looking, I put them at the bottom because I didn’t want to remember.

Later on after we had dessert, and mom had walked Roman out to his car, I stuck the shoebox back under my bed.

“Until next time,” I said.

Mom came back in the house smiling, her eyes all twinkly. She came over to me and gave me a hug. Her perfume from earlier still lingered on her clothes and it tickled my nose.

“Thank you Daelyn. I really appreciate everything you’ve done tonight. You’ve been so gracious and open and I really do love that about you,” she said, her voice getting thick again.

I sighed, “S’okay mom. You’re crushing me.”

“Sorry,” she said releasing me from her arms. “Oh, let me go get your class schedule, be right back.” She quickly clopped out of the room.

I sat down in the living room, and stretched my legs out on the ottoman, waiting for mom to come back. Tonight had gone much better than I had thought, and I have to say, Roman was a pretty cool guy.

“Here it is,” she said. I took it from her and she headed back to the kitchen to clean up some more.

I looked over it, the teachers’ names paired next to the class: Physics--C. Rutz, Gym—G. Hernan, Art—H. Marrone, break for Lunch, U.S. History—F. Lemmons, and Pre-Calculus, R. Thurman. I blinked at that last name, remembering what mom had said about Roman being a math teacher at my school. My stomach did a somersault.

“Mom? What’s Roman’s last name?” I called from my chair.

“Henry. Why?” she called back.

I sighed in relief. “No reason!” I said. I folded up the schedule, tucked it in my back pocket, and headed off to find my camera.