This is a work of fiction. All characters are 18 or older.
Ink, Sex, Magic: A Tale in Five Parts
Part I. Of Demons and Desires.
The day I graduated from college turned out to be a bittersweet finish to years spent dedicated to academics and work, with neither the time nor desire for a social life. None of the brilliantly written, eloquently delivered commencement speeches convinced me that it hadn't all been an exercise in futility. As soon as I made my walk across the stage, counting every step to distract myself from my nerves, the knot in my stomach finally relaxed, leaving only the general ache of physical and mental exhaustion.
At long last our caps were being tossed in the air and returned to our heads with tassels flipped in honor of our achievement. When the graduates and the audience began to converge, I clung to my best friend, Jennifer Fairfax, so I wouldn't get lost in the shuffle to the cavernous Seattle Center entrance hall. Soon we were with our respective families, who were already making dinner plans for the night.
After congratulations and hugs, my mother and stepfather continued discussing where we should eat with the Fairfaxes, and my stepbrother, Thomas, started hitting on my oldest friend. A vivacious redhead from an affluent family, Jen never seemed to encounter a social situation she couldn't handle with ease, and they were soon deep in conversation. I was accustomed to being a fifth wheel- or seventh wheel, in this case- so I placidly chewed the inside of my cheek, eyes cast to the distance as if admiring the view.
I've always had a vivid imagination and even as I approached twenty-three I still saw things that weren't there: symbols or pictures floating over people, shimmering curtains of colored light, faces beneath faces, humans inside animals, and some things that were neither human nor animal- neither here nor there. Psychiatric medication had helped to suppress the hallucinations for a while, but in the past year or so, it had stopped working. The visions resurfaced from the dark waters undiluted, and bad dreams, headaches and insomnia came with them. After several neurological and therapeutic attempts to find a cause, doctors decided that stress had aggravated my PTSD, and my delusions had returned in a subconscious attempt to distract myself from reality- or some bullshit like that.
Long story short, I was cracked in the head.
So it barely registered at first when I saw my estranged father watching me, standing stock still as the crowd moved around him the way water parts around a stone- aware of an obstacle but oblivious to its form. He'd always had a way of not being seen, despite being conspicuously tall, muscular, pierced and tatted- not to mention rakishly handsome. Though it was well lit, he seemed to make his own shadows and weave them around himself like a shroud.
In many ways, my mother and father were opposites- her blonde and fair, him raven-haired and dusky; her petite and soft as silk, him enormous, sculpted-steel; her sweet and temperate, him mercurial and brooding- but both of them were as alluring as they were unobtainable. Eventually, their differences sowed grudges and they grew to hate one another as passionately as they'd loved. If I'd been anything, it was the eye of their hurricane- a calm, neutral spot in their tumultuous lives. Even standing there, trying to decide if he was real, I was stuck in the middle.
My mother must have noticed me staring off and followed my gaze because I heard her gasp behind me. "Kier said he was coming but I didn't know for sure..." She had grabbed on to my step-father Bruce's forearm as if too keep herself from being drawn into his gravitational pull.
As if a spell had been broken, everyone seemed to notice my father, excusing themselves as they gave him a wider girth.
Jennifer, in the midst of flirting back with Thomas, stopped to ask me in a failed whisper, "Ali- who the fuck is that insanely hot guy staring you down?"
"Go say hello, Alice" my mother urged me hoarsely, her nails digging into the charcoal gray fabric of Bruce's jacket.
But all I could think was
Ten years gone. Ten fucking years
.
I walked away from the awkward silence that followed, but I didn't go to my father. He watched me stride past and remained as stoic as a statue. I was furious at him for showing up out of the blue, at my mother for not warning me, at myself because I was on the verge of tears and wanted nothing more than to cry on my Da's shoulder.
I'd been walking for five minutes or so when I realized I was completely disoriented and nowhere near my car. My phone had been vibrating non-stop since my dramatic exit and as I was considering calling Jen to let her know everything was okay, I heard the jagged throttle of an engine coming up behind me. I knew it was my father on his chopper before I even whirled around to see him pulling off his helmet and putting down the kickstand.
Childhood memories are distorted by our former perspective, when we were dwarfed by the enormity of a world just out of reach. Confronting these giants as adults, we often find ourselves disappointed by their ordinary, manageable proportions. But coming face to face with my father again, I found him to be just as physically imposing as he had seemed the last time I saw him, when I was twelve. If anything, he'd become a harder, stronger, more refined version of his younger self and I felt even smaller in his presence than I ever before.
"Lili," he said softly. No one but my father had ever called me that- just Alice or Ali- and hearing it made my heart beat funny.
"Kiernan," was my clipped response. I used to call him by his full first name when I was angry with him and it seemed appropriate to continue the practice. To my irritation, he flashed his perfect teeth in amusement. I crossed my arms to let him know that we would not be hugging.
"Congratulations, love, I'm so very proud of you." Having grown up in County Limerick, Ireland, there was a lilt to my father's cadence that added a mellifluous quality to his gravelly voice. No matter how faint his brogue had become, it was like hearing an old lullaby.
"You could have sent a card to say that. Woulda been a hell of a lot easier than flying across the country," I snapped, assuming he was still living in New York.
"I wanted to see you in person; and there's no greeting card for all the things I have to say."
"Ever heard of FaceTime?"
"This
is
my generation's FaceTime," he said, gesturing to the space between us to indicate our real-life interaction.
"Did your generation ever hear of making a phone call?"
"I can't do this over the phone." Before I could move out of reach, Kiernan's hands were on either side of my head, fingers buried in my hair, thumbs by my ears. He gently tilted my face upwards so he could behold it, and kissed my forehead. My father's lips lingered just long enough to make me feel tingly and warm in places that had been numb for years.
My voice hitched when I tried to talk, so I just stood in his thrall and let him stroke my skin, pushing back a few of my stray blonde curls.
"My baby girl's all grown up," he remarked fondly. "You're absolutely gorgeous, Alice. You look..." He trailed off, searching my face as if it contained the rest of his sentence.
"Like Mom?" I'd heard the comparison so much that I expected my father of all people to make it as well.
"Even more beautiful than I remember."
Nice save.
A muffled vibration from Kiernan's pocket broke the moment, and he let me go to check his phone. "It's Tess- she's flipping out wondering where you are," he said while typing. "I'm letting her know that you're with me." I vaguely wondered how long my parents been communicating. Or if they'd ever stopped.
"Tell Mom that I'm sorry for worrying her," I mumbled, feeling childish for having stalked off without a word.
"Tess wants to know if you're still coming to dinner at the The Met. Your friend and her parents will be there too. And apparently I'm welcome to come," he added.
I chuckled, unable to imagine my father making polite dinner conversation with strangers at a formal restaurant. Not that he wasn't dressed appropriately- he'd worn a black button-up and silk tie under his motorcycle jacket and had a blazer to match his well-fitted charcoal pants- its just he liked inane socializing about as much as I did.
Kiernan arched a quizzical brow. "Do you not want me to?"
