"Get away from me!" she squeezed the glass in her hand so tightly that she was surprised it didn't shatter. She heard footsteps creak across the hardwood floor and a rage rose up inside her at their sound, as she threw the glass hard against the counter. The glass exploded, shards flying every which way, as she whirled around in ready confrontation. Her chest was heaving with unsteady breaths and angry tears were burning in her clear blue eyes.
She took a step back when she saw her twelve-year-old daughter standing in the doorway. Her big brown eyes wide with concern and fear. It wasn't too often that Marka Nichols lost control as she was, and Marka could only imagine she looked practically deranged right now. With her bare feet and wrinkled nightgown. Her hair was a mess and her eyes were blotchy.
"You're supposed to be in bed," she muttered, snivelling. She wiped her hand across her nose in a most uncharacteristic fashion.
"Momma, you're bleeding," Nicky said worriedly, pointing down at her mother's foot.
Marka looked down, spying the crimson red blood trickling from between her toes. She must have stepped onto some glass and not even felt it. She didn't even care now. She wriggled foot against the floor, imbedding any glass she might be standing on even deeper into her flesh.
"Where's your father?"
"He left," Nicky replied. "I saw his car drive away. Mom, you told him to leave."
"I should have done that years ago," Marka sniffled. There were tear stains on her cheeks when she looked up at her daughter.
"Why wouldn't you tell me about this?" she asked accusingly. "Do you take such satisfaction in making a fool out of me?"
Nicky's lips parted and for once words seemed to fail her. In her opinion, her father had been so blatantly obvious that she couldn't imagine Marka would have been in that strong of denial. Nicky had figured out what was going on years ago, and it had always been this way. Every tutor, every nanny, the mothers of Nicky's classmates, and her teachers. Les Nichols had never been one to show discretion.
"Why am I the one in trouble?" Nicky demanded angrily.
"I thought you'd at least have more respect for me than that," Marka snapped. Her temper flared and in the back of her mind she knew it was misdirected, that Nicky didn't deserve this, but she was the one standing in front of her. Taking up space when all Marka wanted was to be alone and to scream into a pillow or punch a wall.
"Get back to bed," Marka muttered, hobbling past Nicky with her injured foot held up. Nicky leaned back against the wall to let her pass. Her mother moved slowly down the hallway leaving droplets of blood from her profusley bleeding cut in her wake. Nicky felt as though she might throw up.
She waited until she heard her mother's bedroom door close, and then she went over to the closet where she knew the broom and dustpan were kept. "Well, it's not Thanksgiving until somebody cries," she said to herself.
She was careful to watch where she stepped, as she used the broom to sweep up all the glass that had shattered into what felt like a million little pieces. She emptied them into the garbage and when she was satisfied that the floor was safe, she used a piece of damp paper towel to wipe up the bloody imprints her mom's foot had left.
The humm of the furnace, an occasional creak, and her mother softly crying in the background, were all the sounds Nicky had to keep her company in the big lonely apartment. She opened the refrigerator to look in for a snack to maybe soothe her nauseous stomach and finally settled on an apple, after examining its disappointing contents. Weren't fridges supposed to be overstuffed with leftover turkey and mashed potatoes, and homemade pies on Thanksgiving night? That's what it always seemed like on television, at least.
What the Nichols got was an expensive dinner at the Four Seasons making small talk with relatives Nicky knew her parents didn't even like very much. Les had kept everyone mostly entertained with wise cracks and amusing stories, while Marka picked at her food and told Nicky she couldn't have a second slice of the strawberry cheesecake they were served for dessert.
It was a typical holiday until Nicky's father forgot to take his cell phone with him when he excused himself to go to the mens' room. Marka had swiped that up at the first buzz and glancing over her mother's shoulder had been enough to give Nicky the gist of what was going on. Unsurprisingly, the rest of the evening had been icy, and when they got home, Nicky had been sent to her room where she blasted her music to try to tune out the sounds of her parents fighting down the hall.
"I wonder where Dad went?" Nicky asked herself.
She took a final bite of her apple and then tossed the core into the garbage. He hadn't packed a bag or taken much time walking out once his wife started screaming. Did that mean he'd be back after giving her time to cool down or was he gone for good? He hadn't even told Nicky goodbye before leaving.
She reached out her hand for the telephone, but then changed her mind and grabbed the T.V. remote instead. She knew her mother would probably be angry with her for calling her Dad. For asking him to come home or just for some clarity about what was going to happen next. Perhaps even more than upsetting Marka further, Nicky was scared to talk to her Dad. Was he with Genevieve right now? Or with someone else? Nicky didn't think she could stand to hear anyone's voice in the background.
Yet, despite her reservations, Nicky's heart skipped a beat when the phone rang on its own a few minutes later. She picked it up immediately and without looking at the caller display. She had hoped it was her father, calling to apologize or explain himself. Not that they hadn't heard it all before. Nicky had hoped that he at least would want to check on her, so it was a disappointment when she realized it was her Grandmother on the other end instead.
"Nicky, put your mother on the phone."
"She's asleep," Nicky lied. She didn't know if Marka actually was or not, but she'd had years of training in making up alibis for her mother whenever Grandma called to talk.
"Your father told me she was having some kind of fit," her Grandmother said. "He asked me to check in. Are you sure you don't want me to come pick you up?"
"No," Nicky said quickly, knowing that was the only thing that could make this horrible night even worse.
She'd witnessed on all too many occasions the way her Grandmother criticized her own daughter; as a wife, as a mother, in her career, and even her appearance. She knew her Grandmother was the last person her mom would want to hear from now, and Nicky had to admit that that was probably why her Dad had called her in the first place. It was the sort of passive aggressive thing he was famous for. Nicky was keenly aware of how Les had mastered how to push every single trigger and insecurity button that Marka had, and then he'd act surprised when she finally lashed back. It made Nicky feel crazy just watching them.
"I'm pretty tired," Nicky lied. "I was just about to go to bed myself…"
"Do you know what's going on?" her Grandmother demanded.
"A little," Nicky shuffled uncomfortably on the couch.
Her Grandmother sighed loudly. "I'll call back in the morning," she relented. "But if your mother wakes up then tell her to call me immediately."
"I will," Nicky lied again. She'd rather go chew on the broken glass in the garbage than deliver that message when her mom was already in the mood that she was in.
"Goodnight, Grandma," she hung up the phone. Then she reluctantly switched off the television. She'd had half a mind to wait up to see if her father would come back, but she knew if he'd called Grandma that it probably wasn't going to happen. Knowing the relationship that existed between Marka and her mother, Nicky had to admit that her Dad had dealt a pretty low blow even for him.
She walked sullenly down the hall to her bedroom. She could hear movement behind the closed door of her mom's but she declined the idea of going in there. They didn't have that sort of relationship in the best of times, and when Marka was upset she wanted Nicky as far away from her as possible.
There was nothing more that Nicky could do. She pulled back the covers on her four poster bed with the sky blue duvet and crawled in. The weight of the covers felt like a hug, which is what she wished for more than anything right now. She could hear Marka still crying through the wall that separated them, and it wasn't long before Nicky joined her. Tears sliding down her cheeks and onto her pillow. It wouldn't be the last time she fell asleep this way.