ME, CINDERELLA?(23)

“Brynn!” Her voice called out to me from the yard. I looked out of the window. She had hauled a load of vegetables out of the small garden and placed them on the steps. Her long white braid made a sharp contrast to her dark, ankle-length dress. Although she smiled and laughed, ever since my mother died, my Nagy wore clothes of mourning, and sometimes her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m going to the market to pick up some meat, would you like anything?”

“No thanks,” I said, waving at her. “Should I prep anything?”

“Prep?”

“Prepare. Like, peeling.”

“Oh yes, peeling! Yes, you can peel the carrots. I leave them here.”

She put the vegetable basket next to the back door and disappeared around the corner of the house. I heard the rattling engine start up, a grinding of the gears as she turned out of the driveway and onto the road, and then only silence.

I breathed deeply, putting the last of my clothes in the duffel bag. I placed my favorite book on top—Creatures of Mythology and Legend—and tucked the picture of my mother into the side pocket of the suitcase. She loved reading stories to me when I was young, and I would beg her to tell them again and again, until she grew tired of the old myths and began to make up her own. My fingers traced the letters of the title on the old book, and then I zipped up the bag, cinching it tight.

Bzzzzzzzz.

My phone vibrated on the coffee table. At first I thought it might be Mark calling about the internship. My Nagy was planning to visit a sick friend tomorrow, and so I had begged the internship coordinator to let me arrive a few days early so that I wouldn’t be a hassle to her. Mark was jealous that I got to arrive in Budapest before him, but I’m sure he would be dying for me to tell him all about it.

I picked up the phone and my breath caught when I saw whose name was on the screen. From my father I only ever got one phone call on my birthday, and one at Christmas, even though at the end of our short, awkward conversations he always said he would call me soon. This was… unexpected, to say the least. I set my jaw and answered the phone.

“Hi, dad.”

“Brynn, hey, how are you?” His voice sounded fake, like it always did when he called. Like he had been rehearsing sounding happy and supportive, like a real dad would sound. Sometimes I wondered if his wife gave him acting lessons before he picked up the phone.

“I’m fine.”

“I hear you’re going to Hungary. Your grandmother told me.”

“Yeah.” I tried to sound happy, I really did. It was just so hard to put on the same show that had been going on for the past thirteen years between us. Sometimes I just wanted to scream at him. You abandoned me, I’d say. Why are you still pretending like you care? I did want to tell him, tell anyone about the awesome prize I had won. But he didn’t care, not really, and he wouldn’t understand how important it was for me to go there. To see where she was buried. You never went, I felt like saying. He had no excuses, either. A famous, globetrotting wife and all the money in the world to spend, but he had never been to Hungary to see her grave.

“That’s great! Liza is going to Italy this spring for a modeling show.”

My eyebrows knitted across my forehead. Always about them. Liza and Susie, each more perfect than the other. Both modeled: one swimsuit, one catwalk. Both inherited their mother’s high cheekbones and delicate facial structure. In contrast, I looked dumpy and squat—anyone would, I guess. But of course, that wasn’t the worst of it.

“Oh yeah?”

“That’s not far. Maybe you two could meet and catch up.”

Catch up? The thought of seeing Liza again curdled my stomach. The brief time spent living with that family had torn me apart inside, and I never, ever wanted a reminder of it.

“Yeah. Maybe.” I tried to keep the venom out of my voice.

“How is your grandmother?”

“She’s fine.”

“Good… good. Well, I just wanted to wish you good luck. What are you doing in Hungary, anyway?”

“It’s a math internship.” For one second, I hoped that my dad would actually care about something I did. The prize I had worked so hard for.

“Ha, you and math! You know me, I never could understand numbers.”

“Yeah.” You couldn’t understand me either. You never tried.

“Well, be careful,” he said. “What happened with your mother—”

“Dad—”

“I told her not to go—”

“Dad!” My heart pounded in my chest and my fingers curled tightly around the phone. He always got under my skin with his words, but this was too much.