Chapter 10 - The Milk Glass I Held While They Erased Me
I didn't mean to hide. Rosa had poured me milk in the kitchen after the plates were cleared, in the tall glass I wasn't supposed to carry without two hands, and told me to wait by the swinging door until the men left the dining room.
The long table was still set with the candelabras and the gold rings around the napkins. From where I stood I could see straight through the crack into the daylight bouncing off the windows.
Mr. Cole was still there. He was the older man with the soft voice who had come late for lunch. He had a black folder open beside his coffee cup. Dad stood by Vanessa's chair. Vanessa was still seated with her arms crossed, except now she was smiling.
I held the milk with both hands. It was cold against my fingers.
Mr. Cole laughed at something and said Vanessa's diamond necklace caught the light perfect for the camera. He asked if she wanted to wear it for the portrait.
Vanessa touched it with her fingertips. She didn't look at Dad when she said, "Daniel gave it to me for our anniversary. He wanted me to have something that matched the life he's building."
My dad nodded once. He didn't correct her. His hands were in his pockets. I watched his jaw move, like he was chewing on something he wouldn't say.
Mr. Cole turned a page in his folder. He said the foundation needed a family photo for the gala brochure. A nice shot at the penthouse, maybe at this table. He asked, "And your daughter? What's her name again? Elena? We'll want her in at least one."
My heart beat so loud I thought they'd hear it through the door. I set the milk down on the tile so I wouldn't spill it. My pink clip had slipped down and I pushed it back up.
Vanessa didn't pause. She said, "Elena's very shy. She stays with her nanny during events. Crowds overwhelm her."
That was not true. I didn't have a nanny. Rosa cleaned and cooked and braided my hair when Vanessa wouldn't, but she slept at her own apartment on Queens Boulevard. And I wasn't shy. My teacher said I raised my hand too much.
Mr. Cole wrote something down. He said, "Got it. We'll list just the two of you as hosts, then. Cleaner for the image."
Vanessa said, "Exactly. Cleaner." She uncrossed her arms just long enough to reach for her water glass.
I waited for Dad to speak. He looked out toward the skyline, then down at the table. His beard moved a little when he breathed in. He put his hand on the back of Vanessa's ornate gold chair and left it there.
He didn't say, She lives here. He didn't say, She was standing right here an hour ago in her pink dress. He didn't say anything.
Mr. Cole closed his folder and said they'd send a photographer Tuesday. Their chairs scraped. I picked my milk back up fast and stepped back deeper into the kitchen, behind the island where Rosa was stacking white plates. The milk sloshed over my thumb.
May you like
Rosa looked down at me. She saw my face and she didn't ask. She just put her hand, warm and damp from dishwater, on the back of my neck for a second.
Through the door I heard Vanessa laugh again, light and easy. I understood, even at six, what cleaner meant. It meant the picture looked better without me in it.
