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Saturday, January 8th, 1994
Hadley went through phases, between whether or not she wanted to know about her biological father. Sometimes she wanted to know about him so badly it felt like she couldn't breathe, and sometimes she hates herself for thinking like that in the first place. Hank's a great dad, the best dad.
He's kind, gentle even. He's silly and soft spoken and he loves his daughters, he loves his wife. The pinnacle of boredom in Hadley's life was the fact that Hank liked to whittle. He's been doing it as long as she can remember, at this point he's become a real Giovanni Strazza of wood carving.
He's an accountant for Pete's sake. He used to make up nonsense songs for her on his guitar in lieu of lullabies when she was little and her mom was still in night school, because that's the only way she would fall asleep.
Right now, as Hank stands in her bedroom doorway, with a tartan robe thrown over his worn thin pajamas - most likely as a poor attempt to hide the Homer Simpson print on his pajama pants - his hair is a frazzled mess around his head and his glasses askew, as he gives her a concerned - if slightly dopey - smile, Hadley doesn't care about her biological Dad.
"What's up, Buttercup?"
The bags under his eyes are darker than usual - Syd must not be sleeping again.
"Where's Mom?"
His face washes with confusion, "Didn't she tell you?"
She shakes her head. Mom might have, but the last week has been such a blur that she wouldn't be surprised if Mom telling her something like that had slipped her mind.
"She's in Florida with your Aunt Debora, she said she told you goodbye before I took her to the airport this morning."
Hadley didn't remember her coming in.
A feeling not too dissimilar to grief overtakes her.
She's barely slept since the gala happened, and she can't talk to Gideon about it because he's on bed rest for pneumonia and even though Lore loves her, she always goes a bit crazy when Gideon or one of his siblings get sick. So Hadley went through the motions of school and ballet and Wednesdays and homework and watching her sisters.
It's one of Mom's days off, Hadley had been hoping to at least talk to her a little about what's been going on. Sure, she would be mad when she found out that Hadley went all the way to Carventi to sneak into an adult party. Of course she had good reason - it was for Gideon, for information. But after Mom saw through her anger, she’d just be happy Hadley told her. And then maybe Hadley could tell her about the other stuff. Mom would understand. Mom could understand anything. Even if she didn't get it, she'd do her best to listen.
Hadley really, really wants a hug right now. A hug from her Mom. Who would cradle her close to her chest, tight, smelling of floral shampoo and vanilla hand cream.
"If you really need to talk to her about something, It's..." He glances at Hadley's alarm clock, "Just past two there. I'm sure she'd pick up."
The only 'private' - ie not in the literal kitchen - phone in the house was in her parent's room. There was the old rotary phone down in the basement, but it barely, if ever, worked and Hadley really didn't want to nearly break down in the goddamned kitchen.
"Can I use your phone?"
"Yeah, go ahead. You good with pancakes?"
It was Saturday morning, Hank always made chocolate chip banana pancakes on Saturday mornings. He had for as far back as she could remember.
"So long as you don't put chocolate in mine."
She doesn't like chocolate now, not after the chocolate liqueur at the Latham gala. She's lost the taste for it.
"As the lady requests, the lady shall get," Hank teases.
It soothes some part of her, if only momentarily.
When she follows Hank downstairs she's met with the sound of her sisters watching cartoons - Animaniacs, maybe?
She's just glad none of them noticed her, if any of them had - especially Syd or Sunny - Hadley would be dragged to the nest of pillows set up in front of the tv and disallowed to leave until at least noon. She can hear Hank singing some Donovan song as he begins flipping pancakes.
Hadley's behind her parents' bedroom door, fingers on the buttons of the phone atop the dresser, in a nothing but blink.
The phone rings.
And rings...
And rings...
Hadley can feel her heart drop just a bit more with each tone. Finally she hears a click and...
[You've reached Debbie, if you're hearing this it means I'm avoiding you. Leave me a message and if I don't call back, it's not me, it's you.]
She gets the answering machine. It's as snarky as Aunt Deb ever is.
"Hey Mami, it's Hadley, call me back when you're free, I have something important I need to talk to you about."
She allows herself a moment of childishness and flops back onto the bed, sinking into the plush, trying with every fiber of herself to not let her thoughts overwhelm her. She's better than that.
There's this thing in the back of her head, not quite a voice, more like a droning hum, and it always says the same thing. It always says this:
{Your mother is a lonely woman, and perhaps she gave you some of that loneliness. Not for a lack of people. Your mother has spent her life surrounded, and so have you. But, sometimes, it's like she's on a different plane of existence than everyone else in a room, and you feel like that too. You're not like your stepfather, or your half sisters. For better or for worse, you are Ileana Morales's daughter. And you're her spitting image too, except for your eyes, you have the eyes of man you've never met, a trait you share with a stranger. Who's face you only know from 5 old photographs that collect dust in the bottom of a shoebox labeled "The Past"}