Bethsabe Ch.6
Leo had arrived two hours before the party started. He didn’t ask what he could help with; he just started cutting bread for the sandwiches.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Bree said, peeking through the door.
“Someone has to,” Leo said, without turning. “Your dad is in the garden fighting with the lights.”
Bree laughed. She walked over and took a piece of bread. Leo gave her a soft smack on the hand.
“That’s for the guests.”
“I’m the birthday girl.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to steal food before the party.”
Bree smiled and leaned against the counter. Leo kept cutting. They had been doing this for years: being close without saying anything, touching without touching, laughing at things no one else understood.
“Are you going to give me my gift or do I have to wait until everyone leaves?” Bree asked.
Leo stopped. He wiped his hands on his apron and opened his backpack. From it, he took out a framed drawing wrapped carefully in several layers of paper, tied with string so it wouldn’t move during the trip.
“It’s not a big deal,” he said, and handed it to her.
Bree opened it carefully. Inside was a drawing. It was her. Or rather, a version of herself with a long dress, a crown, and a sword in her hand. Her hair fell over her shoulders.
Bree stared at it for a second.
“This must have taken you weeks,” she said, looking at him.
“Something like that. Did you like it?”
“I love it, but did you have to give me such a big bust?”
Leo turned red. Really red. Red from his ears to his neck.
“No... I didn’t make them big. That’s how they are.”
Bree raised an eyebrow.
“Excuse me?”
“I mean...” Leo swallowed. “I was faithful to reality. That’s all.”
Bree laughed. A short, surprised laugh.
“You’re an idiot,” she said, and pushed him softly with her shoulder.
“But you liked it.”
“Yeah,” Bree itted, looking at the drawing again. “I liked it a lot.”
The party started at eight. The house filled up fast: classmates, neighbors, some cousins Bree hadn’t seen in years. Her father had put up lights in the garden, an 18 on a banner, and had hired a DJ. Steven moved among the guests with a tired smile, serving sodas, laughing at jokes he had probably already heard.
Bree watched him from the table where she was setting out cups.
He was fifty-one. His hair had filled with gray at the temples, and the dark circles under his eyes no longer disappeared even when he slept well.
Bree knew what her father had done for her. She knew it since she was a child, when she saw him staying up late reviewing bills. She knew it when he paid her university tuition, spending all his savings in the process.
The gifts came one by one. Clothes, headphones, a backpack, a coupon for an anime store, a Funko of her favorite character. Bree smiled, thanked, hugged. Leo was always nearby, their hands almost touching under the table.
Her father was last.
“I hope you like it,” Steven said, and handed her a small box, wrapped in paper he had clearly bought at the last minute.
Bree opened it. It was a new phone. Not the most expensive, but new. Bree knew what that meant: her father had been using the same phone for three years, with a cracked screen and all.
“Dad...” Bree started.
“Don’t say anything,” Steven interrupted, with a smile. “You deserve it.”
Bree hugged him. It was a long hug.
When she finished opening the gifts, Bree noticed there was one more box.
It was at the end of the table, half hidden behind a bag of ice. It had no label. No sender. Bree didn’t seeing it before.
“Did someone bring this?” she asked, holding it.
No one answered. The guests kept talking, laughing, eating. Bree looked at Leo, who shrugged.
The box was small, white, with a black ribbon.
Bree opened it.
Inside was a letter. Handwritten, in handwriting she didn’t recognize. She read it in silence, while the party continued around her as if nothing were happening.
Bree:
Happy birthday, you’re a woman now. I know you probably hate me and with good reason, but I would like to meet you. I hope you like my gift.
Sincerely: Mom.
On the back of the box was a round-trip first-class ticket to Tokyo.
And a small note pointing to an address: I’ll be waiting, it said.
“Bree?” Leo approached, frowning. “What’s wrong?”
Bree stood still. She was pale. More than usual.
Her father was sitting on the other side of the sofa. He hadn’t said anything. He had the letter in his hands. Crushing it.
“I won’t go,” Bree said.
“It’s always been your dream...” he whispered.
It was true. Bree had spent a good part of her adolescence fantasizing about Japan. About its culture. About anime.
“I don’t care. I won’t go.”
“Besides, you’ve always wanted to meet your mother...”
“That’s not true,” she said, shaking her head.
“I know it is. It’s natural.”
“Dad...”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” Steven said, and his voice sounded tired. “I just... I don’t want you to regret it.”
“Regret what?”
“Not going,” Steven said. “I just... I don’t want you to make a decision for me.”
Bree felt tears running down her cheeks.
Steven stood up, left the letter on the table, and walked to his room.
Bree was left alone in the living room. She looked at the letter. Her mother’s handwriting was elegant. Was she an elegant person? She had seen her a couple of times in photos. She seemed happy. Surely she wasn’t. One day, 17 years ago, she had abandoned them. Not a single call. And now she was inviting her to Tokyo as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
Leo had taken her to the airport. He insisted on it.
Steven had said goodbye to her at home. He never reproached her decision. He had only hugged her and asked her to call him when she landed.
Now she was in front of the boarding gate with Leo.
The airport was full of people. Suitcases rolling, voices over the loudspeakers, families hugging before separating. Bree had a backpack over one shoulder and a small suitcase behind her.
Leo had his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.
“So...” he said.
“So...”
They both looked at the flight board.
The flight to Tokyo appeared there, along with a boarding time that was getting closer and closer.
“So...” Leo started.
“So...”
Bree let out a small laugh.
“We’re terrible at goodbyes.”
“We’ve never had to say goodbye like this.”
That made Bree stop smiling.
It was true.
They had spent years seeing each other almost every day. At school. At home. At birthdays. On boring afternoons. In conversations that started with something silly and ended three hours later.
And now Bree was going to be on the other side of the world.
“I’m going to miss you,” she said.
Leo looked down.
“Me too. Even though it’s only two weeks.”
A call came over the loudspeaker.
It was her flight.
They couldn’t put it off any longer.
She took a breath and stepped closer to hug him.
Leo received her in his arms.
The hug was awkward at first, as if they didn’t dare touch each other.
Then it became stronger.
Bree closed her eyes.
“I’m going to miss you so much.”
“Me too.”
They separated just a little.
They were still too close.
Bree looked up.
Leo too.
Then Leo leaned toward her face but stopped just before reaching her.
Bree didn’t pull back.
On the contrary, she closed the small distance between them.
The kiss was brief.
Awkward.
Just a few seconds.
When they separated, both stood still.
Both were red.
“That...” Leo murmured.
“Yeah.”
“Was it okay?”
Bree smiled.
“I think you’ll have to do it better when I get back.”
Leo let out a nervous laugh.
“Does that mean I have a second chance?”
“It means you have a few weeks to practice.”
When she got off the plane, she saw a man in a suit and hat holding a huge cardboard sign with her name on it.
She didn’t expect it to be for her. She thought it must be a simple coincidence, but curiosity got the better of her.
She approached.
“It’s you, right?” the man asked as soon as he saw her.
“Excuse me?”
“Bree. Your mother sent me for you.”
Bree gripped the strap of her backpack.
“Where is she?”
The man smiled.
“Making preparations for her party, of course.”
Bree frowned.
“What party?”
The man let out a small laugh.
“You’ll find out.”
It took them about thirty minutes to reach the huge skyscraper where her mother lived.
The elevator went straight up to the top floor.
When the doors opened, Bree heard music before she even entered.
There was laughter, glasses clinking, and an elegant melody mixed with modern music.
Bree took a step toward the apartment and stood still.
There were people everywhere.
Hundreds of guests moved through the enormous living room, and almost none of them were dressed normally.
One man wore a pirate costume with a huge hat. Near a window, a woman was dressed as a fairy-tale princess. There were knights with capes, anime characters, Venetian masks, detectives, villains, kings and queens. Some costumes were elaborate, and others seemed made purposely to look ridiculous.
The entire apartment was decorated like a huge ballroom.
There were golden garlands, masks hanging on the walls, electric candles, and warm lights that slowly changed color. In one corner there was a table full of small masks for guests who had arrived without a costume.
Bree looked around.
“A costume party?”
“Your mother wanted it to be special,” the man explained.
Bree didn’t answer.
She walked forward slowly.
The apartment was enormous. From the windows, Tokyo could be seen stretching to the horizon, covered in lights. The buildings seemed to never end.
It was beautiful.
Too beautiful.
And that only made her feel more out of place.
Then she heard a laugh.
A feminine voice.
Bree looked up.
There was a crowd gathered in the center of the living room.
Everyone seemed to be watching someone.
Bree moved a little closer.
And then she saw her.
It was the woman from the photographs.
It was her mother.
Her mother wore an elaborate fantasy queen costume: a golden corset that imitated gold and enhanced the size of her breasts, a cape falling over her shoulders, and a crown carefully placed on her hair. A shiny necklace circled her neck, and she held a small scepter in one hand.
She seemed completely comfortable in the middle of that crowd.
As if she had truly been born to be the center of attention.
Bree felt her stomach knot.
She had imagined that moment for years.
She had imagined questions.
Complaints.
She had even rehearsed insults in front of the mirror.
But now she couldn’t any of them.
Her mother looked up.
She saw her.
The smile disappeared from her face for a second.
Then it returned.
But this time it was different.
It was no longer the smile of a hostess.
Her mother set down the glass she was holding.
She made a small gesture for the people around her to move aside.
The crowd obeyed.
Bree didn’t move.
Her mother walked toward her.
Bree felt her legs wouldn’t respond.
When they finally stood face to face, neither spoke.
Bree observed her.
She didn’t see the wrinkles she had imagined.
She didn’t look like the older woman Bree had built in her head.
She looked much younger than she expected.
But there was something in her eyes.
“Hello,” her mother said.
Bree didn’t answer.
“I didn’t know if you would really come.”
“Me neither.”
“You’re beautiful.”
Bree felt her eyes begin to burn. Her mother began to raise her arms around her.
One part of her wanted to come closer.
Another wanted to run away.
Bree breathed shakily.
Then, almost without realizing it, she stepped closer.
Her mother hugged her carefully, as if she feared Bree might disappear if she held her too tightly.
For a few seconds, Bree remained completely rigid.
Her arms were glued to her body.
Without returning the hug.
She could hear her mother’s breathing.
Bree closed her eyes, letting out a sob.
Her hands finally moved.
She grabbed the back of her mother’s dress and clung to her. Beginning to cry.
And if Bree hadn’t been so overwhelmed, maybe she would have noticed that her mother was pressing her breasts against hers.
When they separated, her mother whispered in her ear: follow me, pulling her by the arm.
They entered a private room. The walls were covered with photographs. There she was at five years old, in a flower dress Steven had bought at a secondhand store. There she was at twelve, with braces, smiling in front of a fountain. There she was at fifteen, in her school uniform, unaware that someone was watching her.
“How...?” Bree repeated, and her voice sounded weaker than she wanted.
“From your father’s Facebook,” her mother said, and her voice sounded almost maternal.
Bree turned her back. A couple of tears escaped.
“Why?” she finally managed to say. “Why did you leave me?”
“Part of it is my fault,” interrupted a voice behind them.
“Bree, I present to you—” her mother started to say.
“Raul,” Bree finished. She looked at him with fulminating eyes.
“You know me?” the man asked.
“I heard things,” she answered.
“Steve... told you?” her mother asked timidly.
“Not much. But the grandmother, your mother, the one you haven’t gone to see in 17 years, wasn’t so comionate. You’re vulgar neighbor. She told me the hundreds of times you told her how unpleasant he was. And then, without much sense, you embarked on an affair with him and then of course disappeared.”
“Yes... I think that was a good summary,” her mother responded without daring to look at her.
“Why did you want to see me?” Bree asked.
“I wanted to meet you.”
“You already met me. Now what? Do you expect me to call you Mom?”
“No. I know I don’t deserve it, but I would like a chance to know you.”
“Hi, I’m Maya, and I was a terrible mother...” she said, extending her hand.
Bree looked at her mother. There were a couple of tears in her eyes.
“I’m Bree.”
It was a brief, dry, almost uncomfortable handshake. Maya smiled, and for a second it seemed she was going to say something else. But then Raul took a step forward.
“Maya, the guests are waiting,” he said, and his voice was soft, but there was something in it that didn’t allow for reply.
Maya nodded.
“We should go back,” she said to Bree. “Eat something. The food is delicious.”
Bree was a little confused. She watched her mother walk away.
Bree stayed a moment longer looking at the photographs. She left the room.
The party continued. The music, the laughter, the masks. Bree walked among the guests looking for her mother. She didn’t see her. She saw queens, pirates, princesses, knights. But not Maya.
She asked a waiter. He didn’t know. She asked a woman dressed as a fairy. She hadn’t seen her. She asked a man with a Venetian mask. He pointed to a door at the end of the hallway.
Bree walked toward it.
The hallway was quieter. The music arrived muffled.
It was an office. Not very big. A dark wood desk. A desk lamp. Shelves full of books and folders. And in the center, sitting in a leather armchair, Raul.
He was alone. There was no one else in the room. Bree stood in the doorway.
Ploc.
“Bree,” Raul said, without getting up. “Come in, please.”
“I’m looking for my mother.”
Ploc.
“She’s changing. She’ll be back in a few minutes. Sit down.”
Ploc. Ploc. Ploc.
“This place is falling apart little by little,” Raul said, looking at the ceiling. “I have to call the plumber to fix those leaks.”
Bree didn’t see any leak. No trace of humidity on the ceiling. Just Raul sitting in an armchair, smiling.
“Sit down,” Raul repeated. “She won’t be long.”
“I prefer to wait outside.”
“As you wish,” he said, and his smile didn’t move.
Bree left the office and slammed the door.
“What do you think?” he asked, without raising his voice.
Maya was under the desk. Naked, except for the crown. Her mouth was around him. She was kneeling on a silver tray; half an hour earlier, Raul had eaten over her.
Raul stroked her hair.
“What do you think of your daughter?” he insisted.
Maya wanted to say she was fantastic. Better than any fantasy she had ever had. She wanted to say her eyes were Steven’s.
But when she opened her mouth, the words that came out weren’t hers.
“I already want to know what those tits taste like.”
One of her eyes had a tic when she said it. A brief, involuntary spasm.
Raul laughed. Soft. Almost affectionate.
“That’s it,” he said. “Good girl.”
Maya lowered her head again.
Maya knocked on the door.
“Come in,” her daughter answered.
“Do you need anything else?”
Bree was arranging her sheets. Removing pillows. Maya didn’t know how many she slept with, so she had put dozens of them.
“I’m fine,” Bree said.
“Okay, then I’ll see you tomorrow...”
“Thank you... Maya,” Bree said.
Not Mom. Not Mommy. Maya.
“Good night,” she whispered.
She didn’t know if Bree heard her. It didn’t matter.
She stepped away from the door. She walked down the hallway. The lights were off. The guests had left hours ago. The apartment was silent.
She reached her bedroom.
Raul was sitting in the central armchair. He had a glass of wine in his hand. He looked at her when she entered.
“Is she asleep?” he asked.
“Yes,” Maya said.
“Come.”
Maya walked toward him.
Behind the armchair, in the penumbra, there were silhouettes. Women. Many women. They were standing in a line, waiting. Ten. Fifteen. Maybe more. Maya no longer bothered to count them or learn their names.
They were all naked.
Maya stopped in front of Raul.
“Sit down,” he said, and pointed to the floor, at his feet.
Maya obeyed.
She knelt on the carpet. Her hands rested on Raul’s legs.
Raul stroked her hair. And then he whispered in her ear: “The little bunny loves putting eggs in her ass.”
Maya lowered her head. She seemed asleep. Although her eyes were open, she just didn’t blink.
“We’re going to review the story,” Raul said.
“I don’t want to,” Maya said. In 17 years, Maya had never resisted any of Raul’s ridiculous fantasies until now.
Raul didn’t insist. He just waited.
Behind the armchair, in the penumbra, one of the women moved. She was almost as young as Bree.
Maya felt hands on her hips. Breathing on her crotch.
“Come on,” Raul said. “Tell it.”
Maya shook her head. But her body was already responding. The woman’s hands raised her dress. Slowly. Maya was wearing nothing underneath.
“Demeter...” Maya began. Her voice came out hoarse. “She was the goddess of the harvest.”
“And she had a daughter,” Raul said.
“And she had a daughter,” Maya repeated.
The woman behind her opened her legs. With her hands. Without hurry. Maya let her. She didn’t resist.
“What was her name?” Raul asked.
“Persephone,” Maya said.
“What was Persephone like?”
“Very busty, pale...”
“Who does she remind you of?”
Maya didn’t answer.
The woman lowered her head. Her tongue touched Maya. Right in the center. Maya closed her eyes. Her breathing cut off.
“Who does she remind you of?”
“Bree,” Maya said, and her voice trembled.
“Again.”
“Bree.”
“Good. Now tell me the story of Demeter and Persephone.”
“Demeter loved her daughter more than anything in the world. But Hades, the god of the underworld, kidnapped her. He took her to the underworld.”
Maya’s breathing was slow.
“Demeter, inconsolable, searched for her daughter all over the world. She stopped taking care of the earth. The crops dried up. People died of hunger. Finally, Zeus intervened.”
When she said Zeus, she looked directly at Raul.
“He forced Hades to return her daughter, but...”
“But what?”
Maya didn’t answer. The woman between her legs had intensified the rhythm. Her tongue traced slow, precise circles that made Maya lose the thread of the story.
“But what?” Raul repeated, and his voice was soft, almost tender.
“But...” Maya gasped. “But Persephone was no longer the same girl. She wanted to return to Hades... she wanted to abandon her again. Demeter was not going to allow it.”
“How was she going to do that?”
“By making her love her, by making her love her more than anyone in the world. Just as she already loved her more than anything in the world.”
Maya squeezed her thighs. But the woman opened them again. Calmly.
“Bree,” Maya whispered.
The woman already had her tongue all the way in.
Maya moaned her daughter’s name again. But this time louder. Once. Twice.
Maya finished with a long moan that mixed with Bree’s name.