01 POV Sitting in traffic, call from Lucy, call from Boss - 1465

...My eyes are drawn to the horizon where another blurry plane comes in to land at Newark Liberty International airport. I check the time, it's 4:52pm, or there abouts. The clock on the dash of my 2001 model Oldsmobile Alero isn't atomic. It's a total pain in the ass if I'm being one hundred percent honest as it loses time by about two minutes every day. I've gotten used to it by now, like I've learned to embrace every other quirky peculiarity of this car. 

The cars are bumper to bumper, backed up as far as the eye can see, which for me is about fifty yards, anything after that becomes a blur. Normally, being frozen in this glacially moving traffic would annoy the hell out of me, but today I've vowed that nothing will shake my good mood. Lucy arrives tomorrow morning on the red-eye from Las Vegas, landing at 5:27am. Finally, I'll get to give her a hug after three months without. 

Three damn long months. 

That I haven't seen my daughter for so long makes me feel sad in the pit of my stomach. I remind myself that I have no one to blame but myself. I glance at the crook of my left arm. It's now covered with the sleeve of my woollen jumper that could probably use a wash, and while I can't see the crease of my arm, I know that the scars from my drug abuse are still there, and will very likely be for life. A constant reminder of youthful misadventure. 

I shake this thought out. Stay happy, stay positive, Lucy arrives in a little over twelve hours! 

This thought alone works wonders. I am happy again. Elated, in fact, to soon be with my little lady. The car in front of me rolls forward a measly few inches opening up a gap so small I don't even bother closing it. Instead, I glance over my shoulder at the dozen or so newly bought Christmas presents strewn across the back seat.

Guilty presents from an absent mother? Maybe. I'm sure that's how a shrink would gift wrap it. But I don't care, I'll spoil her if I want, shrinks be damned. This is my first Christmas alone with Lucy since I lost custody of her all those years ago. Damn it, that thought brings with it a pang of anger towards Vincent, Lucy's father, for taking her so far away from me.   

I can't blame him. He did what he thought was best for Lucy. And maybe it was, at the time. But that was then, and this is now. I am no longer a user. I've been clean for well over a year and haven't even come close to falling off the wagon. 

I look back again at the presents, in particular at a giant spaceship in its box, wondering why on earth Lucy asked Santa for it? It doesn't seem like something my little girl would want. When she asked for it I realised just how much I don't know about her. It's the little things you miss out on when you don't live with your child. 

My cell phone rings and causes me to smile. I immediately know it's Lucy calling without even looking at the caller ID. Last time my daughter was with me she set a personalised ring-tone for her number in my phone. Now when she calls it plays a very digital instrumental version of Last Christmas by Wham!

I answer and put her on speaker phone. 

"Hey-hey!"

"Hey mom, how are you?" 

"Living the dream, you?"

"I am awesometastic. Can't wait to see you tomorrow."

"Me too."

A little worry enters her voice as she follows that up with, "You are gonna be there to pick me up, right?"

This makes me cringe. That she has reason to doubt I'd be there hurts. But she does have reason, there have been times when I was - how should I say this - less than reliable, is a kind way to word it, down right selfish and neglectful is more honest. 

"Honey, I've told you, those days are behind me. I will be there."

"Are you sure-sure?'

"I am sure-sure-sure. There's nothing in the world that could stop me from being there. Are you all packed and ready to roll?"

"Yup, just finished now. I think I've got everything."

"Even if you forget something, doesn't matter, we can get you new stuff when you're here. Are you excited to fly by yourself?"

"A little nervous."

"You'll be fine. When you get to the airport an air steward will introduce themselves who will accompany you on the flight. If you have any worries about anything you just ask them. And you can always phone me anytime and I will always answer."

"Do cell phones work on planes?"

"I don't think so, but you can call from the airport just before you leave and as soon as you land. Now do you remember what we said about stranger-danger? 

"Yes."

"What do you do if a strange man talks to you?"

"Kick him in the nuts."

"That's my girl. You'll do great."

I hear a noise at the other end that sounds a lot like Vincent calling to Lucy. A moment later Lucy says, "Mom, I better go, dad's taking me out for lunch somewhere to say goodbye." 

"Okay, sounds fun. Say hi to your dad for me."

"I won't. He hates you."

"I know. Love you more than pork chops."

"Love you more than marshmallows."

Lucy hesitates a beat then adds, just incase I'd forgotten, "See you at Newark Liberty International at five thirty-seven am."

"I will be there with bells on."

"What does that mean?"

"Literally, I have no idea. Metaphorically, it means I will one-hundred percent, absolutely, positively, definitely, without-a-doubt, no two ways about it, be there."

I can't see Lucy, but my mother's instinct tells me she just smiled. 

The call ends and I take a deep breath, hold it then let it out. Traffic is still banked up but I couldn't care less. There is something about talking with your child that gives you a sense of purpose. It fills you with a warmth that unless you have felt it, it is impossible to explain.

But alas, as with every moment of joy in this overly ironic life, this one proves to be fleeting when my cell phone rings again. This time the personalised ring-tone is Darth Vader's theme song from Star Wars. My daughter also set it up last time she was here. She has a wicked sense of humor as this is Patrick, my boss calling. My asshole boss. Nothing good ever comes from answering a call from your boss on your day off. But I do anyway. 

"Hi Patrick, how are you on this wonderful day?"

"How are things? I've got a fully booked restaurant and no chef, how the hell do you think things are?" Patrick barks down the line into my ear. 

Oh shit.