My Life in Black and White by Kim Izzo

be a great mother.
    “Dad can’t see me like this!” I protested.
    “Like what? Hurt and abandoned? That’s when a girl needs her father most.”
    “Since when do you two talk anyway?”
    “He’s been coming to LA for seminars and things,” she said matter-of-factly. “We’ve had lunch once or twice. Now, I must open the door for him!”
    I was surprised she hadn’t told me about his visits, even though I shouldn’t have been. We never touched on the topic of my father.
    He walked into the room and I dutifully got up to hug and kiss him.
    “I hear you’re having a rough time,” he said and sat down beside me. His hair used to be the same mousy brown as mine but now was white, though immense waves of it remained, like sea foam, with a side part that created a kind of tsunami over his right eye. His pale complexion was almost wax-like. He was a dermatologist who tookhis advice to stay out of the sun very seriously. He used to terrify Dean. The thought made me smile.
    “I think you should go home and make a bonfire with that son of a bitch’s things.”
    He spoke so calmly that he might have said “go home and make a pot of tea.”
    “Someone’s phone is ringing,” Marjorie observed.
    It was my cell, and it was Dean.
    “It’s him.” I felt the blood drain from my face.
    “Want me to talk to him?” my father offered a little too eagerly.
    I shook my head and rushed out onto the back deck and slid the glass door shut, anxious not to miss his call.
    “Hello.”
    “Hey, Clara.”
    “How are you?” I asked. I wasn’t breathing. All I wanted was to hear him say he was coming back home. That it had been a terrible mistake. That he still loved me.
    “I’m at the apartment.”
    I felt my hopes rise.
    “I’m getting the rest of my stuff. I just want to warn you in case you’d rather not be here while I move out.”
    I swallowed hard. “Are you sure you want to do it so quickly?”
    “Yes. I leave for London tomorrow and I don’t want my things to be in your way when I’m gone.”
    I wanted to say he’d never be in my way and his stuff could and should be with me forever. But all I said was “aha.”
    “Okay, I’ll also leave you money for my share of the rent. Two months’ worth for now. We can discuss the rest later.” I knew by “the rest” he meant divorce. “Bye.”
    And he hung up. It was over so fast, part of me wasn’t sure it had happened. I kicked myself for not saying something that mattered.For days I’d waited to hear his voice, and all I could say was “aha.”
    I went back into the house and my parents stared at me like I had a fatal disease.
    “Apparently Dean is moving out as we speak.”
    “Coward!” Dad snapped.
    “It’s better that Clara isn’t there,” Marjorie interjected. She brought me a cup of tea and a platter of cookies. As I bit into a cookie, peanut butter chocolate chip, I made up my mind. Why should I change my plans?
    “I’m not going home,” I announced. “I’m going away.”
    “You shouldn’t run away,” my father said, sounding like I had a few days before.
    “Shush, Charles,” my mother said gruffly. “I’m glad to hear it. So where are you going?”
    I took another sip of tea and cleared my throat.
    “London.”
    I packed in the morning, tossing the usual suspects—jeans and more jeans—into my knapsack. I decided to make do with whatever clothing I had lying around my mother’s house; there was no way I could cope with going back to the apartment and seeing it empty of Dean. I looked in the mirror, the yoga pants, matching hoodie, ballet flats, banana clip in my hair, and burst into tears. Was it any wonder he had left me for a gorgeous young blonde with a name like Amber? But she was here in Los Angeles. I was going to London where Dean was, and I was going to win him back. I’d emailed Trinity, and fortunately she was prepared to welcome me with open arms and a shoulder to cry on.
    I was ready to run out the door to where my