Page 3 of Babydaddy To Go

“I wanted you to have this,” says Grams in a quiet voice. “Maybe it’ll bring you luck down in New York.”

I hold the photo in my hands like it might crumble under my touch. “Thank you,” I say softly. “This means the world to me.”

She kisses the top of my head. “I love you, sweetheart. Now are you coming down for dinner?”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” I say, not taking my eyes from the still.

Nodding, Grams leaves quietly, leaving me with just my thoughts and my mother’s memory.

Sighing, I stare at the photo. What would Nancy tell me right now? To follow my dreams? To reach for the stars? Those are such hackneyed phrases, and yet there’s something true about them. And I know in my heart that my mom would want the best for me. She’d want me to explore and see the world, and to become the most amazing person that I could be.

I take a deep breath. I’m not sure what NYACA’s going to bring but attending cooking school is definitely a step in the right direction. Reaching for my diary, I grab a pen. Maybe it’s weird for a twenty-year-old to keep a diary instead of being on social media non-stop, but my journal’s my life-line and my best friend. It knows everything about me. I open to the first empty page about halfway through the tattered book and begin to scribble.

Dear Mom,

Grams told me you liked to bake. Did you know I love being in the kitchen, too? I’m even going to school for it. I got accepted to a premier cooking school in New York and I’m going to study under a famous chef. It’s a dream come true, Mom, but I’m scared. What if I fail? What if I can’t hack it next to the other students? I don’t know what I’ll do. I love you and miss you. Wish you were here.

Love,

Alyssa

A single teardrips onto the page, smudging some of the ink. I’ve been writing to my mom for a while now because it helps me feel closer to her. Sometimes, I imagine that my mom’s looking over my shoulder as I write, reading the words and clucking with sympathy.

Breaking off a piece of tape, I affix the photo into my journal before looking at it once last time. She looks so happy with her brown hair sleek, holding a dirty spoon and a bowl full of chocolate batter. This must have been taken when she was unawares because she has a big goofy grin and is staring off to the right while gesturing with a spatula. If this photo tells me anything, it’s that my mom would want me to persevere no matter the hardship. She’d want me to do my best in cooking school, and live a life of adventure. Sighing, I shut the journal and make myself go downstairs. Suddenly, I’m not so ready to leave.

Downstairs, my grandparents are already seated at the four-person table in our small dining room. I suppose, starting tomorrow, it’ll betheirsmall dining room. I’ll be living in a one-bedroom apartment in New York City while they carry on with their lives here in Maine.

“This looks great, Grams,” I say, digging into her famous spaghetti with the thick orange sauce. “Thanks for making my favorite meal.”

“Anything for you, Lissie.”

“Did you see that Harold’s dog got loose again?” Gramps asks in a muffled voice. The words are impaired by the garlic bread he’s still chewing. “He jogged right on down to the Taylor house and ran through the sprinklers with the kids until Harold came and got him.”

We all laugh. That dog gets into mischief on a weekly basis, and I feel better already, my spirits lifting. Someone should write a cartoon about him.

“Harold should start renting Rover out to the neighborhood kids. They love playing with him,” my grandma says ruefully.

“No rental needed,” Gramps says. “Rover does what he wants.”

We continue on with easy conversation like this. Gramps keeps us informed on the neighborhood gossip while Grams lets us know the latest about the available single men in town, just in case. She’ll never lose hope.

I smile and laugh, but behind my cheerful demeanor is a somber mind. It’s going to be so hard to leave this behind tomorrow. My grandparents have been my rock since I was five years old. It feels like I’m abandoning them, even though I know they want me to go out and live my dream.

Plus, I’ll be totally alone in New York. There won’t be any conversations about Harold’s dog around the dinner table, at least not for a while. There won’t be any home-cooked hearty spaghetti dinners, unless I make them myself. Am I ready to leave all this for a dream that might be nothing but illusions?

But I have to. The happy look on my mom’s face sits in the back of my mind. Nancy would want me to find myself and to see what the big world has to offer.

If not for myself, I have to do it for my mom.

2

Alyssa

So far, everything I’ve seen about New York is from the inside of a train station.

My grandparents dropped me off in Boston bright and early this morning to catch the one-ninety-five train into Penn Station. I forgot to pack my phone charger, so it died three quarters of the way through my four-hour ride. Ugh. Talk about absent-minded.

I’m not usually the type of person who needs to be tied to her cell at all times, but it would reallycome in handy right now. I have absolutely no idea where I am, which means I have no idea how to get to my apartment. Luckily, I remembered that I was supposed to take the subway to Grand Central Terminal. After that, I’m totally lost.