Annabelle Love

Annabelle glanced in the mirror at her sunburnt nose, two big blue eyes staring back. They were the kind of big that almost appeared photoshopped—like a beautiful human caricature someone would overpay for on a beach pier in July.

The afternoon sun reflected off her long, red hair that she had been fidgeting with for upwards of 20 minutes.

Redhead. A term Annabelle’s eight-year-old brain detested. She first heard it in the pre-k sandbox. It was the start of the college semester—a concept which meant nothing to the class of four-year-olds—and new student teacher, Madison, was being shown around.

“And this little redhead is Annabelle” Miss Kathy told the aspiring educator, “Miss Annabelle recently learned how to write her full name! First, middle, and last”.

The perplexed look stayed on Annabelle’s face for quite some time, remaining there even after an etymology lesson from her mother hours later. That conversation marked the day Redhead was deemed a curse word in the Love household.

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It was the first day of May in what was already proving to be an excessively warm spring, even by North Carolina standards. The start of a new month ignited a spark within Annabelle. She had always carried a certain level of excitement towards the first of each month—a mindset that made her appear as both youthful and at the same time wise beyond her years.

Today, however, was more than just a first on the calendar. Today was the Liberty Baptist Church Father-Daughter Dance. It would be Annabelle’s first dance ever and the anticipation had been building for weeks. She wanted it to be perfect and to be perfect meant being prepared.

Enlisting the help of her mother, Annabelle’s preparation plan rivaled the dedication of a marathon runner training for Boston. She watched countless dance videos on YouTube, mirroring the images on the computer screen and starting over whenever the routine wasn’t up to her peculiarly high personal standards.

The training started with dance but by no means ended there. Nightly story time was soon replaced by trial-and-error hair styling, weekends were now spent browsing beach-town boutiques for the perfect dress. Associates at all the local stores—both big and small—quickly found themselves on a first name basis with the extroverted Annabelle. Even to strangers, she was hard to miss and impossible to forget.

A simple lady, Annabelle’s mother found her daughter’s enthusiasm almost admirable. She didn’t mind that it had forced her to become an armchair beautician, stylist and dance instructor for the time being. Her eight-year-old wouldn’t be eight forever, and that thought terrified her. Besides, her hobbies could wait, right?

The irony that a mother would be so involved in a dance bearing the name “Father” was not lost on Annabelle’s mother, but that’s just how their lives seemed to operate these days. Despite this, she refused to let the idea that being a mother was a thankless job enter her mind.

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Annabelle heard the garage door open and eagerly watched her mother’s car pull up the driveway, both feet tapping together involuntarily. The silver SUV came to a park, and after what felt like hours to the impatient eight-year-old, her mother emerged out of the driver’s side door. She looked visibly exhausted, but still beautiful nonetheless. In the span of a year, stress had caused her to lose about 10 pounds on a frame that didn’t have many pounds to spare.

Inching her face closer to the window, Annabelle squinted to get a better view of her mother’s next move.

“Ow! Dangit!” she had inched too close. Her sunburnt nose stung when it met with the cold glass. This would serve as substantial proof that despite consistent claims of independence, eight-year-olds cannot be trusted to adequately apply their own SPF. After the momentary distraction, Annabelle returned to the present and was welcomed with a glorious site. Her mother shut the passenger-side door and turned to walk into the house, garment bag in hand.

“It’s here it’s here it’s here!” Annabelle leaped off her chair screaming. The dress of her dreams had finally made its way to the Love Residence, just in time for the highly-anticipated Father-Daughter Dance. Annabelle slid down the full length of the hallway hardwoods in her pink starfish socks—a new record. Previously, she had only made it about 3/4 of the way, but perhaps adrenaline was on her side today.

“Mama! Mama! Can I see it? Please please please?” Annabelle shouted the second her mother opened the door.

“Indoor voice, baby”

“Yes, Ma’am. Sorry Mama.”

“And what happened to my hug and kiss?” She asked with a smirk. She had been running around all day, and it showed. Her 1992 East Carolina Football t-shirt hadn’t aged well, and paired with gym shorts and tennis shoes, made for a less-than-chic look. A look that stood in stark contrast to what was inside the garment bag.

“Oh come on! Can I please just see it? Pretty pretty please?” Annabelle begged while simultaneously hugging her mother’s legs, pouting, and batting her giant blue eyes for dramatic effect. She truly knew how to get her way—a trait inherited from her father.

“Okay Miss Princess. Drum roll please…” She unzipped the garment bag slowly, eyes locked on her daughter’s reaction. The dress was undoubtedly gorgeous. It was lavender, of course—Annabelle would not entertain any options outside the purple color pallet—with a white bow at the waist. The skirt was fluffy and embroidered. Perfect for twirling. Annabelle’s mother admittedly thought the dress was a bit much for a second grader at a church dance, but felt she had already lost the rationality battle when she agreed to go custom-made rather than off the rack. She won’t be eight forever.

“I love it” Annabelle whispered, almost breathless. The girl who perpetually had something to say was somehow speechless. After ten seconds of rare silence, her grin doubled in size, revealing a space where two baby teeth used to be.

 “Can we get ready?”

--

The dress went from stunning to captivating once Annabelle put it on. Its tutu-like skirt waved back and forth as she twirled around and around, and then around again.

“Take a seat, baby. I need to finish your hair.” It was go-time. The final test of amateur hair stylist school. After weeks of preparation and more video tutorials than she would like to admit, Annabelle’s mother had become fairly confident in her newfound craft.

“Okay but I don’t wanna face the mirror. I wanna be surprised.” Annabelle responded in a southern accent much stronger than most kids her age. Her mother loved that about her. The Southern accent, in her opinion, had been trending towards extinction in the more populated parts of North Carolina due to transplants coming in from the north and Midwest. She was proud that her little girl was Southern through and through. Her father wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Whatever you say, princess” Annabelle’s mother responded, holding back tears. It was probably for the best that they were not facing the mirror. She hated her daughter seeing her get emotional.

Tuck the left strand behind the right strand. Pull the middle strand through. Secure with bobby pin. Repeat.

The pair sat in silence while Annabelle’s mother put the finishing touches on her braid crown. She could sense a tinge of nervousness on her daughter as she pinned flowers into her red locks, marking the end of the getting ready process.

“Okay honey, I’m gonna go get Daddy ready. How about you have a snack and we’ll be out soon?”

--

He wasn’t a vegetable. Judging by outward appearances alone, he looked relatively normal. This relatively normal image is probably what made the situation so hard for an eight-year-old to comprehend.

Annabelle’s father was a brilliant man. He was quick-witted, congenial and by all accounts, the perfect man. He had met Annabelle’s mother in Emerald Isle the summer in between undergrad and medical school. He fell in love with her ability to make everyone around her feel at ease. She fell in love with his beautiful mind. Shortly after meeting, there was no looking back. She was his and he was hers. Three years later, they were married. Two years after that, they welcomed Annabelle Love into the world, and nothing else mattered.

The term “Daddy’s Little Girl” was quite the understatement when referencing Annabelle and her father. The two were inseparable despite his demanding job as anesthesiology fellow at County Memorial. Even after a long shift, he was home by 6 p.m. every night for the nightly ritual of dinner followed by a family walk.

It started with headaches. He didn’t think anything of it. Everyone gets headaches. They just take a Tylenol and move on. He had an important job and a family to support. There was no time to be concerned with something so trivial.

Six months later, it wasn’t just a headache.

Annabelle’s mother was sitting in the carpool line when she got the call. Her husband had suffered a seizure towards the end of his shift. Initially, she felt a slight feeling of relief that he was in a hospital when this happened, rather than driving or at home. This feeling of relief would be short-lived.

Advanced stage brain cancer. That’s what further testing revealed. Months of treatments, trials, prayers and drugs weren’t working. His beautiful brain was deteriorating, which was the most difficult facet for Annabelle’s Mother to grasp.

She had already said goodbye to the man she married months ago, even if physically, he was sitting right in front of her. He was still strikingly handsome with the same dimples that initially caught her attention so many years ago. Holding back tears, she straightened his tie and took his hand, squeezing twice. It was time for him to meet his date.

                                                         ---

There would be many spring dances in Annabelle’s future. Jimmy Davies took her out on her first real date to the Eighth Grade Spring Formal. They kissed during the dreaded and painfully awkward slow song, a first for both sides. At Junior Prom, Annabelle was voted into Prom Court after smiling and dancing the night away with her best friends in a floor-length lavender gown. The first dance at her wedding even brought the crowd to tears. Some guests eventually attributed the eye watering to April pollen, but they weren’t fooling anybody.

Annabelle had always felt very fortunate to have a collection of such beautiful memories throughout her life. None of these memories, however, would prove to be as meaningful as her first and only Liberty Baptist Church Father-Daughter Dance.