The You I've Never Known(23)
Our future.
That thought slams into me suddenly.
Our future.
Mine.
Jason’s.
Our baby’s.
Ariel
Almost Three Weeks
Since I first met Gabe and he has proven to be a complication I really didn’t need. Every time I start to think I know who I am, something clouds my already hazy POV.
My feelings for Monica haven’t changed. She is a comet in the night sky, and the moment I see her my mood becomes brighter.
I can’t deny that I love her.
I don’t think I’m in love with Gabe, but I adore spending time with him.
He’s the first guy I’ve ever met who actually listens when I talk, and at least pretends interest. Plus Zelda was totally right.
He’s easy on the eyes.
Speaking of Eyes
His are unique.
They remind me
of opals—a mottled
mixture of green
and blue, and when
the light hits them
just so, you can see
glints of orange
circling the pupils
in a narrow band.
The condition is called
heterochromia, he tells
me. There are different
kinds. Some people or
other animals have eyes
that are totally dissimilar colors. That’s complete
heterochromia. Sectoral
is when the eyes have
spikes of pigment that
look like spots. Gabe’s
type, where the centers
are a different hue than
the rest of the irises,
is central heterochromia.
Sometimes science rocks.
Gabe inherited his condition, and as he explains it, he grows pensive because it
makes him talk about his father.
My dad gave me his eyes, he says. It was the best gift of all, because I can keep it forever, and if I ever have children they might get it passed on to them, too. I like that because it helps me feel like a part of him is still alive in me, and carried in my genes.
We’re sitting on Zelda’s
porch swing. She and
Dad are inside, doing
whatever while waiting
for the coals in the barbecue to ash over. We can hear
them bellowing inebriated laughter. I’m embarrassed, but it would be worse if
Zelda was Gabe’s mom
instead of his aunt.
This way there’s a single layer of separation, at
least. But thinking about Gabe’s family makes me
ask, “Is your mom okay?
I heard she’s having
a tough time dealing with . . .
Oh, man. I’m sorry.”
Okay, that was awkward,
but even so, he says, Hey.
Don’t be sorry. Look, we just never expected to lose him, you know? Dad was such a solid fixture in our lives.
Not rich or highly educated, but he was a hard worker and a really nice guy. It might sound like a cliché, but everyone truly loved him.
Suddenly, it strikes me
that if something awful
happened to Dad I wouldn’t have the slightest clue
what to do. Find a way
to bury him, I suppose, and then . . . What?
I don’t even know how
to get hold of Ma-maw
and Pops. That makes me
feel very alone and a little scared. One time when I was maybe eight I got off the school bus and no one was there to meet me, so I walked back to the house where we were living. Dad’s woman du jour was gone. So was he, and it was hours before he got back.
I was petrified I’d be alone forever.
I inch closer to Gabe,
till our legs almost touch.
The autumn air is cool, and the heat of his body through his jeans and Levi’s shirt is noticeable. Couple that with the clean, leathery
scent lifting off his skin, it’s borderline sensory
overload. It’s a good thing.
So, Naturally
I backpedal immediately.
Put distance between us.
Quick, change the subject.
I ask how he likes his job, the one my dad helped him
get—part-time work at the shop.
He says other than the grease and porn on the wall it’s decent.
There’s a joke there somewhere because he grins and then hot damn, man, is he gorgeous.
I push that thought aside and search for the humor, and when I finally understand, reward him with rich laughter.
Now a single word surfaces inside my head: comfortable.
That’s the way I feel with Gabe.
No. Not right. More like half the way I feel. The other half is uncomfortably turned on.
I Command
That half to remain very, very quiet, and am more than a little relieved
when Dad bombs through the door,
carrying a platter of sausages.
Gabe jumps to his feet. Here, let me help. Barbecue is one thing I’m pretty darn good at. Dad was a great teacher.
Oh, he must have been, agrees Zelda.
I remember this one time . . . She takes Gabe’s arm and steers him toward
the grill. Dad follows, weaving slightly.
I cross my fingers that our dinner
doesn’t crash-land on the ground,