The You I've Never Known(39)
She’s good at basketball, too.
Okay, that was random, but
he writes it down anyway.
Then he turns to talk to Dad,
who struggles to maintain
his cool, especially when
the newspaper photographer
snaps a shot of Gabe and me.
Listen. Of course I’m proud of Ariel. I’ve tried to raise her right. Looks like I succeeded.
That’s really all I have to say.
Utter Garbage
But I suppose
he’s just spouting what’s expected,
and the first thing to come to mind
when thrust into
a situation like this.
I sure wouldn’t
know. It’s the first time it’s happened to me, and very
likely the last.
Both reporters
make sure our names are spelled correctly before returning
to their studio/
office, respectively.
At this point, Monica’s bouncing up and down.
Now you’re famous.
Maybe it’ll rub off on me. Oh, by the way, I like your boyfriend.
The label’s unsettling.
Hope she doesn’t notice my furious blush.
The News Crews Leave
Dad yanks me off to one side with a sharp jerk of my left arm. Why didn’t you tell me this was going to be a circus?
Each word is punctuated
with rage. “I had no idea,
Dad. Monica thought Gabe
and I should be recognized.
It was a complete surprise.”
Yeah, well, I hate surprises. And I have a damn hard time believing you were clueless about all this.
Look at your clothes and makeup.
I don’t want to confide
my wardrobe choices were
meant to impress not one,
but two people who are close to me. Instead I try, “I thought I should look nice to visit Hillary. It’s only respectful.”
I don’t like being lied to either, not by my flesh and blood. Your need for the spotlight isn’t a good thing, and if people weren’t watching us right now, I’d take this further.
He turns away. Get your own ride home.
Suddenly I’m Very Glad
People were watching.
Why’d he get so pissed off?
What made him think this was my idea?
How can he believe I’d flat-out lie?
I’m beginning to question Dad’s sanity.
Is he drinking more heavily than I realized?
Does he have a secret prescription pill stash?
Can dementia be creeping in early?
Or maybe I should question my own sanity.
Might I have encouraged Monica to invite TV time?
Did I leave my shoes where Dad could trip on them?
What about Santa’s sleigh knowing the way?
Was the last a total invention of my subconscious?
What wasn’t was Dad’s overreaction.
What wasn’t was Dad’s hideous anger.
I hope it’s safe to go home tonight.
Maya
Honeymoons are supposed to be memorable. Mine totally was, but not in the way most people think of. After our frill-free wedding, Jason and I went to an early dinner with Tati and Jason’s brother at Matt’s El Rancho. Killer Mexican food, which was good because my new husband started drinking margaritas right away. I was glad he put a huge burrito in his gut to absorb some of the alcohol.
I let Jason decide on the honeymoon, which he said was all he could afford. I thought about breaking into my cash stash to spring for a nice hotel room instead, but listened to Tati’s advice. “Keep that money for emergencies,” she said. “Don’t even mention it to Jason. As my grandma says, every woman needs a secret rainy-day fund, just in case.”
I don’t want to think about “just in case,” but it makes sense, especially considering Jason and I are relative strangers. For instance, his brother informed me at dinner that the reason their parents didn’t attend the ceremony was because they had committed to judging a stock show.
“None of us realized Jason had gotten serious about someone,” he said. “Shocked the hell out of me, to be honest.”
Seems Jason’s family communicates about as well as mine.
Once we finished our delicious pralines and tres leches desserts, Jason escorted me to a borrowed pickup, pulling a rented pop-up tent trailer, and off we went to McKinney Falls State Park for a long weekend of camping. The park isn’t very far from town, and it’s pretty enough, with a creek and two waterfalls and plenty of places to hike, if that’s your thing. Apparently it isn’t Jason’s.
“I get plenty of ‘hiking’ at work,” he said, setting up a couple of folding chairs. “Three days off, I want to relax. But first, how about a roll in the honeymoon hay?”
He pulled me inside the trailer, where his hands went straight to the zipper of his slacks. They were off before we hit the bed, which was roomy enough but the foam was thin and carried solid hints of the people who’d slept—not to mention rolled in the hay—in it before. That, plus the tequila-and-beans clinging to his breath, put me on the verge of nausea.
“Can we open a window?” I asked quietly. “I don’t feel so good.”