The You I've Never Known(68)
when that final buzzer rings. As we slap hands with the other team, the crowd begins to desert the stands and I notice Zelda’s with Gabe now, no Hillary, Peg, or Dad in view.
Thanks, Dad. Glad I mean so much to you.
But as I Shower
It occurs to me that Dad might have come with Zelda.
He could have been in
the bathroom taking a piss.
He could have been outside polluting his lungs.
He could have been at
the snack bar buying popcorn.
Nah. The snack shack
would have been closed.
But the other two options are still valid, so I’ll go in search of my father, hoping, if not believing, he’ll be here somewhere.
A phrase that materializes from the ether: glutton for punishment. And right behind that: none so blind as those who will not see. Wonder if the idioms will prove wrong.
If He’s Here
He’s here, so I’m not in a hurry, and I wait for Monica to slide into her deliciously tight jeans.
I wish I could straight-up go over and kiss her, but this is small-town girls’ basketball in a small-town high school in small-town Sonora, California, so the most I’ll do is lick my lips seductively (like I know anything about seduction
beyond what Monica herself
has managed to teach me) and
invite, “Come with me? I know
it’s stupid but I’m not-quite—
hoping my dad is out there,
pretending to have watched
the game. If he is, you can help me celebrate. If he isn’t, we can go find something to do to make me feel better. Unless you’ve got plans for an after-game party?”
She laughs. Last night taught me I’m not the party type. Except maybe private parties with you.
We Cut Back
Through the gym,
where several people are still milling around, including Monica’s family.
All of them.
Mom. Dad.
Two big brothers.
One little sister.
Carolina comes jogging up now. Hey! You guys were awesome.
She holds up two hands for high fives—one from her sister and one from me.
Now the rest of the Torres family surrounds us, chattering half in English, half in Spanish, happily congratulating us. Glad somebody’s kin cares.
Now Monica’s mom says, Esta noche vamos a celebrar el cumplea?os de Mónica.
Por favor, venga a cenar.
I’ve Just Been Invited
To a birthday dinner celebration
for Monica. How can I turn that down?
Maybe there will even be tamales.
“Muchas gracias. Me encantaría ir.”
Tu espa?ol es bueno, says Mrs. Torres.
Muy bueno. We will see you tonight.
We follow the family out to the parking lot, where Syrah is leaning against her car, flirting with Gabe, which reminds me he and I are supposed to talk.
I think maybe you lost your boyfriend, comments Monica, grinning broadly.
“I think that’s okay by me.” And I’m not sure it’s all about what I saw last night.
“Who needs a boyfriend when I’ve got you?” Did I just offer a confession? Two?
I thought you’d never figure that out.
Pero mejor tarde que nunca, ?no?
But better late than never, yes.
Now do I have to confess to Gabe, too?
I’m Thinking That Over
When someone taps me on
the shoulder. I turn to face the tall redhead who smiled at me from the bleachers,
and when I do, she sways
as if momentarily dizzy.
The spiky-haired woman
beside her extends a hand
to steady her. Take it easy.
Everything’s going to be fine.
“Are you okay?”
She pulls herself together.
Oh, yes. Sorry. Are you . . .
She holds out a newspaper
clipping. It’s the story about Gabe and me finding Hillary.
Are you Ariel Pearson?
“That would be me.”
And this . . . She points to Dad, who’s standing behind
us in the picture. This is your father? It says Mark Pearson.
“That’s my dad, yes.”
Mark Pearson, she repeats, sounding totally confused.
What does this woman want? She’s studying me
like a scientist getting
ready to dissect a frog.
I’m Maya McCabe. Does the name sound familiar?
Her voice is a bit too eager.
“Not really, no. Should it?”
But before she can answer, Dad and Zelda come strolling up behind her. Guess he made it to the game after all.
“Hey, Dad. Didn’t think you were here.”
At my greeting, Maya McCabe spins to face Dad. Jason.
Dad’s face drains every hint of color and his eyes narrow into serpent-like slits. Fuck no.
“What is it, Dad? Who’s Jason?”
But it’s Maya who answers,
Jason is your father. Jason Baxter.
And I’m your mother, Casey.
Casey. The wrong-number name.
Denial
No.