Big Chicas Don't Cry(40)
I smiled and put my keys back into my purse. “Oh, it’s fine. No problem.”
The waitress appeared, and Tony ordered a burger and fries and a Coke. I ordered a salad and a glass of water. I pulled out the notebook I’d brought, and we started talking about the fiesta.
“I remember that the fiesta was like the place to be when we went to school there,” Tony said. “I would beg my parents to take me all three days, and I would just hang out there with my friends.”
As he reminisced, I just nodded and interjected a few words here and there. He updated me on what some of our old classmates were up to, since he still kept in touch with the same group of friends. Justin Silva was a lawyer in Miami, Lacey Buenavista was a divorcée with three kids in Seattle, and Tracy Kellogg was now Tracy Johnson—a real estate agent in Houston. Apparently she and Tony had dated off and on throughout high school, but then went their separate ways during college.
“I always figured you two would end up together,” I said matter-of-factly.
“Me too, I guess. But then I hurt my knee, and when her future of becoming the trophy wife of a major league baseball player disappeared, then so did she,” Tony said, a hint of bitterness in his tone. “It’s a good thing too. I don’t think she would have ever wanted to come back here to Inland Valley and St. Christopher’s.”
“And what about you? Why did you come back?” I asked, surprised by my own braveness to carry on a deep conversation with him.
He took a big bite of his burger and shrugged. “Honestly, it’s the only place that would have me. After my knee surgery, I had to leave school since I was there on a scholarship. I stayed in Texas, though, and found a few trainer gigs at a couple of high schools. I even got my bachelor’s degree in kinesiology after a few years. My dream has been to get a trainer job with either a university or even a pro team, but I could never get my foot in the door. Earlier this year, I applied for a position with the baseball team at Arizona College, but I got an email back that they were on a hiring freeze because of the budget. The same day I got another email from Jerry Patterson—remember him? His kids go to St. Christopher’s, and he’s on the PTA. He said he was recommending me for the PE instructor position, and two weeks later I’m on a plane back to California and back to Inland Valley.”
He ate his last french fry and asked what happened to me after high school. I told him the very nonexciting truth. I went to the state university in Los Angeles, got my teaching credentials, and got a job at St. Christopher’s—my first and only.
“What about marriage? Or kids?” he asked. I willed myself not to blush, but I could feel the warmth on my cheeks already.
“No—well, not yet anyway,” I said, looking down at my salad. I could feel his stare, so I forced myself to look up and met his eyes. “What about you? Any future Mrs. Bautistas out there?”
“Right now? No. But, yeah, I’d like to settle down one day.”
“You should . . . um, well, what I mean is, that you are good with kids. You’d probably be a good dad.”
“Thanks. You know, Gracie, that first day in the lounge, I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he said. I could feel my cheeks on fire now. “It’s just that you, well, I guess I was surprised to see you there. I mean it had been such a long time. Anyway, I just wanted to say it was nice to see a familiar face, and I hope, you know, we can be friends again.”
Again? Did I miss the part where we were friends before?
“Sure, of course. Besides, we are the two youngest on faculty. We kids got to stick together,” I tried to joke.
He smiled and then started asking me if I had any ideas about the fiesta. I had the usual stuff—more rides and more games. I also told him about my idea for a chili cook-off. He liked everything on my list, but he had some ideas of his own.
“We really need something to draw in a bigger crowd,” he started. “You know, like, maybe live music.”
“Well, the church choir performs on Sunday, and the rest of the weekend there’s a deejay—I think it’s a parent who volunteers his time,” I told him.
“No, I mean like real bands and singers. I’m sure there are some local acts who would jump at the chance to perform in front of a live audience.”
He looked so cute, getting all worked up about how to make the fiesta a destination event. He started throwing out names of bars and clubs he could visit to track down possible performers.
Later that night during the committee meeting, Tony pitched our ideas, and every single one of them was a hit. Besides the local bands, he even said he was going to call up a friend and see if we could get one or two bands or singers who’d had records in the ’80s or ’90s and find out how much they would charge to perform. Even Sister Catherine was fired up and afterward came up to us and gave us both a hug.
“You two make a great team,” she gushed. When she walked away, Tony winked at me and said, “We do make a great team.”
I smiled and floated all the way to my car.
Chapter Twenty-Two
ERICA
I have many outstanding qualities. But winning graciously has never been one of them.
Whether it was a game of tic-tac-toe with my little cousin or a tournament match against another coed soccer team from across town, I tended to go overboard on the celebrating.