The Anatomical Shape of a Heart(35)

“Your daughter and I met on the N line a few weeks ago,” he said. Which was pretty much true. “And I’ve seen her at Alto Market.” Also true, just not quite the Truth.

“What’s your last name?” she asked.

“Vincent.”

“Jack Vincent,” Mom said, leaning back against the counter to peer up at him. “Why does that name sound familiar? Oh, Mayor Vincent.”

“Yes,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “That’s my father.”

His father … What?

A chorus of “oohs” swirled around the kitchen. Except from me, because his father was the freaking mayor of San Francisco and he didn’t tell me. Sweat pricked my scalp under my looping braids. Jack coughed into his hand and sneaked a fear-filled glance my way. I did my best to keep my face blank.

“Well, well, well,” Mom chirped. She grabbed his chin and angled it for her inspection as though he were a patient; sometimes Mom forgets normal physical boundaries. “I knew you looked familiar. Handsome like your daddy, huh?”

Jack chuckled nervously.

“First a saint, now a prince,” Mom said, letting go of Jack’s chin to grin at Noah across the counter. “God’s finally listening to my prayers.”

“I don’t know about that,” I mumbled. “Jack’s a Buddhist.”

“O-oh,” Mom said, like it was the coolest thing she’d ever heard.

I suddenly felt like I were in a David Lynch movie and there was some bizzaro, surreal plot I didn’t really understand unfolding all around me. I quietly had a heart attack while Mom and Jack and Heath and Noah all chatted about Buddhism and about how funny it was that Jack had shown up for dinner, because Mom had made meatless lasagna to appease Noah, who was apparently a pescatarian—which just meant he was a vegetarian who cheated and ate fish. And they talked about Jack’s superstar father, who was serving his second term as one of the youngest mayors in the city’s history, not to mention one of the most popular, but, no, Jack had no idea if the rumors were true that Mayor Vincent might be entering California governor’s race in the near future. Blah, blah, blah.

For the love of Pete, how flipping stupid was I? To be honest, I always tuned Mom and Heath out when they started talking politics. Yet I’d known his last name sounded familiar. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t connected the dots when I saw his dad, but if I tried to picture him without the dark shades and the baseball cap, yeah, I supposed it was him, all right.

Everything made more sense now, like how Jack said his dad lived for his job. And the mayor was notoriously private about his family life, which was probably why I couldn’t dig up much about Jack online. No doubt they lived in one of those six-million-dollar houses near Buena Vista Park—not the six-hundred-thousand-dollar ones. And the car that was waiting for Jack and his dad at the hospital that night? That was the freaking mayor’s car. No wonder the man had been cooler than ice with me. He was the king of the city.

Which was why he’d forbidden Jack to talk about the schizophrenia. I vaguely remembered seeing pictures of the mayor and his wife together, but maybe I hadn’t seen any recently because, you know, she was in the hospital. Keep up appearances, Jack had said. His father was worried it might hurt his political career. Pretty crappy attitude, if you ask me.

“You feeling all right, babe?” Mom asked, rubbing my back.

“Oh, I’m one big bag of sunshine and puppies.”

She squinted suspiciously at me and then spoke to Jack. “How are you at grating cheese, Prince Vincent?”

“My cheese-grating skills are second to none. I’m a fully licensed grate master.”

“Excellent. I’ll need enough Parm grated to cover those baguettes. Bex will show you where the grater is. And, babe,” she said, talking to me, “do the garlic butter thing you did last time. Noah, I need your height to get an extra chair down from the hall closet. It’s stuck sideways on the top shelf, thanks to your boytoy’s inability to follow simple instructions.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Heath said drily. “You’re a real hoot.”

The three of them chatted their way into the hall. I pulled out a block of Parmesan and some butter from the fridge. Jack stepped behind me as I unwrapped it on the counter.

“You pissed?” he said near the side of my head.

“Surprised. And feeling more than a little dumb. But in my defense, I’m used to seeing him in a suit behind a podium. And, you know, you might’ve mentioned it.”

“I wasn’t thinking clearly when you saw us together at the hospital. I should’ve introduced you. It’s just that everywhere I go, I’m always Mayor Vincent’s son. I know, boo-f*cking-hoo, right? But that’s all I am to people at school, the neighbors, the hospital doctors.… Even one of the masters at the Zen Center has hinted that having my dad show up at one of the charity events would help raise awareness. I get so damn tired of it. And for once I just wanted…” He paused, searching for words. “I wanted you to see me and not my family—not the politician or the psych patient. Just me.”

I opened a bottom cabinet and rummaged until I found our ancient metal box grater. “To be honest, I hate politics. If you never mention anything remotely mayoral ever again, it won’t hurt my feelings. Now, the schizophrenia? You can talk about that all you want, anytime. However, none of it changes the way I think about you.”