Liars and Losers Like Us(19)

“Thanks again for dinner,” I say.

“You’re welcome, again. I mean De nada. It’s the first time I’ve ever been to Muy Mexicano. Maybe the last. Those Spanish guys with the sombreros and guitars really showed me up.”

“I think they were Mexican though, not Spanish.”

“Okay, got it.” Sean nods but I can tell he has no idea what I’m talking about so I let him know that my dad’s family is Mexican too, which means they’re from Mexico, not Spain.

“Sorry, Dutch and Norwegian guy learning curve over here. But yeah, I speak English but I’m not from England. Makes sense.”

Sean asks if I speak Spanish and then I give the whole spiel I always give after I tell people I’m Mexican. The whole thing where I’m all, “No, I don’t speak Spanish, but it’s not my fault! My dad almost always speaks English unless he’s with my grandparents.”

I shrug. “I learned more Spanish when I took it in tenth grade than I did growing up. Some people might think I’m a terrible Mexican, but whatever. It used to bother me but I’m over it.”

He pulls the car into reverse and the curve of his forearm muscle is almost—no, it is distracting. I didn’t even think I was into that sort of thing. But now, running my hand up his arm is close to the top of my to-do list. Right below kissing him.

Sean glances over. “You okay? Trust me, it doesn’t bother me that your Spanish isn’t fluent.” He smiles and focuses back on the road.

“I know. I mean, yes. I’m fine. I was just thinking that I actually prefer your guitar playing over Muy Mexicano’s, that’s all.”

“Thanks. You looked like you were thinking too hard. I thought maybe I offended you and you changed your mind about going to a movie.”

“I haven’t seen a movie at a theater in a long time. I’m still game.”

“Good. So …”

“So,” I say, trying to fill in the semi-awkward pause. “Were you serious about thinking I should call Kallie first?”

“Well, I wasn’t saying you should forget everything, but it might be best to just, man up—or woman up—and call.”

I sigh. “You’re probably right. But I’m still gonna think about it. I hate being wrong, and it wasn’t only my fault, but I guess I hate fighting even worse.”

“Did your parents fight a lot before they got divorced?”

My stomach dips and I flick the button of my purse a few times. “Kind of. Well, yes. Or no, not kind of, but kind of a lot.” I slide the vent of his fan to aim toward me but realize it’s not on. The air got sort of warm in here.

“Mine too. They still do. I’ve heard my mom yelling at my dad over the phone a few times. It’s always about money.”

“Surprisingly, I haven’t heard much between them since he left, except for the time my mom left a message saying he better pick his stuff up or she was going to sell it. I’m sure they’re both happier. I think my mom got tired of my dad being tired of her. Something like that.” The stupid sad feeling scrapes at the bottom of my gut, so I push it further into a corner. “You know what though, I’m just glad our toilet seat is always down and I can walk around in a bra.”

He laughs and says, “You’re lucky it’s so simple.”

“It has to be, otherwise I’d just be mad or sad about it all the time.”

Sean pulls into the parking lot, his eyebrows scrunched. He studies the rows of cars driving up and down looking for an open space. “Sometimes I’m tired of being mad and sad about everything.” He turns his head, locking eyes with me for a second before turning back to the lot. “Anything I say’s between us, right?”

“Yes.” The seriousness and vulnerability in his gaze catches my breath and pulls off another layer of my own unease. “Of course.”

“Well …” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “My dad has a gambling problem and probably pills too, and it got bad after he lost his job. My mom didn’t even know how bad until our house got foreclosed on because he was supposed to be in charge of all the bills. I guess he hadn’t paid on the house for almost a year or some shit like that. My mom freaked. She didn’t even give him a chance. Nothing. She told him that dealing with his crap wasn’t worth it if he was going to be lying and stealing too. That’s why we moved.”

“Oh gosh. I’m sorry, that sounds crazy. Is that when your dad moved to his sister’s?”

“Yep. He hasn’t called or texted since. Nothing.”

“And he has your number?”

“Sure does.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “What’s the deal with dads anyway? It’s not the same, but my dad kind of pulled that after he left. You’d think that living with someone all their life would make you want to call all the time to check in. I know my mom would. It took my dad almost a month to see how I was doing.”

“Maybe our dads are in a secret club or something.”

“Sounds like a cool club. I’ll have to Google it.”

“I think it’s under d-bag meet-ups.” Sean laughs, then nods as a car pulls out of a spot front and center to the theater marquee. “Hope nobody minds if I take the best damn spot in the lot.”