Opposite of Always(65)

“No way this is my man Jack. Last time I saw you you were about yea high, and now just look at you.” He extends his hand, his fingers chapped, like he wields an ax for a living. “My man Jack. Long time, brother.”

“Long time,” I parrot. “So, how was it?” I ask, because I’m stupid.

“What? You mean the joint? Pretty awful, man. Do yourself a favor. Never get locked up.”

“Okay.” I stuff my hands in my pockets. “I’ll try not to.”

“You still doing the poetry thing?”

“Not really. I’m more into prose these days.”

“Prose. Right on,” he says.

A pan clatters in the kitchen. And then another.

Abuela points down the hall. “Baby, you go clean up. I washed some clothes, laid them out on your bed. Jack and I are gonna get in this kitchen before your son burns down my house.”

“Yes, Mama,” he says, stooping down to kiss her on her forehead. “For the last two weeks I’ve fantasized about your pork chops. You don’t know the hurting I’m about to put down.” He lets loose a low whistle and strolls down the hall.

Franny’s dad wasn’t exaggerating. He devours pork chop after pork chop, to the delight of Abuela, who feels infinite joy when people like her food. Meanwhile, Franny barely touches his plate.

“Francisco, you see that State game the other day? That comeback was wild, right? I mean, those cats were all the way in the grave, and then lightning came down from the sky and they couldn’t miss.”

“I didn’t see it,” Franny says. Which is a lie. He couldn’t stop talking about that game.

“Well, they’ll probably replay it on ESPN Classic, that’s how good it was,” Franny’s dad says, leaning back in his chair, his face electric. “I put some money on that game at halftime. When they were down by twenty points. Don’t ask me how I knew, but I just had this feeling that game wasn’t over. Like, deep in my gut, you know.” He squeezes his stomach, as if to emphasize just how deep.

“Francisco, you know I don’t approve of gambling,” Abuela pipes up.

“Aww, Mama, it was twenty dollars. It was nothing.”

“Still,” she says. “Twenty dollars is not nothing.”

Franny’s dad smiles big. “When you’re locked up, you do whatever you can to help pass the time. A little gambling keeps things interesting is all.”

“Well, you’re out now. And that’s all behind you,” Abuela says firmly.

“Yes, Mama.” Franny’s dad leans over, kisses his mom on her cheek. “So, Mama told me you guys are getting ready for prom.”

Franny doesn’t bother looking up, but the silence is too much, so I mumble a feeble “Yeah.”

“I met your mom at prom, Francisco, I tell you that? She went to the high school across town and she came with this other guy. I had a date, too. But soon as I saw her . . .” He pauses, a smile spreading on his lips, stares off like he can see the memory projected on the wall. “Soon as I saw her I knew. I knew. What about you, man? You got somebody special you taking?”

Franny doesn’t bite. “Come on, man.”

“C’mon on what,” his dad says. “Where we going?”

“You don’t gotta pretend to be interested.”

“I’m not pretending anything.”

“Let’s just eat, yeah?”

“You gotta come to one of Francisco’s games. He’s taking them to the playoffs. They’re gonna win, too,” Abuela interjects. “People always ask Francisco where he got his ball-playing skills from. What they don’t know is I was a pretty good dancer in my day. Good dancing and good ball-playing, they’re the same.”

I clap my agreement, but Franny isn’t in a charitable mood.

The Coupon chuckles. “You forget I used to ball pretty hard, too. Ball is in our blood, ain’t no surprise that—”

Franny pushes his chair hard away from the table, its feet scraping the linoleum. “Can I be excused, please?”

“But I have pie in the fridge. Made it this morning. Ice cream, too.”

“Lost my appetite.”

She clicks her tongue. “Francisco, your father just got here. You should—”

“Mama,” Franny’s dad interrupts. “The boy says he’s not hungry, no sense in making him stick around.” He winks at Franny but Franny looks away.

“Fine.” Abuela sighs. “But your homework better be done right, Francisco. Check and double-check.”

Franny squeezes her hand. “Triple-check,” he promises, clearing his plate. He gives me a look like, let’s go. But it feels rude to bail.

“Thanks for dinner, Abuela. It was delicious, as usual.”

She pinches my cheek. “You’re always welcome here, Jack. You’re family.”

The rest of the evening Franny’s in one of his I’d rather not talk moods. Which I try to respect, although there’s so much to talk about. Down the hall, his father’s voice booms and Abuela laughs in a way I can’t ever remember her laughing, like her laughter had been locked away for years. It makes me happy to hear her happy. But the more she bellows the sharper Franny’s silence gets.