The Accidentals(34)

“Hey, Mari! Can we get a pitcher of sangria?” he asks.

“And a Diet Coke,” I say before the woman walks away.

“Nice, Henry. Leave the lady out,” Ernie teases.

The manager colors. “I forget that she can’t drink.”

The waitress brings five glasses anyway, and so my father pours me an inch. “To turning eighteen,” he says, raising his glass. They all toast me, which makes me feel incredibly self-conscious.

Frederick orders a dozen things off the menu, and I sample everything from ceviche to stuffed lobster. And when the dishes are cleared away, my father reaches into his jacket and fishes out two little boxes. “This one first,” he says, tapping the bigger box.

With four pairs of eyes on me, I untie the ribbon and open it. Inside is a new pair of sunglasses in a leather case. “Hey, thanks!” He must have noticed that mine are beat up and awful.

“Let’s see them,” Ernie prods.

I put them on.

Across the table, Henry smiles. “That’s very L.A. Well done, Freddy.”

The other box is even smaller. And after I remove the bow, I see that it reads Cartier in red script.

“Score,” Henry says approvingly.

I crack open the box and find a wristwatch inside. It’s simple in design, but beautifully sleek. When I lift it out, the metal feels weighty in my palm.

I’ve never owned anything so expensive.

“It’s beautiful,” I say. And it’s true. Except that now I will be expected to put it on, as I did with the sunglasses. And that means removing my mother’s Timex, and replacing it with this gift from my father.

The very idea makes my throat feel thick.

Their eyes are on me. So I lift my purse onto my lap. Carefully, I take off my mother’s watch and zip it away in my bag. Then I drape the metal bracelet around my wrist and fiddle with the clasp. “Thank you,” I whisper, and Frederick winks.

I put my wrist in my lap, feeling traitorous. The food in my stomach feels like lead. And all I want is to rewind my life to a time where Mom and Haze and I eat a cake in the kitchen and then go to the movies. The restaurant feels too crowded all of a sudden, and my eyes are hot.

It’s the music that saves me. The Cuban band starts up with two guitars, bongo drums, a stringed bass, and a beat-up, old trumpet. Their bright rhythms fill the room, and I began to drift on the river of their sound. The lights are dimmed, and drinks refilled, and two women show up—one next to Ernie and one in Henry’s lap.

I watch the absorbed expressions on the faces of my father and his friends. I’m envious of the way they lose themselves in the moment, as if the rest of the world has fallen away. I wonder if I’ll ever feel like that again, or if grief will always follow me.





The sunny L.A. weather the following week offers no clue that summer is drawing to a close. The only sign of change is the flurry of mail from Claiborne Preparatory Academy arriving in Frederick’s P.O. box.

I spend hours poring over the information. I learn how to rent a mailbox at the post office and how to connect to the school’s computer network. I study the campus map as though cramming for a final exam.

“Another envelope from Claiborne,” Frederick announces one morning, handing it over. Inside I find a single sheet of paper, reading ROOMING ASSIGNMENT. My new dormitory building is called Habernacker.

“Good name,” Frederick says.

“Do you know where that is?”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t wander around the prep school. It’s on the other end of town.”

“Some help you are.” I unfold the paper. “My roommate’s name is Aurora Florinda de Garza Garcia. Her address is in Madrid.”

“Sounds fancy,” Frederick says. “A European girl with four names.” Whistling, he leaves the house to get a haircut.

When the door shuts on him, I recite my roommate’s name again. Just the sound of it gives me butterflies in my stomach. So I text Jake. I’m in a dorm called Habernacker. My roommate is from Madrid. I type out her name.

No way! comes the quick response. I’m in Habernacker too. Your roomie’s name is not familiar. Probably a transfer? I have two roommates. Both exchange students.

This is going to be okay, right? I ask, feeling silly.

Sure. And if it isn’t, I know the town really well. We can hide their bodies.

Way to be creepy, Jake.

It sounded funnier in my head, he replies.

In the kitchen, I take out a skillet and make myself a grilled-cheese sandwich. While it toasts, I indulge in singing one of my father’s songs. “Stop Motion” has been stuck in my head since I heard Frederick and Ernie play it yesterday. I’ve spent the summer stifling every impulse to sing. But with my father out of the house, I let it rip.

When the sandwich is brown on both sides, I flip it onto a plate and turn around, only to experience heart failure at the sight of someone standing in the doorway. “Geez, Ernie! I didn’t hear you come in.”

He’s staring at me. “I didn’t know you could sing.”

“Eh…” Crap. “I only sing in the shower.”

“Bullshit.” He crosses his arms. “Does Freddy know?”

Damn. I yank open the fridge, looking for a can of Pepsi. “If you were me, would you want to sing in front of Frederick?”