He doesn’t say anything for a long
few seconds. Finally, he nods.
I see how you might think so.
I knew last night bothered you.
Here’s the thing. I absolutely
have the ability to hurt someone.
But other than sanctioned Golden
Gloves matches, I’ve never gone
looking for a fight. I will defend
myself if I must, or someone who
can’t defend themselves if they’re
in trouble. But I would never, not
ever in my lifetime, strike a woman
unless she was out for my blood,
and capable of drawing it. And
hitting my own child? Impossible.
“Lots of parents hit their kids,
Gabe.” Still sticking up for Dad?
That doesn’t make it right. Don’t
ever believe abuse is okay. It’s not.
Abuse?
I’m not abused.
Am I?
Dad’s only hit me
a few times.
Open-handed.
And only when I
deser—
Wait.
I really was thinking
deserved it.
But that’s not right.
I never deserved it.
Never deserved
his ugly words, either.
Not to mention
what happened tonight.
Oh my God.
I’m a mess.
“Hey, Gabe.
You’re right.
But can we
please talk
about something
else right now?”
I’m bending.
Don’t want to
snap in half.
He senses as much.
Okay. Like what?
Thinking. Thinking.
Oh, right.
I’ve got it.
“Hillary.”
His Adam’s apple
bobs when
he swallows.
How did . . .
Zelda told you.
“She told me first.
Dad confirmed.
Guess I was the last
one to know, huh?
Stupid me.”
Stupid
abused
me.
He Starts to Sputter
So I relieve him a little.
“Hey. It’s okay. I get it.
I just wish you would
have told me yourself.
I really felt like an idiot
for not noticing. Walking
around with my eyes
shut, as Pops used to say.”
I’m sorry, Ariel. Truly I am.
That’s what I wanted to talk
about after the game today.
It blew me away how hard
she and I hit it off. I mean,
we have so little in common,
and . . . Are you mad at me?
“For what? Not like either
of us made any promises
to each other. I’ll admit I
was a little hurt at first,
mostly because it felt like
you were sneaking around.
I never hid Monica from you.”
Did you ever tell her you
and I had sex? Point-blank,
he calls me out. Deservedly.
“No. But I plan to. Tonight.
It’s the right time for honesty.”
The Exchange
Is a good one. We come away
from it still friends, only no longer
with privileges. Okay by me.
I’ve got way too many supersize
complications to deal with anyway,
not to mention a small one or two.
“So . . .” I begin as he pulls up in front
of Monica’s house. “I’m supposed to
be at work by eight tomorrow morning.
It’s kind of early to bum a ride, I know,
but I’m not sure who else to ask. Syrah
might be able to, but she’d hate me.”
You’re planning on exercising horses
tomorrow when your face looks like
that? Might not be a good idea. I can tell—
“I already missed today, and I’m going
to need the money. The horses won’t
care how my face looks, anyway.”
But maybe you’re, you know, brain
damaged or something. He grins.
More brain damaged, that is.
always heard the real problems stem
from bumps that push in, not out.”
If you say so. Okay, I’ll pick you up
at seven thirty, drop you off, and do
something about your car. Sound good?
“Sounds early and generous and kind, and . . .
thank you. I’m lucky to have you
in my life, even with Hillary attached.”
He’s quiet for a moment. Remember
a while back when I told you I didn’t
care who you loved? That wasn’t true.
I might have thought it was then,
but once we spent some time together
I realized I wanted you all to myself.
You were truthful with me. I should’ve
returned the favor. Who knows?
Things might be very different now.
I really don’t have the right to say
this, but your honesty is one of the best
things about you. Don’t let go of it
in favor of the easy way out. Lies tend
to creep up and bite you in the ass.
I’m proof of that, and on a much larger
scale, so is your dad. I don’t know what
he told you, but I listened in on Zelda
and your mom. Have you spoken to Maya?
I Assure Him
That I have not in a tone
of voice that denies the fact
that we’re as close as we are—
or used to be. Were we?
“I don’t know what to say.
I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know why she has
to show up now and make
a total disaster of my life.”
Force of habit, or honest
affection, he laces our fingers
together. I know this came
as a surprise. But while
you’re thinking about your
life, have you considered hers?
I yank free. “You calling
me selfish? Because here’s
the thing. I’ve never, not
ever, had that opportunity.
What, in my lifetime,
has given me anything
to hold on to, to fight for?
The only valuable object
I’ve ever owned is the car
stuck in the ditch out there
in Bumfuckville. As for people,
the few true connections
I’ve been allowed are all right
here in Sonora. Now I’m
expected to sacrifice those,
because of the woman who
sacrificed me? No damn way.”
Okay. Okay. But just so you
know, “bitter” doesn’t suit
you. I’ll shut up now because
I don’t want to upset you any
more than you already are.
Except one last thought:
Maybe your anger is misdirected?
Maybe. But does it matter?
“Thanks. I’ll consider that.”
I open the passenger door,
try not to slam it shut behind
me. Before I can stomp off
into the night, and up the walk,
Gabe pops out of the GTO.
&
nbsp; Wait, okay? He comes over,
pulls me against him, hugs me
tightly. I don’t want to leave
while you’re still pissed. Timing
is critical. I’m sorry ours proved
to be out of sync, my pretty Ariel.
Or should I call you Casey?
I’ll Wrestle with That
For a while. Maybe a long
while. “No. Not Casey.
Not yet. It’s sort of sinking
in that I’m not Ariel Pearson.
Facts are facts, whether
or not they make any sense
at the moment. The weird
thing is, I can more easily accept
the idea that Dad is Jason Baxter
than the theory that I’m Casey.”
He takes a deep breath. Okay,
I’m going to try this again,
and please listen. You’re reeling.
I get it. I would be, too. But for one
short minute think about how it
would feel to go to pick up your child
after work. Only she’s gone, and you
have no idea how to find her.
Maybe your mom made mistakes.
But she didn’t deserve that. She loves
you. I believe that. Why don’t you
give her a chance? Hey. Look at me.
Beneath the Cool Glare
Of the streetlight
I look up into those
crazy eyes, realize
it just might be
the last time I do.
I understand Gabe’s
not mine to kiss, but
I’m steamrolled
by lust and would
give pretty much
anything to be
with him right now.
I’m morally bankrupt.
I rest my cheek upon
the rippling sinews
of his chest, where
his heart drums in
primitive song, and
when he folds me in
tighter, tears well.
It occurs to me suddenly
that it’s not sex I’m after,
though that would be
nice, and accomplish
what I need—the solace
of another’s touch.
I Cry into His Shirt
For a solid five minutes,
wishing all the hollow spaces
would fill with the compassion
he offers. But now I remember
that only a few steps farther,
Monica is waiting, and she’s exactly
what I need. I push him away. “Go
on. I’m not mad at you anymore.”
Sure. Soak my shirt. Use me,
then discard me. It’s okay.
The echo of Dad’s recent outburst
is an unfortunate coincidence.
It makes me cringe, though I know
Gabe’s only kidding. Dad wasn’t.
The profound sense of loss I felt
earlier is shallower now, and
I’m grateful for that. “Don’t stay
up too late. Early to bed, early to
rise. I’ll see you at seven thirty.
Thank you for coming to my rescue.”
Mine or not, I reach up and kiss
him. On the lips. But no tongue.
Okay, truth be told, I’m going to
miss tongue swapping with Gabe.
Asi Es La Vida
Such is life.
Monica answers the door
as soon as I knock.
She’s been waiting for me,
expected me sooner.
I neglected to let her know
about my road-rage experience.
The first thing she says is, Oh
Dios mio. ¿Qué pasó en la cara?
“What happened to my face
was my steering wheel.”
I avoid mentioning Dad.
“Can I come in? I need a mirror.”
You need more than that.
I’ll get you some ice.
She steps back, ushers
me into the warmth
of her home, and not just
temperature-wise.
The Torres family
might be celebrating
Monica’s birthday
tonight, but the house
shouts Christmas.
I thought Zelda and Gabe’s
attempt was pretty great.
But take their green-
and-red swag,
add
gold and silver,
purple and blue;
plus a very real,
ceiling-high
Noble fir
dripping ornaments
and tinsel;
throw in candles,
scenting every room
with gingerbread,
apples, and cinnamon.
The effort is obviously
well rehearsed.
“Tu casa es hermosa.”
Her house is beautiful.
“Y tambien eres tu.”
And so is she.
“Feliz cumpleaños, novia.”
Gracias. Her thank-you
is rather cool. Now let
me get that ice. Are you
hungry? We already ate,
but there’s plenty left.
Am I Hungry?
I suppose I should be.
I haven’t eaten a thing
since breakfast. “I’ll nibble
on something, I guess.”
I follow her into the kitchen,
where her parents and sister
are playing Conquian,
a Mexican version of rummy.
Her mom looks up from
her cards. ¡Ay! Tu cara.
¿Estás bien? ¿Que pasó?
While Monica puts ice
in a Baggie, I tell
everyone what happened to
my car, omitting
the circumstances
immediately preceding.
I’ll confide the ugly
stuff to Monica later.
Here. Monica hands me
the makeshift ice pack.
I’ll get you some posole.
The bowl of spicy pork-
and-hominy stew satisfies
at least one of the hollow spaces.
I hope Monica can fill the others.
Post Posole
I thank Mrs. Torres for the stew,
Mr. Torres for his hospitality,
and Carolina for offering to
give up her bed to me.
It’s okay. I like sleeping
on the couch, especially with
the Christmas lights on.
Your head looks better.
“Does it?” I reach up, explore
the bump, which does feel
smaller. “Ice is magic, I guess.
Hey, maybe that’s where
Santa’s magic comes from—
all the ice at the North Pole.”
Carolina rolls her eyes.
I stopped believing in Santa
when Roberto got an iPod
instead of a lump of coal.
Smart kid. Amazing family.
Intact family, and that in
itself makes them amazing.
“I have to be up early for work
in the morning, so if you don’t
mind, I think I’ll go chill.
Monica, you coming with?”
She Seems Almost Reluctant
And that scares
the crap out of
me.
What if
she’s tired of
me?
What if
she’s sick of
me?
What if
she’s done with
me?
In this moment,
I’m in desperate need of
he
r.
I’ve never had a friend
as close as
her.
I’ve never touched
someone like I’ve touched
her.
I’ll never love
anyone like I love
her.
At Least I Manage
To segue from me to her,
though I guess in reality
it’s still mostly about me.
Is that bad, considering
the kind of day I’ve had?
Reluctant or not, she escorts
me to the room she shares
with Carolina. Monica’s family
lives simply in a plain three-
bedroom home that’s always
welcoming and clean, despite
the number of people living
here, and the fact that both
of her parents work, and
her mom maintains two jobs.
The weird thing is, no matter
how hard they labor, they’re
steadfastly cheerful. Must be
what it’s like when love fuels
a family dynamic. “You’re lucky.”
Monica flops down on her bed.
What makes you say that?
I sit on Carolina’s bed, cross-
legged. “I’m jealous of the way
everyone in your house cares
about each other. It’s so weird.”
Laughter
Puddles in her mouth,
warm and rich as caramel.
I want to taste it. Savor it.
We have plenty of arguments
around here, that’s for sure.
But yeah, we love each other.
“Do you think that would
change if they find out about . . .
you know, you and me?”
She stops laughing. No lo sé.
I’m sure they’d still love me, but
no creo que habían aceptan.
“But if they love you, wouldn’t
they have to accept it? What about
after high school? At some point,
will you come out?” Obviously
it’s something she’s considered.
Still, she stays quiet for a few.
No lo sé. But I’ve got lots of time
to decide if, how, and when to tell.
For now, es nuestro secreto, ¿no?
It’s our secret, yes, and one I’d
never reveal without her explicit
consent. Tonight is a bad night
to consider keeping secrets,
however, especially one as big
as this. But it’s not my place to
out her. Instead, I’ll come clean
and cop to one of my own. But
how best to approach the subject?
“Want to hear some unexpected
news? Or gossip? Or whatever?
Gabe and Hillary are going out.”