“I’m coming home with you. Today can’t be over yet,” Bernardo says at the end of the day.
It’s past dinnertime but instead of eating we kiss on the cab ride home, and the driver grunts about teenagers and being underage and the authorities, whoever they are. Bernardo pulls on my scarf while we kiss.
Maybe I don’t need anything else but this.
When we get to my place, the driver has to honk his horn to get us to stop making out. We get out of the cab and almost start up again on the street, but Karissa is on the stoop, smoking. She throws her arms in the air, a mini celebration.
“You’re home!” she cries. She pulls me into a hug, and I’m shaky from the kissing so I collapse into it a little. “I’m having a really hard day,” she says. “It would be my mom’s birthday.” She says it right into my ear so Bernardo can’t hear it, but every part of me sure can.
Her hair looks blonder than usual. Still mostly brown, but with a sunlit layer on top. She’s dyed it, for sure. I think they call that color Sean Varren blond. She’s in gold leggings and a long white top, loose and linen-y.
“I’m sorry,” I say, working hard to push down the anger that rushes out of me from seeing her so comfortable on my stoop. Drinking coffee out of my dad’s favorite mug. The conflicting feelings give me a headache. I love her gold leggings and the way she looks happy to see me. I hate everything else.
“I’m Karissa. Are you Bernardo?” She sticks her hand out to Bernardo when he’s done paying the cabbie. Those jangling bracelets of hers make a full-on racket.
“I am,” he says. He squints, maybe trying to put together the idea of Karissa, who I’d told him about, with the reality in front of him.
“Well, great. Come on in, guys. Your dad’s heading out, and I could use some company.”
I guess she is now at the level where she stays at our place even if Dad isn’t here. And I guess, since it’s her dead mom’s birthday, I have to be okay with that.
Dad’s by the door, definitely suited up and on his way out, and he does a double take when he sees Bernardo. Maybe because I’m never with boys or maybe because of how Bernardo looks. How we look together. Pink and scarved and sweaty. Matched and odd.
“I’m Sean,” he says, but doesn’t even wait for Bernardo to answer with his name before he’s out the door. “Take care of my girl!” he calls out from the sidewalk. I don’t know if he’s talking to Karissa about me or to me about Karissa. I hate both options, actually.
“So that’s my dad,” I say. Bernardo nods and looks around the apartment, maybe trying to pick up clues that he couldn’t catch from those three seconds with my father.
“He forgot about today,” Karissa says in that whisper again. Bernardo checks out the gold-framed full-length mirror in the hallway. Old-school Natasha.
“He forgets everything,” I say. “It actually means he cares more, not less.” Bernardo does hear this, and he looks at me with concern. Clears his throat, and I know I’ve said some weird truth about my dad that normal people find heartbreaking. It happens from time to time.
“He also forgets that I’m allergic to peanuts and that Arizona’s birthday is in April. It’s nothing personal,” I say.
I am definitely making it worse, because Karissa bites her lip and Bernardo rubs my arm as if I’ve said something deep and tragic.
“Well, I guess that’s helpful to know,” Karissa finally says, and Bernardo excuses himself to go to the bathroom, but not before kissing my forehead.
The second he’s out of sight, but probably not totally out of earshot, she grabs my arms and sings into my ear.
“Boyfriend! Only boyfriends kiss foreheads!”
If I squint, I can pretend our gold-framed mirror is chipped and adorned with cherubs and set up behind the bar at Dirty Versailles. If I work really hard, this whole moment can be something else entirely.
“He’s affectionate. It doesn’t mean he’s my boyfriend,” I say, but I sort of think he is. “He’s too cute to be my boyfriend.”
“You’re smitten!” Karissa’s eyes light up. They are approximately the brightness of traffic lights stuck on go. “I love first love! I love smitten!”
She’s a whole new person from the one who was two seconds ago talking about her mom’s birthday. She is light and whirring. She goes for her iPod, which is already in Dad’s dock, and starts playing oldies. The Crystals. She swings her hips with the song. I can’t help doing the same.
“I met him, like, five minutes ago, okay? It’s not what you’re thinking.” But I am smiling and hip swinging and a little happy she’s here, to do this with me.
“You have to let me hang out with you,” Karissa says. I start to say no. Arizona will hate it, and I’m not sure how long I can go on pretending she’s not my dad’s latest girlfriend.
Her face shifts a little. “Today sucks. I need a pick-me-up,” she says. “I’ll make it epic, I promise.”