Everything Leads to You

“What?”


“That she wants to watch it with us? She must really like us. We have a connection.”

“We should probably prepare ourselves for another emotional night,” Charlotte says.

“I think we’re really good for her. I think she likes being around us. We’re exactly what she needs right now.”

Charlotte turns to me from the passenger seat. I can feel her disapproval even though I’m merging onto the freeway and not looking at her.

“What?” I ask.

“She’s been kicked out of her house, she’s been living on her own for a year, practically homeless, and she’s about to see her mother, basically for the first time other than a photo, in a tiny role in an obscure movie. I do think we’re good for her, and I hope that’s all you’re focused on.”

“Don’t you think she’s so great, though?”

“Yes, I think she’s great.”

“Don’t you think the way she bites her nails is so charming?”

“Yes.”

“I really love red hair. I never really thought about red hair before, but it’s so pretty.”

“Emi.”

“Okay. It’s not like I’m going to do anything about it, I just think she’s—”

“Really great,” Charlotte says. “I know. She’s really great.”

~

It turns out that what Ava tracked down is a VHS tape. I open the door and there she is, standing next to Jamal, holding the video in her hands like the rare and precious object it is.

“Uh-oh,” I say, and her face loses all its excitement.

“Thought so,” Jamal says to her, and then he sticks his hand out for me to shake.

“Jamal,” he says.

“Emi,” I say, and he smiles and nods, What’s up? and I like him immediately.

Ava says, “I thought you’d have one. You have all those records, all this old stuff . . .”

“Yeah,” I say. “Record players are romantic. VCRs? Not so much. It’s fine, though. It just means we have to go to my parents’ house.”

“Which actually might be a good thing,” Charlotte says, appearing from somewhere behind me. “Because they will feed us.”

Charlotte is out of gas so we take my car and Jamal has a laughing fit over the lock situation.

“Hey, at least I have a car,” I tell him.

“What makes you think I don’t have a car?” He shoots a mock-offended look at me. His face transforms from friendly to hostile, and it’s so sudden and calculated that even though he’s joking I get a glimpse of what his life might have been like before the shelter.

But I shrug off the thought and say, “I heard all about those long bus rides to Home Depot.”

“So you’re giving away all my secrets now?” Jamal asks Ava.

“What secrets?” Ava says. To us she adds, “I tell him everything about my life and he tells me very little.”

“What can I say? I’m a good listener.”

Ava rolls her eyes, and we begin the short drive from Venice to Westwood, up Venice Boulevard past Venice High and a costume rental shop and several beauty parlors. Charlotte calls my parents to give them a heads-up that we’re coming over, and when she hangs up she turns around to see Ava.

“We told them about Clyde and you and everything,” she says. “So don’t be surprised if they’re excited to meet you.”

But excited is an understatement.

We walk through the door and my mother breezes past Charlotte and me and basically swoops down on Jamal and Ava like a mother eagle saving her lost children from the wild.

“Ava,” she says, placing her hands on Ava’s shoulders. “The girls have told me all about you. You are a strong and beautiful young woman. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. And what is your name, young man? Jamal: handsome, grace. Welcome, both of you, to our home. Would you like water? Tea? Perrier?”

I am mortified, but I try to tune her out and join Dad in the kitchen to peruse the take-out menus while Charlotte sticks with our new friends, hopefully ready to snatch them from the eagle’s claws if her grip gets too tight. Dad and I look through seven menus only to decide on Garlic Flower like we always do, and he pretends to consult the menu before he orders all the dishes we always get.

When he hangs up, he comes in the living room but kind of hovers on the periphery. He’s a pretty outgoing guy. It’s weird that he isn’t introducing himself, especially since my mom is talking to Jamal about the rich and tumultuous history of his hometown and Ava is perched on the edge of the sofa, looking uncomfortable even though Charlotte’s sitting with her.

“Dad,” I say. “Come meet Ava.”

Dad takes two strides toward her and sticks out his hand.

“P-pleasure to meet you, Ava,” he stammers.

And then I realize what’s held him back. My father is star struck.

“Hi,” Ava says, standing to shake his hand.

“I’m a huge fan of your grandfather’s work,” Dad says. “I wrote my senior thesis about his pivotal role in creating the mythology of the American West.”

“Okay, Dad,” I laugh.