That was an understatement. But I bit s back, instead just nodding as he said he’d see me that weekend. We both reached forward to end the call at the same time, and, noticing the other, both paused, not wanting to be first. Finally, after an awkward beat, I took the initiative and clicked the HANG UP button. Just like that, poof, he was gone from the screen. Goodbye.
A half hour later, I remembered the next day was garbage pickup, so I shrugged on my jacket and headed out to roll the can down to the curb. I had just turned to go back up the driveway when I saw Riley’s car still parked just down from my house. Her lights were off, and I could see her behind the wheel, wiping at her face with a tissue. I walked a little closer, and moment later, she looked over and saw me.
“I’m not stalking you, I promise,” she said through her open window. Then she looked down at the tissue, folding it carefully. “I just . . . wasn’t ready to go home yet.”
“I know the feeling,” I said. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Just the typical dirtbag drama. It’s so embarrassing. I am not flaky like this about anything else in my life, I swear. . . .” She stopped, then cleared her throat. “I’m fine.”
On the main road, past the stop sign ahead, a bus passed by, engine chugging. I turned to go back to my house, figuring we didn’t really know each other well enough for me to offer any more than I already had.
“He likes you, you know,” she called out to me suddenly.
I stopped, looked back at her. “What?”
“Dave.” She cleared her throat. “He likes you. He won’t admit it to me yet, but he does.”
“He doesn’t even know me,” I said.
“Are you saying he wouldn’t like you if he did? ” She raised her eyebrows. “Answer carefully. This is my best friend we’re talking about here, and he’s a really nice guy.”
“I’m not saying anything,” I told her. She was still looking at me, so I added, “I’m not sure he’s my type.”
“Don’t tell me,” she said. “You’re a dirtbag girl, too?”
“Not exactly. I’m more . . .” I trailed off, for some weird reason thinking of Peter’s face, blinking off my computer screen. “A girl who’s not looking for anything right now. Even with a really nice guy.”
She put her hands on the wheel, stretching back, and as she did I saw that circle tattoo on her wrist again, identical to Dave’s. There had to be quite the story there, not that I was going to ask about it now. “I get it. And I appreciate you being honest, at any rate.”
I nodded, then slid my hands into my pockets. “Good night, Riley.”
“Good night,” she replied. “And Mclean?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
I wasn’t sure what the gratitude was for: coming to check on her, what I’d said, or maybe, actually, what I didn’t say. I chose not to ask. Instead, I just walked back to my driveway, letting her leave on her own terms, in her own time, without an audience. When you can’t save yourself or your heart, it helps to be able to save face.
Six
The day of the Defriese game, my dad and I were supposed to have breakfast together, just the two of us. It had been so crazy between school and the restaurant for the last week that we’d hardly seen each other, communicating mostly through hurried conversations, as one of us was coming or going, and scribbled notes on the kitchen table. This was normal, especially for the first month or so we were in a new place. A restaurant was like a demanding girlfriend, requiring every bit of his attention, and I’d gotten used to riding out his absences until things settled down. Still, I was looking forward to some face time. So when my phone beeped an hour before we were supposed to meet, my heart sank.
AHBL, his message said. SO SORRY.
AHBL was a family code that stood for All Hell Breaking Loose. It was what my dad had often told my mom over the phone when he called from their restaurant, Mariposa, to say he wouldn’t make dinner, or the movie he was supposed to meet us at in ten minutes, or any number of my school conferences or recitals. Basically, his standard reason for not being with us for, well, anything. My dad believed that panic was contagious, especially in a restaurant setting. All it took was one person losing it—over being in the weeds, totally backed up on orders, burning an entrée already late, or a wait list that would have to be seated way past closing—to set everyone else off in a domino effect. Because of this, calling my mom to say the sky was falling, even when it was, was not an option. Enter these simple four letters, AHBL, to convey the urgency without the hysteria.