“Don’t play dumb. Do you think that guy was your dad’s boyfriend?”
I nodded. “You know, I never thought about it before. I was twelve the last time I saw him. What the hell did I know when I was twelve? I certainly didn’t really get the whole gay thing and what that really meant back then. Did you?”
“Hmm, not really. Not really, really.”
We both shrugged. “But, Sammy, I think I remember my father being really upset about something when Marcos left. And one day I asked him why Marcos didn’t come over anymore, and he said, ‘Well, he just moved away.’
“I remember asking him where he’d moved to, and Dad said somewhere in Florida. That’s all he said. I got the feeling that he didn’t want to talk about it. And I thought maybe they got mad at each other, you know, like people do. I don’t know. Sometimes I don’t know shit.”
“You got that right.” Then Sam paused. “Sally, I got the feeling your dad wasn’t exactly happy to see him.”
“Well, I got a different feeling.”
“And—”
“I saw a look on Dad’s face. And, well, I don’t know. I’ve never seen it before, and believe me, I’m an expert on reading my father’s face.”
“Oh, so now you can read faces?”
“Yes. Some people read cards. I read faces.”
“You read mine?”
“Absolutely.”
“Maybe I’ll work on my poker face.”
“LMAO. You don’t have it in you, Sam. You wear everything you feel on that beautiful face of yours. You have the easiest face to read on the planet.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Whatever.”
Sam smiled. “So your dad was in love with him?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“It’s a plausible scenario.”
“Screw plausible scenarios. You should ask him.”
“Wrong. What’s the matter with you, Sammy? A guy has a right to his own privacy.”
“Didn’t you get the memo, dude? There is no privacy since Facebook.”
“My dad doesn’t do Facebook.”
“But he has a cell, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah, okay, whatever.”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“Of course I’m curious. But he’s my dad. It’s none of my business.”
“He’s your dad, that’s right. And that’s why it is your business.”
Samantha Diaz had a very interesting way of thinking. The thing is, she thought everything about my life was her business. And in her mind, that included my dad’s business.
On the Road (to Mima’s)
WE WERE ON THE ROAD to Las Cruces to see Mima. Samantha was in the back, texting a few friends. She had categories: school friends, Facebook friends, and real friends. She actually didn’t hang out with a lot of her real friends because most of the people in that category were her ex-boyfriends. And she never stayed friends with any of those guys after they broke up. Not that they were the kind of guys you’d want to hang out with. And anyway, Sam was all or nothing. You don’t love me? Get lost.
Dad was in his head as we drove.
I really did want to ask him about Marcos. They’d sat on the back steps and talked for a long while. This time, I hadn’t listened in—?though I really wanted to. When Marcos left, he told me that it was good to see me. And Sam butted into the conversation to say, “Was it good to see me, too?” her tone dripping in gleeful sarcasm. Marcos smiled good-naturedly. “Sure,” he said. “It was great to see you too, Samantha.” She rolled her eyes, and she wasn’t subtle about it.
I sat in the front seat of the car, wondering why Sam didn’t like him. Not that I was all that into him either. The thing was, Sam didn’t lie to herself about what she felt. And when she took a disliking to someone, well, it was bad news. That was Sam. Me? Sometimes I didn’t know what I thought. Maybe it’s because I didn’t want to know.
Maybe I was fishing when I said, “What’s in your head, Dad?”
“I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
“Things.”
I hated when he said stuff like that. “Anything I should know about?”
He glanced at me and smiled. “Sometimes we get to keep the things we have in our heads to ourselves.”
“You said we shouldn’t keep secrets.”
“Did I say that?”
“Yup, you did.”
“Stupid thing to say.”
Guess he shut down the conversation.
Then he said, “What are you thinking?”
So I decided to tell him. “Well, I was thinking about how Sam doesn’t seem to think very highly of Marcos.”
Dad laughed. “He wasn’t very good with kids.”
“That’s an understatement, Mr. V,” Sam said. “And I have a long memory.”
“Let me translate that for you, Dad,” I said. “Sam likes to keep grudges.”
“All they have to do is say they’re sorry,” she said.
“What’s he got to be sorry for, Sammy? We were twelve the last time we saw him. He wasn’t exactly mean to us.”
“He didn’t want to play catch with me.”
My dad and I started laughing.
“Go ahead, laugh.”
Dad didn’t quite scratch his head, but he had that scratching-your-head look on his face. “You remember that, Sam?”
“I remember lots of things, Mr. V.”
“Well, we all do,” Dad said.
“Is it all right if I don’t like him, Mr. V?”
“You can dislike anybody you want, Sam.”
“Well,” she said, “if you like him, then I’ll like him for you.”
“Hmm. I’ll get back to you on that one.”
Sam and I were giving each other knowing looks without actually making eye contact. Just then we took the exit to Mima’s house. Dad glanced over at me. “No texting.”
“You hear that, Sam?” I said.
WFTD = Tortillas
MIMA WAS SITTING on the front porch talking to my Aunt Evie when we pulled up. She looked a little tired, but she was all dressed up and wearing makeup and the earrings she always wore. I got my usual hug and kiss and lots of I missed yous. And when Mima saw Samantha, she just hugged her. “Que muchacha tan bonita,” she said. “You’ve turned into a woman. Que linda! Oh, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you.” And then she made a joke because Mima loved to joke around. “And do you still like to use bad words?”
Samantha actually blushed.
“She does, Mima,” I said.
Mima kissed Sam on the cheek, and I realized how frail and small Mima looked.
We had fun that day. My uncles and aunts and two of my cousins came over. They were way older than me, my cousins, and they were cool—?even though they treated me like I was a kid. We watched the Dallas Cowboys, and there was a lot of cussing going on. The team was going down in flames.
At a certain point Mima walked into the living room and called Sam over with her finger. I watched as they disappeared down the hall, and I wondered why I wasn’t included in the conversation—?but I was just going to have to deal with it. Anyway, I knew Sam would tell me all about it. Or maybe she wouldn’t. Or maybe she’d only tell me some things and not others. Why was I like this? Why did I have this thing about being left out?