“What?”
“Well, we didn’t really kidnap him.” Then she launched into the whole story, every detail, about how we ran to the bridge and about how we found Fito sleeping on the bench in front of the library. I mean, she certainly didn’t leave anything out. Well, she left out the worst-moment-in-our-lives thing.
My dad sat there looking at us as if he were watching a tennis match, his eyes moving from me to Sam to me to Sam. “Part of me says this isn’t a very good idea—”
“Dad, he’s going to be eighteen in December. That’s, like, tomorrow.”
“That doesn’t mean he should be on his own.”
“So what’s the solution?”
“No use in calling social services. By the time they process him, he’ll age out. They may not even bother.” My dad sat there thinking. “So you didn’t tell me yesterday because?”
Sam raised her hand. “We weren’t sure. I mean, my motto is usually it’s better to ask for forgiveness than ask for permission.”
My dad put his hands over his face and busted out laughing. “Ay, Samantha, que muchacha.”
“You know, Dad,” I said, “we have to learn how to make decisions on our own. Without you watching over us. Remember that overprotective thing?”
Dad nodded. “God, you’re sweet kids, you know that? You’re helping a friend the best way you know how. That’s a beautiful thing. But—”
I looked at my dad. “But?”
“There have to be rules. He can’t have any girls over.”
“He’s gay, Dad, remember?”
“Oh yeah, I forgot.” He grinned. “Well then, no boys. In fact, he can’t have company. Just you two. He doesn’t party and all that stuff, does he?”
“Dad, he works two jobs and studies. He wants to get into college.”
Dad nodded. “He apparently has more ambition than you.”
I had the What? thing on my face.
“No year off for you. You’re going to college next year. And that’s that.”
My dad never said That’s that. “Okay,” I said.
“Okay,” he said. “Go for your run. I’m going to pay Fito a visit.”
“What for?”
“It’s a father thing. That okay with you?”
My Dad, the Cat
SAM AND I ran through the streets of Sunset Heights. Yeah, we were zigzagging through our neighborhood. Maybe that’s what life was. You zigged and you zagged, and then you got up every morning and zigged and zagged some more.
Thanksgiving week. A big holiday for Mima.
I was making a list in my head of the things I was grateful for. I had talked to Mima on the phone the night before. She said she’d already made her list.
“Did I make the top ten?” I asked.
She laughed. I liked making her laugh. “Of course you did,” she said. I wanted to tell her that she was first on my list. Well, maybe she was second. Dad was first. And Sam was third. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to rank the people in your life. That’s not how the heart worked. The heart didn’t make lists.
Sam and I sat on the front steps. We did that a lot after our morning runs. If we had time. Today we had time. On Sundays we always had time.
“Great run today,” she said.
“Yeah,” I said. “You’re a great runner.”
“You were slow today. That’s because you were in your head.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“I’m happy today,” she said. “You know something? I don’t think I’ve been a very happy person most of my life.”
I leaned in and nudged her. “Most of your life? You say that like you’re an old lady. You’re only seventeen.”
“It’s true, though. I think I liked being miserable.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“Yeah, I am.”
I looked up and saw Dad coming up the sidewalk. “How was your visit with Fito?”
“He’s a very fine young man.”
“His life kind of sucks,” I said.
“I get that. He’s a survivor, though. Some people can survive just about anything.” He started to go inside. “I’m going out back to have a cig. Why don’t you guys hit the shower? We can take Fito grocery shopping.”
Sam was wearing this giant smile. “Are you gonna adopt him too?”
My dad grinned. “Some people collect stamps. Me? I collect seventeen-year-old kids.”
I asked Fito about his conversation with Dad.
“Your dad’s cool. I never met a dad like yours. I like that cat.”
“So what did you talk about?”
“He just wanted to make sure I was okay. He asked me about my mom and shit. So I just basically laid it all out, told him how things rolled in our dysfunctional little household. And after I finished telling him all my shit, you know what your dad said?”
“What?”
“He said, ‘Fito, I hope you know you deserve better than that. You do know that, don’t you?’ That’s what he said. How cool is that?”
That sounded exactly like something my dad would say.
“Oh yeah, and he gave me some rules for living in the house.”
“Rules?”
“Yeah. Like no one else allowed in the house. Just me. Well, you and Sam, you’re cool. But no one else. Believe me, I’m down with that. Don’t want strays eyeing things in Sam’s house. It’s called respect. I’m down.”
“Any other rules?”
“Yeah. I have to quit one of my jobs. I’m down with that, too. I’m tired. I’m really tired. He said I should just work my weekend job and stick with the school thing. Graduate, go to college, and try to have some fun. That’s what he said. Have some fun. Like I know what that is.”
“Is that word even in your vocabulary?”
“Nope.”
“Sam will teach you how to spell it.”
“And one more rule he gave me. Your dad’s all about rules.”
That made me laugh.
“It’s not like I’m bitching about your dad. Look, nobody ever cared enough about me to give me a rule. Your dad said I needed to stop spending so much time alone. I don’t know how he knew that. He said I’m isolated. Isolated? Is that a verb?”
“Yeah, it is,” I said.
“Your dad, man oh man, he shoulda been a counselor. Anyway, I got an invite to eat at your house anytime I want. A standing invitation.”
His smile was breaking my heart.
Hanging Out
SO SAM TEXTED Fito and told him to come over and have some soup. I texted him too: Got homework?
Fito: Yup math and shit
Me: Bring it with
Fito: Damn straight
And then, guess who knocked on the door? Marcos. “Came over for some soup?” I asked.
“Yeah, I guess that was the idea.”
Dad was in the kitchen slicing some bread.
Sam was sitting on the couch, texting.
She waved at Marcos. I was hoping she’d be nice.
I was surprised when Marcos sat in my dad’s chair. “Can I talk to you two for a sec?”
Sam, boy, she perked right up. She even set her phone down on the coffee table.
“Talk,” she said. “We’re listening.”
He looked a little uncomfortable. “I’m getting this vibe that you don’t—” He stopped, trying to find the words, so I thought I’d help the poor guy out.
“We’re okay, Marcos.” I knew I didn’t mean it—?but I wanted to mean it.
Sam nodded. “Yeah, we’re good.” She didn’t sound all that convincing.