She pronounces the j like an h, Spanish language–style.
Probably the sexiest hammies those boys have ever seen, at least on real flesh-and-blood girls.
Porn star bitches don’t count.
“Girl, I happen to be attached to these pahamas, and at least they know we wear them. They
probably fantasized all night about the naked lesbian party happening just down the road.
Hey. You think they spotted
the Popov bottle in back?”
We decide that’s highly unlikely, considering their general state of awareness. “And that stinking exhaust is so loud, I doubt
they’d hear it rolling around.”
Oh, says Syrah. What time is it, anyway? I’m supposed to be at work by eleven. They’ve got me doing the lunch shift today.
She waits tables at the Diamondback Grill. Best cheeseburgers in town.
“It’s probably around ten.
We were up a little after nine.”
Much later than I usually get up.
I’m an early riser for the most part.
Can I catch a ride? asks Monica.
My brother said he’d pick me up, but I could be waiting forever.
“So sorry my company sucks.”
I pout, pretending to be hurt.
But I get it. Dad and Zelda
are way too present inside.
I Expect Zelda
To hang out all day, in fact.
She usually stays the weekend.
So I’m surprised when she asks for a ride back into town with Syrah. Not sure if it’s because of the earlier stress or what.
She claims something else.
My nephew’s coming to visit for a while. His father passed away recently, and my sister’s having a real tough time dealing with everything. I want you to meet Gabe. You two will get along.
We’re waiting for Monica
and Syrah to exit my bedroom dressed in something other
than hammies. “I’m sorry,”
I tell her, because that’s what you say to someone dealing
with a loss, even peripherally.
“Is Gabe going to go to SHS?”
No. He’s nineteen. Your dad said he’d try and get him on at the shop. Gabe’s a pretty good mechanic himself. And this might sound weird, coming from his old aunt, but he’s easy on the eyes.
Awesome
She wants to set me up with
her nephew, who’s too old,
too greasy, and too connected
to Zelda to possibly be the man of my dreams, as if I’m dreaming about men to start with. But since she’s being nice, and since I feel sorry for the way Dad talked to her earlier, I find myself agreeing to stop by her house tomorrow after practice to meet him. “As long as I can
convince Syrah to give me a ride.”
She offers a knowing smile.
I hear you’ll be able to drive yourself around pretty soon.
I stop my eyes mid-roll. “Really?
How’s that supposed to happen?”
I don’t have a license, not to mention a vehicle. Zelda lowers her voice.
I’m not supposed to say anything, but Mark’s been looking at used cars.
Before she can say more, Dad
comes blustering down the hall.
He looks at Zelda. Ready to go?
She Holds Up One Hand
As if to say stop. No worries.
You don’t have to take me.
Ari’s friend offered to give me a ride home. Oh . . .
She glances at me nervously.
Is it okay to call you Ari?
I’m not big on nicknames,
but at least she asked,
and it kind of feels warm.
I’d say like family, but that’s something I don’t have much experience with. I start to tell her it’s fine, but before I can open my mouth, Dad interjects,
No, it’s not okay, it’s way too goddamn familiar.
She’s my daughter and I don’t even call her Ari.
Unless he attaches
“Fairy” to it, apparently, but I’m not jumping into
this round of his game
except to say, “I don’t mind,”
disregarding the eye arrows he shoots in my direction.
Zelda Ducks Them, Too
Choosing to use my un-nicked
name. Anyway, I’ll go ahead
and ride back into town with
Ariel’s friends so I don’t
interrupt your day. I know
you’ve made other plans.
Dad scowls. What the hell are
you talking about, woman? My plan was to buy some beer, take you
home, and watch the Astros game
at your house. She’s got a big-screen TV. We don’t. Houston’s on a roll.
Zelda shoots me a sympathetic
glance. It’s your daughter’s
birthday, Mark. Spend it with her.
Now you’re telling me what to
do? But when he notices the hurt in my eyes, he says, Fine, goddamn it.
Stung to the core, tears threaten.
I push them away. “It’s okay, Dad.
You watch the game. I’m good.”
No, no, he backtracks. Zelda’s right.
A girl only turns seventeen once.
What would you like to do today?
Hard Question
I’m considering my answer when Syrah and Monica finally appear, dressed in yesterday’s clothing, which is wrinkled and carries vague essences of tamales, vodka, and weed.
Emphasis on the Mexican food, thank goodness, and maybe the rest is all in my head. Dad and Zelda don’t seem to notice.
Okay, says Syrah. Better hustle.
I have to stop at home and change.
Come by the restaurant later and we’ll do something cool for your day.