I almost snort out the liquid
in my mouth. “Dude, you are, in fact, the very first guy I’ve invited into this house, or any place
we’ve lived. Are you kidding me?”
I must sound as hurt as I feel, because he apologizes ASAP.
Oh God. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Holy crap. Twice in one day! It was supposed to be a joke. Obviously I’m not as funny as I think I am. Forgive me?
He’s so sincere, what can I do but say, “Of course I do, and I’m sorry, too. Apparently I never developed a viable sense of humor. My dad thinks he’s funny, but only
when he’s drunk. So maybe
I should just drink more.”
I do, and the hot crawl down
my throat feels pretty damn
great. In fact, it opens my mouth.
“Listen, Gabe, and if this is TMI, just tell me to shut up, okay?
Between moving so much and
Dad overprotecting me, until
we came to Sonora I’ve never
had friends, so I was also denied any kind of deeper connection.
Inviting a guy—or a girl, for
that matter—to share drinks,
or weed, or a kiss, or more, has never even been a consideration until now, and it’s all so new I have no clue how to deal with it.
I have zero experience. Truth is, I’m operating totally on instinct.”
And Now I Need More to Drink
I think I just bombed it. You don’t say
stuff like that to a guy, especially one
you’re sort of semi trying to impress.
But as I start to offer another apology,
he smiles. For someone claiming to be
a relationship virgin, you’re amazingly self-possessed. Don’t get me wrong, that’s a good thing, and relying on your instinct is the best possible thing you can do.
I probably don’t want to know this,
but I’ve got nothing, really, to lose: “What
about you? Are you a player or a stayer?”
Player or stayer. I see what you did there.
I got around a little in high school. Then, in my senior year, I became pretty serious with this girl named Meredith. She was
a horsewoman, by the way, which is how
I know anything about them. My dad worked construction, and my mom’s a receptionist.
Pony rides were the closest I ever came
to horses before I met Merry, who was
an equestrian through and through.
She might’ve loved me, but not nearly
as much as . . . wait. Does this bother you?
“What? Hearing about your girlfriend?
Not even. I don’t read romance,
but I don’t mind a good romantic story.”
Even one that ends without a happily
ever after? At my nod, he continues, It wasn’t her fault we broke up. Not really.
When Dad died, it was such a shock.
I mean he left for work like every other day. Except that day he didn’t come home.
He fell from the roof of a three-story house, and hit his head completely wrong. It was quick, they said, not enough time to feel pain.
I’m glad Dad didn’t feel pain, but Mom and I did. I couldn’t process what happened at first, and when I finally did, I melted down.
Merry tried to help, but all that did was make me push her away. I got so sick of hearing shit like “things happen for a reason” and “it was God’s will,” and she repeated them too many times until finally I told her to get the fuck out of my life. I probably didn’t mean it, but that’s exactly what she did, and to tell you the truth I was so engaged in my Pityville vacation I didn’t even notice she’d gone.
By the Time
He did notice, and tried to make amends, she’d decided trying to
work things out would be too
labor-intensive. Besides, she was tired of seeing him miserable.
I don’t blame her. She’s intrinsically happy, and right then all that good cheer totally pissed me off.
When someone you love dies, it’s easy fold up into yourself.
“I’ve never lost anyone, not like that, anyway, but I understand
climbing into your own head
and hanging out there for a while.
It’s a great defense mechanism.
I’m really sorry about your dad.
I was thinking earlier that if
something happened to mine
I’d have no idea what to do or
where I could go. I’d be an orphan.”
Gabe inches a little closer. I’d let you move in with me, although at the moment that would mean moving in with Aunt Zelda, not that it’s such a bad place to live.
Rapid-Fire Q & A Begins
Q: How long will you be at Zelda’s?
A: I’m not exactly sure, but at least until my mom gets out of the hospital.
Q: Hospital?
A: Yeah. Mom had kind of a breakdown.
I wanted to stay and take care of her, or at least watch the house, but she said she’d be uncomfortable with me all alone.
Q: When will she be released?
A: I don’t know. She’s been there almost a month. I guess until she feels strong again, or until the insurance runs out.
Q: Then what? Are you going home?
A: That’s my plan. I’d always thought I’d get to college, but I’m afraid Mom will need me. Dad left her okay financially, but she’ll require emotional support.
Q: How far from Sonora is Stockton?
A: Not so far. A little over an hour if you don’t speed. Why? Will you miss me?