My programming insists it’s wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong.
So why
does it feel
so right?
Right?
Right?
Now I need
to know what it’s like with someone else.
Someone I trust.
Someone I care about, and believe they care about me.
I think it could be tonight.
I’m terrified.
Thrilled.
Determined.
But First Things First
I locate my phone, dial Zelda’s number and, still caught up in the tempest of carnal confusion, when Gabe answers, a serious outbreak of guilt erupts.
It feels almost as if he’s been peeking in the windows. “Oh, hey. Is Dad there?”
No. He and Aunt Zelda ran into town to pick up some groceries. They should be back soon, though. Should I take a message or do you want to try his cell?
“I should probably talk to him.
You won’t believe this, but—”
Wait. Don’t tell me. Let me guess.
Hillary Grantham gave you her car.
I just found out myself less than
an hour ago. “How do you know?”
Her father told me. I didn’t get a car, by the way, but he did offer to pay for bodywork, paint, and an all-new interior for the GTO. Pretty cool, huh?
I agree that it’s totally cool, then ask, “So, Dad knows about the car?”
Actually, yeah, he does. He answered the door when Mr. Grantham came by.
Oh, I got to meet Hillary’s aunt, too.
Believe it or not, she’s kind of attractive.
Why does the remark sting a little?
“Is that so? Well, maybe on the outside.
Anyway, what did Dad say about
the car? Was he pissed?” Bet he was.
Not that I could tell. He was nice enough to the Granthams, and after they left, all I heard him say was, “Huh. Can you imagine that?”
That doesn’t sound too bad, but
I’ll have to wait until he gets home to know for sure. Dad’s squirrelly.
“So, are you going to fix up the GTO?”
Does a duck quack? Hell yeah!
It’s like an early Christmas present.
I Tell Him
A gently used car is like making up for every Christmas present, plus
every birthday present, I never got.
There
were
lots
of
them.
Too often there wasn’t enough
money for Dad
to buy them.
Of course,
there was always enough cash
to cover his booze and cigarettes.
Once I was old enough to figure that out,
disappointment swelled into anger.
Not that it mattered.
My silent seething rarely bothered Dad.
The few times I mentioned how awful it made me feel to be ignored on the days other kids celebrated with parties and gifts, Dad would shrug.
Sorry. I’m not much, and I admit that.
But I’m all you’ve got, aren’t I?
It’s me or foster care.
Take your pick.
Besides, you know you love your old man.
Despite all the bad, I did love him. Still do, though sometimes I can’t figure out why.
Maybe I’ve always been desperate to love anyone at all.
I Don’t Offer Gabe
That extended addendum.
We decide to hang out on Sunday, designated football day at Zelda’s.
He wants me to help him pick out
a classic GTO
paint color,
plus complementary interior options.
I ask if he’ll give the Focus a once-over, not that I think the Granthams would keep it in less than perfect mechanical shape.
I just want to spend time with Gabe.
Because, whatever does or doesn’t happen with Monica after this, I
care about
him, too.
The First Thing
That happens with Monica is dinner. I can’t believe what she’s put together with the meager ingredients we have available.
On the menu:
Homemade mac
(unburied from the cupboard) and cheddar cheese
(one of the few things in the fridge) with baby peas and pearl onions (found in a freezer drawer).
She even digs up bacon
to add, crumbled,
to the main dish.
It needs to bake thirty or forty minutes. She slides the casserole into the preheated oven, then turns back to me. What did your dad say about the car?
I relate what Gabe told me.
“So, things could either be A-OK, or totally not. You never know where Dad’s concerned.
At least the car won’t be a surprise.”
She sets the oven timer. We’ve got a little time. What you want to do?
I Hesitate
But not for long, because if I lose my nerve now, who knows when
I might find it again? I take her hand, lead her into the living room,
notice we both still have our shoes on, something we’d better remedy.
“Shoes by the door in case Dad
decides to surprise us. Besides,
socks are sexier.” Did I just say that?
Monica laughs. I never heard that one before, and you haven’t seen my socks. They could be gross.
They’re not. They’re fluffy pink and totally clean, at least until she has to walk around the house in them.
Vacuuming is my Saturday job,
so there’s almost a week’s worth
of dust on the floor. Oh well.
“Okay, this is the very first time I’ve ever asked anyone this, but
you wanna make out or what?”
Pensé que nunca lo preguntarías.
She thought I’d never ask, and
before I can change my mind