Chapter 15 TARAN
“Finally!” Mom opened her arms to Diego before he was even in the door. “Thank you for coming!”
“Thanks for the invite.” He gave her a good hug, smiling his most charming, gap-toothed smile.
She admired him for a second as they pulled apart, then said, “God, you are handsome.”
“And I see where Taran gets his looks,” he said smoothly.
“Everyone says he looks like his father,” she said.
“Mmm, no. Those eyes are all you, Mrs. Kovacs.”
“Sweet talker, huh?” She turned to me for a hug. “Hi, honey.”
I kissed her cheek. “Hey.”
“Nice place,” Diego said, eying her cozy living room. “Didn’t know we had fancy condos in Stanley County. Very cosmopolitan."
"Did you ever visit the old house?” Mom asked as we pulled apart.
I caught the glance Diego shot me. And laughed.
“What?” Mom asked, looking from me to him.
“I did,” Diego said. “Once. It was beautiful; you must’ve had to scale down a lot.”
Mom was still looking at me sideways. “Yeah, but I like organizing and simplifying. It’s a hobby of mine.”
“Should introduce you to my mom. Last time I was at her place, she needed a whole room for her oracle cards and pendulums,” Diego commented with a snort. “She needs to switch hobbies.”
“Tell me about her,” Mom suggested, waving for us to come into the kitchen-slash-dining room. “I don’t think I ever met her.”
“She left when I was really little. She’s cool, though, just one of those people who isn’t meant to be, uh, tied down.” Diego’s smile was lopsided, but it still showed off his gap and crinkled the corners of his pretty eyes. “I usually visit for Christmas or something.”
“That sounds lovely.” I could see Mom trying not to be judgy, the upper-middle-class white feminist in her just dying to break free and go full Karen. But instead she went to the fridge and asked, “Can I get you a drink? The quiche is almost ready.”
Diego shot me another look, biting at his bottom lip to keep from laughing. Much as I could feel her trying not to judge, I could hear him trying not to say how very, very white that was of her.
“I got some prosecco if you want mimosas,” Mom said.
“Yes, please,” Diego and I said at the same time.
Things got a little easier after that; Mom switched the topic to the upcoming Broadway touring season at the Benedum and offered to get us all tickets for Beetlejuice when they finally went on sale.
Diego relaxed instantly, expounding on the wonders of Alex Brightman’s dual career on Broadway and as a voice actor—which Mom of course found fascinating.
I didn’t have to do much, honestly. Once they hit a topic they both liked, they were off to the fuckin’ races without me.
There wasn’t a lull in conversation until Mom was trying to push second pieces of quiche on us.
After which she settled into her chair again and said, “So, Diego, why did it take you two so long to become official?”
Diego paused, his cheeks full of mimosa, and shot me a desperate look.
“Mom…” I rolled my eyes. “She’s joking.”
“Joking in the sense that I’m not actually the least bit bothered and realize it’s none of my business,” Mom corrected. “But serious in the sense that I’m curious.”
“Well…” Diego cleared his throat and set aside his glass. “For the record, that’s a thing of the past. I officially changed my relationship status on all my social media, so…”
Mom smiled but pursed her lips in that Mom Look.
Diego cleared his throat again, like he had some orange pulp stuck in there. “We have some, uh, history.” He glanced at me again.
I nodded. “She knows. I mean, the basics.”
“Oh, so not that you invited me over once when she and your dad were out of town?”
I snorted and held up both hands in surrender to Mom.
She laughed. “Did you really?”
“Yeah. I said we had to work on a project. You and Dad were gone for Valentine’s Day.”
“I remember that. We went to Bedford.” Her smile softened.
“I didn’t spend the night, just to be clear,” Diego threw in.
She chuckled. “No one would’ve known.”
I shifted uncomfortably. “Actually, Dad noticed on the doorbell camera. He gave me some shit.”
She waved that off, turning her full attention back to Diego. “So, your past was why you were hesitant? Or…?”
Diego politely but honestly explained that we, being children, had no idea what we were doing and therefore ended up dinging each other in ways that left a mark long after.
As I watched him speak, I could see my Dad’s face after he caught Diego leaving in the wee hours on that doorbell footage.
How he told me to stay away from the Marshes.
The things he said about his dad, his brother. About Diego.
“Honey?” Mom reached out and touched my wrist.
I jumped. “Sorry. I—got lost for a second. What?”
“I was saying you kinda went all in right from the start but I was the one dragging my feet.” Diego’s brow furrowed, and he cocked his head curiously.
“And I said that sounded just like you, doesn’t it?” Mom added.
“Sort of,” I said, trying to drag myself back into the moment. Wasn’t like me to get that lost. “I don’t think I knew how all in I was until Picklesburgh.”
Mom shook her head and, as if it was some word in a language she’d never heard before, repeated: “Picklesburgh?”
Diego’s brow evened out but he stayed curious. “No shit? Oh, sorry Mrs—”
“We’re all adults,” she said with a wave. “He’s been swearing at me since he was seventeen.”
“Not at you,” I insisted. I would never. Then I turned to Diego. “Yeah, after Toni brought up all that stuff about resources and withholding power. And I went home and tried to work out why it bothered me—”
“I’m sorry. Who did what?” Mom cut in.
I was about to suggest we have the conversation later, but Diego smoothly jumped in and gave her the rundown: Who Toni is, why she was involved, and what her concerns were.
“Well, she sounds like a very suspicious person. Who obviously doesn’t know Taran,” Mom said primly.
Classic Mom response, honestly.
“She does not,” Diego agreed. “And she apologized to both of us. And then made really nice with Taran.”
“Yeah, by the time she left, I actually think she didn’t hate me anymore.”
Mom made a face but declined to comment on that. “Anyhow, sorry for interrupting, honey; you were saying about realizing you were all in?”
“Yeah, so, I went home that night and thought, like, if he really is trying to do some stupid power play game, what difference would it actually make to me? Like, would it change my mind about what I want?”
“And the answer was no?” Mom asked.
I nodded.
“Bro, major fucking red flag,” Diego said.
I shrugged. “One. In a sea of green flags. Worth the chance.”
“Was he always like this? Like, stupid and romantic?” Diego asked Mom.
She sighed. “I’m afraid so. And apparently more than he ever let on. Which is saying quite a lot.”
“Did he give you any other trouble?” Diego asked. “I bet he got away with everything, didn’t he?”
“Probably too much. He had the biggest eyes when he was a toddler. I couldn’t even bring myself to threaten him with a spanking, let alone give him one,” Mom mused.
Diego coughed to cover up a laugh. I had to bite my lip. Hard.
“Are you okay, sweetie?” she asked Diego, standing. “Let me get you some water.”
“Thank you. I—I guess I just forgot how to swallow,” he managed.
While my mother’s back was turned, I mouthed silently, “You’re the worst.”
His response was to lean over and smack the side of my ass under the table.
***
“You’re good for next weekend?” Mom asked as she kissed my cheek goodbye.
I nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it. Thanks for lunch. Brunch. The food.”
“She really loves you,” was the first thing Diego said after we got into the car.
“Well, yeah. She’s…” I was about to say that she was my mom. But in Diego’s world, things didn’t work like that. “When do I get to meet yours?”
“If you stick around for the winter holidays, I’ll take you.” He rolled his eyes. “But it won’t be like that. She’ll probably try and read your aura and align your chakras on day one.”
“Always thought those fuckers needed aligning.”
“Do you know what a chakra is?”
“No. Do you?”
“Unfortunately, yes, because that’s the kind of stuff my mother was teaching me while yours was teaching you how to put on tasteful brunches for the local ladies’ auxiliary or what the fuck ever rich white people do.” Diego snorted.
“Something like that,” I lied.
“What’s going on next weekend? Or was I not supposed to hear that?” he asked.
“It’s Dad’s birthday,” I said with a sigh. “We usually go to the cemetery after church.”
“Sorry, wait. You go to church?”
“You’re the one who recommended church camp.”
“For the blow jobs!”
I chuckled. “Nah, she’s a Christmas and Easter churchgoer since Dad died. His family was really big into the church, like there are a bunch of Kovacs named on all the stained glass windows in there. But they hardly ever made me go, growing up.”
“Catholic?”
“Orthodox.”
“Oooh, Rebel Catholic.”
“That’s all you Protestants.”
“We wish.” He was quiet for a moment as we pulled out onto the highway. And then he said, “Are you okay? About your dad’s birthday?”
My instinct was to say yes. But the truth was, “I don’t know. I mean, I’m okay with it in general, but I’m conflicted about going to the cemetery when I feel… not great about him. It’s pretty much the only time I really—I don’t know. Talk to him.”
“Why?”
I glanced at him, suddenly self-conscious. “I don’t know,” I repeated. “I guess because I don’t believe in ghosts or heaven or hell or any of that stuff, so it seems pointless.”
“Okay, well, I’ve never lost a family member that close to me, so take this with a grain of salt, but, I’m pretty sure when you talk to dead people, it’s for yourself, not for them.”
I wanted to say that was crazy, except it was so very, very sane, I was annoyed I hadn’t thought of it sooner. Instead, I just sighed.
He held up both hands. “No shade. Like I said, I haven’t been through it, so—”
“No. You’re right. I guess… I just wouldn’t know what to say.”