Chapter 6
“PI?A, WHAT THE —” AHMED starts asking when—a little less than forty-five minutes after following Leana into her room—I’m rushing to our front door at the exact same time he’s heading out, catching me in a pair of Leana’s running shorts, my thighs stretching the nylon.
I’m pretty sure I’ve got some cheek hanging out the back.
The front’s not any better, but the tote bag she let me borrow that’s holding my sweaty shorts, chonies, and socks is covering up anything hanging out.
I might not have stuck to the routine, but I did get a shower in while showing Leana how my tongue could be her personal Rose Toy.
I know I probably smell like her fruity soaps and shampoos, and there’s no hiding the smile that says exactly what I just finished doing.
I’m already thinking about her saying, “See you same time tomorrow?” and how maybe helping carry a box turns into running and showers together and that turns into some real talking and taking her out and that turns into asking her to be my girlfriend.
The part of me that falls hard and quickly is unsurprisingly falling hard and quickly for this girl. Honestly, I’d take her to meet my parents tomorrow if I didn’t actively realize how weird that would be or already know her well enough to guess she’d give me a solid no thanks at best.
“Don’t be late for class,” Ahmed groans before taking a couple steps forward. And then, before going any farther out the door, he looks me up and down one more time and asks, “That girl you told me about? The one you helped move in?”
“Yeah.”
He holds his fist up while he lets out a loud sheeesh , waiting for me to bump it. “What’s P é rez always saying? ?A huevo! That’s my boy. Gots to see it through. Respectfully, though.”
“Always,” I tell him, beaming and proud.
“But don’t let Barrera find out if you’re late on your first day. He’ll make you run laps until your dick falls off.”
“That’s not a thing that can happen.”
“You don’t know that. And I’m guessing you don’t want to find out.”
“ Okay, ya . I’m going. I’ll see you at practice.”
“Did you eat breakfast?”
“I’m having breakfast right now, Pops,” I groan before showing him the bowls in front of me, making sure he can see the food on the screen and know that, one, we’re far from starving here and, two, I’m not having trash first thing in the morning. “Don’t worry.”
“You’re just now eating? Don’t you got to be in class soon?”
“I’ve got … twenty-five minutes and it only takes ten to get there.”
“And find a parking spot?”
I didn’t think about that one. “Yeah, basically. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re not even dressed.”
“What do you mean?” I look down at the dark-green drop-arm tank I put on and the cream-colored nylon shorts below that. All I need to do now is slip on the Crocs for the day—I’m thinking camo for the fit—and I’m out. “I am dressed. This is what I’m wearing.”
“?De veras? Didn’t we get you new clothes for school?”
“Yeah. Most of them look like this.”
“ Verga. You should go get more shirts with sleeves. You’re going to classes. Not the gym.”
“I have some,” I tell him with a smirk, a laugh nearly coming out at how he’s acting. Like I’m still going to a private school with an actual dress code. “I’ll wear one tomorrow. Promise.”
Pops huffs and shakes his head but then gives me a smile back.
He can’t stay mad at me. Never has been able to.
And I know that he’s not mad about me just now eating.
He called hoping I was still having breakfast. But, before he can start getting into his own meal, he has to put on Papa Bear Mode real quick.
“Work going okay so far?”
“S í . Already getting hot. Making sure to drink water,” he says. And then he takes another bite of the McDonald’s biscuit he’s poured half a bottle of Tapat í o on. “You better be drinking enough water too. Not just Powerade and tequila.”
“I am , Pops,” I say back, and then covertly lean off screen to take a swig of the blue drink nearby. That is , in fact, sitting next to the bottle of water I downed, refilled, and drank another quarter of right before he called. “And I’m glad I get to hang out with you before I head out.”
Every year since pre-K, on my first day of school, Pops has always had breakfast with me.
A huge stack of pancakes and a pile of bacon.
Sometimes a fat-ass breakfast burrito with literally everything we had in our fridge wrapped tightly inside.
Lots of napkins, making sure I didn’t get dirty in my first-day fit.
We’ve never been a family with a lot of money.
With Mom working in a day care and Pops in construction, there wasn’t ever a whole lot to go around.
And when I got old enough, I was putting in summers working with him to afford the couple of football camps I went to, uniforms, extra spending money, even my college application fees.
But I’ve never doubted a day in my life that they love me.
That I wasn’t the most important person in their lives.
And one of my biggest reminders was Pops doing everything he could to rearrange his schedule for one morning in August to make sure I started the school year on a high note and with a full stomach.
I didn’t think we’d be doing this anymore.
That last year was it. Honestly hadn’t even crossed my mind that he’d be calling this morning.
But, shit, if I didn’t almost cry when I answered and heard him ask, “I’m taking a break right now; you got five minutes?
” before immediately starting in with “Are you eating enough?”
For him, I’ve got all day.
“?Listo?”
“Yeah. I’m ready.”
Pops starts laughing, covering his mouth so crumbs don’t fly out. “You said the same thing fourteen years ago before you started pre-Kinder. Remember what happened an hour later?”
Of course I do. He’s got to tell this story every year on this day.
Even told everyone at my high school graduation party a few months ago, all my best friends and their families in the room, Pops standing at the front, mic in hand, with a picture of me from that morning being projected on the wall behind him, smiling wide and holding on to a backpack decorated with soccer balls.
Pretty sure he’s going to have this ready to tell again at my college graduation and at my wedding. “You had my—”
“I had your teacher calling me because ‘Gabi hasn’t stopped crying for his Papa since you dropped him off,’ ” he finishes for me. “Was at work for maybe twenty minutes and had to leave and go back to your school just to get you to stop. And you remember what I told you?”
“I—yeah. That change is scary.”
“But you’re my boy,” he says. “Vamos, hijo. Tu puedes. Porque tu eres mi hijo. And the world needs you to go back in there and learn and get really smart. And look at you now. In college. All grown up, but still my son. My baby boy.”
“Ya, Pops.”
“I’ll tell you a secret though, Gabi. Something I never admitted about that day.
” He grabs for his bandana, dabbing at his eyes talking about “Pinche salsa, mas picante.” I watch as his eyes stay watery and deep in thought and I realize how alike we look; same deep brown skin, same buzzed haircut (his peppered with some gray now), same smile whether it’s a small one or all teeth.
The only big difference is his short, scruffy beard and mustache compared with my almost complete inability to grow facial hair.
“I was glad she called me that morning. That I got to hug you a little more. Because I cried too, all the way to whatever hotel off Shoreline we were building. Sad tears because you were growing up too fast. And happy tears because I was thinking about the man you’d become.
And when we dropped you off at college, I cried again.
More sad tears because I’d have to go home and see your room emptier than it’s ever been.
But more happy tears too, because the man I dreamed you’d be is nothing compared with who you’re turning out to be. ”
Yeah, I’m crying over some fruit and oatmeal right now, missing my Pops and really wishing I could hug him.
“You got this, boy. You’ve spent summers out here with me building homes all day and still making time for drills at night, and it’s paying off now. Everyone is seeing how special you are.”
I take a second to wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and sniff up some mocos. Let out a laugh when Pops tells me, “Chinga’o. Only one of us gets to be a chill ó n today, Gabi.”
“I’m good,” I say back. “I’m not crying.”
“Bueno. I’ve got to get back to work and you need to be getting to class.
Make us proud. Y recuerdas, everything you’ve ever dreamed of, you’re going to achieve.
As long as it’s your dream, I’ll always be here to support you through it.
You’re going to be someone’s hero one day, with a great story to tell. And that story starts today.”
“I know, Pops. I will.”
“And I’ll talk to you later, okay? Love you, boy.
Be smart. And safe, alright? Pues, and don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean by that.
I know how you are with the girls. A Pi n a man’s always got a line of them.
Hell, I was just like that too, having a lot of fun at your age.
You might’ve had a few older brothers and sisters around if I wasn’t at least being careful. So you better be—”
“ I am. I—I will. Love you too, Pops.”