Chapter 27
I DON’T WANT TO let Vale go when we’re back in Corpus.
I hold him, right here in the driveway of his cousins’ house, making Kat and P é rez wait.
Even after getting as much of him as I could possibly want the last couple days and even after P é rez gave us that big, knowing smile on Saturday morning before jumping on me all, “ That’s my boy!
El Chivo in the bedroom too, huh?!” and even with the promise that I’ll see him tomorrow like I have every single Monday this semester, I just need a little longer before we’ve got to go back to pretending.
Before I’ve got to go back to pretending.
One more second of holding him in my arms. One more kiss.
And the ten, fifteen minutes it takes to drive to our place feels so lonely.
P é rez reaches back and pats my knee, giving me a sympathetic smile, and I do my best to return it before letting my head rest on the window.
I close my eyes, thinking about the memories we’ve made over the last forty-eight-plus hours.
Two days of waking up cuddling him and hearing him say, “Morning, coraz ó n.” Of us cooking together, trying to dodge grease shooting out of the frying pan when we were making bacon and cutting up vegetables together for pico de gallo.
Of tubing on the river, looking at the stars, Kat yelling at P é rez’s drunk ass as he started running down the dirt road (Naruto style, obviously) in the middle of the night.
Spending so many of those hours in bed with him, just the two of us and that bottle of lube.
And, for a second, this feeling of resentment rushes through my veins.
For a second, I hate the fact that I’ve got to go back to practice, go back to standing in front of a goal, go back to being this great, promising player and pretend like the relationship between me and this game is equal.
I hate how I realize more and more that I love it more than it loves me.
And, as serious as I am about wanting to be honest and out and brave, the question keeps pressing at the front of my brain:
Will the pitch miss me if it pushes me away?
At least I have time. And that fact is both shitty and relieving. Just as much as thinking about the day when I’ve got nothing left to hide is both exciting and terrifying.
“You’re going to be alright,” Kat says, nudging my arm as we slowly walk across the parking lot. “You’re the GOAT for a reason, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I tell them back, my voice more tired than anything.
All the things we did (and maybe that Vale and I did, specifically) are catching up to me, as great as I slept when we finally conked out.
But in the couple of hours I’ve got before heading to my parents’ for a bit, I’m ready to get undressed, jump onto my bed, cuddle with one of my pillows like it’s my boyfriend, and—
“Pineapple.”
Hearing that word makes me freeze midstep, right in the middle of the parking lot. Our place is straight ahead, but, in the corner of my eye, there’s Leana, standing between me and the stairs that lead up to where she lives.
“Don’t look so guilty.”
“I—my bad. Scared me.” I look at her and then to Kat and P é rez, watching me like they’re waiting for orders. “I’ll catch up. Y’all go on without me.”
Leana waves at them as they walk away and then looks back at me, giving me a smile that turns into a quiet laugh. “Sorry. Saw you and … I guess I would’ve felt weird if I just let you walk by.”
“Nah, it’s fine. You’re good.” My legs finally decide that I should move somewhere before someone’s truck makes me a speed bump. As I walk over to her, I ask, “What’re you up to? Looks like you’ve just got back from a slumber party or something.”
“Okay, Dad ,” she says with a teasing smile.
“Well, if you’re going to be all metiche about my business, I’m actually just getting back from a whole weekend with my pledge sisters.
Then I’m putting all this away and going to the library.
I have a test tomorrow that I am not ready for.
I’ll be honest, when I told you I wanted to make some girl friends for once, I did mean it, and I really love all of them.
Well, I love all of them and like most of them.
But after the last two days, I could use some quiet and a textbook.
And something caffeinated. I asked Vale if he wanted to come study with me, but this fool was like, ‘I’m tired; I’m about to take a nap. ’ ”
I let out a hmm kind of laugh. I guess that makes two of us.
And for the shortest of moments, I think about texting him, asking if I can sneak through a window or something, and nap with him.
I’m already not enjoying the fact that I have to sleep alone tonight when I’d much rather be spooning my boyfriend.
I wonder if she knows where he was all weekend.
If he talks about me to her. If she knows about us.
There’s nothing on her face that says I know you were blowing my best friend’s back out the whole weekend .
We kept it all pretty under wraps. And I’m pretty sure Vale would’ve told me if he said anything about us to her.
Leana crosses her arms, and she makes that face she used to when she was really putting her brain to work. When she’s thinking really hard about what she wants to say next. That specific look that tells me she’s trying to be vulnerable right now.
“I, uh … I miss our morning runs. Just the runs. I mean, you know. Not that you weren’t great—”
“I do too, Leana.”
And I mean it. There’s a path here that includes us being friends, and, now, I think it’d be nice to try seeing what that looks like.
I’ve gotten to the point where I can admit that what I once felt for her isn’t there anymore.
I can admit that she looks good and is still that same pretty girl I saw months ago, but my heart doesn’t go wild for her the second I see her like it used to.
Because it belongs to someone else now. I can remember the happiness I felt with her without being either resentful or still head over heels for her.
And I think there could be something here. A dynamic that’s less former fuck buddies and more best friend and best friend’s boyfriend .
“If— Maybe we could go on a run again sometime? Just a run.”
Her lips go into another smile and her shoulders relax. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Leana starts walking toward her car, her back to me. And as I’m closing in on my front door, I hear her call out for me one more time, turning my head at “Pineapple . ”
“Yeah?”
“You look really good,” she says. “Happy. Whoever’s responsible for that, I—I’m glad you’ve got them.”
I smile back at her, nodding. “I am too.”
“And, if I know you at all, I’m sure you make them really happy too.”
“I’m trying my best to.”
“Since when do you want to learn how to cook?” Mom asks, looking at me all confused as I stand nearby in the kitchen while she starts churning out fresh corn tortillas and, every once in a while, checks on the carne guisada heating up on the stove. “What? You’re tired of me cooking for you?”
“ No. It’s just, like, say I’m not feeling like going to the University Center for dinner one day—”
“Then you come here, and I’ll make you food. And don’t you eat for free at your cafeteria?”
“Depends on how you define free.”
“Your scholarships cover it.”
“Then, yeah, I guess so. Still, though. I’m an adult now.”
She lets out a low huh laugh at that one, taking tortillas off the hot comal with her bare hands and replacing them with uncooked ones, putting the done ones in a tortillero my bisabuela gave her, and goes back to focusing on the food in front of her.
I get a lot of things from Pops, but my Mom’s confidence, the way she seems so natural in a kitchen, doing a thing she loves (and is absolutely okay voicing how good she is at), I bet it’s not so different from when I’m in front of my goalpost and stop a shot.
“Okay, Gabi,” Mom says as she wipes her hands with a dish towel.
“Shouldn’t you want me to learn how to fend for myself?”
“No. I want you to want me to make you food.”
“Maybe he’s trying to impress a girl,” Pops says, walking in, opening the fridge, and heading straight for his beer. “Got a pretty girl coming over, wants to make her a nice meal, really charm her.”
“She’d be more impressed by a boy who doesn’t mind washing dishes.”
I slowly swipe my hand down my face, covering the groan with my palm.
Pops isn’t far off here; I did come over thinking maybe Mom could teach me something that Vale and I could cook together the next time we’re getting all yes, chef in the kitchen.
And coming home, Mom’s carne guisada on the stove, I knew that was a perfect idea. He’d love that.
But Mom’s over here holding on to the recipe like it’s a nice ring and she’s Gollum or something.
“Now sit down. And you too,” she tells Pops, making his eyes perk up, afraid he’s about to catch some strays. “Food’s ready. Time for you two to do what you do best and eat.”
Pops throws an arm over my shoulders and pulls me with him to our table, wooden and circular, with three chairs that have been there all my life, and I sit in the same place I’ve sat since the day I was too big for a high chair.
Surrounded by faded yellow walls that Pops and I painted the summer before I started high school covered with photos and saints and a big Last Supper painting.
I watch Mom fill up plates as she hums to Norte n os that used to come from an old radio and now play out of a Bluetooth speaker next to that tripod she uses to FaceTime.
Pops reaches out and massages the back of my neck. His voice, next to me, says, “Find a girl like that, and you’ll never go hungry a day in your life. No en tu est ó mago ni en tu coraz ó n.”
My lips go into a smile, thinking about Vale. I bring a fist to my mouth, trying to hide it, to be cool around my parents. But when Pops lets out this hum, I know I’ve been caught.