Chapter 1
Connor
Turning my undergrad relationship into a post-grad relationship should be seamless.
After all, Thalia and I have been a thing since junior year.
Acquaintances for a bit, friends for a sec, then boyfriend and girlfriend for close to two years.
It all just…clicked. Timing was right, attraction was there, our personalities matched well enough, and we were part of the same broader friend group.
I enjoyed being around her, and she enjoyed putting up with me, so making things official was a no-brainer.
While we both loved soccer, it was always her ambition to go to law school, and since her dad is offering to foot the bill for her at a university with a photography program, it felt serendipitous.
I figured if I got accepted into UC San Diego’s master’s program, I should take it as a sign from the universe that I’m to follow Thalia to Southern California.
But now that I’m uprooting my life and leaving the only city I’ve ever lived in, I’m stomach-sick with dread.
I’m not a spiritual person, but I’m superstitious enough to believe in destiny, and I’m not sure moving in with Thalia at her dad’s place in San Diego is my destiny.
Sun, sand, and surf…absolutely. Making my college girlfriend my live-in girlfriend? I’m having some doubts.
“Don’t forget to invite me to the wedding!” My buddy, Levi, swoops his arm through the air and slaps my palm before tugging me in for a tight bro-hug.
His tee is damp with summer sweat. So is mine after stuffing all of Thalia’s and my essentials into my Jeep Grand Cherokee.
“Heh. I’ll let you know.” I force a grin past my nerves, since Thalia’s right behind me, and I pat Levi’s back hard enough that he gets the hint to let me go.
“Good luck, Con-man,” says my other buddy, Raisel, before offering me a more casual hug.
“Good luck to you guys.” Thalia slips her hand into mine as soon as Raisel lets go. “We’ll be basking on the beach by sundown, and you’ll both still be baking to death in that nasty apartment.”
“Hey, don’t disrespect the bro cove,” Levi says. “That place has seen us at our worst. Ever hear of hangover shits?”
“Ew, please do not enlighten me.” Thalia grimaces on her way to the car.
Actually, I’m going to miss the bro cove, even with the AC on the fritz and our demon landlord refusing to fix the damn thing.
Sure, there’s the occasional ant infestation, the carpets smell like stale beer, and the oven doesn’t heat above three-hundred, but it’s more like home than wherever it is my GPS is about to take us.
La Jolla.
The way Thalia describes it, it’s fancy.
I always think of San Diego as being fancy in general—all luxury high rises, beachfront villas, and coastal allure—but La Jolla must be fancy squared, or something.
I don’t know; I always sucked at math. Thankfully, I won’t need any math classes where I’m going.
Just my cameras and all the lenses I’ve bought second-hand over the years.
It’s all in padded cases, packed Tetris-style into my car with the rest of our stuff.
“Alright, man. Better hit the road,” Levi says before shoving his hand into my hair and ruffling it up.
“C’mon! I put stuff in my hair!”
Levi wipes his hand across his Sac State muscle tee. “Make us proud!”
We get out of Dodge late enough to avoid the morning rush-hour, and it’s an eight-hour blast down the I-5 with a couple of pit stops along the way for eating and pissing.
Sometimes, I lie about needing to piss just to delay our arrival a few extra minutes.
I met Thalia’s dad once while he did business in Sac, and he’s intimidating as hell.
As long as we kept the conversation on soccer, it was all fair weather, but when he found out I wasn’t interested in going pro, his entire demeanor toward me shifted.
“Photography?” he’d balked. “How does one make a living taking pictures? You know my daughter is going to be an attorney, right?”
As if I’d never spoken to my own girlfriend about her aspirations.
So, I know what he’s thinking. That I’m shackling Thalia to a deadbeat artist who’ll mooch off her ambitions and ride her coattails into the sunset.
Not even close. I’d rather live out of a hostel than be Thalia’s leech.
I even offered to seek graduate housing on-campus, but Thalia assured me living together will be good for us.
For the sake of our relationship, I’m going along with it.
Then, there’s also the matter of Thalia’s brother.
Dane Calvo. Never met him. But according to Thalia’s sparse testimony, he’s “a lot.” A lot of what, I’m not sure, but I figure there’s a reason he didn’t come along when Thalia moved to Sacramento with their mother. Thalia was only fourteen then, which would have made Dane about eleven.
As much as Mom likes to tell people I was an angel-child, I got into some mischief during my middle school years like every tween does. I can’t imagine what it would have taken for her to give up on me entirely—to skip town with a new husband and leave me behind.
Maybe Dane wanted to stay with his dad. As terse and judgmental as Artie Calvo comes off, his soul must be soft for his only son.
“You said your brother plays soccer, right?” I ask Thalia as I spot signs over the freeway for San Diego.
“Yeah, but not at UCSD. He didn’t get in, so he’s at San Diego State.”
“State is just as good.”
“For soccer, maybe.”
I shift a quick glance from the windshield to Thalia, noticing her pursed-lip expression that, after two years, I can safely interpret as judgement. We both just graduated from a state school, though, so I don’t know what there would be to judge about her brother attending one.
“You think he’s gonna be territorial?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“You know. Sister’s boyfriend, who he’s never met before, moves into his house where he’s been the only kid living there for almost a decade.”
“Babe, we’re not kids. We’re all adults. If he can’t act like one, that’s his problem. Don’t worry about it.”
Don’t worry about it. Easier said than done.
My GPS guides me down a winding road and delivers us to a white, angular house that sprawls well beyond an ivy-covered perimeter wall.
Palm trees that look like pineapples border a wide driveway, and I park behind a white Mercedes G-Wagon.
I always wondered what sort of person would drive one of those things.
The emerald lawn is immaculate to the point of looking fake.
I put my sneakers on it and know it’s real.
Water trickles from a black stone fountain under the awning of the front porch.
Stuck in my nerves, I wait for Thalia to reach my side before I press the doorbell. A melodic chime seeps through the frosted glass panel in the door. I hold my breath and squeeze Thalia’s hand.
“How’s my hair look?” I mutter from the side of my mouth just before the front door opens.
“Daddy!” Thalia cheers as Mr. Calvo fills the doorway. She shakes her hand free of my death-grip then skips over the threshold to toss her arms around Artie’s neck.
“How was the drive?” Artie asks, back curved and hugging his kid around the waist with equal gusto.
“I thought we’d never make it. There was traffic on the interchange. All I’ve had to eat today is Carl’s Jr., and I can’t feel my ass.”
“Joselyn is whipping up some pork ribs as we speak,” Artie says. There’s a slight accent peeking out, giving away his Spanish heritage. Somehow, it only makes him more intimidating.
“I love pork ribs.” Thalia hops a half-step backward to glimmer up at Artie with what I’d consider childlike wonder. Maybe this is what happens when a girl moves away from her father at fourteen. She returns fourteen, too, even when she’s twenty-three.
“I know you do.” Casting dark eyes over Thalia’s head, Artie asks me, “Your bags won’t bring themselves in, will they?” A charming half-smile softens Artie’s clipped words, but I still feel them like a house cat swiping at my nose.
Off to a great start.
Saving my sigh for when I’m back at the Jeep, I bleep it unlocked and pry up the hatch. As I’m tugging duffel bags free from the mountain of compressed luggage, Thalia appears at my side and offers a hand.
“Just talk to him about soccer,” she says. “Soccer is always a safe topic with Dad. As long as you’re not a Barcelona fan.”
I nod and smooch the side of her head before hoisting those bags over my shoulder.
Artie walks us through the house and to the last door at the end of a long hallway.
“It’s rather barebones, but I’m sure you’ll make it homey in no time,” Artie says, eyes on Thalia alone. He leaves just enough room for me to sidle past and squeeze into the bedroom.
I’m so in awe, I forget about the bags straining my shoulders. The room is straight out of a resort brochure. Sleek bamboo floors, modern furniture, and sheer drapery over a wall of windows. The bed is larger than anything I’ve slept in before, dressed in white linens and a pleated duvet.
“You’ll have to share a bathroom with your brother.” Artie nods toward a closed door that isn’t the walk-in closet or the door we entered through.
“Just like old times,” Thalia answers with that subtle hitch of judgement returning to her voice. Resentment, maybe.
Does that mean I have to resent him too?
Already, I’m plotting ways to avoid Dane.
Artie too. Thalia and I moved down early to be here in time for our respective graduate orientations.
We have over a month before Fall Quarter kicks off, and I cannot spend all day every day cooped up in this house, as heavenly as the air conditioning feels.
It’s got to be a cool sixty-nine in this joint.
Ha, sixty-nine! Half the state isn’t enough distance to eliminate Levi’s voice from my head.
Thalia’s eyeing me oddly, and I realize I’m chuckling under my breath while staring at the ceiling vent.