Fanta See #2
an idea’s crossed his mind. “If there’s anything in that corner that you want, I can give it to you. It’s worth more than
you’d think.”
Is this guy actually trying to bribe me? I stare at his proposed offerings but am not sure I need a dusty funnel or a lamp
with a lady’s sexy torso at this juncture.
But he got one thing right. He could easily be evicted for this.
“Well . . .” I start, suddenly emboldened by this newfound power. “There’s a reason for the rules, and your packages have
been a nuisance for too long and—”
“I know all that. But I’m wondering if you’d look the other way? Please.” He cups his hands together and looks at me, pleading. “I can’t stop right now. Like I said, I have a daughter, and I need to send her mom money.”
His words hit me, stopping short any drive I had left. It’s the desperation in his eyes that cuts through me.
But I can’t let the smell of Old Spice make me go soft. Carmen’s been a nuisance for way too long. Just because he has a daughter
doesn’t mean he gets a free pass for bad behavior.
I’m just starting to shake my head when a spark ignites behind his eyes. “Matter of fact, I was rather good at overlooking
things myself,” he says. “Like when you snuck two pieces of a broken vase into the dumpster a few weeks ago. I just so happened
to notice it was the same one the vandal took from the lobby that night, but I figured it would be best to overlook it all,
until I had a reason not to.” His smile cuts into me.
Damn it. He knows. And with that, all the power I had over him has dissolved.
I can feel my pulse quickening. I nod, deciding it’s better to skip right to the chase. “So what are you proposing, like a
mutual-destruction pact?”
“Wow.” Carmen gapes. “I was just guessing. Didn’t expect you to own right up to it.”
Shit. I’m such an imbecile.
“Okay.” I nod. “I won’t say anything, and I appreciate your discretion with my . . . situation.”
“Hot dang!” He claps his hands hard and the sound echoes through the cramped apartment. He angles his head like a proud parent.
“You know, I was certain you were the understanding type.”
“I mean, I was kind of put into a corner.”
“Nah.” He shakes his head. “I probably wasn’t going to tell on you, I ain’t a little rat.” The smirk returns to his face. “I think if it came to it, you weren’t going to tell on me either. You don’t seem the type.”
I can’t help my grin at this. He’s savvier than I gave him credit for. “I probably wasn’t, but I’d feel even more sure if you kept the boxes tidier. It’s genuinely putting Irene’s insurance at risk should there be a fire.”
“You drive a hard bargain.” He tips his chin at me in appreciation. “I’m saving up for a storage unit so things will be cleared
out good.”
“And now that we have such a great understanding, can you let the electrician in tomorrow for the inspection?”
He lets out a huff. “Yeah, I can probably postpone my afternoon trip to Lethbridge, but in the morning, I wasn’t lying about
being busy.” His expression flattens. “It’s my day to visit Miley. I can only see her once a month, and I’ve missed enough.”
His eyes drift to a picture of a girl with dirty-blond hair cut into bangs around blue eyes.
“How old is your daughter?” I blurt out my question before really thinking about it.
“She’s about, well, let’s see, she’s turning fifteen next month.” The words seem to catch in his throat, yet he continues
unprompted. “She goes to Western Canada High School.”
I nod. “Oh, it’s good she’s close.”
“Yeah . . .” His hands curl around his mug and his eyes become distant. “Right now, she don’t got a lot of time to see me
and I don’t blame her.” He shakes his head. “I went through some bad times, drank too much, did some stupid stuff. Missed
too much. Do you know how much a parent has to fuck up for a child not to want to see them much?”
His words hit like pellets. It’s like I’m not even in the room. I blink and I blink, trying to find the ground again.
“I’m trying,” Carmen continues. “I know you think I’m this jackass, but I’m trying.” He exhales through the thick air in the room. “I quit my ways over two years ago. Went to AA, got a therapist.”
I risk taking a swig of Fanta to clear the lump in my throat. During my graduation, when I saw how drunk my dad was, I was
so humiliated. I felt like, if people saw the state of him—if they found out who he was to me—my life would be over. I wanted
to scream almost as much as I was determined not to let him ruin my moment. My new life. Even while wasted, he looked so proud
when he saw me in my cloak. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes when he realized—the officer holding his shoulders to escort
him out, because I called security to remove him.
He said: “Mona, I came to watch you. I’m so proud.” I’ve filed away most thoughts of my dad out of self-preservation, but
I sometimes let myself remember those words.
I try not to remember my words back to him.
The next day, he promised he’d never drink again. And he did everything he could to stay on track, as far as I can tell. For
two years he was sober and trying to repair things with me. And I was just about to reach out to him, when he relapsed.
Six months later, I had to meet my mom to pick him up from the police station because he woke up on the neighbor’s couch.
At the time, it was an odd kind of relief that I’d held off on repairing things with him before that. Because I knew already
that I had to protect myself if I was going to make it.
After his brush with the police, he was sober until he died.
And again, I was going to forgive him. I knew I would eventually. But I let five more years pass.
Maybe if I’d seen the sober guy trying his best, it would’ve happened sooner? But I just kept holding out, waiting for the
shoe to eventually drop. Waiting for his sober days to outnumber his last good streak. Like it was some kind of list I could
check off. Like all of it was measurable and straightforward, and controllable for me.
All those years—timing is a funny little bitch—when I finally met him in what was meant to be the beginning of our coffee dates, I didn’t know he only had three weeks left.
I hate when my mind goes there—into those pointless what-ifs and guilt spirals. It’s best to stop replaying things that can’t
be undone.
The urge to change the mood overwhelms me.
“So, how much would you get for a piece like that?” I’m pointing at this ancient star baby mobile that is hanging from the
light fixture in his theoretical eating nook.
Carmen’s gaze follows my finger. “About fifty bucks if I find the right buyer. Those are extremely rare.”
“Fascinating.” I take yet another sip of flat Fanta—an apparently acquired taste.
His voice becomes serious as he raises a brow. “Listen, I don’t want you getting the wrong idea here.”
I almost spit out my drink.
“I know you’re on leave from work and probably looking to make some cash with odd jobs here and there, but in this line of
work, you gotta be careful. It can be dangerous as all hell meeting strangers on the internet.”
I didn’t expect this weird fatherly concern from Carmen. Or is it just because I know he’s a dad now? My throat thickens, so I throw another sugary blast of Fanta on it. How long has it been since my dad offered
to check my apartment windows to make sure they locked properly? Texted to see if I needed a ride home? He couldn’t offer
much, but he did that.
“I’m telling you, it’s not a fun way to make a living,” Carmen continues. “There are a lot of what I’ve coined Marketplace
Motherfuckers to deal with.”
“What’s a marketplace . . . motherfucker?”
“People message you with bullcrap like ‘Is this available?’ then ghost you. Or write just to tell me that I’m asking too much for a vintage toaster—not to haggle, just to let me know, when they could get a life.”
I let out a chuckle.
And Carmen seems to stand taller. “Last week I have this one guy give me this whole long story about why he couldn’t pick
up the globe that I was offering for free.” He brushes his forehead with his fingers. “I mean, I feel bad that he was apparently attacked by a bobcat, while his wife
stole his truck, but Jesus Christ, he could’ve just ghosted.”
“Okay, but this is compelling stuff he’s sharing. Were there pictures?”
Carmen’s grin spreads all the way to the corners of his eyes. “Matter of fact, he sent me this.” Carmen pulls out his phone
to reveal an unbelievably obvious stock photo of an arm in a bandage.
I start laughing in earnest. “How fucked up is this?”
“I tell ya what, people are really weird.” Carmen lets out a chuckle of his own.
I nod. “Clearly.”
His grin softens. “Hey, I don’t want Irene paying the fine that I created, so I’ll pay it off.”
The sudden offer takes me by surprise. “I’m pretty sure you weren’t the only one to mess up the bins. There were items I could
definitely tie to other tenants.”
He’s already holding a hand out. “That’s okay, I’ve got some extra cash saved up. Irene’s a good landlord and she shouldn’t
have to deal with it.” He shrugs, then a fond look sweeps across his face. “And I know we’ve got our deal now and all, but
I’d still rather not have a reason to be evicted. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that if you wanna keep something, it’s worth
a little extra love.”
I grin at this sentiment. “I appreciate that, Carmen.”
His eyes brighten. “Mona, I just realized we forgot to seal the deal about our discretion.” There’s a buoyancy in his voice as he holds out his glass to cheers me.
I proffer my glass in return.
As they clink, I remember the upcoming viewing.
I stand and swallow the last of the Fanta before reminding Carmen of his appointment with the electrician tomorrow.
This place isn’t worth any extra love, because in a few weeks it could be sold.