10 - Nico
Nico’s dad wouldn’t look at him. “If you’re choosing this, then I don’t have a son.”
The words landed like a knife in Nico’s chest.
Nico was eleven again, and could feel the tears streaming down his face. The three of them were in the butter-yellow kitchen, and he’d finally worked up the courage to come out to his parents. It couldn’t have gone worse.
He choked out the words: “I’m not choosing!”
“I can’t.” Nico’s mom put her hand up in front of her eyes, like she couldn’t even look at him. “This is not something a good, God-fearing person does. It’s not who we raised you to be.”
It was too much, and Nico sank to the linoleum floor.
He wanted to tell them so much, he wanted to explain, but he was crying too hard.
They left him there, weeping.
A trash truck rumbled past him and Nico startled awake.
Thu14Feb
0708 Bakersfield CA
Time toImpact: 03days 01hrs52min
Like in the dream memory, Nico’s face was soaked with tears. He swiped his eyes with his sleeve and sat up. He’d slept in the enormous rental, parked just a few houses down from where he’d grown up.
It was still dark out, but the brownish-pink “dusty rose” house with white shutters and sprinklers watering the perfect front lawn looked the same. The kitchen probably looked the same too.
But he was different.
At least Nico told himself that. He wasn’t a little kid anymore, but he’d chickened out of ringing the doorbell all last night, making up a million excuses.
But the main one: he’d gotten there too late, 9:45 PM .
They were already watching TV in the front living room, and then by 10:00 PM the house got dark.
Like nothing had changed.
The sprinklers turned off, and though the edge of the cement was wet, Nico knew the Cadillac in the driveway was carefully parked to stay dry. Newer model, but still brown. His mom still probably didn’t know how to drive.
A light went on in the entryway. The front door opened, and Nico tensed.
The man who had been his father walked out.
Took the two steps down with a lot of effort.
Even in the bathrobe, Nico could see he’d put on weight.
Had less hair. He paused to push down a sprinkler head on the edge of the grass with his slipper.
He loved that damned lawn. That hadn’t changed in six years.
He went back inside, the kitchen lights went on, and Nico remembered the coffee maker would be doing its job.
No sign of the woman who had been his mom.
Nico wondered what they’d done with his room after they kicked him out and he went into the foster system.
A jigsaw puzzle room for her? A man cave for him?
Did he even want to know?
That question tortured him most of all as he watched the trash truck make its circuit down the street in front of him and then back on the other side.
The trash truck banged the next-door neighbor’s black plastic bin down, and it echoed like a drum. The truck rolled forward, and the side pincers grabbed the bin in front of his childhood home.
“You were supposed to be here yesterday!” There she was, on the front steps, yelling over the noise of the hydraulic lift. Her face was ruddy with anger.
The trash truck driver flipped her off and released the bin—it fell over, spilling loose trash onto the driveway and lawn.
“You did that on purpose!” Spittle flew from her lips as she screamed.
The truck rumbled forward. She ran onto the wet lawn and starting picking up random pieces of trash and throwing them after the truck. “You take our fucking trash!” Piece after piece. A plastic juice bottle. A frozen dinner box. A wad of dry cleaner bags.
Nico felt embarrassed by her. For her. And then he got angry. Why should I be embarrassed? Who the hell is she to me?
Bang! The neighbor’s bin hit the street, neat and upright, like the trash guy was proving to her he’d dropped hers on purpose.
The trash truck kept going, nearly opposite Nico now.
The woman who had been his mom stopped, like she was suddenly aware people might be watching.
Nico watched her straighten her shoulders and walk primly up the driveway and back into the house, like she was heading up the aisle at church to accept communion.
She always cared so much about what other people thought.
Why am I even here?
These people aren’t mine, not any more.
Sam is. And Godeane. And Byron.
They were who Nico wanted to be with.
And if there were only three more days on this earth, he didn’t want to waste another minute not being with his guy.
Nico turned the car on and made a U-turn. As he passed the trash truck, he put up a hand to acknowledge the driver, and it felt almost like a blessing. A benediction.
He headed away from the past.
Toward his husband.
Nico pulled out his phone and tried to call Sam at his new number. It went to an anonymous voicemail. He pulled over so he could text instead:
On my way home
and then got back on the road.
0742
Nico’s phone rang. He hoped it was Sam, but the screen showed it was the Director. He hit speaker phone as he answered.
“Why are you in Bakersfield? You’re supposed to be in New York.” The Director sounded annoyed, even with the voice-distortion.
“It was something personal. I’m heading back to the airport now,” Nico told them.
“No. We have somewhere else for you to go first. It’s not that far—I’ll send you the coordinates.”
“But I promised Sam.”
“Parkour. This isn’t a game.”
Nico sighed. “Fine. Let me know where you need me to go.”
“I’ll be in touch when you arrive.” And the Director ended the call.
They were tracking him, Nico realized. Probably listening to him too, smart phones being what they were.
The address came through: somewhere in Fort Irwin, California. He checked the map: two and a half hours east.
As he merged onto CA 58, Nico wondered if Fort Irwin was big enough to have an airport. Because once he did this thing for the Director, he needed to catch a flight home. To Sam.