Chapter 7 #2
It wasn’t that bad. My comment was a fact, not a judgment.
He probably didn’t even think anything of it.
Ro’s just silently running my card like he does for every customer.
Because that’s what I am to him—a customer.
An elitist prick of a customer, but a customer just the same.
I came to pick up my car, and that’s what I’m doing.
In twenty minutes, he’ll forget I even exist.
Don’t make it a thing. Just because you overthink everything doesn’t mean he does—he’s a guy.
But even as I think it, I know I’m full of shit.
Ro looks hurt. I hurt him.
I have to say something. I have to explain—
“Car’ll be out front,” he says, handing me the receipt that concludes our transaction. “Have a great day.”
I pause for a beat. Silent and still. I’m waiting for him to say my name, I realize. Have a great day, Kaia.
I want to see the shape of it on his lips. To hear the challenge in it before I go. For some reason it’s important to me that he says it.
But when the customer behind me moves to the counter to take my spot, Ro’s smile sparkles for them, and I know I’ve been dismissed. He’s not going to say it.
“Thanks, Ro,” I whisper.
And as I turn toward the exit, I tell myself the heat at my back is embarrassment—not Ro’s eyes burning holes right through me.
—
It’s entirely possible that the air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror is a standard thing Pops’ includes for all its customers, but there’s also a chance Ro put it in here for me.
Before I showed up to prove that I really am the absolute worst. Either way, I’ve been watching it oscillate so intensely that by the time I get home, I’m practically hypnotized.
Mom’s back in her recliner. Her eyes are glued to her phone, and what sounds like another social media self-help reel. But she watches self-appointed Insta gurus the same way I consume fitspo. Chronically, while living in direct contradiction of the thirty-second clickbait loop.
Only, where I question the effectiveness of standing core work while approving offensively high service fees on Thai delivery, Mom inhales virtual therapy sound bites while going the opposite of no contact.
I guarantee that in between sage-advice snippets, she’s switching over to her burner account.
Secretly stalking the mistresses and ghosts of relationships past.
I can’t care about any of that right now though. I’ve got to gauge how much she already knows.
“Hey,” I say, feigning calm. It’s so put on that I might as well be whistling with my hands buried in my pockets. “Zo beat me back?”
“She’s running a few more errands,” Mom says, not giving anything away. “More stuff for the baby.”
That buys me at least a couple hours before I have to answer for—
“Zola said she met the man who helped you out yesterday.”
Welp.
Mom doesn’t offer anything more. She’s making me work for it.
She swivels to face me so I sit, building a protective buffer of decorative couch pillows between us. “What else did she say?”
“She said if she wasn’t already knocked up…” Mom trails off but lets her eyebrows rise and fall to finish her thought.
“Mom, with the eyebrows. Please.”
She’s still laughing when she says, “So, what do you say? Should I tell the boss to add the tow truck guy to our lineup?”
Hearing those words echoed back makes me want to suffocate myself in these cushions. But, because I’m me, I don’t hide from my shame—I turn it inside out till it’s something I can get my hands around. Anger.
“Is it even possible to have a conversation in this house that doesn’t center around men? What is it with you guys? It’s fucking sad.”
“Okay, first of all, I don’t care how grown you think you are.
Watch your mouth.” Mom holds her finger out so straight and sharp it cuts me down to size.
“I’ll give you a pass this time, because you’ve obviously lost your mind, and right now that seems like the more pressing issue.
But Kaia Rose, I am not the one. This is my house. ”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, feeling like a child, but also loving this glimpse of who Mom used to be in the before times.
And she’s right—no matter how grown I am out in the world, in this house, I’m her child. Which is why I transition so seamlessly from full-blown tantrum to being laid out on the couch with my feet in Mom’s lap, listing out my failings from the past twelve hours. In chronological order.
“Kai, it sounds like what you said to this guy is really bothering you. Or all the things you said to him.”
“Mom,” I whine, but that lone word is the entirety of my argument.
So she continues. “Go back and apologize.”
“Okay, I think that’s a little aggressive.”
“Fine, don’t go,” she says, standing to grab my phone from the coffee table.
“But if you treated him badly and shouldn’t have, you’re gonna replay what happened and a would-be apology in your mind all day.
Or knowing you, quite possibly for years to come.
Might as well just call him and get it over with. ”
I make no move toward the phone, but she’s right. I’ve only been trapped in this shame montage for the past twenty-four hours, and already I want out.
Sensing my internal debate, Mom goes in for the kill. “You have a big heart, sweetie. But don’t worry, I won’t tell.” Then she lowers her voice to a whisper and places the phone on my stomach. “Promise.”
—
Afrobeats is playing in the background when Ro answers. Even through the phone, that place is a vibe.
“Pops’.”
I recognize his voice and this thing my stomach does in response to it, but still I ask: “Hey. Is Ro available?” to buy myself another second.
“It’s Ro.”
I scale the stairs three at a time in search of a door to close. Mom’s way too quiet to not be listening in.
“Hey, it’s Kaia. Harper. From earlier?” I stammer, hoping not to sound too breathless as I pace the length of the bedroom.
It’s the same room I grew up sleeping in, but I’d never call it mine. Mom trades out decor the way she does men—or rather she redesigns her surroundings to match her men, so now it’s basically a yoga studio with a daybed in the bay window.
“Yeah, hey. What’s up?” he says, snapping me back to the present. “Everything good with the car?”
“Yeah, the car’s great, you guys did a great job.”
Charging the battery?
“Anyway,” I start, but I can’t risk any more small talk. “I felt weird after I left. That comment I made…It sounded bad, but I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t want you to think I was judging you for being a tow truck driver. That’s so not who I am.”
And then, because apparently, I have to hit some sort of quota—I say more words.
“I mean nobody’s just any one thing, right? Like you’re an artist, you’re…somebody’s ex-boyfriend,” I say, recounting the nonexistent details I know about Ro’s life. “And you’re also—”
“The tow truck guy?” he asks, dryly, but I swear I hear his teeth scrape that lip.
“Well, yeah,” I say seriously. “For now.”
“So let me get this straight,” he starts. “You called to apologize for calling me ‘just the tow truck guy,’ by calling me, ‘the tow truck guy…for now.’ ”
“I mean—yes?” I say, as I debate which of us hates me more right now.
“Okay,” I start again. “Full disclosure, I was worried my sister was gonna out me. I’m doing an excruciatingly embarrassing favor for her, and I didn’t want her to put my business out there.”
Ro’s quiet and I can’t tell if he’s listening politely or doling out additional rope for me to keep hanging myself with.
“It’s this matchmaking thing. That’s what she does.”
“Like for fun?” he says. His first sign of life in a minute.
“Like for work.”
“Ya know,” he says, and he’s definitely smiling now. “I can see that. She’d probably be pretty good at it too. Maybe I should use her.”
“I am. Sort of,” I admit for the first time. “That’s the favor. And I panicked when I realized she was gonna tell you about it. But now I’m telling you about it, so basically, I was an asshole for nothing.”
At this point I have no pride left to tarnish, so I come clean about all of it.
Ro’s so quiet after I finish that I have to check to make sure the call didn’t drop.
Finally, he lets out a laugh so big and sudden that I’m as shocked to hear it as I am relieved. And now I’m smiling too.
“Okay,” he says. “I’ve gotta know how this one ends.”