Chapter 31
Ava
When Tucker came over after his trip to Houston, I was sitting on the floor of my apartment surrounded by photographs.
“Look here.” I pointed to an image of him leaning against the giant blue shoe at the mini golf course. “The saturation is good.”
“I like the new printer. Are you going to start charging?”
“Big Harry said I could put cards out if I wanted to drum up customers. I’ve been taking pictures of the regulars for a while now. Should I wait until I graduate, though?”
“I don’t think many photographers go to school in the first place. You’re already ahead.” Tucker kneeled in front of an image of Charles reaching for a frothy-headed beer, a stream of colored light from the neon landing on the mug like it was the Holy Grail.
He lifted it to examine more closely. “This is good.”
“You think so? My professor says I have the eye.”
“You do.”
I stacked the prints to store in my portfolio. I had so little documentation of my life that photography seemed the perfect occupation. And the more I could photograph, the more I’d get back after any memory resets, should the worst happen.
I only had a crappy old digital SLR I bought used, and the lens was rubbish, but my professor insisted that great art could be made with a box and a pinhole. The equipment was not the point.
Still, I was saving my tips for something better. It wasn’t easy, paying rent and going to school. But I was doing it.
For the first time, I was pursuing a dream, learning something on my own.
And as both Big Harry and my neurologist had pointed out, even if I lost my episodic memory, a skill like this would stick.
As soon as I reacquainted myself with the camera functions, I’d be able to quickly re-establish my ability to capture a great image.
When I set the portfolio aside, I realized Tucker hadn’t moved. “What’s up?” I asked, scooting closer so that our knees touched.
“I want you to see something,” he said, opening the photo app on his phone and turning the screen to me.
I took it from him. “A house. Pretty fancy. Not good lighting, though. It would have been an awesome shot about two hours later.”
“It’s your dad’s house.”
My belly dropped. “You mean Marcus?”
“Yeah. When Gram and I were in Houston, we drove by it.”
I peered closer. “They grow flowers. That’s good. It’s a nice house.” I passed the phone back. “What’s your point?”
“I’m going to have surgery in Houston in a few weeks.”
“You’re what?”
“It’s a good thing.” He took my hands in his. “The new doc says there’s this thing called a VNS they can attach to me and it might prevent the seizures.”
“Really?” I’d never heard of anything like that.
“It’s something they do for people who can’t take meds.”
“Is it safe?”
“They do it on little kids, even.”
I moved closer, climbing onto his lap and straddling his waist to face him. My fingers ran through his hair. He smelled of gardenia bath wash. Gram’s. He must have run out of his. “I don’t like the thought of someone cutting on you.”
“Hand me your camera,” he said, and I twisted around to lift it from the floor.
He turned it over in his hand. “How does this thing work?”
“Photo or video?”
“Video.”
I flipped it on and adjusted the settings for the light in the apartment. “What’s it for?”
He took it from me and held it out, the lens pointed toward us. “Is it rolling?”
I pressed the button to start the recording. “It is now.”
He turned to the camera. “I’m Tucker. The weird one. And this is Ava. She’s too good for me.”
I punched his ribs, but he only laughed. “We are about to embark on a great journey into the depths of my screwy brain.” I punched him again, and he could barely stop laughing enough to talk. “Hey, I’m trying to save this for posterity.”
I pressed my face into his shoulder. What was he up to?
“In a few weeks hence, I will begin my transformation into Tucker Prime, part human, part machine.”
I couldn’t stand it anymore. I grabbed his arm and angled the camera toward me. “I’m sure we’re completely out of focus and this footage is so shaky it will look like we’re living through an earthquake.”
He turned the camera back to his face and said in a shaky voice, as if it really were an earthquake, “Thisssss isss the lassst will and tesssstament of Tucker Giddingsss.”
“Get on with it,” I said, but my anxiety had eased. Tucker was always good for that.
“Before my transformation into a cyborg and a life of robotic crime, I wanted proof that I was once a loving and doting boyfriend.” He kissed my hair. “And that we are definitely going to be together forever.”
He lowered the camera. “And… cut.” He set the camera on the carpet.
“You’re nuts,” I told him. “Was that for me to remember you by if you die in surgery?”
He pulled me close. “I won’t die. I’m excited. And I’d like you to come. I don’t have an exact date yet. I can work around your classes if you think Harry will let you off.”
“I’ll skip classes. You’re more important.”
“It’s outpatient. And maybe one night in a hotel if I’m not up for the drive back.”
“You’d ride in a car the day they cut you?”
“It’ll be tiny cuts. You’ll barely see them after they heal.” He cradled me against his chest. “I’ll be fine, Ava. This is my best chance at knocking this problem out.”
“What if it doesn’t work?”
“Then it doesn’t work. But it’s a shot.”
“Why does anything have to change?” I pressed my face into his chest, trying to stop myself from trembling. Trusting someone was hard for me. I was so vulnerable. And now Tucker wanted to take this big risk.
“Because I want a life again, like when we were first together. Remember how I drove a car and took you on dates? We stayed out late and sent messages half the night.”
Of course, I remembered none of that, but I knew what he meant. “Okay. I’ll come. But do what’s best for you. I can miss a class. The professor thinks I’m God’s gift to photography already.”
He laughed and the rumble of it set my soul at ease. He squeezed me inside his embrace. “You’re God’s gift to everything.”
“Tell that to those idiots who don’t tip their server.”
We sat there a moment, holding each other. I sensed he had something else to say.
“What?” I asked.
“I was thinking. If we’re in Houston…”
I pulled away to stare at the bar signs on the wall. “I don’t know.”
“We know where he lives.”
“I can’t simply drop in. Hey, Pops, remember me? The kid you ditched?”
“There was a pink bike there. Wouldn’t you like to know if you have a sister? She might be worth more than a dad.”
A sister.
I had no real concept of blood ties. Just a mother who’d wrecked me, bound me to her through a condition I couldn’t control.
“I’ll think about it.”
Tucker pulled me back into his embrace. “I once had a dad. Your mother—she’s a mess. I don’t blame you for never wanting to see her. But if I could see my dad again—” His voice broke, and my chest tightened. Tucker rarely talked about his family.
“But your dad didn’t leave you when he could have stayed.” I brushed his hair back from his forehead.
“I know. But he wasn’t the perfect dad. He was really athletic, and so was my brother. They played football together. Watched games. Real 1950s stuff.”
“What about you?”
“I wasn’t particularly big on sports, although he often took Stephen and I bowling.
I was a gamer nerd. I spent all my time on my consoles.
” His fingers tweaked one of the pinwheels in my hair.
“For a long time, Dad wasn’t into video games at all.
Thought it rotted our heads. I felt like he disapproved of me, like I couldn’t do anything right because I wasn’t on some sports team. ”
“You’re not exactly selling me on dads here.”
“Hold on. Something changed him when I was ten or so. I guess he realized he was spending more time with Stephen than me. I don’t know. Maybe Mom guilted him or something.”
“So, he played video games with you?” I tried to picture young Tucker, the version I saw in pictures at Gram’s house.
“He did. And he actually liked the racing games. Mario Kart and all that. We’d play for hours until Mom made us stop for dinner.”
“He figured out a way to be your dad, too. Not just Stephen’s.”
“He did. And I let go of all the years I felt he wasn’t a real dad to me. Let myself be his kid again, at least while I had him.”
I blew out a long breath. “You’ve made your point. Let me think about it.”
That weekend Josefina, a girl from my photography class, called me in a panic. Her cousin Rita was having her quinceanera, a super fancy fifteenth birthday party. Since Josefina was studying photography, she’d been roped into taking the pictures.
She was terrified she’d miss something important, like the last doll or the rose ceremony. Would I please, please be her backup? I could use the photos in my portfolio if I ever wanted to book events.
I instantly said yes. My professor had told us that building a portfolio was the most important step in preparing to charge money for taking pictures. As much as I loved Big Harry and our crew at his diner, I did not want to be a waitress forever.
I arrived at the church as fifteen-year-old Rita waited by the back door to be escorted inside with her parents. Josefina circled the family, snapping away.
I immediately began photographing Rita. Her bright blue dress tufted out around her like a bell, thousands of ruffles aligned in perfect rows.
When Josefina spotted me, her shoulders relaxed. “Thank God you made it, Ava. I’m already exhausted, and I’ve only done the preparation pictures!”
“Where do you want me?”
Josefina stationed me along the side wall of the church for the religious part of the ceremony. Rita’s parents led her to the altar to be blessed. The words were all in Spanish, but I picked up a few of them. I concentrated on the lighting, snapping the solemn faces.
The tone of the event completely changed after everyone moved to the adjacent banquet hall.
Several young couples were announced as they entered, like royalty in old movies.
Josefina leaned in as Rita stood alone in a spotlight.
“Rita wanted to walk in with her girlfriend as escort, but her family wouldn’t let her. ”
“Why not?”
“Appearances.” Josefina shook her head. “The abuelas would have had a fit. At least her parents haven’t stopped them from dating. That’s something. Still wrecking her big day, though.”
“Is the girlfriend here?”
“No. It was too hard. Oh, time for the tiara.”
We parted again, wildly snapping images as the mother approached Rita to place a crown on her head. I had never seen anything as beautiful and elaborate as their dresses and hair.
An elderly woman moved forward with a pair of high-heeled shoes that matched Rita’s blue dress. I quickly zoomed in on them, bright and sparkling in the woman’s wrinkled hands.
Rita lifted her hem and stepped out of her flat white shoes to wear the heels instead. I understood now. This was her transition into womanhood.
Her father approached, and the DJ played a slow, languid song in Spanish. The two of them danced alone across the room. Many of the women brought out handkerchiefs to dab their eyes.
I took a dozen shots, then lowered my camera. The father smiled down at his daughter. Despite whatever problems they were having with the decision not to allow her girlfriend to escort her, in this moment, he seemed happy and proud. She gazed up at him with shining eyes, and my stomach knotted.
So this is what Tucker had meant about his dad. About family. You can have problems and still find ways to love each other.
While loading the images on my computer that night to review my shots, I couldn’t stop thinking about the quinceanera.
It wasn’t just the father-daughter dance.
It was all the family. Abuelos, grandparents.
Tías y tíos, aunts and uncles. And so many cousins.
All those people, related to you, there to celebrate your birthday. I’d never seen anything like it.
The only family Tucker and I had was his gram. I had no idea if the father I met—if he would even talk to me—would be worthy of a moment like I’d seen.
But maybe I had other people out there connected to me. Mother must have had parents. My father, too. A whole trove of aunts, uncles, and cousins could be wondering what happened to me.
My mother didn’t know where I was, and I didn’t want her, anyway. Even grandparents and cousins on her side might be risky, as they’d clue her in to my whereabouts.
My father might be better. Until Tucker’s push, I’d chosen not to try.
But I wanted the answer to why he left. I would ask him if Mother drove him away. Maybe she kept him from me through some sort of threat, and he was miserable, too. I wanted to watch his face for the truth or the lie.
Maybe we could be like Rita and her father. Despite the conflict, the past upset, we could find a way to be family. Maybe like Tucker and his dad, we could find something in common.
Tucker sat beside me as I wrote an email to the address listed on Dad’s business website. I kept it simple. No accusations. Nothing about Mother. Just that I was living on my own. And I would be in Houston soon. Was he willing to meet?
When I thought I had it right, I hit send.
We expected it to be hours or even days before we heard back, so we were both shocked when a ping sounded only minutes later.
It was him. Marcus Roberts.
I glanced over at Tucker. “I don’t know if I can read it.”
“Should I look at it first?”
I nodded and leaned against his shoulder, watching his face.
He clicked it open and his eyes moved from side to side as he read.
Then he smiled.
I sat up. “What?”
“He asks when you can come.”
My eyes burned as I took the laptop to see the words for myself.
My dearest sweet Ava,
I’ve been waiting for this day for so long.
I tried to find you when you turned eighteen, but your mother only ever sent me a PO Box for the checks.
Then you ran away. I’m happy to initiate this any way you like.
Email. A phone call. And by all means, please come to visit.
I can absolutely see you the weekend you are in Houston. Nothing is more important.
Dad
He’d been waiting.
I squeezed Tucker’s hand, unable to speak.
I was going to meet my father.
My dad.