make it.
“You know it. Juanita will be up any minute and I need to get this bird in before she does. I love that woman more than my life, but she might end up killing me or herself if I let her try to roast a turkey again. She has a lot to give, but she can’t cook.” We both laughed at the fond resignation in his voice. “I don’t have you around anymore to keep her distracted.”
The years I practically lived with them, Coach and I prepared dinner for the three of us whenever I stayed over. He and Juanita never had kids themselves, so having me around gave him a companion in the kitchen.
“Maybe next year.”
He made a sound that sounded like a “you better,” then whispered into the phone, “You heard from your folks?”
“Billy called last night to let me know I was an ungrateful little prick.”
A heavy sigh came over the line. “That man will never change, but that’s not who you are. I’m proud of you, son.”
I grunted in reluctant agreement knowing he would hammer that in until I registered in my brain that I wasn’t my father.
“Are you doing anything today? You get anywhere with your Queens girl? I hope you’re not messing up with her.”
My face got hot again, and this time I really did sputter. I’d mentioned her in passing once to Coach and that was enough to get roasted.
“There’s nothing to mess up. I’m going to stay home today, relax, and she’s doing the same. Tomorrow I’m going to a cookout that the women who own the company I’m consulting for are throwing.”
I heard some more shuffling and a crash, which made Coach bite back a curse.
“All right, son. Take care. Call us on Sunday. Don’t be dense. Buy a pie and bring it over to that girl if she’s home alone too.”
I smiled at his pushiness. “I’m sure Julia can get her own pie.”
“It’ll be sweeter if you bring it to her though.”
I didn’t know about that, but I gave him a very tentative “maybe” before hanging up.
I lay in bed staring at my ceiling for a bit wondering why I’d chosen to be here instead of flying to New York and spending the day with Coach and Juanita. I could’ve done something with Sofia and the baby, and yet here I was for no reason.
And that was a big lie too, because I’d stayed hoping that Julia threw me a bone. But unlike me, she wasn’t trying to wreck her life. The friends, the nice older ladies inviting me to barbecues at their house, that shit was all transitory. This wasn’t my real life and I had to start acting like it.
Chapter Seventeen
Julia
I’d done some early morning yoga and was enjoying my second cup of café con leche and some toast my grandmother had delivered and stealing a little alone time in my guest bedroom—since my own was occupied by my parents—when I heard my sister’s yelling.
“Ayo! There’s a hot sweaty guy with a dirty cat outside!” Paula was so freaking loud.
Also, what the fuck?
“What the hell are you talking about, Paula?” I hollered, and stayed in bed, because clearly she was talking nonsense and I was not nearly caffeinated enough for any of it.
“Niña, language!” I had no idea where my mom even was, but I was convinced she had a sensor that deployed the Voice of God over any of us if we used any “nasty” words.
Sighing, I took one last sip of my perfectly sweetened milky caffeinated drink and got up to go see what my sister was talking about. When I came out to the living room, I almost ran back to my room. Standing in my doorway was none other than Rocco Fucking Quinn holding a half-dead furry thing. I glanced over to the kitchen and saw that my mom, grandmother, and sister were all sipping coffee and watching the scene unfolding in my apartment. My dad was already making conversation with our unannounced guest.
“What are you doing here, Rocco?” I sounded a lot more exasperated than I was, but I was having a significant Twilight Zone moment. Rocco lifted his head from talking to the thing he was holding and I bit back another curse.
My dad turned around, probably to remind me that we “are always polite to guests,” when I held up my hand.
“Sorry.” I walked up to Rocco and when I looked at him I could see he was freaking out.