Sorry Not Sorry

by Jaime Reed

  After throwing on some jeans, sneaks, and my volunteer T-shirt, I went downstairs for some semblance of food. I’d planned on grabbing an off-brand McMuffin at one of the cafés in Aberdeen Square, but the scent wafting from the first floor canceled that order.

  The dogs nipped at my heels and stalked me into the kitchen.

  Mateo stood at the stove and scooped flat donut holes from a baking pan. He glanced up at me, and his smile revealed deep-seated dimples.

  “I’m glad you’re here. I need you to try this.” He handed me a piece cooling from the plate.

  I eyed the pastry wearily. “What is it?”

  “Polvorones de Canela.”

  “Provolone Cornella.” I nodded thoughtfully. “Meaning what exactly?”

  “Polvorones de Canela.” The words rolled off his tongue in a low purr that made me consider adopting a cat. “A cinnamon cookie. It’s my secret recipe. Go on. Try it.”

  Watching him watching my response, I took a timid bite. Flavors exploded on my tongue in a celebration of spice, sugar, and all things decadent and fattening. The treat ended too quickly and my tongue swiped my lips for more.

  “These are bangin’! You should sell these at our next bake sale.” I dove for another one.

  “Maybe. I still need to tweak a few ingredients.” He scooped raw dough onto the cookie sheet.

  “So I’m guessing you’re skipping out on the cleanup party today. Did you get proper clearance from the warden?” I asked, sneaking cookie number three.

  “Mrs. Trina’s at some church meeting, so I’ve finally got a few hours of peace. Now I’m in the zone.” He hooked his thumbs into the neck strap of his apron. The front of the apron had a cartoon of a talking hot pepper with the words EL CALIENTE! floating inside its little speech bubble. “Speaking of skipping,” Mateo added, “I noticed you weren’t in class yesterday.”

  The comment forced my food to go down the wrong pipe. “How would you know that? We don’t have any classes together,” I said between coughs. I grabbed a bottled water from the fridge.

  “I didn’t see your car out in the parking lot and when I asked your friend Sera, she said you hadn’t showed up.” He stared pointedly at me. “Does Mrs. Trina know you played hooky?”

  Could a girl get some warning before having to lie on the spot? I’d timed my appointments perfectly so I’d make it home around three in the afternoon. Since Mateo no longer needed to bum a ride, I figured no one would suspect that I ditched school.

  I should’ve known Chef Boyar-Hotness would be trouble when I saw his pride and joy hogging the driveway. It was a rusty green Sanford and Son pickup, held together by duct tape and prayer. It had gotten trapped in mud during the storm, and he was more thrilled over saving that hunk of bolts than his mom’s recovery. I assumed it was another memento from his dad, though I couldn’t be sure.

  Mateo stirred a bowl of batter contentedly. I could tell he was waiting for my response. “Well?”

  “ ‘Well’ what?” I gulped my water and stalled for time.

  “Fine. Don’t tell me. I know where you went anyway.”

  I swallowed hard. “You do?”

  “You went to get tested, right? You’re thinking about donating a kidney to Alyssa Weaver.”

  The bottle slipped from my fingers, and catching it in time was a juggling act of pure fail. The plastic bounced from hand to hand, to countertop, to bar stool, to the floor, and then to the mercy of my German shepherd. The dog left the room with a new chew toy between his teeth. Meanwhile, I leaned against the kitchen island and acted like none of that just happened.

  Playing it cool, I asked Mateo, “Wh-what makes you think that?”

  “Several things. Your reaction when Alyssa passed out in the park. Your knowledge of her condition. The internet search history auto-directing me to bookmarked sites when I borrowed your laptop. The medical binder you left in the back seat of your car that says, ‘Living Donor Program Companion Guide.’ The dates marked inside the planner lining up with the days you’ve missed. And the Band-Aid inside the crook of your arm shows that you’ve had blood drawn recently.” He glanced down at said arm, then dismissed the point with a shrug. “Then again, I could be wrong.”

  Wow. Did he moonlight as a private eye or was I just that clumsy? Either way, the need to explain myself was dire. “I just wanted to see if I’m a good candidate. It might not even work. I just had to see, you know?”

  “What if it does work?”

  Oh great. First Sheree and now him? “I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. I still have a few more appointments until they can tell me if I’m approved or not.”

  “I take it I’m the only person who knows about this.”

  “Just you and my sister. So please don’t tell anyone.” With hands clasped together, I was calling in a favor and praying in tandem. I would need both prayers and favors if Grandma Trina found out.

  “Sure.” Mateo plucked a cookie from the plate and took a bite. He made a face. “Needs more butter.”

  I blinked, completely thrown off guard. He had to be playing with me. “What do you mean, ‘sure’? You mean you won’t tell?”

  “Yeah. I think it’s cool what you’re doing. I had to give my mom blood when she was first taken to the hospital. It’s not the same, though. Not many Hispanics donate organs. It’s shady business, especially in Mexico.”

  My head moved closer to his and I had no idea why I was whispering. “You’re talking black market stuff? People don’t go to doctors down there?”

  “Who do you think is running the scam?” he said, then continued working. “Why waste time treating a poor, sick person when you can harvest their organs after they die? It’s a huge racket that makes people scared of hospitals. Not all, but you learn quickly which ones to avoid.”

  What was I supposed to say to that? He was sounding more like Sheree by the second.

  Mateo bumped my arm. “Relax. I’m sure you’ll be fine. And your secret is safe with me.”

  “Thanks.” I drummed my fingers on the table when the conversation lagged. Not that it would change my mind or anything, but I just wanted to know—“You don’t think I’m crazy for attempting this, do you?”

  Brows knit in concentration, he arranged the balls of dough so they were evenly spaced on the baking pan. Sculptors weren’t this meticulous.

  “Nope. I don’t really know Alyssa that well. But I can tell she means something to you. Near-death experiences can put things into perspective and show you who your true friends are.” Mateo handed me a cookie. “Stop thinking so hard. The brain and the heart will trip you up every time and have you going in circles and nothing gets done. Just follow your gut. That’s what I do.” He rubbed his belly.

  I leaned back and stared him up and down. Had Mateo always been this deep? “Check you out, Chef Yoda, Jedi Master of the kitchen,” I finally said with a smile. “I didn’t know fortunes came with these cookies.”

  “Mmm,” Mateo replied. “Mind what you have learned. Save you, it can.”

  Somehow, he’d sounded exactly like that little green dude from Star Wars, and I. Was. Rolling. My eyes watered, my stomach muscles tied into triple knots, and my legs gave out as I laughed and leaned against the counter for support.

  I was learning something new about Mateo every day. Today, I’d learned that he was a low-key fanboy and he could say something that would cause choking or a deadly case of the giggles. I’d have to remember that in the future.

  It had been a while since I’d had a good, face-splitting belly laugh. The weirdest part was that in the past, nearly all of those occasions had somehow involved Alyssa.

  “Don’t. Say. A thing.” I pushed the command out through a locked jaw and clenched teeth. It required every muscle in my face to keep from turning toward Alyssa’s direct line of vision. One glance, one nudge, one psst from that fool would open the floodgates of hysterical laughter. I knew what had caught her attention, but I possessed enough home training to
not stare outright.

  The scruffy man in the tan trench coat and safari hat slid down the buffet line. Eight chicken legs and four tiny milk cartons sat on his dinner tray. As volunteers, we didn’t pass judgment or ask questions about the people we served, but that thing cradled in the man’s arms raised a grocery list of them. The bundle squirmed inside a blue blanket and clutched a baby bottle between its two black claws.

  Not even trying to be subtle, Alyssa’s bugged-out stare followed the man to a table across the room. Her strawberry-blond head, crowned with the same reindeer-antler headband as mine, turned as far as it could go without getting whiplash.

  “Not one word, Lyssa,” I warned again.

  She lifted her hands in surrender. “I wasn’t gonna say anything.”

  Holding my breath, I started the countdown in my head. Five, four, three, two …

  “But let it go on record that that’s gotta be the ugliest baby I’ve ever seen,” she whispered.

  “That’s because it’s not a baby. It’s a raccoon, not even full grown.” I slapped creamed corn onto the dinner tray and passed it to the next person in the chow line.

  “Are you telling me that guy brought a raccoon to a soup kitchen?” Alyssa raved. “Dude’s got that thing swaddled in a blanket like Jesus in the manger.”

  “Shut up, Lyssa,” I hissed.

  We couldn’t make a peep without Grandma Trina catching wind of it. She stood across the room, chatting with the charity organizer. But my grandmother was the rare creature with eyes on the front, back, side, and top of her head. I averted my gaze and could still feel the looming threat of danger if I so much as cracked a smile.

  We were in the multipurpose room in our town hall. The room transformed into whatever was needed: an auditorium for town meetings and pageant plays, a conference room for a guest speaker, or a ballroom for every prom in every school district. But it was mostly a playroom for Thursday night bingo. Today, it had a more humble purpose: serving food to the unfortunate.

  Rainbow lights flickered on the eight-foot Christmas tree in the corner. Tinsel and garland hung from the ceiling, and all us volunteers wore reindeer-antler headbands and red rubber noses. Some lady in a squeaky voice sang “Santa Baby” on the radio. Her cutesy-wootsy voice crooned through two monster speakers at the front door and jabbed ice picks in my brain. It helped distract me from the laughing fit that was bound to pop off at any minute.

  “Girl, I’m telling you right now—don’t look at me.” I slapped mushy meat product onto a tray. “You’re not gonna get me in trouble today. Nope. No way.”

  Alyssa had the nerve to sound appalled. “How would I get you in trouble?”

  The question was too dumb to warrant a response. I’d gotten grounded for a week for selling candy with her for our class field trip. Everyone in school was peddling goodies, but their efforts didn’t result in two minors getting charged with trespassing. Neither Grandma Trina nor the sheriff who drove us home could grasp the marketing genius of running shop inside every nurse’s station, daycare center, and Lamaze class in town. That’s why I was minding my p’s and q’s today. Grandma Trina was famous for making gifts disappear from the tree if we acted up. The speed with which she approached our table told me that more presents were about to go missing.

  “What are you two doing? Didn’t I tell y’all to split up?” Grandma Trina demanded.

  Alyssa wrapped her arms around my shoulder and clung to me tightly. “I know, but we’ll be good. I promise.” She batted her lashes at Grandma Trina, but the woman wasn’t having it.

  “Promise nothin’. Y’all ain’t gonna be embarrassin’ me up in here with all that gigglin’. Show some respect. Now, you go back to the canned food station and y’all can play after the dinner.” Grandma Trina pointed across the room in the way she’d order our dogs to sit in the corner.

  Alyssa made a production of the separation. Her arms stretched out as she pulled away and whimpered, “Stay strong, Janelle. We will be together again someday.”

  “Noooo! Come back!” I cried, my hands reaching out for her.

  “Oh, for the love of …” Grandma walked away in a huff, completely done with the whole scene. But we weren’t. Alyssa was halfway across the room and we were still going at it.

  “I’ll never forget you!” I wailed. “The memories we shared will stay close to my bosom!”

  Carrying a box of Styrofoam plates, Sheree stepped between our outstretched hands and shook her head at us. “Really, guys? You two need serious help,” she muttered, then walked away.

  Not even thirty minutes after her banishment, Alyssa somehow made it over to my side again. While on my break and en route to one of the long banquet tables, I felt her nudge my arm.

  “Aaand I’m back by popular demand.” Keeping a lookout for Grandma Trina, Alyssa added in a hushed tone, “So can I stay over tonight? My dad’s in town and I’m really not feeling that holiday reunion.”

  Did she not know what day it was? “Yeah, but aren’t you gonna open gifts tomorrow?”

  “No gifts, just gift cards. All gift cards. No need to open them until I get to the store. Besides, they’re just gonna fight and blame each other for their failings in life.”

  Okay, my parents had fights. Alyssa’s parents had WWE matches. Whenever I’d stay over, she’d turn up the TV in her room to drown out whatever cookware hit the walls. Her folks’ marriage was over long before her dad moved out, but that didn’t mean they didn’t love her. Heck, most of their arguments were about caring for her. Was that what she meant by “their failings”?

  I turned to ask her, but she grew distracted by someone entering through the double doors.

  Ryon Kimura stepped into the dining hall, wearing a frumpy blue sweater with a giant snowflake on the front. If I had to bet money on it, that getup was from a mandatory photo op where everyone in the family dressed the same.

  He approached our table and smiled. “Hey, Janelle. You guys got any more of those to-go boxes?”

  I ran the inventory in my head. “Um, yeah, we—”

  Alyssa hopped from her seat and stepped in front of me. “We have plenty. How many do you need?”

  “As many as you can spare.” His glance roamed across the two dozen dining tables that were full to capacity. “It’s pretty packed in here. Some are getting turned away at the door. We’ve got food to spare, but not enough room.”

  Alyssa slapped her hands over her mouth and gasped. “Oh no! Not on Christmas Eve!”

  “I know. It’s heartbreaking. My dad and his crew have something set up at the community center. So we’re directing everyone over there and sending to-go plates with them,” Ryon explained.

  Alyssa sighed deeply and carried on with quivering lips and misty eyes. “There’s nothing more gratifying than the act of giving. Can you imagine all these hungry people with nowhere to go for the holidays?”

  So now that was a point of concern for her? If I rolled my eyes any harder, I’d go blind. “Go ask my grandma over there. She’ll get you what you need.” I pointed to the buffet line.

  “Thanks. I’ll catch you later. Merry Christmas.” Ryon winked, then walked away to the sound of Mariah Carey singing “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” Alyssa’s hand reached for his retreating back as she lip-synched the lyrics in his honor.

  I watched her antics, then said through a mouthful of pie, “They’ve got bottled water at the buffet table if you’re feeling thirsty.”

  “Oh, shut up.” She dropped into the seat next to me. “Let’s not go into secret crushes around here. Unlike you, I plan on going after what I want.”

  I stopped chewing and asked out of the corner of my mouth, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  With elbows resting on the table, she tucked her hands under her chin and stared longingly at the pie on my plate that she couldn’t eat. “Nothing. No tea, no shade.”

  Before I could call her out, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to the chair to my right and saw an
adorably tiny woman wrapped in a matted fur hat and coat.

  “Sweetie, are you drinking that?” She pointed to the clear plastic cup of water between us.

  “No, ma’am. You can have it.” I slid the cup closer to her.

  “Oh, thank you, dear,” the woman said, then stuck her thumb in her mouth, popped out the top row of teeth, dropped it into the water, then continued eating.

  Alyssa and I sat locked in place. My eyes turned straight ahead, looking at nothing, not my food on my plate, not the dentures floating in the cup, and especially not Alyssa’s face. The moment I did, the second we made eye contact, I would be done for.

  “Not one word,” I grunted out, my body shaking with suppressed laughter.

  “I can’t hold it together,” Alyssa croaked.

  This was an act of human torture—having to swallow down humor while across the room your grandma stared you down with promises of bodily harm dancing in her eyes. And then Alyssa and I both caved and gave in to our laughter. We cracked up at the same time, but within moments, Grandma Trina was cutting through the tables like a raging bull to reach our side.

  Horrified, Alyssa and I voiced our approaching doom at the same time, “Uh-oh!”

  There was no question that my portion of gifts under the tree would be MIA. I’d be lucky if I was left with a gift card. I guess Alyssa and I really were twinsies—we both had a lame Christmas morning to look forward to.

  There was no doubt about it—Dr. Brighton looked like a Ken doll. His floppy blond hair, golden tan, and straight white teeth were too flawless to be natural. He was probably a vegan who juiced everything and did triathlons twice a year.