“What, Wendy?”
“Teodoro, remember when I texted you that I was fighting with my mom?”
I tell her I do.
“It was because I was considering going to San Francisco. In a couple weeks. From now. For the rest of summer. But maybe for the school year.”
“The whole year?”
“My dad is an adjunct art instructor at this private high school and he got me in. So I might, like, you know, maybe, probably do senior year there.”
That sucks the wind right out of me.
I lay my head on the table.
She stands and reaches over and lifts my chin. I sit up and she plants her lips on my cheek. “We’ll text and talk. I’ll visit you. And maybe you can come down? I’m going to San Francisco, Teodoro … but I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’re killing me Wendy. Vancouver isn’t that far. We could have been kissing next year. Like a lot.”
“Oh, Teodoro, I know.”
“Then why?”
“It feels like, with college coming up, it’s my last chance to get to know him. Like, really know him.”
Wendy says she sees Mike Martinez once or twice a year, but only for a couple days at a time. He’s a semifamous sculptor. He repurposes trashed cars, buses, planes … and he turns them into masterpieces. “Totally inspiring,” she says. “But I spend too much time wishing I had a regular ol’ dad in Vancouver instead of an inspiring artist in San Francisco.”
“I get it,” I say. But it comes out sounding like I don’t.
“I have to do this,” she says. “For me and my dad. And I need to break out of my Vancouver life. To break out of the grind … my mom … I can’t wait till college.”
“Is she okay with this?”
“We have a complicated relationship, Teodoro. Lots of drama around this dad stuff, the me-becoming-an-independent-human-being stuff.”
I ask Wendy what happened between her parents.
She says they were once in love with each other. Her dad was this passionate young artist. But after Wendy came along, her mom needed stability. Someone to take care of the family. Her dad and his friends drank and partied a lot. Her mom hated that part of his life. So they fought a ton. Wendy thinks he even hit her mom a couple times. At some point he tried hard to settle down—to make being a husband and dad work. He got a job. Wore a suit. Mowed the lawn.
“But that wasn’t the life he wanted,” Wendy says. “He had a dream. And he thought we were in the way of it.” She takes a big breath and blows it out from puffed cheeks. “So he left.” She looks in my face and sees her story has me twisted up a bit. So she puts her hands on my hands and says, “You all right?”
I tell her I’m good.
I don’t tell her I wanna punch her dad in the mouth. I don’t tell her I think he’s just going to disappoint her again, so she should stay home.
And I don’t tell her I think I understand her dad just a tiny bit. Not the hitting part. Not the leaving-his-family-for-good part. But the dreams part.
“What, Teodoro? What is all that thinking?”
“I don’t know, Wendy. You still have hopes for him?”
“I’m pretty sure there’s a piece of my mom that’s never given up on my dad.”
“What about you?”
“It’s embarrassing, but the truth is, I can’t stop hoping he’ll remember my birthday, or call for no reason, or pay a little support. Not because of the money, but—”
“I get it, Wendy.”
“It’s like my mom and I can’t get over the idea that he might start doing that stuff, because we don’t want to feel left. He walked out, but something in my little-kid heart wants to believe that can be undone. It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.”
“Okay, not stupid. But it messes with me sometimes. Like when you texted that stuff about your brother and sister. And I shut you out a little bit. I’m sorry I did that. I know you didn’t mean anything. I know you were trying to support me. But I have this habit of measuring people I might care about against this ideal.”
“What’s the ideal?”
“The opposite of my dad.”
“I get that.”
“And it’s your parents. The memory of them from when we were little. Is that weird?”
“It’s not, Wendy.” I look at her looking at me, smiling with those eyes.
The idea of her thinking about Mami and Papi that way is a little weird. I get it, though. Cuz when she knew them they were happy. And she has no idea how much they’ve changed.
Our rolls arrive and Wendy’s face lights up. There’s steam and cinnamon smell and Wendy swipes a finger in the glaze and freaking puts it up to my mouth.
Okay.
I go in for the lick, but she pulls her finger, then wipes my nose with it. She falls back in her chair, laughing. “Got you!”
I grab a napkin. “Yeah, you got me, Wendy.”
We dig in and it turns out there’s something about someone you really, really like, eating something that tastes so damn good and letting you see just how good it makes them feel.
That is a new thing.
Wendy puts down her roll and points a finger in the air as she finishes chewing and swallowing, then wiping her face.
“Yes, Ms. Martinez?”
“I think maybe I drove you nuts when we were kids.”
“You didn’t.”
“Liar! I drove you nuts!”
“You drove me up the wall!”
“I know! And the more I bugged you, the more you made it clear you weren’t going anywhere. You were going to stay put and let me be my nutty self.”
“Wow, Wendy.”
“I never forgot that. Then after we didn’t see you for so long, I started feeling like an idiot for the way I treated you. And I convinced myself I never wanted to see you again.”
She leans in and kisses my cheek. “Then U-Dub happened. And we just clicked.”
“Yeah,” I say. “A lot of stuff clicked.”
She smiles and scoots closer for a kiss.
I accept that kiss.
Then I stop. Because I have to quit pretending.
I take a huge breath and say, “Um…”
“Yeah, Teodoro?”
“I was not checking out U-Dub that day. It was not on my list of colleges because I didn’t have a list. I was a C-and-D student with no path to college.”
No response.
“But now I have a report card with As and Bs in honors. And I fully intend to do everything in my power to keep our pact.”
“Teodoro,” she says real slow. “I wouldn’t have judged if you had told me the truth.”
“Wendy, seeing you. Hearing about what you were doing … You made me want to take charge of my life. So I did. Now I don’t wanna assume everything is gonna work itself out anymore. I want to make it happen. I want to learn stuff. I want to learn everything. I want to take myself as far as I possibly can.”
“You could have told me.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied. And I had plenty of chances to tell you later, but I was happier with the person I was trying to be than the one I’d been before, so…”
“Wow, Teodoro.” And the wow is not like, Wow, that sunset is amazing. It’s more like the kind of wow you say after someone hands you a very large slice of fruitcake at a Christmas party. And it feels like Wendy’s gonna bust me up for being a liar. And I think life would have gone on just fine if I had never told Wendy the truth. “I think I understand,” she says. “But I need you to know you don’t ever have to impress me. And I don’t believe you made that change because of me. It’s sweet to say. But you made the change because you wanted to and because you were ready.”
“That might be true,” I say. “But maybe I needed someone to light a fire.”
“I can buy that,” she says. And her face breaks into a big smile and she looks at me like she’s proud. “That is a serious turnaround, Teodoro.”
�
��It hasn’t been easy, Wendy. But I set my goals, you know?”
“You really did.”
“And I’m going for it.” I hug her again. And something about coming clean like that. The hug feels even deeper. Like we know each other even better. Then the hug ends and I say, “These cinnamon rolls as good as you remember?”
“Yeah, Teodoro. Maybe better.”
She digs into her roll and asks me about our trip.
“What trip?” I say.
“The trip you’re on. For Manny.”
“Oh, right. This trip,” I say. I tell her how good Abita’s was and how unbelievable Florence has been. I tell her I’m a little weirded out about the funeral for our distant cousin, but I get why we have to do it.
“And the rest of the trip?”
“That’s it. That’s the whole trip.”
“Really?”
Wendy’s phone buzzes.
“Yeah, that’s it.”
She looks at her phone. “My mom. Time to go.”
It’s a slow walk to Frank’s. More kissing. More talking. About the rest of the summer. About the year ahead. How we’re going to keep in touch. We decide to try and write old-fashioned letters and postcards to each other.
Wendy says that since our trip is coming to an end, and we’re going home, we should meet up before she takes off. “Can you come down Thursday? Real early?”
“For sure, Wendy.”
“Pick me up in Vancouver and we can spend a day in Portland?”
“That would be awesome.”
Wendy makes a list of all the places where we just have to kiss. Multnomah Falls, Council Crest Park, Powell’s Books—the mystery section—the rose gardens, the Chinese gardens … We’ll try to pack a year’s worth of experiences … a year’s worth of kissing into one day.
Something about that plan, that one day together, makes the idea of Wendy going away for the summer—and maybe for the whole year—just a little tiny bit less horrible.
* * *
It’s late afternoon when I slide into the driver’s seat. Xochitl’s up front. Manny’s in the back.
Wendy is standing at the driveway by her mom, Uncle Frank, and Tabitha. She’s waving, sending me love with those eyes.
I’m wired, thinking Thursday morning cannot come fast enough.
And sick that Thursday night is coming way too fast.
I turn the key and shift into reverse.
Xochitl tells me to wait. She opens the door and walks up to Wendy. She pulls her to the side. Xochitl tells her a bunch of stuff and Wendy’s smiling but scrunching her shoulders, like trying to say she doesn’t know.
Finally, Xochitl gives Wendy a hug and turns back toward the car.
“Do you know what that’s about, Man?”
No response, so I check out the back seat.
Manny is crashed out. Just like that.
Xochitl gets in the car.
“What were you two talking about, Xoch?”
My sister gives me a blank stare for a second. Then she says, “I just thought … we should do this again. Like later in the summer. But Wendy said she’s headed for San Fran. Right?”
“Yeah, Xoch.”
“After her date with you … on Thursday, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So when we come back, Wendy won’t be here. That’s all.”
She gives me directions and says she’s gonna nap.
It’s a quiet drive south on US 101. Then Highway 138 and over to I-5 South. A couple hours of highway driving. A couple hours of me replaying every second with Wendy. Trying to lock it in my memory forever.
At some point, we leave the valley and farmland and start uphill toward the mountains. We make a gas stop in Ashland. Xochitl yawns and stretches. Says she’ll drive.
I tell her I’m fine, but she insists. “I got this last little leg to Delano, T.”
We pull back on the freeway and I tell her I haven’t seen any signs for Delano.
“You won’t,” she says. “It’s a really small town.” And she says I might wanna catch a quick nap before we get there.
I close my eyes and try to sleep.
But I can’t.
Cuz Wendy.
And Manny. I tell Xochitl he seems like he’s doing way better.
“Yeah,” she says. But it comes out sounding more like a maybe.
So I ask what’s going on.
Xochitl starts talking about the VA. She and Papi took Manny there. Xochitl says he liked his doctor a lot. She was positive and concerned for Manny. Then she started asking questions and talking paperwork.
Xochitl says Manny stormed out of the VA saying stuff about how the questions got too personal and the paperwork was ridiculous and he just seemed overwhelmed.
“So,” Xochitl says, “Manny won’t go back to the VA.”
“Then where’d he get the meds I saw him popping at Abita’s?”
“From his weed connection, Lucas. Manny told him his back and head were hurting. So loser started adding Oxycontin to Manny’s regular delivery. Seroquel, too. The good part is there are ups now. And Manny acts like a hypermanic version of his old self.”
“And the bad part?”
“When he comes down he crashes hard. And when he’s not sleeping, he can get superdepressed … or ugly and mean. And you’re not supposed to mix any of those drugs with alcohol.”
“Damn, Xochitl!” I unhook my belt. Swivel back and over the seat. I shake Manny till he finally comes to and mumbles a bunch of stuff I can’t understand.
He’s alive.
I drop into my seat. Elbows on my knees. Head in my hands. “What do we do?”
“Let him sleep it off.”
I tell her we have to get rid of his drugs.
“I’ve tried,” she says. “It’s bad.”
“Then why the hell did you let him drink?”
“He told me he’d stay off the pills in Florence.”
“Oh my God—and you believed him?”
“I’m doing my best, T.”
“That’s the problem, Xochitl.”
She shoots me a look, then turns to the road, straightening her arms, pushing against the steering wheel. She exhales through pressed lips and nods her head up and down.
“I didn’t mean it like that, Xochitl.”
“What did you mean, then?”
“I meant … Manny needs real help. And we are not it.”
“You’re right. But all we can do is keep trying till we figure it out.”
She says it like driving our knocked-out, PTSD brother all over the country in a falling-apart, ancient car is a perfectly reasonable approach.
And that is why I do not live at home anymore.
And why I need to get out of this car.
And why I need to get back to Caleb’s place.
We’re thick into evergreens and gaining elevation fast. I need to take my mind off everything, so I switch the knob on the radio. Nothing but fuzz. I collapse back in my seat.
“It’s never worked,” Xochitl says. “If you want, I can—”
“Yeah, Xoch.”
She starts quiet.
How can I go home
Aw, hell. It’s Ani DiFranco.
with nothing to say?
I reach for the dial and spin.
Take me out tonight
Where there’s music and there’s people
Morrissey—the way Xochitl sings Morrissey makes me miss Wendy more than I can stand. I press the power button.
Xochitl keeps her eyes on the road and says, “Hot date with Wendy, huh?”
“Yeah. If you want to call it that.”
“Come on, T. It’s obvious you two lovebirds están enamorados.” She exaggerates the pronunciation, like she’s an actress in a novela. Then she goes in for the cheek pinch.
I knock her hand away.
“That girl is something, T. I don’t know how you made it happen. But I’m impressed.”
I tell Xochitl I can’t wa
it to see Wendy again. And I can’t believe she’s going away so soon. And she might be gone for a whole year. And how do you spend so much time so far apart? And then come together again? How does that work?”
“It sucks. But Mami and Papi did it.”
It’s true. Mami and Papi were apart that year. Then they came together. They got married. They had kids. And we were the happiest little family. And that’s where everyone puts “The End” when they tell the story.
But that story didn’t end. And I don’t want to think about me and Wendy like that.
I turn to Xochitl and ask her for a Ray Is a Girl song.
“Nah, T.”
“Come on, Xoch.”
“Those songs aren’t mine anymore.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I quit Ray.”
“No, you did not.”
“Yes, I did.”
My gut tightens. Everything tightens. I pound the door with my fist. “That is the most insane—those guys were once in a lifetime, Xoch!”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Come on!” I slap the dash. “I’ve seen enough bands—seen you quit enough bands—to know that even once is lucky.”
“Ray was great. And I was great with them. So?”
“So? You had a dream. And you dumped it in the trash. And it makes me sick.”
“What was I supposed to do?”
“Not quit! That’s the easiest solution to a problem that didn’t exist!”
“Are you serious, T?”
“What are you talking about, Xoch?”
She tells me to shake Manny.
I shake him. More mumbles. Then he’s back out hard.
“Manny?” Xochitl says. “You hear me, Man?”
Nothing.
Xochitl talks quiet. “I was at rehearsal the night Manny punched through your wall. I wasn’t there and he could have hurt you. And you ran. And now you don’t live with us.”
I look away. Roll down the window.
“I am it, T. You hear me?”
I breathe deep in the blast of air.
“Papi’s too busy treating Manny like he’s a grown-up who can make his own decisions—which is irrelevant because Manny’s fighting PTSD, not a damn midlife crisis. Mami is too busy blaming Papi and they’re too angry at each other to do anything. I cannot handle them and take care of Manny by myself and be in a band. Even if it is the best band in the history of the world.”
American Road Trip Page 10