by Roya Carmen
“The garden’s looking awesome, Dad.”
He didn’t bother looking up, too focused on his work. He didn’t notice my wet hair. “Thanks, Abbs.”
“Nick threw a bowl of cereal over my head.”
“You probably did something to deserve it.”
I stared at the ground, pouting. Dad was not going to get on my side this time. That’s when I spotted Gavin working on his old car. We were friends now. I could just stroll into his yard and chat him up. I had nothing better to do.
I was careful. I knew my dad didn’t want me anywhere near the man. So I walked the other way, around the back of our trailer. I found Gavin at the back of his yard, busy at work. He didn’t notice me at first, so I just watched him for a beat. The hood was popped open, and he was hunched over the engine. He wore a dirty muscle shirt, and unlike the boys at school, he actually had the muscles for it. I was impressed.
I couldn’t stay in incognito mode too long because Magnum spotted me and came hurling toward me. His excitement was contagious.
I stroked him under the chin, and he seemed to like it. “Hey, buddy. How’s it going?”
Gavin peeked up from under the hood and smiled. “Hey, kid. What’s up?”
I shrugged. “Nothing much. Wat’cha doing?”
“Just working on my baby, here,” he said, as if that wasn’t obvious. “I’ll whip her into shape in no time.”
“It’s nice,” I offered, taking in the details of the old car. It was actually quite beautiful, a metallic blue two-seater convertible with a really nice tan leather interior. I had a sudden fantasy of the two of us driving, the breeze in our hair.
“Nice?” he said. “It’s more than nice. It’s priceless.”
I smiled.
“It’s a ’69 Mercedes-Benz 280 SL,” he clarified. “Classic. Do you know how much these babies are worth?”
No, I didn’t, but I guessed that it was a lot. I giggled.
“What?”
“Sixty-nine,” I said, and broke into laughter.
He shook his head like Mr. Collin, my math teacher, always did when I annoyed him.
“What? It’s funny.”
He went back to work. “If you say so, kid.”
“So where’d you get it?”
“It was my grandfather’s. He gave it to me in his will.”
“Nice,” I smiled. “Lucky you.”
“So when can you take me for a ride?” I asked, my tone a bit more flirtatious than it should have been.
He laughed. “Well, I don’t think that would be a great idea, kid. And even if it was, this baby is going to take over a thousand hours, give or take.”
“A thousand hours! Holy crap. What is that? Like fifty hours a week, for like…” I tried to do the math in my head. I was hopeless. No wonder I got on Mr. Collin’s nerves.
“A long time,” he said, finally looking up again. When he did, he studied me for a long beat, and it made me uncomfortable. But it also excited me. I stared right back, studied his dark neatly trimmed beard, his perfect nose, and those dark bedroom eyes.
He inched closer, and my heart went into overdrive. He smelled of motor oil, and I was wondering what the hell he was up to. He reached for my head.
I stood frozen while he pulled out something from my hair. “Crazy morning?” he asked, holding a Lucky Charm between the pads of his dirty fingers.
I laughed.
Then he popped it in his mouth, just like that.
We were both motionless for a beat, just gazing at each other, so lost in each other, we didn’t see her coming.
“It is you,” she squealed. “I thought it was you but I wasn’t sure. I was just heading to see you.”
Gavin’s gaze traveled over Izzie. How could it not? Izzie was gorgeous, blue eyed, blonde and curvy, and unlike me, she had already hit puberty, and her ample boobs were evidence of that. And on top of that, she was known to be a real flirt. Or a tease. Depending on who you asked.
Well, that’s it for me, I thought. Now that Gavin had set eyes on Izzie, there was no hope for me. I was forever doomed to be the cute kid next door with the cereal in her hair.
She offered her hand. “Hi, I’m Izzie,” she cheered, and I don’t know if it was my imagination, but it looked like she was sticking out her chest.
Gavin hesitated and threw her an impish grin. “Uh… I’d give you a shake, but my hands are filthy.” He held up both of them as evidence.
She giggled like a school girl. Well, she was, in fact, a school girl. I rolled my eyes. “That’s okay,” she said. “What’s your name?”
He popped his head back under the hood. “Gavin Foster.” He was not especially friendly, but she persisted all the same.
“I live right down the road,” she told him. “Over there, the pink trailer.”
“Oh yeah?” he said, seemingly not too interested.
“How long have you lived here?” she asked, curious.
“I moved in five months ago or so.”
“How old are you?” she asked.
Now this, I wanted to hear.
He finally pulled his head out, and shot her an assessing glance. “Are you a reporter, Izzie, because you sure ask a lot of questions.” Then he hid right back under the hood. Izzie’s face fell, as clear as day.
“Twenty-four,” he told us.
Izzie perked up. “We’re fourteen,” she told him. “Abby and I, although Abby is two months older than me. She was born in February, and I was born in April. Although, I look older than she does,” and with those last words, she stuck out her chest again, or perhaps it was just my imagination.
He laughed. “Shouldn’t you girls be at the mall chasing boys, instead of bothering older men?”
I smiled but Izzie didn’t. “You’re kind of rude, you know that?” She turned to leave. “And by the way, boys our age are immature, and you’re not exactly old. My dad, he’s old.” And with those words, she stormed off. After just a few steps, she jerked around. “Well, aren’t you coming, Abby?”
Of course, I scampered like a little mouse. Sadly, I always followed her like a lost puppy.
I did the math in my head. Twenty-four. Fourteen. Ten years difference. That’s a lot of years.
“Such a jerk,” Izzie was saying, hours later.
We were stretched out on her old fashioned bed. It was covered by a beautiful patchwork quilt her grandmother had made. It had been done in hues of burgundies and pinks with patterns of flowers, solids and plaids. It belonged to Izzie’s mom. Her grandmother had quilted it for her.
She’d been talking about Gavin for hours, and I was getting a little bored.
“But he is hot, though,” she went on. “Don’t you think?”
“Uh… for an older guy, I guess… but he’s way too old for us.”
“Um… speak for yourself.” She buried her hand in her bag of Doritos. “He may be too old for you, but me, I’m older than my years. I mean, just look at me.”
I stared at her bedroom ceiling, speechless.
“He probably has a girlfriend. Do you know if he has a girlfriend? You live right next to him. Have you seen a woman?”
I smiled. “Nope… no woman. He seems like a loner,” I pointed out. “But I don’t exactly watch his place every second of the day either.”
“Well, if he does, she’s history. He’s mine now.”
I winced. “Do you really think that’s a good idea, Izzie?”
“Well, it’s not like I’m a virgin like you, Abby. I’ve been around, you know.”
“Give me that bag of Doritos,” I snapped. “You’re hogging them.”
I ripped the bag right out of her hands, and popped a Dorito into my mouth.
Yes, you’ve been around, all right.
Slut.
8
When we were younger, Izzie and I often played fantasy games, with silly plots where we became other people. Both of us had great imaginations. When we played office, Izzie was always the boss, and I was
always her secretary. We used an old blue manual typewriter Adele had given us. When we played doctor, Izzie was always the patient because she liked the attention. We played Teachers, Bartenders, Real Estate Agents, Accountants… even Mommies. As we grew older, the games were less and less. But one Izzie still liked to play was Bartender. When her parents went out every few weeks for a date night, Izzie always took the opportunity to raid their liquor cabinet.
One warm night in the middle of July, she was serving raspberry punch with vodka. She said it was the bar’s Drink of the Day. Raspberry Beret, she called it, after the Prince song her mom listened to constantly.
“You know,” I said, drink in hand. “I was looking at myself yesterday and I think I’m getting boobs.” I sat up and arched my back, anxious for her feedback. “What do you think?”
“Well I don’t really see… anything.” She drained her drink and made herself another one. “My mom says you can’t have boobs until you get your period. Did you get it?”
I pouted. “Nope. Not yet.”
“You’re a late bloomer, Abby,” she said matter-of-factly. “It will happen.”
“Well, it better happen soon.”
She handed me another drink. I was already feeling a little fuzzy, but I didn’t want to look like a lightweight. Izzie was technically supposed to be babysitting Abe, so she certainly shouldn’t have been drinking. But Abe was having a blast, drinking raspberry punch (without the vodka, of course) out of a wine glass.
“Did you know… there are eighty-six-thousand-four-hundred seconds in a day,” he told me knowingly.
“Wow… how did you know that? You’re just a tiny kid.”
“I did the math on my calculator,” he clarified. “I love my new calculator.”
I couldn’t help but smile.
“My little brother.” Izzie smirked. “He’s the only smart one in the family. We think he may have been switched at birth.”
I covered Abe’s ears. “Shhhh,” I whispered. “You’re going to give him the wrong idea.”
“Let’s go for a walk,” she suddenly blurted. That was Izzie’s way. She’d often suggest crazy outings out of the blue.
“I think I’m too buzzed to walk properly,” I confessed.
“You’re fine.” She pulled me by the arm. “C’mon, we’re going for a walk, Abe.”
Abe followed eagerly, excited as can be.
We slipped into our sneakers and pulled on hoodies and headed out. I don’t remember what we were talking about but we were laughing our heads off.
We were quiet as we passed my place, careful not to alert my dad or brothers, not that they would have cared much anyway.
When we got to Gavin’s place, we spotted him on his deck, a beer in hand, Magnum lying at his feet. I wanted to walk right by, but Izzie had other ideas. “Hey, handsome,” she called out.
I buried my face in my hands, already mortified.
She pulled me along and headed straight for him. “What aaare you up to… out… this late?” she asked, her slurred speech not hiding what we’d been up to.
He smiled and glanced at his watch. “It’s almost midnight, girls. You shouldn’t be out this late. Especially with the boy.”
I glanced in Abe’s direction, feeling absolutely foolish, and completely irresponsible. Gavin was right. Abe should have been in bed, tucked into his Spiderman sheets, sleeping, not prancing around with us at this hour.
Gavin stood. “Should I be calling your parents?”
“You’re so not cool,” Izzie whined. She inched closer and stood as tall as she could, but her five foot five frame was no match for his, well over six feet. “My parents are out, and I’m in charge,” she said seductively. “You can come over if you want.”
He stepped back a foot or two. “Why, Miss Izzie. That’s an excellent idea.”
I was completely taken aback. He was going to take her up on her offer?
Izzie was over the moon, a bounce in her step as we headed back to her place. “So do you have a girlfriend, Gavin?” she asked.
He laughed. “I do not,” he told her. “Not at the moment anyway.”
She cocked a brow. “Well, I’m sure we could fix that.”
He shook his head, but he was laughing. Clearly, he was highly amused by Izzie.
When we finally stepped onto Izzie’s porch, Abe and I followed her inside, but Gavin stayed back.
“You’re not coming in?” Izzie asked, devastated.
“Nope. And I want you girls to stay inside,” he scolded in a fatherly tone. “And get that poor kid in bed.”
Izzie slammed the door behind us. “Asshole.”
“That’s a bad word,” Abe whispered.
I patted his head. “I know… I know. Your sister is mad. Now let’s go to bed.”
He took my hand as we headed to his room. “Did you know that Spiderman’s real name is Peter Parker, like my uncle Pete.”
As soon as we got into his tiny bedroom, he stripped his clothes. He was wearing Spiderman undies of course. I tucked him into his bed. “I doubt that your uncle can weave webs and save people though.”
“No, he can’t. He’s kind of a jerk.”
I laughed. Yes, Izzie’s uncle was a notorious jerk. “Okay, goodnight. Sleep tight, Abe.”
He blew me a kiss as I turned off his light. I blew one back.
The first week is a total bore; lots of filing, taking phone calls, and administrative work.
I’m sitting at my desk, in my very tiny office, fiddling with my pen and staring at the sad face of a child on a poster. “Yep, this is why I got my Masters in Social Work,” I whisper to myself. I’ve done my filing for the day and organized my desk. All there is left to do is daydream, reminisce, and obsess about Noah.
We had such a great night, I was sure I’d see him again soon. I was going to play coy, the whole cat and mouse game and all that. I had no interest in doing the chasing. So I waited and waited. And nothing. I’d step out of my apartment much more often than usual, hoping to run into him accidentally. Accidentally on purpose.
I reach for my cup of coffee. It’s gone cold. I wonder if he’s hiding from me. I thought he liked me. I know I said it was just a friendly dinner and all, but can’t the man read between the lines. Perhaps he’s just not that clever. Or maybe he just thinks I’m too old for him. Yet everyone always says I look young. I have a dimple, for God’s sake. Maybe I didn’t smile enough during our dinner. Maybe he didn’t see the dimple.
I hate this. I hate that I’m obsessing over some young guy who’s probably in the middle of a threesome right this minute. That’s how those young people are these days, Tinder and all that. It’s all about sex, and it’s so easy to get.
“What’s up?” Melanie asks. “You look angry. Did something happen I should know about?”
I sit up straighter. “No, no. It’s just something personal. Daniel…”
She nods knowingly. “Ex-husbands, believe me… I get it. They are the worst.”
Sometimes I wonder if Melanie hired me just because she felt bad for me, being divorced and all. Perhaps she could relate. It seems all we talk about is our exes. She doesn’t really know that I have basically no contact at all with Daniel, unlike her who has to see her ex every week because of the kids. Thank God, Daniel and I never had kids.
I wonder if he’s planning to have kids with Ella.
Melanie settles into the chair across my desk, holding a red folder full of papers. “Don’t be so down about it,” she says. “I’ve got good news for you.”
I shift in my seat, curious. “Yes?”
“I finally have a case for you. I know you’ve been bored this past week, but I really wanted you to settle in before I threw a case at you. These cases are not always easy.”
I nod quietly. “Yes… I know.”
She flips the folder open. “Of course you do.”
She hands me a printed sheet; some basic information and a photo. The eyes staring back at me remind me of my own a
t that age. This girl has the same messy dirty hair and cynical expression I had. This kid has seen a few things. I can already tell. It breaks my heart.
“Her name is Madison Perez, and her parents are both addicts, and fighting for custody with her aunt, Madison’s mother’s sister.”
I scratch my head. “Say all that again, Please. I’m not usually that slow but—”
She smiles. “Madison’s aunt, Colleen, wants full custody because her younger sister, Colette, Madison’s mom, is an addict and so is her boyfriend, Raine.”
I nod, taking in the info. Nine years old. Goes to public school. Behavioral problems. No serious health problems. Mother: Colette Clarke. Twenty-five. Father: Raine Perez. Twenty-eight. No siblings.
“I thought since you… given your history.” Melanie hands me the folder. “I thought this case might be perfect for you.”
“It is,” I tell her. “I’ll do you proud.”
She smiles sweetly. “I know you will.”
When I get home, I’m on a high. I’m planning to celebrate with a bottle of red, pasta leftovers and Netflix. But before long, I’m brought back down to earth when I realize that I’ve run out of toilet paper and need to make a trip to the pharmacy. My quiet relaxing night will have to wait.
9
I’ll never forget the day I got my first period. I made the mistake of calling Izzie as soon as I spotted blood on my panties. I was just so excited, and so were Izzie and her mom, as it turned out.
A celebration of womanhood, Adele called it. Since I didn’t have a mother, Adele often took it upon herself to adopt a motherly role with me. Adele had done this celebration before, for Izzie. I was there, giggling the whole time. She had proudly organized the celebration ritual in honor of her daughter’s first menstruation, and had been more than delighted to hand her her first box of sanitary napkins.