“I took Diego berry picking there once. Then we tried to make a pie, but it turned to mush.”
“I bet he h-had fun.”
There’s a longing in his voice, as though he’s never done something like that before. Maybe he hasn’t. I keep waiting for Ryan to realize he’s missing out on being a single guy in his twenties. Meanwhile, he’s waiting for me to understand how much he needs to make up from his childhood.
My hand slips over Ryan’s heart, which is beating evenly.
“We could make pie sometime if you want,” I say.
He props himself up to look at me. “There’s no time. I’ll be too busy fanning you with palm fronds and hand-feeding you fruit.”
* * *
“Why is your phone ringing this early?” Ryan mumbles, his face in the pillow.
Early-morning sunlight is streaming through the window of our hotel, casting a triangle of light on the white cotton bedspread. I’m disoriented by my location at first, the starfish-shaped mirror and nautical curtains so different from my room at home.
I left my phone on in case of an emergency, and now it’s buzzing and shaking on the nightstand next to me.
It’s Marco.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
“Diego’s been asking for you. He got sick last night, so I gave him some Tylenol. He didn’t sleep well, though, and he’s been crying all morning.”
“Does he still have a fever?”
“Yeah. It’s a little better, but he wants to talk to you.”
“Hi, baby,” I say when Diego gets on the phone. “Daddy said you were sick.”
Ryan turns over, fully awake now.
“When are you coming to pick me up, Mommy?”
“Tonight, buddy. You going to be okay? Do you have Eddie there with you?” Eddie the elephant has a raggedy stuffed trunk that has been used to dry many of Diego’s tears.
“Yeah. Eddie’s sick, too.”
“Give Eddie a kiss and let Dad take care of you both, okay? I’ll be home by dinner.”
“Okay, Mommy.”
The sound of his teary voice almost breaks my heart.
“Is he okay?” Ryan asks after I hang up.
“Yeah. He has a little cold, probably. He sounds sniffly.”
“You need to go home?”
Ryan sounds like a man trying hard not to influence my decision, while hoping I say no.
“No. I think he’ll be fine with Marco. I’ll baby him a little extra tonight.”
There’s no getting back to sleep now, so we head out for breakfast, walking along the shoreline to a small café on the corner. The seagulls cry out as they dive for fish, plucking their meal out of the silver water. There’s a wet chill in the air that forces me to button my sweater.
The inside of the café is warm and dry, its cheery yellow walls working hard to stir everyone to life. But the coffee tastes acidic and makes my stomach roil. Every mother knows that when things aren’t right with your kid, they’re not right with you.
“You okay?” Ryan asks as I nibble on a croissant.
“Sure. When do you want to head to Pescadero?”
“We have to check out at eleven. Then we c-can head out and have lunch there. Sound g-good?”
“Uh huh.” I try to swallow, but the croissant gets stuck and I have to cough it out. I wonder if Diego’s fever has come back and sneak a look down at my phone.
“Glad everything is f-fine,” Ryan says, taking a bite of his blueberry muffin without a care in the world.
“Uh huh.” I set my phone on the table, glancing down at it one more time for good measure.
Ryan slips his hand over mine. “Great.”
I stare out the window at the sun trying to peek through the clouds.
“Hey, Romero.”
I look back at Ryan, who’s wearing a bemused smile.
“If we leave now, we c-can pick Diego up in less than an hour.”
I lace my fingers with his. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t b-be.”
* * *
“I’m glad you’re here.”
Marco looks like a man at the end of his chain, his stubble way past a five o’clock shadow. This must be why he didn’t protest when I told him I was on my way over.
“I can’t get him to settle down.”
Diego runs in from the hallway. “Mommy!”
He jumps into my arms, making any sacrifice on my and Ryan’s part worth it.
“You feel warm, baby.” I push the hair back from his forehead.
“I called the advice nurse and they told me not to give him any more Tylenol until tonight unless I really needed to.”
“Can I go home, Daddy?”
Marco winces. “Sure. Let me get your stuff.”
I was so eager to get to Diego that I’m noticing the apartment for the first time. There are books and food cartons stacked to the tipping point on the coffee table, and clothes strewn around the room. This from an ex-military man who once asked for a new vacuum for Christmas. I think of that saying about a disorderly house being the sign of a disorderly mind.
There are other signs, too, and I can’t afford to ignore them: the sporadic outbursts of anger toward Ryan, the unreliability that used to dog him. And then there’s the insidious silence between us. One word texts that give me no insight into how he’s feeling. Blank stares and shrugs. Maybe he needs more distance between us. Or maybe he’s falling apart and I won’t know until it’s too late.
“Here you go,” Marco says, reappearing with the dinosaur backpack.
Diego sneezes without bothering to cover his mouth, so I send him off to get a tissue.
“I got an email from Diego’s teacher about the parent teacher conference. She said it hadn’t been scheduled.”
“Totally forgot. Can you schedule it?” He avoids my gaze.
“Sure.” I wish I could say this was the first time I had to fill in for Marco—or that it will be the last. “You okay?” I try not to let my eyes dart around the room to the mess.
He shrugs. “Fine.” His eyes finally settle on me, but they’re devoid of feeling. “We didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Okay. Let me know if you need help with something.”
Diego and his wad of balled up tissues interrupt us.
“Bye, Daddy,” Diego says, leaning in for an assumed hug.
When Marco hugs him right back, unworried about germs or snot or anything except his love for his son, I’m reminded why I loved him in the first place, why I’ll always root for him to come out on top of his illness, and why I fear what will happen if he can’t.
* * *
“You l-look tired, buddy,” Ryan says when Diego and I get back to the car.
Ryan didn’t argue when I asked him to wait while I went into Marco’s apartment.
“My throat hurts.” Diego coughs pitifully again, not bothering to cover his mouth.
“Like this,” I say, crooking my arm and putting it up to my mouth to show him the way to avoid germs. It’s probably a wasted effort.
“You want s-some soup?” Ryan asks.
Diego coughs again. “Too slimy.”
Back home, we pull along the curb, and I open Diego’s door to get him out.
“I’ve got him.” Ryan pulls Diego into his arms and carries him into the house. The sight of that does something strange to me.
Ryan sets Diego down on a chair. “Hold on. I’ll m-make you a nest.”
He runs down the hallway and returns with an armful of blankets. He puts a fluffy one down on the couch and then uses all of the throw pillows to make a three-sided box. More blankets, more adjusting, and Diego ends up with a cozy couch fortress.
Ryan lifts Diego out of the chair and sets him inside. “My b-brother used to do this for me. He also m-made me Jell-O.” He throws the last blanket on top of Diego and tucks him in.
“I like Jell-O.”
“I thought you d-didn’t like slimy food?”
Diego ra
ises an eyebrow, aware of the trap he’s fallen into.
“How about this? If you eat s-some soup, I’ll make you Jell-O,” Ryan says.
Diego gives him a formal nod to seal the deal. The effect is ruined by a coughing fit.
Ryan squats down and feels his head. “You’re a tiny bit warm still. How about I p-put on cartoons and you rest?”
Ryan finds something on Netflix while I head to the kitchen to heat up some soup.
“I hope that was o-okay,” he says, coming up behind me. “I can run to the s-store if you don’t have Jell-O.”
I drop the spoon I was holding onto the counter and turn around. I have the element of surprise, which allows me to bring his head down to mine and kiss him.
I will keep kissing him until he understands what a miracle he is to me and how long I’ve been waiting to find him.
* * *
“Good thing I’m a Raiders fan,” Alejandro says, leaning his head back on the patio chair. “That game was a joke.”
“Come on.” Ryan shakes his head in disgust.
I have no idea why Ryan, Alejandro, Carmen and I are all lying outside like there’s sun out. There isn’t.
It could be worse. Carmen’s husband Rick is keeping Dad company at the deep fryer, which in this case means fanning smoke out of his face so he can breathe.
The plume of smoke is so high today that the neighbors are probably going to call the fire department again. Leave it to Dad to deep fry the Thanksgiving turkey.
“You’re going to burn the backyard down,” Carmen yells, not bothering to get out of her chair. She’s dangling pink sandals with plastic flowers on top from the end of her toes.
“He’s using peanut oil,” Mom says as she passes by us with a pitcher of sangria. “So he can clog our arteries even more.”
Dad probably heard her, but he ignores it. You have to admire his focus.
“Rico Suave,” Carmen says to Alejandro. “When is this nineties look going to be over?”
Alejandro looks down at his Gold’s Gym tank top and acid wash jeans. “Never.”
After high school, my brother developed an obsession with dressing like it’s Venice Beach circa 1992.
Diego lets out a yell, his game of tag with his cousins getting more intense. They’re darting around the lawn, using the bushes as tunnels. Diego’s in heaven being around this much family. Zach is the same age as Diego, and Adrian is four, so he manages pretty well. Erica’s in her terrible twos, so the boys get exasperated with her. Still, she holds her own. Right now, I’m more worried about Gordi, who’s trying to avoid getting run over.
I wish for the tenth time that Carmen lived nearby.
“Jandro, when are you going to stop screwing around and give Diego Bay Area cousins?” I ask.
Mom’s ears perk up.
Alejandro smirks like the devil himself. “I can’t say for sure he doesn’t already have a cousin or two floating around. Who can say? Am I right, bro?” He extends a fist toward Ryan.
Ryan reaches over and fist bumps him. For some reason he finds my brother charming. Give it time.
My mother swoops in like a hawk, giving Alejandro a love tap on the top of the head. “Cochino.”
That needs no translation.
Carmen laughs so hard she almost spits out sangria.
“Okay. I’m g-going in,” Ryan gets up and saunters over to the fryer. He pushes his hair off his face, preparing to get a face full of smoke. He’s growing his hair out in front, much to my delight. More for me to run my hands through.
I watch him as he talks to Dad and Rick, his shoulders relaxed, his conversation easy. He’s taken to my family gatherings like a duck to water. In fact, he was downright eager to celebrate Thanksgiving here. Of course, that has a lot to do with the fact that he and Jude still aren’t speaking.
“Good call with that one,” Carmen says waving her glass in Ryan’s direction. “So much for him needing to sow his oats.”
“Yeah, why you on my ass about kids?” Alejandro grabs a beer from the table and cracks it open. “Ryan’s whipped. He’ll give you some more if you want them.”
My stomach lurches. Thinking about me and Ryan as a “we” has come so easily. But turning that “we” into a whole new family is another issue.
“You say that in front of Ryan and you won’t be spreading your genes again anytime soon.” I shoot Alejandro my best death glare.
Dad pulls the turkey out in triumph, so we head inside to gather around the dining room table. The side dishes are already laid out, and grandma’s good china and cut-glass goblets line the table. Mom used the real silver and placed it on top of her leaf-patterned napkins.
My mother: the domestic goddess. No one would ever know how dedicated she is to her career in social work. She likes to keep her two lives separate, using our home as a refuge.
Despite the artery-clogging, the turkey is delicious. Diego scarfs down two helpings, but when he takes a third, I know it’s so he can slip it to the dog under the table.
“You’re going to make Gordi sick,” I whisper.
Erica doesn’t want to stay in her seat, so Rick chases her around trying to get her to sit still. Zach and Adrian start to throw peas at each other, so Carmen changes seats to separate them. Alejandro is talking so loudly to Dad about his plans to open a new shop in Campbell that I can’t hear anyone else. And Mom keeps running back to the kitchen to refill dishes.
Ryan studies the chaos in silence, like he’s a scientist in a laboratory experiment. Still, he radiates happiness.
Mom finally gets through her meal. At the end, she throws her napkin down dramatically, like she’s declaring war. “I’m cooking a prime rib roast for Christmas. I don’t want another turkey.”
Alejandro shrugs. “Why not make both?”
Mom turns to Ryan. “Which do you prefer?”
I freeze with my fork halfway to my mouth. Mom has invested in Ryan. She’s assuming this is the first of many holidays Ryan will share with us, like he’s a permanent fixture. Does he want to be?
Ryan takes another spoonful of mashed potatoes, thinking nothing of her question. “Definitely beef.”
Diego’s fork drops, clanking loudly on the plate. “If Ryan’s coming, then Daddy should come, too.”
Everyone goes silent, none of us having crossed this bridge before.
I put a hand on Diego’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, hon. You’ll get to celebrate with Daddy.”
“But I want Daddy here. With Gordi.”
Dad stands up. “Speaking of Gordi, time to take him for his evening walk.”
Once his cousins jump up to go, Diego does too and the moment is smoothed over.
It’s too late, though: I can see the hurt in Ryan’s eyes.
Finally, after a stomach-full of pie and empanadas, we say our goodbyes.
“Glad to meet you, Ryan,” Carmen says, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Be good to my sister. Really good, if you know what I mean. Then she’ll be nicer to me.”
I smack her on the ass and she takes off.
We load Diego and our leftovers in the car for the ride home. Before I get in, I give Ryan an extra-long hug. “He’s still adjusting. Give him time.”
He nods “I know. I will.” But he looks a little defeated.
I want Ryan to believe that Diego will come around. Even more, I want it to be true.
Chapter 23: Ryan
The grizzly bear is impressive. His mammoth shoulders are covered with glossy fur that shimmers gold in the sun. He paces back and forth behind a boulder, looking spectacularly unimpressed by his human gawkers.
“I want to pet him,” Diego says, putting his hands to the glass.
Pet him? Diego could ride him. “You think he’d l-like that?”
“He looks soft.”
“He probably is soft,” Eva says. “But take a look at those claws.”
We walk around the enclosure, me holding Eva’s right hand, Diego holding her left. It feels good to be lin
ked. Maybe someday Diego will even want to hold my hand.
It took long enough for us to finally get here—not just to the zoo, but to Diego’s acceptance of me and the role I play in his life.
We wind around to the polar bears, the scent of eucalyptus filling the air.
One of the polar bears is laying half in and half out of his house next to a mangled red ball, while the other plays in the water. His fur is bright green, a result (as a big sign explains) of the algae in the water. Quite a painful adjustment, going from the Arctic to California.
“Let’s take a picture.” Eva stops a stranger to ask if they’ll take one for us.
As the three of us arrange ourselves in front of the camera, a warm feeling threads through me. I remember days like this, but they were long ago and they’re filtered and vague, like they happened to someone else. This feels complete—like a family.
I’m not Diego’s father, but I hope I’m helping him create good memories. That eases the sting of my own father’s rejection slightly.
Diego throws his arms up in the air. “Hold me up.”
He’s commanding me, not asking, so I lift him on my shoulders where he’ll have a stellar view. I wish Eva would take a picture of this: the first time he trusted me.
“You’re w-wiggling a lot, dude,” I say, holding his legs tighter.
“I wanna see the penguins from here.” He cranes his neck.
“They’re too far away. I’ll take you over there.”
We head toward the smell of fish. It’s feeding time for the penguins, so a zookeeper in galoshes throws them fish by the handful from a bucket. Diego starts bouncing, so I lower him to the ground and he takes off running.
Eva and I stand back and let Diego listen to the zookeeper explain the penguins’ diet. Eva pulls out her phone and scrolls through the pictures of us. Sure enough, there’s one of Diego sitting on me. I swallow the lump in my throat.
“You ever think about having m-more kids?” I ask her.
She almost drops her phone. “I don’t know. Why?”
It would be a lot easier if I lied right now and said that it was just a crazy, stray thought. “I want kids s-someday.”
“Ok.” She nods. “Yeah, that makes sense.”
“Would you want more?”
“Um, I guess. If it were the right person. The right situation.”
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