Come Undone

by AJ Matthews

  Mac must’ve heard the voices, too. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him lift his head. He squeezes my knee. His hand slides away when I stand to my full height. I square my shoulders and straighten my spine, instilling confidence into my floundering resolve.

  “Hey, honey, I wasn’t expecting you till tomorrow. Your mom didn’t tell me she was dropping you off tonight.” He takes the last step down, and I clear my throat.

  He glances up from his phone. His eyes widen and his jaw goes slack before he spits out some words. “Y-you’re not Sophie.”

  “No.”

  His eyes narrow. “May I help you?”

  “My name’s Katrina. Katrina Díáz.”

  Recognition flashes across his face. “You look like your mother.”

  He studies my face for a moment, blinks, and shakes his head. “Except for your eyes.”

  Right. The ones identical to his own.

  I close those eyes, hot tears welling up behind lids squeezed tight. I open them, and he stares at me, slack-jawed. He’s speechless, too. I guess Mom didn’t get through to him today. She never told him. She didn’t tell anybody.

  “I-I had no idea.” He slips his phone into his pocket and rubs his jaw.

  I laugh, an uneasy chuckle. “Neither did I, until about a week ago.”

  We stare at each other for a few minutes. Maybe hours.

  Furrows form in his forehead, a vertical worry line popping right above the bridge of his nose.

  I have the same line. My fingers fly to my forehead, stretching the worry line away.

  He covers his mouth with his hand, exhales, and then opens his mouth to say something. No words come out, and his jaw snaps shut.

  I get his shock. Unease hovers around us while nausea settles into my stomach, threatening to unload its contents on this old wood floor. “I shouldn’t be here. I’ll go now. I …”

  He obviously made a life for himself, a wife—an ex?—and another daughter. I have a half-sister. Oh my God. My face grows hot, and I gasp for air again. My skin itches. My heart’s racing again.

  Gotta go. Gotta go.

  Where’s the door? Turn around. Go. Just go.

  I pivot and push at the heavy wood door, but it doesn’t budge.

  Pull, you idiot. You pushed to get in.

  My arm gets the command my brain sends, and I yank open the door, adrenaline making the heavy wood more like flimsy foam in my grasp.

  The cool evening air hits my face, welcome relief from the burning embarrassment I made of myself. My steps quicken as I try to escape. I’ve lost my bearings. Which way is the car? Oh no. I left Mac standing in the lobby of Gamma Gaming. Crap. I hope he’s okay. I come to a halt. I need to get him.

  “Katrina! Wait.” I glance back. Jake Riddell runs to catch me. I walk again as fast as my short legs can carry me, but apparently not quick enough.

  A hand claps over my shoulder and I jerk from the grip. I swing around, crossing my arms over my chest. In my head, I put up my fists, ready to fight, but I don’t want any more fighting. I want to go crawl in a hole and cry. Or die.

  Mac’s not too far behind. His eyes are on me as he fast-walks in our direction. He pushes his hair off his forehead and brushes past Jake. His arm circles my waist and I melt into his side.

  I should never have come. Jake has a kid, one who’s lived with him and knows him and I’m … well, I’m the bastard daughter of two high school friends who hooked up twenty years ago.

  I’m messing up Jake’s life, like I do with everyone else. Why do I keep doing that? I should go back to school, leave my mother alone, leave Mac alone, and leave my new father alone. Go back to therapy, find my own way. I stop. I wait. Mac tugs on my arm, and I follow.

  Until the large, unfamiliar hand touches my shoulder again.

  “Katrina, wait.” He pulls his hand back, drops his arm to his side.

  “Trini. I go by Trini.”

  “All right. Trini. I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I said anything to hurt you. This is all a shock to me.” He raises shaky hands to his mouth, blowing out a heavy breath and shaking his head.

  “So I guess you didn’t talk to my mom. She said she’d called you.”

  “It’s been twenty years since I talked to your mom.”

  So, twenty years. Around the time I was conceived. He must be thinking the same thing. Mom and Dad were together. I mean mom and the guy I believed was my dad for most of my life, were supposed to be together. That’s when it happened.

  When I happened.

  “Hey Mac, can you give us a second?”

  “Like, literally one second, or do you want me to leave you alone so you two can talk?” He sways side to side and stuffs his hands in his pockets.

  I smile. “The second one. Thanks.”

  Mac shifts his weight from foot to foot and glances up at the darkening sky. “I’ll be over here.” He moves about ten feet away and taps his fingers on a lamp post.

  I turn back to Jake.

  He rubs his forehead and takes a shaky breath. “Do you want to go get dinner?”

  Do I want dinner? I could eat an entire plate of nachos all by myself. I won’t, but I could.

  I nod my head as a hopeful, happy sensation settles beneath my skin, making me tingle. “I’d like that. But I warn you, my friend over there,” I nod my head back in Mac’s direction. “He can put away a lot of food.”

  Jake’s laugh rumbles off the red brick buildings. “That’s okay. I’ve got a nephew about your age who can eat the same way. There’s a place around the corner. I had an early dinner reservation, but my investor had an emergency and called an hour ago to cancel.”

  A nephew. Which means in addition to a half-sister, there’s a cousin, at least one. I never realized my family could grow so quickly in the span of ten minutes.

  “Your friend—boyfriend?” Jake’s eyebrows lift in question.

  “No. A friend. My best friend.” Sheesh, way to ramble, Díáz.

  “Does he have—what I mean is …”

  People are curious, but aren’t quite sure how to frame the question without sounding obtrusive or insulting. I guess being his best friend for so many years has made explaining second-nature for me.

  I glance over at Mac, who’s leaning against the pole, eyes closed, strumming on his shorts. A couple teenagers walk by and point, laughing at him behind their hands.

  “Yeah. Mac, he’s got autism. High-functioning. Please, don’t ask him about it. But feel free to ask him about his other interests.” Hmm. Well, one interest. “Ask him about music. He plays guitar and writes his own songs.”

  “Got it.” Jake steps closer and touches my arm to lead me in Mac’s direction. “What about you? What interests should I ask you about?”

  I smile up at him, thrilled he’s taken an interest in me.

  I’m still cautious. But for the first time in a few weeks, there’s reason to be optimistic too.

  “Silence is precious/but when your voice is gone/my whole world comes undone.”— Lyrics from “Undone” by Mac Kelly

  I LIKE QUIET, but this place is the kind of quiet that sets me on edge. Since it’s early, around five o’clock, we’re at one of a handful of occupied tables.

  Low conversation mixes with the slightest scrape of fork and knife on delicate china. Ice clinks into water glasses with a soft hush. I’m channeling Trini’s anxiety into my own.

  “Mac, anything calling to you?” Her voice shakes on her words. Her eyes are bright, but I can’t tell if she’s going to cry or laugh.

  I scan the fancy menu again. I’m unfamiliar with the food, with most of the words on the menu. I guess I need to order something. I don’t want to appear stupid in front of Trini’s father.

  So when the waiter comes back, I ask him about stuff on the menu.

  “What’s in this, the soup d’artichowt a la truffle noray?” I butcher the words. I should have pointed at the menu instead of trying to pronounce unfamiliar words.

  “Yes, the Soupe d�
��Artichaut à la Truffe Noire. Artichoke and black truffle soup.” The balding waiter smooths his hand over his pristine white apron and glares down his nose at me, reading on my face that a truffle is a foreign concept for me.

  His snootiness makes me mad, but he must be used to having people who can pronounce these fancy words, who like to eat these fancy things. I’ll never be one of those guys. I don’t think Trini is one of those people, either.

  Seems her dad is. “The soup is fantastic, Mac.”

  Blood throbs under my skin. My face grows hot. The humiliation stings. I wish I was the smart guy, and knew what a truffle was. I won’t eat something unless I can tell what’s in it.

  I long to be the attractive guy. Life might be easier if I was athletic. Guys like my brothers are at least two of those things. Liam is handsome and athletic. Shay is handsome and smart, and engaged to an incredible girl who has always been kind to me. I want a relationship like Shay’s, but I’m only a goofy guy with a bit of talent.

  When the waiter comes back again, this time to take our order, he starts of course with Trini. She orders a salad.

  I don’t want to ask any more questions. I don’t want to get laughed at again. Mr. Riddell orders, and everyone turns their eyes to me. I stare up at the pendant lights hanging over the table and rock a bit. I shouldn’t, but I can’t resist the urge. I’m so anxious. I’m feeding off of Trini’s anxiety too, but her hand squeezing into my arm tells me she is the one concerned about me now. So crazy. What am I doing here? I want to support my friend, but all of these new places—the stress is getting to me. I itch. I scratch my fingers, dig my nails into my arms, in what will be a fruitless attempt as always to slough away the discomfort.

  “Hey, Mac. Hey. You okay?” Trini’s voice is tinny, like she’s a hundred miles away and speaking through a pipe.

  I open my mouth, but no words come out.

  Her face screws and she tugs at my arm, pulling me from my seat. She couldn’t make me move unless my body was willing because I’m bigger than she is. “Let’s go outside.”

  I hum and flick my fingers, following her. If I don’t, a full-on meltdown’s about to happen here in the restaurant. I don’t want to embarrass Mr. Riddell or upset Trini.

  Mr. Riddell stands up too. He points at the table. “Do you guys want me to get this to go?”

  Trini shakes her head, a few tears running down her face. “We can’t stay here. Stay in Savannah. I never should have come. It’s not fair to you. I’m sorry we wasted your time.”

  We wasted your time. It’s all my fault. Me and my stupid autism.

  “You’re not wasting my time. This was a bad idea on my part. I bring clients here, potential investors, and I never considered this might not be the best place for a couple of kids. My daughter …”

  Trini’s head whips in her father’s direction, her black curls flying in her face. I think he was about to say he brings his daughter here all the time. Because he has another daughter.

  Trini grabs my hand, squeezes, pulls me toward the door. She calls out over her shoulder, “Goodbye, Mr. Riddell.”

  I’m not the best at reading tones of voice, but I can tell her words are angry. I’m not sure who she’s mad at. She shouldn’t be angry with him, though. It’s not his fault. How would he know he had another daughter?

  We exit the restaurant in a flurry, heading up the street and back to the car. I take deep breaths, gulping in air like I’d been drowning. Suffocating.

  Trini stops and leans into me, her warmth a comfort. In my heart I realize she’s the one who needs soothing. “Mac. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you to come. This was my journey, not yours.”

  She sobs and gasps for air herself now. The raw edges around my frayed nerves repair themselves, and I wrap my arms around her soft body and squeeze tight.

  I shake my head hard. “You’re not allowed to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do. People think I’m stupid, assume I can’t make decisions on my own. I thought you weren’t one of them.” My tone must tell her I’m agitated and frustrated.

  “That’s not what I meant, Mac. I’m angry at myself for putting you through this, through the trauma of everything. All these new places. You must be so overwhelmed.”

  She gazes up in my face. I pull back. “Not many people get what I go through. At least not in the sensory department. I do appreciate you wanting to take care of me, but it’s not your job.”

  “Not true, Mac. Best friends take care of each other.”

  “The same holds true for me.” She needs to understand. “I need to take care of you too. That’s why I’m here. Yes, I wanted to show you how much I care for you, and yes, I mean in that way. If nothing changes between us, you’ll always be my best friend.”

  “Trini, wait!” Mr. Riddell runs to us. “I still want to take you to dinner. There’s a burger joint, not too far from here. It may be more everybody’s speed.”

  She’s torn. She wants to learn about her father, about where she comes from. I also think she’s hurt she didn’t get to know him when she was a child. The lack of a father from the time she was a young girl must have impacted her. Mr. Riddell isn’t to blame. Her mother hid the truth, and they’ll need to work through this weird situation together.

  Doubt crosses her face.

  It’s okay with me. “Let’s go.”

  Her father leads the way and opens a heavy oak door fronting a dark brick building. The glowing blue neon sign reads “Cheeseburger Chuck’s.” The tables, constructed of distressed wood, are covered in a thick layer of lacquer. At least I can read all the words on the menu. I can pronounce them too. I won’t feel stupid here, and I don’t think anyone here will talk to me like I’m an idiot.

  I order the double-stack with bacon and three kinds of cheese. The kinds I know—American, cheddar, and Swiss. A side of sweet potato tots and a huge soda complete the meal.

  A jukebox, a digital one, plays a few duds, but overall, whoever is picking the music has decent taste.

  James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain” plays as I suck down the birthday cake milkshake Mr. Riddell insisted I try. The shake is full of actual pieces of cake and topped with butter cream frosting and sprinkles.

  Finally. Sensory heaven.

  The joy on my best friend’s face tells me I’ve made the right decision. I’m glad I came. I’m happy she did this. And I’ll follow her on this journey, no matter how far or where the road leads.

  “After working so hard for something with so little reward, acceptance is a welcome meal, but one served with a generous side order of skepticism.”—Trini Díáz, Songs in the Key of Paradise

  “SO … SOPHIE? My half-sister?”

  He pulls out his phone. “Would you like to see her?”

  “Sure, okay.” A picture of my sister. So hard to believe. I glance at his phone, and a petite blonde adolescent with braces smiles back at me. “She’s so pretty.”

  “She has my ex-wife’s hair, and thankfully ears, too.” He tugs on his own slightly oversized ears and laughs. “Your eyes are the same.”

  “Yes. Your eyes.”

  He nods.

  My brain throbs at the complexity of the idea. They’d always been “my eyes.” Now I share them, down to the dark-rimmed irises and subtle brown flecks, with a father and sister. “I’ve always been an only child, so this whole ‘sister’ concept is weird to me.”

  “She’s been an only child for thirteen years herself, so you won’t be alone in the weirdness.” He pops another chili cheese fry into his mouth and chases it with a sip of beer.

  My own turkey burger with a side of fruit seems painfully healthy.

  I’d love to nosh on fries and dessert, but I need to avoid the binge-triggers. It’s harder when everyone around you is eating things you love, but lower stress levels help make the right choices easier to, erm, swallow. A burger joint is perhaps not the best place for me, but Jake doesn’t know about the disorder. I’ll tell him in time, but not tonight.
r />   Since we’ve jumped the hurdle of the initial meet and survived the first disastrous attempt at dinner, we both seem a little more at ease. All three of us are more relaxed.

  My father didn’t ask about Mac’s meltdown, a credit to him. He’d asked earlier if Mac had autism, and I guess he knew enough about to understand the signs of overstimulation Mac experienced. His offer to take us to a place better suited to Mac’s needs certainly earned him points in my book. I was wrong to blow up about him and his other daughter. He didn’t know about me. Hell, he doesn’t have proof I’m actually his kid. Does something in me tell him it’s true? Our eyes are the same, and I do resemble my mom from when she was younger.

  I’m sure, though, given the apparent wealth of his company, he’ll verify everything. Do the math in his head, request an actual DNA analysis.

  If it comes up, I’ll agree to a test. I’ve gotten along okay without his money until now, so I’m not going to ask for anything from him anyway.

  I chew on my turkey burger, sans mayo, but with a slice of avocado and a single piece of cheese. I wash the bite down with a sip of water. “So, Savannah’s lovely, what little we’ve seen. Right, Mac?”

  He grunts and closes his eyes, savoring the decadent milkshake I declined.

  Things are back to normal. Almost.

  Mac and I still need to work through other issues, but we can talk on the way home.

  “Where are you and your mom these days?” The glint in Jake’s eye, the way one side of his mouth curls up in a lopsided grin, tells me he still has a lingering crush on Mom.

  “Mom’s in Key West, running her own shop. Bath stuff. Soaps, lotions. All-natural. She’s great.”

  “I bet she is.” His eyes focus on a distant point, like he’s gone into a trance.

  Um. Eww.

  Their attraction, though, is the reason I’m alive, so I should be grateful.

  “Wait, Key West?” His eyebrows arch over the familiar green eyes. “That’s a 305 area code, right?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “I was in a board meeting most of the day and didn’t check my stack of messages. A 305 number popped up on my phone before lunch, but 305 is also a Miami area code, where I have friends…”