The Kiss Principle (Hazardverse: Sidetracks)

9

The restaurant was called Industria, and it was, according to the blurb I’d read online, a post-industrial deconstruction of traditional Italian cuisine. Which meant, I was pretty sure, it was going to be expensive as fuck and leave me hungry enough to stop at a taco cart on the way home. When I got there, the look of the place confirmed my suspicions. It occupied an enormous, high-ceilinged space, and it leaned into the industrial look with exposed ductwork and polished concrete and lots of rivets or bolts or whatever the hell they were supposed to be. No white linen tablecloths. No stuffy ma?tre d’s. No candles, even—each table had a little origami LED light that changed colors constantly.

Bea arrived about two minutes after I did. I’d seen pictures, of course (and no, you pervert, not that kind of picture). She was petite, blond, and she looked more like a yoga instructor than a biochemist. You could tell she’d had her lips done, but that didn’t exactly make her stand out in a crowd. What made her stand out in a crowd was when she opened her mouth—she was smart, she was funny, and it took me about five seconds to realize my first assessment had been wrong. She wasn’t eight leagues out of reach. Put it closer to fifteen or twenty.

The hostess sat us, and Bea ordered a bottle of wine, and we held our menus and made small talk. She played tennis. She ran. She was heading up a new project at work, but she couldn’t talk about it because it was a Big Secret (she told me “capital letters for both words”).

“But you get bonus points for asking,” she said with a laugh. “Most guys like to pretend they didn’t hear me when I bring up work.”

“Most guys have the emotional maturity of a bag of dicks.”

Her eyes got wide.

“God damn it,” I said. This was Zé’s fault, I decided, because he always acted so goddamned amused, and I’d been letting my filter slip. (Okay, maybe I hadn’t let my filter slip. Maybe my filter was hanging ass in the wind.) “I’m sorry, I—”

But she cut me off with a wave of her hand as she laughed. “No, you’re right. They do. And God, think about how all those dicks would threaten their fragile heterosexuality?”

I grinned. “No homo.”

“Oh my God,” she groaned. “I hate that phrase so much.”

That led us, somehow to Augustus, and before long I was talking about the consulting work he did, digital marketing, all the obstacles he’d overcome, and the fact that he was, despite every sign to the contrary, apparently going to become a fully functioning adult at some point in the near future, instead of the human cum-bucket I thought he’d been destined for.

I left that last part out—believe it or not, I did manage to put my filter back into place. Well, mostly. And Bea, to her credit, rolled with it. In hindsight, I should have realized that any friend of Lou’s must have been able to hold up pretty well to that woman’s rent-a-fuck caliber of verbal battery; anything I dished out would be child’s play in comparison.

The conversation was easy, and as I relaxed, I found myself having fun. She was pretty, although I wouldn’t have said she was my type. My type ran more to—dark eyes, I thought, maybe. Dark hair. With some texture. Salt and wind and sun. Not that I had a type, these days. You had to go on more than one date a year, I was pretty sure, to be able to say you had a type.

The food came, and even though my prediction had been right—one reimagined meatball, sir, lightly dusted with nutritional yeast, in a tomato-free chutney—I was surprised to find I was having a good time.

That, of course, was when my phone started to go off. I ignored it the first time. The second time I reached to silence it, I checked the screen. It was Mom. I let it go to voicemail, and she called again.

“If you need to take that…” Bea said.

I hesitated. Say no, a voice told me. Turn your phone off and pay attention to this intelligent, attractive, interesting woman who did not run for the hills when you said you’d seen micropenises bigger than the breadsticks they served in this place.

“Fernando, if it’s important, you can answer. In fact, this is the perfect chance for me to run to the restroom.”

“Thank you.”

She waved the words away.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “My mom. She’s called four times now.”

“Take the call,” she said as she set her napkin aside. “I promise it’s fine.”

As soon as Bea was a safe distance away, I accepted the call and whispered furiously, “What the fuck is such a big fucking emergency that I can’t have one night to myself?” And then it was like a trapdoor had opened inside my head. “Is Igz okay?”

“She is not okay!” Mom’s voice was high and thready. “She is ruining my evening! She won’t let the girls hold her, and she’s been fussing nonstop.”

“I told you I didn’t want them—”

“And do you know how embarrassing it is to be turned away at the door? I mean, my God, Fernando, when did they stop letting you take a baby into a bar? This is still America, isn’t it?”

“You took her to a bar?”

“Not inside because they wouldn’t let—”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

My volume slipped on that one, and the question was an explosion. Conversations around me dimmed, and other diners turned looks of cow-eyed curiosity on me, still sucking down their fucking polenta foam made with air imported from the Mendocino Farm.

“She ruined my night out,” Mom said. “And Zé won’t pick up his phone, and I don’t think that’s right, do you? I mean, he’s living here, isn’t he? Shouldn’t he be available to help every once in a while?”

“What are you—” I managed to rein my voice in. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“They’re at the Blackbird, Fernando. You know that’s my favorite.”

“Let me get this straight: after you promised to watch Igz tonight—promised, Mom—so that I could go on a date, now you’re calling me, telling me how a baby ruined your chance to drink vodka tonics with your stupid friends at that stupid bar, and I’m going to guess that, since Zé is enjoying his night off, you want me to come home and watch her.”

The question flashed through my mind even as I said it: enjoying his night how? A date? Did guys his age go on dates? Or maybe a hookup? Did he have Grindr or Prowler or any of those apps? Or maybe, I thought as reason reasserted itself, it wasn’t any of my business. For all you know, he’s getting the oil changed in his car, jackass. Sure, I thought. All that pumping and thrusting and lube. And what the fuck right did he have to go off and fuck around when—

When what? When it was his night, and he was free to do whatever he wanted? With whomever he wanted?

Mom, of course, picked up on that opening right away. “Oh, would you, darling? That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

“No, I surely fucking will not. I’m on a date, Mom. I’m allowed to have a night to myself. And you promised—”

In the background, Igz was crying.

Mom made a vexed noise. “Do you hear that? How am I supposed to put her to sleep now?”

“No,” I said.

“You’re right, Fernando. You deserve a night out.” She gave a little laugh. “I raised three children all by myself. We’ll be fine.”

“No, Mom. Don’t you dare put her to sleep and then leave for that fucking bar.”

The call disconnected. I called Mom back, but she didn’t pick up. I called again.

“Everything all right?” Bea asked.

She’d do it. She’d done it so many times before. In Mom’s mind, nothing could go wrong if you waited until the children were asleep before sneaking out of the house. And that’s probably because, as far as she was concerned, nothing had gone wrong. She wasn’t the one who had to wake up to Augustus screaming his head off because of the night terrors. She wasn’t the one who had to put out the fire Chuy started in the closet. She wasn’t the one who had to make breakfast in the morning and pretend everything was okay even though nobody knew where she was, and hold it all together because somebody fucking had to.

I glanced around, found our server, and raised my hand. “I’m so sorry,” I said to Bea. “Family emergency.”

“Oh God. Is everyone okay?”

“Kind of.” I tried for a laugh, but it didn’t sound right. “I don’t know. My mom—it’s a lot to go into.”

She made a sympathetic noise. “Go on. I’ll get the check.”

“No, please let me.”

“I invited you—”

But at that moment, the server swooped down on us. I held up my card and waved her off.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Bea said.

“It’s my pleasure. And I’m sorry for running out on you like this. Like I said, it’s a family emergency.”

“It’s okay, Fernando. Life happens.”

“It sure does,” I said. Life happens. Family happens. If it’s not Mom, it’s Chuy. If it’s not Chuy, it’s Augustus. If it’s not Augustus, it’s Igz. It keeps happening.

We said an awkward goodbye at the curb, and she got into her car, and I drove home.

Igz was asleep in her crib. Mom was touching up her lipstick in her bathroom.

“Didn’t anyone teach you to knock?”

I stood there, breathing. The anger came on me so quickly that I started to shake. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Your language, Fernando.” She turned her attention back to the mirror. “Did you have a good time?”

The house had the kind of stillness that only came late at night. I wiped my hands on my jeans; they felt slick with oil.

“Do you know what Kelli told us tonight? She said her son, Rogan—do you remember Rogan?—she said Rogan’s getting divorced. He’s got two children, you know. And I felt like such an idiot because I’d been telling everyone how wonderful you’ve been about Ava. All night long I was telling them how I couldn’t have done this without you. They all know how wonderful you’ve been.” Her voice was soft as she said, “My perfect boy. They all know how perfect you are.”

I shook my head.

She made a kissy face to the mirror, turned, and patted my cheek. “Since you’re here now, I’m going to catch up with the girls. You should have seen what Courtney was wearing—I swear to God, the waiter could see her fanny.” She considered me for a moment and added, “Get some sleep, dear. You’ve got bags under your eyes.”

Then she was out the door, and the sound of her car faded into the night.

I checked on Igz, and she was doing fine—breathing evenly as she slept. I turned on the baby monitor and went out to the living room. As usual, there was shit on TV, so I ended up watching highlights from the Dodgers game. It went to commercial, and the King from Burger King got stuck going down a slide. Because of that huge plastic head. I watched him struggling to get free. Kids were running around, laughing, playing, oblivious to him shouting for help. I turned the TV off.

For a while, I tried to think about what to text Bea. I wrote something. I rewrote it. I deleted it. I started over. I ended up with pretty much the same thing I’d started with, only now I was more convinced than ever that I was a fucking moron.

Sorry again for leaving. I had a nice time, and I’d like to see you again .

I waited. My screen started to dim. I tapped it to keep it awake. Still nothing. I lay on the couch. I watched my phone. I tapped the screen. And eventually, I let it go dark.

The sound of a key in the door made me bolt upright, and I realized, in a disoriented heartbeat, that I’d fallen asleep. The lights were still on, and it was still dark outside, and it could have been minutes or hours. My phone said it was barely eleven. Still no message from Bea.

When Zé stepped inside, something was different about him. The way he held himself. His vibe, if I wanted to sound like Augustus. Solemn was the first word that came to mind, and I rejected it. Because Zé was quiet, but he was a goofy kind of quiet. Serious, maybe. Although that was only a few inches from solemn, so maybe I’d been right the first time.

“I thought you’d still be on your date,” he said, and then he smiled, and he was Zé again. “How’d it go?”

“Where were you?”

He turned his keys in his hand, and they jingled.

I rubbed my face and counted to ten. From behind my hands, I said, “Sorry. None of my business.”

He made a noise that could have meant anything.

I let my hands fall and said, “If it makes you feel better, that was ninety percent automatic. It kind of becomes a habit when one of your brothers is a shit-for-brains addict, and the other one is Augustus.”

He jingled the keys again, and I couldn’t make out his tone when he said, “Only ninety percent, huh?”

“It’s your night off. You’re free to do whatever you want, and you certainly don’t have to tell me. You’re an adult—”

Zé laughed, and after a moment, I made a face and flipped him off. Then I laughed too. I was still laughing until he came across the room and sat on the couch. His knee brushed mine. He was still in the surf bum clothes he’d been wearing when I’d left, and I wondered if that was what you wore to a gay hookup. Maybe. Some guys wouldn’t mind, I was sure. Not that it mattered with Zé. He could have been wearing a Barney-the-dinosaur costume and done fine for himself.

“Was that hard for you?” Zé asked. The words sounded like they were meant to be light, but he said them with that same unreadable tone.

“First time I’ve ever been able to say that. Chuy is most definitely not an adult, and neither is my mom, and God only knows with Augustus.”

Zé sat there for what felt like a long time. “I saw the calls from your mom.”

“Fuck her. She knew it was your night off.”

“I had my phone on silent. I wasn’t ignoring her. But when I called her back, she didn’t pick up, and she didn’t leave a message, and you didn’t call…”

“Zé, it’s fine. You’re allowed to have a life.” But I thought about that. About his phone being on silent. Why would his phone have been on silent? A movie, maybe. But people put their phones on vibrate in a movie, right? I had this picture in my head of his phone face down on a nightstand. He was young. He’d need to get it out of his system somehow, right? Drain the pipes and all that.

“Is everything okay?”

“Igz is fine.”

He shifted on the couch to look at me. “Fernando, what happened?”

For a moment, it was like a dam about to break: everything, all of it, building behind the wall I’d built, the pressure growing and growing. I shook my head and pushed up from the couch. “Long night, I guess. I’m going to hit the sack.”

Zé struggled to his feet; it looked harder for him than usual, and maybe that was only because he was tired. He followed me down the hall.

“She called you,” he said. “That’s why she didn’t pick up.”

“It’s fine.”

“She ruined your date.”

“Give me a break, Zé. It was dinner with some girl I’ve been texting.”

“That’s not fair. She shouldn’t have done that.”

I stopped in my bedroom doorway. The lights in the hall were off, and against the glow from the living room, Zé was a silhouette. I held up my phone as evidence. “It’s not a big deal. Apparently, I managed to fuck it up all by myself, since she didn’t respond to my text.”

“Fernando.”

“Get some sleep. I bet you need it.”

I surprised myself with the sting in those last words, and he must have heard it too because he shifted his weight, and he was silent again. I thought about apologizing. Instead, I started to step into my bedroom.

“You are a great guy, Fernando. Anybody would be lucky to have you in their life. I’m sorry that tonight didn’t go the way you wanted, but you can’t give up. Maybe we can work on a dating profile for you—”

The anger came so quickly, came so hot, that I didn’t have time to understand where it came from. Or why. “A dating profile,” I said.

Zé’s silence answered me. The whole house was silent.

“I don’t have time to date, Zé. I don’t get to go out and fuck around at night.”

The hallway was so dark. And his silence was so big.

As quickly as it had come, the anger drained out of me, and all I felt was tired. I stepped into my room, and as I shut my door, I said, half-apology and half-explanation, “I’ve got to take care of my family.”