The Kiss Principle (Hazardverse: Sidetracks)

16

I called Lou before I left LA.

“Let me guess,” she said. “You’ve got a sore throat from all those big doctor knobs. You’re going to sound funny because somebody’s been stretching your vocal cords, and you wanted to warn me in advance.”

“I’ve got to cancel.”

“What the fuck, Fernando?”

“Something came up.”

Traffic. Light on glass. A horn.

“You have got to be shitting me,” Lou said and disconnected.

I dropped the phone on the passenger seat and drove out of the city.

The drive, in theory took six hours, but it ended up being almost seven and a half because first there was roadwork, and then there was an accident that shut the 5 down to a single lane, and apparently everybody and their mother had to be in Oakland today because the closer I got to the city, the worse the congestion became, until the freeway was a parking lot. I pulled off and, because Zé wasn’t there to say no, I got a massive burger with bacon and mayo and I picked the lettuce off. Large fries. I only ate half of it and then I felt sick.

When I called him, he picked up on the first ring. “Is everything okay?”

“I ate this thing called a Bacon Slayer.”

His silence ran for five seconds. Then ten. And then, like a miracle, I could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “You’re out of my sight for one day, Fernando.”

“I had to tell you.”

“Was it good?”

“Yes. And then it was disgusting. And now I’m disgusting, and I think I’m going to puke.”

“Let me guess: large fries.”

I laughed. And then I said, “I didn’t like how we left things.”

“Neither did I.”

“I know you were looking out for me.”

“No, I was out of line.” Zé’s breathing sounded funny. “I don’t like seeing you unhappy.”

“I’m not. I mean, I’m pissed. But I’m fine.”

But even as I said it, I thought: that empty bed in that empty room in that empty house, and all the years I could see stretching ahead of me, and what it had been like before Igz, before Zé.

Zé still hadn’t said anything.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Fine,” he said.

“I’m sorry I ruined your weekend.”

“You didn’t ruin my weekend, Fernando.”

“I’m sorry you have to watch Igz today. I’ll pay you double or overtime or whatever it’s called.”

“Do you want to think carefully about what you just said to me?”

“Uh, thank you for doing it out of the goodness of your heart?”

He muttered something like Meu deus .

“Thank you,” I said. “And I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

“I’ve got an idea about that,” he said, and I laughed again. “It’s fine, I promise,” he added. “Your mom offered to watch Igz while I run some errands.”

“God, don’t let her give Igz eyelash extensions.”

Zé laughed.

“You think I’m joking,” I said.

“Goodbye, Fernando,” he said. And then I could hear that lazy smile unrolling again. “I think I love you.”

“I think I love you too,” I said as I disconnected.

I think .

You, I told myself, are a goddamn moron.

The halfway house was on a rundown block. Flattened Burger King cups and FoodMaxx bags carpeted the street, and dusty weeds grew in the sidewalk cracks. An enormous pair of panties was tied around a lamppost like a bow, and I had as many questions about the size of the underwear as I did about how they’d ended up there. Most of the houses had faded paint, missing shutters, even a few boarded-up doors.

But the halfway house looked fresh and clean: crisp white paint, royal blue trim, more of the same royal blue for the door. White curtains hung in the windows. Even the metal fence had been painted white. The yard was free of litter and well-kept. Maybe that was part of the program. Maybe all Chuy needed to keep him clean was a weed wacker.

I parked and got out of the Escalade, but before I could reach the gate, Chuy emerged from the house. All he had were the clothes on his back: an oversized Cal State sweatshirt, a pair of joggers, dingy white sneakers—a brand I didn’t recognize, but I pegged as a Walmart special. They might have been clothes he’d traded for. They might have been clothes he stole or borrowed. The halfway house might have given them to him and, if they’d been smart, burned whatever he’d been wearing. With Chuy, you could never tell. He looked like shit. His hair was longer, falling past his jaw, and although it was clean, it was raggedy, like he’d tried to trim it himself. He was so thin that he looked sick. He needed a Bacon Slayer or eight. His dad was this white guy who’d gone to prison before Chuy was born, and that meant of the three of us, Chuy had always been the lightest. Now his skin was sallow, and dark circles hollowed out his eyes. Not drugs, by the way—his dad, I mean, in case you’re wondering. He tried to rob a Valero, and he shot the attendant, who happened to be pregnant. She was fine. The baby was fine. Daddy went away for a long time.

I watched Chuy let himself out the gate, and I thought, I’d been too young. We were only two and a half years apart. I’d been too young to get his head on straight. I’d done my best with Augustus, and even then, I’d only been reasonably successful—but a little runt of a cockhound was better than how Chuy turned out. I tried, I thought, and I didn’t know if I was telling myself or telling him. I tried, but I was too young, and I didn’t know what to do.

He didn’t look at me; he walked straight to the Escalade and jiggled the handle. I unlocked it with the fob, and we climbed in. Then I turned the Escalade around, and we started home. We inched our way out of Oakland. We made it onto the 5. Some banger in a Honda Civic almost clipped us, and then we were merging into traffic and headed south.

And he still hadn’t said anything.

Fortunately, being in sales means you learn how to start conversations with charm and aplomb.

“You stupid, selfish, self-centered, egotistical spoiled little fuck of a dick-drip. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He leaned his head against the window.

“I asked you a question!”

Nothing.

“You’re not going to talk to me?” I asked. “That’s all right. I can talk for both of us. You left an infant in our kitchen, you piece-of-shit excuse for a human being. You abandoned a baby. What if I hadn’t come home that night? What if Mom and Cannon had stayed at a hotel?” My voice was rising, but I couldn’t rein it in. “She could have died!”

“You were in your room,” he said in a low voice. “I checked.”

“You checked? Oh, fantastic. Fucking wonderful. You’re the fucking father of the year. Grabbing your shit and running off like you’re a fucking child. What the fuck is so screwed up inside your head? What the fuck happened to you that you can’t do one fucking thing right?”

“I was doing the best I could,” he snapped. His head came up, and his eyes were dry, but they still looked a little red around the edges. Normally, I’d have attributed that to weed, but not when he’d just gotten out of a halfway house. “I didn’t want to fuck her up any worse than I already had. I was trying to give her a better life.”

“What about my life, you piece of shit? Do you have any idea what the last six weeks have been like? I had to change everything. I had to change work. I had to change my schedule at home. I had to hire a fucking nanny to take care of her so that I didn’t lose my job. I get up two, three times in the middle of the night to feed her. I can’t go out, can’t see friends, can’t do anything because I’m raising your fucking child because you can’t give two shits about her.”

He set his jaw and stared forward.

“You know what this little fuck-parade today cost me?”

His eyes were blank; I didn’t think he was seeing anything as he looked out the windshield.

“My dream job, ass-weasel. The job I have wanted since I was in college. And I had a chance, you know that? I finally don’t have Augustus hanging onto my pubes. Mom is going to marry Cannon, and then she’ll be his problem. And you—Jesus, Chuy, even if I wanted to do something, you’re the fucking disappearing man. They had an opening. I’m a great fit. I finally had a chance. And you fucked all of it, you fucking junkie piece of shit.”

The Escalade rocked over uneven pavement. He looked at me from out of those deep, dark circles around his eyes. “Let’s see. This is the part where I’m supposed to say, ‘Thank you, Fer. You’re amazing, Fer. You’re so special and wonderful. You’re the only thing holding this family together. I love you so much.’”

“I am the only thing holding this family together.”

“Why?”

“Because look at you—”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. You know what I’m asking. Why?” And before I could say anything, he said, “Because you’re the one who saves everyone. Saint Fer. You gave up your whole life for us, and now I have to feel so fucking grateful every time you save me again. You know what? I’m sick of you saving me. Go fuck off and fuck yourself.”

“Fuck you.”

He laughed, the edge of it jagged. “It’s unreal, you know that? When you went to college, I thought, ‘He’s out. He made it out. He’s going to have his own life now.’ And instead, you came back. And I know—” He stopped, and some of the heat left his voice. “I know Gus-Gus needed you. I know I wasn’t taking care of him, and Mom…” He clicked the button for the window, but it couldn’t roll up any more. He clicked it a few more times. Now he sounded like he was trying to ask a question. “But when he got to high school, I thought you’d leave. And when he went off to college, I was sure you’d leave. And you stayed, Fer. And you know what I figured out? You like it. This is what you want. It took me a long time to figure that out about the world. People always do what they want.”

When I finally spoke, my throat was so thick I could barely get the words out. “You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

Chuy slumped back against the seat and shook his head. It must have been an hour, driving in silence through long, empty valleys, the blue of the sky graying at the horizon until it was almost the same color as the asphalt.

“I don’t want you to do this anymore,” Chuy said. “I don’t want you to keep giving up your life for me. I want you to be happy. I want you to have a good job. I want you—Jesus Christ, Fer—I want you to be done with Mom. I know you do it because you love us. But you’ve got to stop. Please stop.”

“Sure.” My face prickled, and I fought to keep my eyes clear, to focus on the road. “Great fucking idea. And the next time you OD, the next time you hit a dealer’s stash and somebody puts a knife in you, what, Chuy?”

The tires hummed.

“It’s my life,” he finally said. “You’ve got to live yours.”

I couldn’t say anything. If I did—if I said, do you remember how we made our own Voltron out of cardboard boxes, and when the Serrano assholes kicked it to shit, you went berserk. If I said, do you remember when you made me a birthday cake out of Graham crackers. If I said, I remember when you got a fever when you were two, and I’ve never been so scared in my entire life. I remember how you looked your first day of high school, I remember how nervous you were when you asked me what to do with a girl, I remember when you told me you were going to be a rock star, and we spent every Saturday for a month trying to find you a guitar. If I said any of it, the dam would burst, and I’d probably drive us into a power pylon.

Instead, I blinked until I could see, and we drove on.

We stopped for food, and I got a wrap. Chuy got the Bacon Slayer, and I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

“What?”

“I had one on the way up.”

He grinned. “These things are fucking amazing.”

“Talk to me after you’re a half a pound of mayonnaise into it.”

We ate as we drove, and Chuy broke the silence between bites. “How’s, uh, the baby?”

I grunted.

He picked at his fries.

“Is she yours?” I asked.

“We did a test.”

“Where’s her mom?”

“She’s gone.” When I looked over, he had pinched one of the fries into mush. “OD’d. Kaliyah was like that when I got there, and the baby was there, and I didn’t know what to do. I knew you’d know what to do.” He cleaned his fingers on a napkin. “I had to get out of there.”

Which meant getting high. I tried to think of what to say. The best I could come up with was “I’m sorry.”

He nodded.

Grief wasn’t what I’d been expecting, but I could feel it, the raw wound of it. For a girl named Kaliyah, yes. But maybe for himself, too.

“We call her Isabela.”

For a moment, I thought he was going to cry. He wrapped up what was left of his food, and his hands were shaking as he did. “Isabela. That’s nice. That’s a nice name. Kaliyah would have liked that.”

“What about Kaliyah’s family?”

“Her parents are dead. I don’t know if she had brothers or sisters; she’s not from here, you know?”

I nodded.

He dropped his head against the window again. After a while, he said, “Isabela.”

“Zé calls her Igz. And don’t get me started; I already know it’s a stupid nickname.”

“Igz. I like it.” A grin flashed and went out. “Zé’s the nanny?”

“Yeah. He’s good with Igz.”

Chuy turned his head, his expression unreadable as he studied me. But what he said was “So, Mom and Cannon?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, it’s a fucking shitshow.”

That made him laugh.

“Are they really going to get married?”

“Who knows? One minute, they’re screaming at each other, the next—” I made a gagging noise. “He’s not even half her age, the little pisser, but he bought her a ring. I guess if she doesn’t fuck things up like she always does, it might actually happen.”

“What are you going to do with all that free time on your hands? Take Gus-Gus to Disneyland?”

I flipped him the bird, but he grinned. “Apparently, I’m going to raise your child, you giant badger-fuck.”

“No, Fer. I don’t want you to—I’ll figure it out.”

“Uh huh.”

“I mean, you’re definitely going to have to help.”

“There it is.”

“Probably do most of the heavy lifting.”

“Sure,” I said. “Why the fuck not?”

“First thing, though is get rid of that manny. Mom does not like that guy.”

It took a moment for the words to process—for me to wrap my head around the fact that, for some reason, Mom had talked to Chuy about Zé. “Get rid of Zé? Are you shitting me? Zé’s the only reason this family isn’t a flaming shit-fire.”

“Aren’t all fires flaming?”

“What the fuck did Mom say about him? Zé is a fucking saint. What’s wrong with him? Tell me one fucking way he’s not perfect.”

“Whoa.” Chuy tried for a laugh, but it fell off uneasily. “Cool it. I’m not the one talking shit about your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!”

The words came out too loud and too fast, and I heard the half-buried shrillness of my panic.

Chuy’s eyes got huge.

I sank into my seat.

“Holy shit.”

I shook my head.

“Holy fucking shit. Are you kidding me? You’re banging the babysitter?”

“We’re not banging, jack-hole!”

Although, I mean, technically...

“Your face! You are totally doing the babysitter.” Chuy burst out laughing, “Jesus, Fer.”

“All right, fine! We hooked up. Or something.”

“Oh my God, do you like him?”

I wrapped my hands around the steering wheel and stared out the windshield. “Maybe I do. Is that a problem?”

“Do you mean, is it a problem that you like to double dip? Uh, no. I’ve known that about you since you were fourteen and you forgot to clear the cache on the computer.”

“What the hell—”

“On the other hand, if you mean, is it a problem that you’re boinking the person responsible for keeping your life from turning into a flaming shit-fire, the answer is: it depends on whether you’re going to fuck it up.”

I wiped my forehead; sweat dampened my hairline. It was hard to get my voice to sound normal when I said, “I don’t want to fuck it up.”

“Then don’t.” A grin lolled across his face. “It would be a real fucking shame if Gus-Gus were the shining example of a healthy relationship in this family.”

“Good Christ. Did you see that fucking video when his pet dinosaur hugs him from behind? I swear to God you can see him chub up.”

It was easy, after that, to spend the rest of the drive talking shit about Augustus.

By the time we got home, it was dark. The living room lights were on. Zé had waited up, I thought. Or maybe not. Maybe he was just reading on his phone. Maybe he couldn’t sleep. But maybe he’d wanted to make sure I got home. Maybe he’d been a little worried. And we’d have to stay up for a while so I could tell him about the drive. Tell him everything, actually.

When I stepped inside, he was sprawled on the sofa, head pillowed on one arm. His head came up, and a red mark on the side of his face told me he’d been sleeping. He pushed back his hair and said muzzily, “You’re home.”

“We’re home. Chuy, this is Zé. Zé, Chuy.”

Chuy was giving him a once-over. Then he wolf-whistled and gave me a thumbs-up.

Zé groaned.

“Dumbass,” I said, giving Chuy a shove. “Do you not have two fucking brain cells to rub together?”

“What?” Chuy said, and he was laughing. “You did a good job. For once.”

“Where’s Igz?”

Zé rubbed his eyes. “Your mom still has her. She and Cannon are—”

A door opened down the hall, and a moment later, Mom and Cannon appeared. Mom was clearly in her comfy clothes—matching sweats and only sixty percent of her usual amount of jewelry and makeup—and carrying Igz, who looked fussy and tired. That made sense, since she should have been in her crib hours ago. Cannon was in a tank and shorts, and he was practically bouncing at her heels. He gave Chuy a long, considering look. Judging his fresh competition, I figured.

“Why isn’t Igz—”

“I want him out of this house.” She pointed at Zé and then, of all things, covered Igz’s ear. “I want him out right now. I want you to make him leave. And we’re going to need to change the locks.”

Zé’s fuzzy eyebrows drew together, and he looked at me.

Unhappiness settled over Chuy’s face. “Mom—”

“Right now, Fernando. Did you hear me? I want him out of this house.”

“What—” Zé began, and he started trying to rise.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked. To Zé, I said, “Sit down. You’re not going anywhere.”

“Yes, you are.” Mom rounded on him. “Get your stuff and go. I want you to leave.” Her voice rose, taking on an edge. “Right now!”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” I asked. “Zé, sit down! Zé is the best thing that’s happened to this family in a long time. What the hell crawled up your ass?”

“The best thing that’s happened?” From the pocket of her sweats, she produced my watch. The watch Augustus had given me. “I found this in his stuff.”

“You went through my stuff?” Zé asked.

Everything was happening too fast. I held up a hand. “Hold on—”

“And some of my jewelry,” Mom said. “Pieces I didn’t even know were missing.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I said.

Zé was trying to get to his feet again. He seemed to have forgotten about his cane, and he was using the couch to lever himself up. “That’s not true.”

“I found it!” Mom screamed at him. She had a great set of lungs; she’d been taking vocal lessons as long as I’d been alive. Igz startled in her arms, and then she began to wail. Cradling Igz’s head, Mom brought her voice back down as she said to me, “He stole it, Fernando.”

I shook my head and looked at Zé. “No, this is some kind of misunderstanding.”

He was pale, and he leaned on the couch like he couldn’t quite stand upright. “I didn’t touch her stuff. I never went into her room. I wouldn’t steal anything.”

“Wrong family, sweetheart,” Mom said and glanced at, of all people, Chuy. “We’ve played this game a time or two before.”

Chuy leaned against the wall, his body closed. His eyes met mine only for a moment before skating away.

“What does that mean?” Zé asked. No one said anything. “Fernando, I swear to God, I wouldn’t steal.”

“I know.” I shook my head again. “Mom, Zé is the last person—”

“He’s an addict, Fernando.”

She delivered the words with cool pity as she adjusted Igz, still wailing, against her shoulder. Cannon hovered behind her. It looked like the broccoli-haired bro was trying not to smile.

Zé looked awful: his face washed out, his body contorted as he tried to prop himself up on the couch, braced like he was cowering under a blow. His breathing was rapid and shallow.

“No.” I started to shake my head again, but that hadn’t seemed to work, so I stood there. After a moment, I knew I had to say something else, but all I could come up with was “No.”

“Yes. We followed him tonight. I knew something was wrong. I knew he was hiding something. All those nights he had to leave, and he couldn’t explain where he’d been.”

My brain was automatically doing the math. I remembered those nights too. The nights Zé left, and when I asked where he was going, he’d say, I have something to do , and when I asked when he got back, he’d say, out . All the nights I’d wondered if he’d been hooking up. But he hadn’t been hooking up; he’d told me that—unless, a part of me observed, that had been a lie too. So, what had he been doing? I didn’t know. He’d never told me. He’d always found a way not to tell me.

Zé wasn’t moving. I didn’t even think he was breathing, except I could hear those softy, raspy breaths.

“Mom,” Chuy said, “why don’t you and Cannon and I—”

I turned toward Zé, and he flinched. He looked gray. He rubbed his mouth, and his eyes found mine and darted away again.

“He was at an NA meeting,” Mom said. “He went straight there. I heard him. I listened to him talk about pills, Fernando.”

I nodded. A part of me thought, NA is good. I’ve been trying to get Chuy to try NA for a long time. But it was hard to think clearly because there was this high-pitched noise in my head, and it drowned everything else out.

“I know you asked,” Zé said, his voice drawn so tight I thought it might crack. “I know, Fernando. But I’m sober. I haven’t used in almost a year—”

“So,” I said. “It’s true.”

“Fernando.”

“I asked you,” I said.

“I know.”

“I told you what I was dealing with. I told you—” Everything, I almost said; I told you everything. But I managed to change it into “—how important that was. I told you I didn’t want anyone who’d been in that life.”

“I know,” he said, and he sounded like he was about to cry. “I’m sorry. But I’m not using, and I swear to God, I didn’t steal anything.”

I rubbed my eyes. When I’d first started working—a real job, I mean—and we’d been behind on every bill, and even treading water had seemed like a miracle, on bad nights, I’d started doing the math in years. It would take a year of my life, working full time, if I didn’t pay for anything else, to pay off Mom’s credit cards. It would take two years, if I didn’t use a single cent for anything else, to clear the car loan. Four years to get Augustus through college. And now, I did that math again. Another year to put Chuy through residential treatment. A year to get Zé his PT. Who knew how many fucking years, I thought, and I wanted to laugh, to pay for Mom’s fucking wedding?

“He’s not leaving,” I said to Mom.

“He stole my jewelry!”

“Half your boyfriends steal your jewelry! He’s not leaving.”

Zé was shaking his head.

“Come on,” I said. “We’re moving your stuff into my room.”

“I don’t want him in my house!” Mom screamed. Igz was screaming too. “I want him to leave!”

“It’s not your house! I pay the bills. I pay the mortgage. The deed is in my name. If I say he’s staying, he’s staying.”

Mom looked like I’d slapped her. For a moment, her whole body was so lax with shock that it looked like she might drop Igz. Then she recovered somehow. I saw her put on the mask. “I am your mother, and I am telling you I am terrified. He’s a thief. He’s an addict. I am worried about myself, and this baby, and your brother. And you don’t care. It doesn’t matter what I say or how I feel. As usual.”

What would it be next, I wondered. Tears? Or would she lock herself in her bathroom with a bottle of gin? Would she take Igz in there with her? Would she take her into the tub? I tried to soften my voice. I’d learned a long time ago that she did better when I was calm. “Mom, I would never put our family in danger. If I thought Zé—I’d never let him—if I thought he was a problem, I’d make him leave.”

Mom made a scoffing noise.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked.

“You know what it means. It means I’m not an idiot, Fernando. It means I’m not blind. I’m begging you right now, pleading with you, and you won’t see reason. Because I’m not important enough. No, you’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

“Mom, Jesus,” Chuy said.

“You’re going to put this whole family in danger because of your little crush. Your family, Fernando. Your father raised you better than that. But who cares, right? Your father doesn’t matter. Your mother certainly doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore because this boy enjoys stringing you along.”

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t look at Zé. I couldn’t do anything. I felt like my head had separated from my body. It was like someone else speaking out of my mouth when I heard the words, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Zé was pushing his hands through his hair. Now he froze.

Cannon laughed, the sound short and full of an ugly happiness.

“You think I don’t see how you follow him around, how you stare at him, how you talk about him.” She rocked Igz and shook her head. “He’s using you, Fernando. And one day, you’re going to wake up, and he’ll be gone, and all you’ll have left is your embarrassment.” She waited again, like this was a conversation, like she was listening. And then she said, “Come on, Cannon.”

They retreated to her room. The door clicked shut. The night was windy, the sound high and whistling against the house. Chuy was looking at the floor.

Zé was the first to move. He lurched toward the hallway, his steps uneven, and he had to put a hand on the wall as he tried to move faster.

I picked up his cane and went after him.

In his room, he was throwing clothes in his suitcase.

“You don’t have to do that,” I said. “We’ll move them to my room.”

He opened a drawer, took out an armful of clothes, and hobbled to the suitcase. Then he dropped them in.

“Zé.”

He shook his head and opened the next drawer.

When I caught his arm, he shook me off.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m leaving.”

He opened another drawer, and I took a step back reflexively.

“What do you mean you’re leaving?”

Zé stood in the middle of the room. He glanced around, but I didn’t think he was seeing anything. He zipped the suitcase shut and picked it up.

“What the fuck is going on?”

In the next room, Igz’s sobs sounded uncontrollable.

His voice was thready as he repeated, “I am not going to do this again. I’m not. I will not, Fernando.”

“Do what?”

“Get out of my way.”

“Don’t listen to her. She’s being a bitch.”

“Move.”

“I didn’t say you had to leave. I said you’re staying. Hey, did you hear me?”

“I heard you.” He nodded. “I heard you, Fernando.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means get out of my way, or—or I’m going to call the police.”

I stared at him.

“Move!”

I took a step back, and Zé pushed past me into the hall. He was limping worse than ever. He needed to get off his knee for a while. He needed his cane. I was still holding it, and I went after him.

When I caught up to him at the door, I grabbed his arm. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

He looked at me. He had those dark eyes that made me think again of that final band of brown on a hawk’s wing. “You know, Fernando, you’re a special person. You’re kind. And you’re loving. And you’re generous. And you deserve so much better than what you let yourself have. And I feel sorry for you.”

Igz was still screaming. She’d take forever to calm down, I thought. She’s terrified.

When I spoke, my voice didn’t sound like mine. “You feel sorry for me?”

“Let go of my arm,” he said in his low voice.

“You feel sorry for me?”

He stared back at me.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Okay,” Chuy said, his hand closing over mine. He pried my fingers away. “That’s enough.”

“Go fuck yourself with your sorry,” I said. “Fuck off, you lying sack of shit. You have no idea who I am or what I’ve been through or what I’ve done. Fuck yourself with that shit. You’ve got no fucking idea how hard I’ve worked or how much I’ve sacrificed.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I’m proud of who I am. I’m proud of what I’ve done. All of this, my family, everything, that’s me. I did that. And what have you done?” I waited, but he still didn’t speak. “You’re sorry for me? How fucking dare you? Get the fuck out of here.”

And nothing, still nothing but the wing-tip brown of his eyes.

“Get the fuck out of here!”

He dragged his suitcase out of the house, and I slammed the door.