Fireworks: A Holiday Bad Boy Romance (65 page)

Mom’s home health nurse,
Jackie, is running water for mom’s evening coffee. Dad… I don’t really know
where dad is right now. He’s probably at some fundraiser or something.

Dad and mom were never
really close, at least not from anything I can remember, but he’s always made
sure she’s well taken care of. The thing is, in my dad’s book, being around
someone, spending time with them, savoring what moments of clarity she has don’t
really come under the definition of care taking.

Dad’s real love has
always been his work, but at least mom’s got Jackie.

“How are you doing
tonight, Jackie?” I ask. “Have you thought about you and me and my plan for the
two of us to run away together?”

“I have,” Jackie says in
her matter-of-fact, New England way. “I must tell you that I have some
concerns.”

“Such as?” I ask.

“Well, first off, you are
far too young for me. You’re what, seventeen?” she asks.

“Twenty-one,” I answer.
“I’m legal, baby.”

She gives a throaty
laugh. “I’ve got you by thirty years,” she says. “What are you doing flirting
with someone so much older than you?”

“I can’t help it,” I tell
her. “You put a spell on me with your wiles. The way you put those coffee
grounds into the filter—it’s just magic.”

“You’re an odd young man,
you know that?” Jackie asks.

“I’ve heard such rumors
before and I categorically deny them all,” I answer. “How’s mom today?”

“She’s having a bit of a
rough one,” Jackie sighs. “When she woke up, she was her old self, but she’s
been losing touch more and more.”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “I
guess that’s what we expected, though, right?”

“Listen,” Jackie says, “I
hear that you have some big competition coming up. Is that right?”

“Yeah,” I answer. “It’s
still a little bit off, but it’s coming up quick.”

“I was wondering if you
could do me a favor,” she says.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Well, the competition’s
going to be broadcast on ESPN, right?” she asks.

“I think it’s something
like ESPN Four or something like that,” I answer, “but yeah, if you’ve got
extremely extended cable, you should be able to pick it up. Why?”

“I was wondering if you
and your father have talked about the possibility of your mother going to the
competition with you,” Jackie says.

I close my eyes and take
a slow breath. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” I tell Jackie.

“I think it would be nice
for her, when she’s having days like today, to be able to see a video of you
and her and see how successful her son is,” Jackie says.

“Do you really think
mom’s up for something like that, though?” I ask. “I talk to her every day,
Jackie. I know how she’s been doing.”

“There comes a point in
treatment when there’s simply not much more you can do,” Jackie starts.
“Medication has given her some time that she wouldn’t have had otherwise, but
there are going to be more days like today. Sometimes you just have to do
whatever you can and hope that something helps, even temporarily. Would you at
least consider it?”

“I don’t know,” I answer.
“It just seems like she’s having more time, even around close family. I don’t
think that putting her in a crowd of a few hundred or thousand people would be
such a—”

“These competitions
really draw out hundreds of thousands of people?” Jackie asks.

I look at her quietly a
moment, blinking a few times. “No,” I tell her, “a few hundred
or
a few thousand. Something like this
it’s hard to tell what turn out’s going to be like. It’s more likely going to
be a few hundred, but you never know. Sometimes people get that wild hair up
their ass and show up in—it doesn’t really matter whether it is a hundred or a
hundred thousand, though, does it?” I ask. “She can’t go, can she?”

“No,” Jackie sighs. “She
can’t.”

“Then why would you bring
up her going as a possibility for me to consider?” I ask.

“I wanted you to know
that she wouldn’t be able to go and I wanted you to come to that realization on
your own,” she answers. “I’m sorry. I thought it would be the most diplomatic
approach. I screwed up.”

“I don’t understand why
you’d do that,” I tell her.

“Well,” she says, “I
thought it would be mean to just come in here and tell you that your mom
wouldn’t be able to come to your big competition, so rather than doing that, I
thought that if I brought up the possibility of her going, you’d kind of get
there on your own.”

“Is she up?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Jackie says. “I’m
sorry. Should I have just told you she wouldn’t have been able to make it?”

Jackie’s problem is that
she never wants to make anyone feel bad about anything ever. That sounds very
nice and flowery and all that, but it leads to some of the most brutal
situations I’ve ever encountered.

This one’s just
confusing, though. “I didn’t expect that she’d be able to make it,” I tell
Jackie. “She hasn’t been able to come to any of my competitions for a while
now. Why would I think this one was any different?”

“I don’t know,” Jackie
says. “I’ve just heard you and your friends talking about it.”

“When have you heard me
and my friends talking about it?” I ask. “I haven’t had anyone over in a long
time. I always meet my friends at the skate park.”

“Oh no,” she says,
physically walking backward, her hands up and in front like I’m holding a gun
on her or something. “I didn’t mean—it wasn’t, just sometimes—I don’t know. I
just hear things, you know.”

“You hear things?” I ask.
“Have you been listening in on my phone calls?”

“No,” she says, shaking
her head and smiling entirely too big. “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just
that sometimes I’m walking from one room to another and, while I’m just minding
my own business, I overhear conversations or bits of conversations.”

“So you’ve been
eavesdropping on me?” I ask.

“You’re not listening—it
doesn’t matter,” she says. “This one’s different, though, right?”

My phone starts ringing
in my pocket.

“Yeah,” I tell Jackie,
pulling my phone out. “This one’s different.” I answer the phone. “Yeah?”

“Hello, is this Ian
Zavala?” a woman asks.

“Who’s this?” I return.

“We have you down as a
part-time volunteer, is that correct?” the woman asks.

“Oh,” I answer. It’s been
so long, I’ve forgotten to expect the call.

Jackie’s just standing
there in front of me, listening in unrepentantly. There’s something vile about
gossip, but I’ve got to respect her willingness to fly her busybody flag so
brazenly.

PART 2

Chapter Seven

Gerald

Mia

“I’m still mad at you,” I
tell my father. “You need to stop treating me like I’m some precious antique
that can’t get any fingerprints on it.”

“Has he been putting
fingerprints on you?” dad asks.

I don’t have to think
about it: my eyes just roll on instinct. “I’m not even sure I know what that
means,” I tell him. “This is some apology.”

“I know,” he says. “I’m
sorry.”

Dad’s been trying to
“apologize” for the way he behaved with Ian. He’s been trying for about the
last fifteen minutes, but every time we seem to be making a little headway, he
jumps right back into Looming Father Figure Man—a superhero I doubt will ever
have a movie of his own—mode and then we’re right back where we are now.

“I wanted to do something
to show you how sorry I am,” he says.

“You’re cosigning a lease
on an apartment for me?” I ask, though I’m smart enough not to expect such a
thing.

“No,” he says, looking
down at the ground, his hands in some strange fidget war with one another.
“It’s a surprise,” he says.

It kind of weirds me out
when my dad is all contrite and reasonable. Usually, he’s the guy he’s been
apologizing for, not the guy doing the apologizing.

“I’m supposed to meet him
again tonight,” I tell him. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“You’re not doing it
here, are you?” he asks.

“Thanks, dad,” I answer
and grab my jacket from the back of the couch. “I’m going to go out for a walk,
maybe into a body of water and, you know, not stop until I’m floating.”

“Hold on,” he says.
“Before you go all Virginia Woolf on me, would you at least get in the car so I
can take you to pick out your surprise?”

“That was distasteful,” I
answer, then look at the door and back at him. “What do you mean, ‘take me to
pick out my surprise?’ You’re not trying to win me over by taking me out for
ice cream, are you? I am twenty years old.”

“It’s not ice cream,” he
says. “You’ll see when we get there. When are you meeting your tattooed
friend?”

I scoff. “His name’s Ian,
dad,” I tell him. “You know his name is Ian. You’re really bad at seeking
forgiveness, you know that?”

“I know,” he says. “Just
get in the car, and I promise it’ll be worth it, all right?”

I look at the clock.

As long as he’s not
trying to take me out of the city, I should have time for whatever his surprise
is before I meet up with Ian. That said, I’m not sure if I can really stomach
too many more of my dad’s half-apologies.

“Is there any way you can
leave your little comments about my class partner while you’re trying to buy me
off?” I ask.

“I will do my best,” he
says.

“I’ve seen your best,” I
tell him. “It’s not very inspiring.”

“Fine,” he says. “We
won’t even talk about it. Come on, I want to get there before they close.”

It’s pretty early in the
day for a store to be closing. What kind of stores close early in the day?

With that, he’s got me. I
cannot abide unsatisfied curiosity, even with something as trivial as wanting
to know what kind of store closes at four o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon.

It’s a crack in the
armor, but there hasn’t been much I’ve been able to do about it.

“Okay,” I tell him. “I’ll
go. Just remember that you’re going to play nice and not end up having to
apologize anymore because that really defeats the purpose of the whole thing.”

“Agreed,” he says. “Come
on, let’s get down there.”

We head out to the car
and, as I’m getting in the passenger’s seat, he has to rub it in.

“It was the comment about
the place closing that did it, wasn’t it?” he asks.

“Why would a store close
at
four
o’clock?” I ask. “Some places
close at five, but those are usually banks and other corporate entities which
seek the domination and eventual destruction of the human race, but you’re
taking me somewhere out of contrition. I don’t think you’d take me shopping at
a bank or a post office,” I tell him. “Why would they close at four?”

It’s not until we’re pulling
away that he tells me he made up the thing about the place closing to get me to
quit arguing and get in the car. I’m not sure whether to be madder at him for
exploiting a known weakness of mine in order to achieve his goals or myself for
actually being sucked in by something so stupid.

I decide not to fret
about it so much and so I ride in the passenger’s seat with a more generalized
hatred toward everything.

“Close your eyes,” he
says.

“What?” I ask. “Why?”

“I told you,” he says,
“It’s a surprise.”

I close my eyes.

We’re driving for a few
more minutes and the car comes to a stop.

“Keep your eyes closed,”
he says. “Open your door.”

I open the door and it
immediately slams into the car parked next to us. My eyes spring open, but it’s
too late. The dent is already made.

“That’s my fault,” dad
says. “I should have thought that through a little better.”

“It’s all right,” I tell
him and look to see where we are. “A kennel?” I ask.

“It’s a shelter,” he
says. “They take in strays and other unwanted pets and find them new homes. I
was thinking, if you’d like, you could pick out a dog. No cats, though,” he
says. “You know I’m allergic.”

“You know,” I tell him,
“for someone trying to cover verbal assault with bribery, you’re a pretty
amiable guy, dad.”

“I appreciate that,
sweetheart,” he says. “Now, let’s go pick you out a pet.”

“I’m going to need a
little money for his care,” I tell him. “Or, you know, you could let me get a
job.”

“No job,” he says. “I
don’t have that much more time with you in the house and I want to be able to
spend as much of it with you as possible.”

It’s a nice thought in an
overbearing, Kathy Bates in Misery kind of way.

“So, you’ll be shelling
out some money then?” I ask.

“Isn’t it shilling?” he
asks.

“I’m pretty sure it’s
shelling,” I tell him, but now that he’s asking, I’m not so sure myself. “It
doesn’t matter,” I tell him and with that, we head inside.

We’re greeted at the
front by a woman who looks like she’s late for about a dozen appointments, but
still manages what I’m assuming is a smile.

“Welcome to Pet Haven
Sanctuary for New Friends, Pets, and Companions,” the woman says. “How can I
help you today?”

“That’s a pretty
impressive name,” I tell her.

“You wouldn’t believe how
much it costs in business cards,” she says. “The boss wants the name on one
line and so we’ve got to use different paper.” She reaches in front of her and
grabs what I had simply assumed to be a smallish bumper sticker and holds it
out to me. “Not really wallet-friendly,” she says. “Anyhoo, what can I do for ya?”

“We would like to look at
your dogs, please,” dad says.

My dad really likes to
come across as the old-fashioned gentleman type, especially in public, but it’s
a particular quirk of his I’ve never quite gotten used to. It’s not that he’s a
bad guy or a mean guy, he’s just so over the top on so many things, hearing him
asking a question like a boy scout doesn’t quite strike the ear right.

“Follow me,” the woman
says. “We’ve got some beautiful dogs, all of which are spayed and neutered,
shelter policy.”

She leads us into the
back and from there, we just follow the barking.

I love animals,
especially dogs. I have never liked shelters like this. I’m sure they do great
work and help a lot of animals, but walking down rows of cages, knowing that
any dog I don’t pick is that much closer to…

“How many can I get?” I
ask my dad.

“I think just one for
now,” he says with a chuckle.

“What happens to the dogs
I don’t choose?” I ask.

“You’re concerned they’ll
be euthanized?” the woman asks, pulling her glasses down her nose a little with
the tip of her thoroughly chewed pen.

I look at my dad and back
at her. “Yeah,” I answer.

“We’re a no-kill
shelter,” she says. “Nobody here is going to point a gun at animals’ heads just
because they haven’t found the right family after a couple of weeks.”

Suddenly, the cages don’t
seem quite as confining.

“Do you have a particular
breed in mind?” the woman asks.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think
we caught your name,” my dad says.

I never know if he’s
flirting or just being awkward the way dads everywhere are awkward with women
in public.

“I’m Tonya,” she says.
“It’s nice to meet you. We have some older dogs and some puppies and just about
everything in between,” she goes on, returning to her preferred subject. “Do
you know what you’re looking for?”

“What about this one?” my
dad asks, but I don’t even look over.

Standing, facing the bars
of his cage and looking up at me is a little furry guy with a grey beard and
dark brown eyes and my heart is sold.

“How much is it for the
miniature schnauzer?” I ask.

“We charge a forty dollar
licensing fee,” Tonya says. “Also, we do offer full vet service here if you
need to bring him in for anything, but he’s current on all his shots.”

“Forty bucks?” I ask.

“Forty bucks,” she
answers.

I look at my dad. He
smiles.

“What’s his name?” dad
asks.

“That is Gerald,” Tonya
says. “He’s a charmer. You’d better keep your eye on that one.”

“Is he, uh, trained?” my
dad asks.

“He gets a little excited
sometimes, but he’s usually very good about going outside,” Tonya says. “I’d say
just work with him a little bit over the next couple of weeks and try not to
get him over-excited when he hasn’t been out to do his business in a while and
you shouldn’t have a problem.”

“What kind of things
would cause him to be over-excited?” dad asks.

“Come on,” I tell him.
“I’ve got to meet with Ian, and I want to make sure this little guy’s all comfy
cozy in his new home before I go.”

“For a lot of puppies,
visiting new places, meeting new people, these can be some triggers,” Tonya
says.

“So basically the
environment that is our home will unavoidably cause him to pee on the carpet?”
dad asks.

“Not if he’s gone to the
bathroom recently enough,” she answers.

“Pee on the carpet or no
pee on the carpet, Gerald and I are about to become fast friends,” I coo. “Can
I let him out of the cage?” I ask.

“Sure,” Tonya says. “Just
remember, he’s a puppy and he’s going to be thrilled to be out, so try to keep
him close or he’s liable to start us all off on a high speed chase through the
building.”

I open the cage and
Gerald jumps up on my leg, making high-pitched yipping noises. A moment later,
I’m sitting on the floor and he’s jumping in my lap. He lies down on me and I
scratch his back.

“It’s like the two of you
are lost friends,” Tonya says.

“Yeah,” dad mutters. “And
one of you is going to get pee everywhere.”

“I’ll try to make it to
the toilet, dad,” I say dismissively and I scratch Gerald behind the ears.

“Do you sell leashes and
collars?” dad asks.

“You can keep the collar
he’s got on,” Tonya says. “Leashes are ten bucks.”

Dad is naturally offended
that a leash would cost so much and the two start haggling. By haggling, of
course, I mean dad complains and Tonya tells him there’s nothing she can do
about it.

While blinking my eyes as
Gerald licks my face, I spot something just outside this room. At first, it’s
just a passing glance and then I see what looks like one of the veterinarians
talking to someone.

Gerald jumps out of my
lap, and I’m trying to see who the veterinarian is talking to, but I’m just at
the wrong angle. I’m not quite sure who I thought I saw, but whoever the vet’s
talking to, they got my attention.

“Mia, would you mind
grabbing your dog?” dad asks. “He’s giving that look like he’s trying to find a
nice place to—oh…”

I look over to see Gerald
squatting down, peeing on the linoleum floor.

“He doesn’t lift his
leg?” I ask. “I thought that was a universal male dog thing?”

“Some dogs come out doing
it—well as soon as they have the leg strength and the coordination—other dogs,
it takes a little while,” Tonya answers.

She’s saying something
else, but the person talking to the vet just leaned forward again and I see why
my brain was telling me to keep looking.