Rule #9 (16 page)

Having a football coach for a father, I completely understand the ramifications of the decision Vianna has made. Vianna’s father is an alumni of CU. He had walked out on the football field as a punter his second year of college. There is a thing between CU and the University of Nebraska, even though they don’t play each other anymore. Now his daughter will go to the rival school of his youth and become what she wants to be instead of what he wants her to be. Go Scarlet and Cream!

CHAPTER TWENTY

The homecoming dance is in two weeks and Jack’s ignoring me. Not that I need to go to the dance, because I don’t. Besides, I can’t do this without my mom. And even though she’ll be home in time for the event, I don’t want to go dress shopping without her. So really it’s best if I don’t go. Not that it matters, because since the kiss Jack hasn’t talked to me. Maybe I’m the world’s worst kisser. Maybe it really wasn’t a kiss. Maybe it was just his soft lips touching mine. It’s not like I think about it all the time, or even most of the time. I barely think about it some of the time.

Who am I kidding?

I do know that my father’s laid off his grueling regimen at practice. Jack and my father have reconciled, information I pull out of my friend Andrew. My informant only shares that Jack’s no longer completing extra laps and that Jack’s been seen laughing with my father. This tells me…nothing.

I walk into the house through the garage door. Mr. Morales is on the other side of the door. “Hijita, how are you?” He puts his arm around me.

“Fine, Mr. Morales.” I stiffen. My arms remain at my sides. Even though I’m really starting to like the old guy, I’m not hugging him back.

I pull back and he lets go. Hugs don’t usually bother me, but I really don’t know him and even though we’re family, we’re not. Conversing about my father, discussing books, and eating chili don’t mean we’re BFFs, either. I know he told me about the love of his life and his ex-wife, but he doesn’t know me. I haven’t shared anything with him. And why would he want to know me anyway? I’m still scared that if I completely let them in, they’ll just walk away when my mom gets back and I go home.

“‘Mr. Morales.’ Hmm…” Alicia’s dad says. “You don’t have to call me Mr. Morales. Makes me think of my father. I loved my father. He was an army man, a fine man. I don’t…maybe you can call me…Grandpa?” He looks hopeful.

I don’t want to crush him, but that’s weird. I know he’s always calling me
hijita
, but it doesn’t mean I need to return the favor. It’s not like I’ve asked him to give me this title. I don’t have grandparents, I barely remember them. So why do I need them now? My mom’s parents died in a car accident before I was born. My dad’s mother died of breast cancer when I was four and his dad—we don’t talk about him. He walked out on my grandmother when my father was young. The closest person resembling a grandparent for me is my mother’s godmother, Mary Kay. And I haven’t seen her since sixth grade.

“I’m sorry, you have a grandpa, don’t you?” he smiles.

“No, but…” I look around the room. And, for the first time, I wish Alicia would walk into the house and save me.

“See, that means you need one. I called my grandpa Tato. You can call me Tato or Abuelo…?”

I don’t respond. My eyes dart around the room. Where the hell is Alicia?

“You think about it. My friends call me Benny. You could too.”

“I like Benny.” Thank God, a way out.

“Benny it is. Now let’s make some refried beans.”

Wow. He lets it go. It doesn’t even bother him. His mood doesn’t change. He doesn’t seem sad or different. My dad would start huffing and pouting. But with the old guy, there doesn’t seem to be any expectations. Weird. Very weird. Not normal. I’m not sure how to take this, or what to do with it.

My skills in the kitchen quadruple within the week. Between Benny and Alicia, I learn that dinners consist of more than sandwiches, salads, and yogurt. My mother will love it if I can cook for her. I will love it if I can cook for us. I don’t like frozen dinners.

Speaking of my mother, she’s gone missing. Not really missing, more like absent. She texts me every morning and every night to tell me she loves me. Her texts also include little trinkets of advice. Not like my tea quotes. They’re mom quotes for the day:

Love you—be positive today.

Love you—tomorrow is a new day.

Love you—pick out one nice thing about someone you don’t like.

Love you—the things we hate about others are faults we find in ourselves.
(I like this one even though I hate admitting it.)

Love you—today tell your dad you love him.

Love you—you better not run back home anymore but can you water the plants once a week?

Love you—yesterday I smelled daisies, they were in a small boutique. I’ve learned daises don’t smell good but I smelled them anyway. Don’t pass by the flowers without smelling them.

Love you—everything can be fixed. Take chances and know that if they don’t work out you can always do something else.

Love you—the same stars I see now will be in your sky tomorrow.

I miss her voice.

Benny and I set the table. I love how we all sit at the nice big table in the formal dining room every night. It’s quiet and we are forced to talk. Dinners with my dad used to always be in front of the television, and then, when that woman came into the picture, we always went out to dinner.

Alicia walks into the kitchen and kisses her dad on the cheek. “Dinner smells good, Papi.” Then she takes the spoon from the beans and tastes.

“Out of the kitchen.” Mr. Morales taps her head.

“I bought you some tea, Massie. Your dad said you like the raspberry? The kind with the quotes on the lids?” Alicia says, but she’s really asking if this is correct. Then she hides the salt in the cupboard where she stores the vitamins. She’s trying to make sure her dad eats healthy on account of his heart condition. She winks at me like I’m in on a secret, but I’ve learned other secrets, like that Benny has different stashes, so hiding one container of salt isn’t going to do anything.

“Thanks. Can I have one?” I ask.

“You need to stop asking if you can have things around here. As long as it’s not from my closet there’s no need to ask. Not like you’d want anything from my closet. I’m aging fast and I’m scared I’m losing my fashion sense,” Alicia says.

She isn’t.

Benny opens the cupboard and pulls out the salt. He winks at me, then adds more to the beans.

I giggle. Alicia shakes her head.

“The color of California’s Golden Gate Bridge is International Orange.” I look up from my tea lid, embarrassed that I’ve shared this information out loud. It’s a habit. I can’t help myself. If people are around, it’s no fun reading quotes to myself—I have to share. But then I add, “Alicia, you could wear International Orange and look good.”

Wow. I don’t know where that came from.

Alicia doesn’t gloat. She blushes. “Thank you.” She takes the salt away from her father like he’s a child who has grabbed a dangerous object.

My father romps into the room, “My favorite random fact is that a snail can sleep for three years.”

“That
would
be your favorite,” Alicia says, then rolls her eyes. She kisses my dad on the lips and I look away. It’s still weird for me to see them together. I am glad that they are talking, though. I really don’t want to be the cause of their fights. It’s good to see them happy. Something I haven’t seen in a very long time, not with my parents even when they were married, and not with my friends’ dads and stepmonsters. My friends’ dads’ relationships seem—forced. Natalie tells me the honeymoon will end soon. It’s only a matter of time. Looking at my father and his bride, I’m not sure I believe Natalie. But Natalie knows better than me. She’s lived with the stepmom thing longer.

“So, Dad, I hear that you’re no longer mad at Jack. What gives?” I decide that I’ll call a truce, the way my father can handle it, without confrontation, without bringing up our fight. Plus, this will allow me to acquire information. Since Andrew isn’t supplying good data on Jack, I needed to go to a closer source, my father. He’ll spill the goods without even knowing it.

“Since you aren’t Jack’s date for homecoming there’s nothing for me to worry about.” He says this like he’s won the Super Bowl on his fantasy league. Like he himself accomplished the impossible.

“Who’s his date?” I say, in my best cocky, I-don’t-give-a-crap voice.

Alicia looks worried.

“Some Sidney girl, I think,” my father says.

#

Once I’m around the corner and out of sight of the Trask home, I call my mom. She doesn’t answer. She’s probably still asleep, or in the shower. Who knows, London time is all jacked up. In a few hours, she will send me my morning quote, thinking it will help me get through the day. I don’t think I can deal with seeing one when I wake. So I send her one.

Love you—If you ever think of getting married again, pick someone the opposite of my father. He’s an ass.

I couldn’t stay at the house. After my dad blurted out that Jack was taking Sidney to homecoming, I walked out of the room. I got my keys and I left. My dad is probably standing in the same spot wondering what he did wrong. No, never mind. He’s in his den watching films for the upcoming game. He probably has no clue.

Natalie’s working at Pollywog’s but I won’t go there. I won’t take the chance of running into Sidney’s new boyfriend/idiot/linebacker/my father’s new best buddy, Jack. Vianna’s out to dinner with her mom. I head to Jillian’s Second Time Around.

There are a few customers in the store and Gaby is sitting by the register with an apple in one hand and a book in the other. It’s almost closing time, but Gaby isn’t aware of anything but her novel. Her reading glasses, thick and black, look like they belong…in this era. Wow. The curls in her hair are soft, they frame her face perfectly, and it looks…normal. She barely has any makeup on. Simple foundation, mascara, and lip gloss. She’s wearing cuffed jeans and a black, button-down shirt.

“Must be good if you didn’t hear me come in,” I say. “What are you reading?”

“Uh-huh.” Her eyes never leave the page. The apple looks like it’ll take the rest of the night to eat. It’s enormous.

I look at the cover of the book,
How to Deal with HIS Kids
, by Dr. Stacie Hunter-Blaine. The book has a picture of a teenage girl rolling her eyes and a mischievous preteen boy with a toad in his hand. “What are you reading? And why?” I ask.

She looks up. Her face turns the shade of the apple. “The guy I’m dating, Sam. He has kids, two daughters. They hate me.”

“They can’t hate you.” Nobody hates Gaby. She’s the nicest person. Seriously, if anyone hates Gaby, they’re the ones with issues.

“You hate your stepmom.” She chomps a bite out of the apple while raising her eyebrows.

“You’re not their stepmom.” My voice sounds angry, I’ve turned. Feeling like I have to protect Sam’s daughters from Gaby doesn’t seem right, but women who date guys with kids don’t make sense either. At least not in my world.

“That’s what they said.” She crushes her teeth into the apple again.

I swear that piece of fruit isn’t shrinking.

“I think we need to establish some rules.” I pull a notebook from under the counter. It’s something I doodle in when it’s slow.

“Rules are good. Rule number one: I think they should be nice to me.” Gaby says.

“The rules aren’t for them, they’re for you,” I say, opening the book to a blank page before slapping it onto the counter and scaring the last of the customers out of the shop. I can’t believe the woman in front of me is acting like this. She, of all people, should understand what those girls are going through. Hasn’t she been listening or paying attention to me and my friends?

“What do you mean they’re for me?” She gives me a stupid, shocked look. Gaby sets the self-help book down. I’m thinking the trash is a better place for it.

“You’re the one stepping into their territory. If you’re hoping for any kind of civil relationship with his kids, you’re the one who needs rules,” I say.

Nobody understands this. The girlfriend/stepparent wasn’t there first. It’s not our fault that our parents couldn’t work it out. First we deal with the divorce, and then we need to deal with the intruder? Really, it’s not fair.

I find out that the girls, Sabrina and Nicole, are very close to their mother. Their parents have been divorced for four years and their parents rarely date. Sabrina’s thirteen and Nicole’s ten.

New Girlfriend Rules for Gaby:

1. You are not their mother—they already have one.

2. You are not their friend—really. You seem cool and most teenagers adore you, but you’re not dating other teenagers’ fathers.

3. Don’t hoard all of their father’s time—they had him first.