Towelhead (17 page)

“Well,” she said, “those aren't very good locks.” When I didn't answer, she said, “Look, Jasira, I have to protect myself. In case you hadn't noticed, your father is a stingy man. If you ever do decide to come back home, I need proof that he makes plenty of money. Teenagers are expensive.”

I nodded.

“So you'll keep your mouth shut?'

“Yes.”

We got home and untied the tree, then carried it inside. We'd bought a stand, too, and I held the trunk at the bottom while my mother tried to make sure the tree was straight. Once we had it screwed in, we took the lights off the ficus and put them on the Douglas fir. We spent the rest of the afternoon popping popcorn and stringing it for decoration. My mother said she was tired then, and she went to take a nap. I sat on the couch, looking at the tree and eating the leftover popcorn. I remembered the tree at Thomas's house, which had been so much bigger and prettier. I started to think that if our tree had any feelings, they would be hurt to have to spend Christmas with us.

The doorbell rang at around four, and I set my bowl of popcorn on the floor to answer it. It was Melina, and she was holding a present. “Hey,” she said. “I just wanted to bring you over a little something for Christmas.”

“Oh,” I said. “Thank you.” I felt bad that I didn't have anything for her. “I'll put it under the tree,” I said, taking the package.

“No,” she said. “Don't do that. Just open it.”

“Now?” I asked.

“Why not?”

“Okay.” I started to take the paper off.

“Just rip it!” she said, smiling, so I did. Inside was a large paperback called
Changing Bodies, Changing Lives
. There was a picture of a whole bunch of smiling teenagers on the cover.

“It's so you can learn how your body works,” Melina said.

“Thank you,” I said, flipping through a couple of pages. It seemed interesting.

“Jasira?” my mother called from behind me.

I turned around.

She came into the living room looking sleepy. “Who are you talking to?”

“This is Melina. Our other neighbor.”

“Oh,” Melina said. “I'm sorry. I thought Jasira was alone.”

“My mother is visiting for Christmas,” I told her.

“Oh,” Melina said again. She looked a little nervous.

“I'm Gail,” my mother said, holding out her hand.

“Melina,” Melina said.

“What's that?” my mother asked, looking under my arm, where I had tucked the book.

“It's a present. From Melina.”

“I hope it's all right,” Melina said quickly. “I just thought it might be helpful.”

“May I see it, please?” my mother asked me.

I didn't move.

My mother reached for the book and took it herself. “Huh,” she said, when she saw the cover.

“I didn't mean to intrude,” Melina said. “I really didn't. It's just that I know Jasira has questions sometimes.”

“Does she?” my mother asked. Then she turned to me and said, “Do you?”

“Sometimes,” I said.

“Why don't you call me?” she said.

“I don't know.”

“I think I messed up,” Melina said. “Please forgive me.”

“No,” my mother said, but I could tell she was lying. “This is a very thoughtful gift. Don't you think, Jasira?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Very thoughtful,” my mother repeated.

“Well,” Melina said. “I'd better go.”

“When are you due?” my mother asked cheerfully.

“April,” Melina said.

“Well,” my mother said. “Good for you. Seems like you'll be a terrific mom. Anyway. Nice meeting you.” Then she turned and went back to her room.

“Give me the book,” Melina said.

“No,” I said. I wanted to keep it.

“Give it to me,” Melina said, this time taking it out of my hands.

“But it's my book.”

“Yes,” Melina said. “It is. We're just going to keep it at my house. You can come over and read it whenever you want. Okay?”

I knew she was probably right. I just felt disappointed, since her book seemed better than my
Playboy
. Not the pictures, but the writing. “Okay,” I said finally.

“Merry Christmas,” she said. She leaned down and kissed me on the forehead, adding, “Sorry.”

After Melina left, I went to see if my mother was still awake. “Yes?” she said when I knocked on her door. I opened it, and she said, “Where's your book?”

“Melina took it.”

“Why?”

“She said it would be better if I read it at her house.”

“What's the difference where you read it?” my mother asked.

“I don't know.”

“There's no difference,” she muttered.

“It's almost time to get Daddy,” I said.

She looked at her watch. “We have a little while yet.”

I could tell by the way she went back to her book then that she would rather be alone, so I left.

I went in my room and lay down on my bed. It was almost Christmas, and I didn't care. Christmas, to me, was as bad as any weekend, and weekends were bad because I couldn't see Thomas or Mr. Vuoso on any kind of regular schedule. Weekends were the time when I was trapped inside with Daddy all day, or else trapped outside with him.

And now, being with my mother wasn't much better. All she wanted to do was lie around and read books. She was so boring. I wasn't sure why I'd ever liked her so much. Maybe it was just that I had liked Barry, and she had introduced me to him. At least Barry had wanted to do things, even if they weren't the right things.

I wished I had Melina's book back. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to get to read about my body. Everything I wanted to do—everything I liked—was always so far away. I thought about Dorrie and how much I hated her and how lucky she was going to be to get born to Melina and Gil. Everything she liked would be right there, in her own house. When she got older, she could even read my stupid book.

After a while, I heard my mother get up and use the bathroom. Then she came to my door and said, “Ready?”

“Uh-huh,” I said, sitting up on my bed.

“What kind of room did he give you?” my mother asked, looking around at my blank walls, my bed on its metal frame, my off-white venetian blinds. She shook her head. “This isn't a girl's room.”

“I don't mind,” I said.

My mother made a face. “You know, Jasira, it's getting a little old—the ‘I love Daddy' routine. Just cut it, would you?” She turned and left.

We met in the living room and went out the back door to get to the car. At the same time, Mr. Vuoso came outside to take his flag down. “Who's that?” my mother asked, pausing at the driver's-side door.

“Mr. Vuoso,” I said. “Remember? I used to babysit his son.”

“Oh right,” my mother said. She was still watching him. He wasn't wearing a jacket, and every time he reached up to yank on the rope pulley, his arm muscles flexed.

“Daddy doesn't like him,” I said.

“Your father is very easily intimidated.”

Just then, Mr. Vuoso noticed us staring at him.

“Hi there!” my mother called.

He nodded and smiled a little.

“C'mon,” my mother said, moving away from the car. “You can introduce me.”

I waited a second, then followed her down our driveway and into the Vuosos' front yard. “Hi,” I said. “This is my mom.”

Mr. Vuoso looked at me. We hadn't been together since the Mexican restaurant. We said hi sometimes when we saw each other on the sidewalk, but that was about it. I'd been missing him ever since the night he'd threatened to call Protective Services on Daddy. I kept hoping he would come and take me for dinner again.

“Gail Monahan,” my mother said now, holding out her hand.

“TravisVuoso,” Mr. Vuoso said, shaking with her.

“Nice to meet you, Travis,” she said, and I felt jealous that she was old enough to call him by his first name.

“Same here,” he said. Then he turned to me and said, “Hi, Jasira.”

“Hi.”

“How are you?”

“Fine, thank you.”

“Yeah?” he said. “Everything going okay?”

I nodded.

He paused for a second, then said, “Good. Glad to hear it.”

“I'm here for Christmas,” my mother said, even though no one had asked.

“Oh yeah?” Mr. Vuoso said, turning to her.

She nodded. “Jasira and I haven't seen each other since last summer.”

“You must miss her.”

My mother nodded. “I'm trying to get her to move back home with me.”

Mr. Vuoso looked at me. “You're moving back?”

I shook my head. “I have to finish the school year.”

“Oh,” he said.

“It's not like we don't have schools in Syracuse,” my mother said.

“Well,” Mr. Vuoso said, “I guess it can be hard to change in the middle of the year.”

My mother shrugged. “People do it all the time.” She seemed like she was changing back into her regular self now, and I felt relieved. She was much harder to like that way.

“We're going to be late to get Daddy,” I said.

My mother looked at her watch. “Okay, let's go.”

“Nice meeting you,” Mr. Vuoso said.

“You, too,” my mother said, and she turned and walked back to the car.

On the way to NASA, she wanted to know what Mr. Vuoso had been talking about.

“When?” I said.

“When he was asking you if everything was okay a million times. What's not to be okay?”

“Nothing,” I said. “He was just trying to be friendly. People in Texas act friendly.”

“I didn't think he was that friendly,” she said, then she turned on the radio. After a minute, she moved the dial from the news on NPR to a classical-music station, and I stopped myself from saying that Daddy didn't like anyone touching his dial.

When we got to Daddy's office, he was waiting outside with Thena. As soon as he saw us, he grabbed her and kissed her on the lips. After a couple of seconds he let her go, and she waved to me. I wanted to wave back, but without even looking, I could feel how angry my mother was from the front seat, so I just made a small smile. Finally, Thena turned and walked back toward the office building. “That's just lovely,” my mother said when Daddy got in the passenger side of the car.

“What?” he said, though I could tell he knew.

“Fuck you, Rifat.”

He laughed a little, then said, “Don't be like that, Gail. I'm sure you have plenty of boyfriends. You're a very attractive woman.”

She ignored him. To try to make her feel better, Daddy said he would take us out for pizza. “I don't want pizza,” my mother said. “I want Mexican food. Why would I come to Texas and eat pizza when I could eat Mexican food?”

“I don't know any Mexican places,” Daddy said.

“What do you mean? They're everywhere.”

“Yeah, but they might not be good.”

“I know a place,” I said.

“What?” Daddy said.

“Where?” my mother said.

“It's called Ninfa's,” I said. “It's kind of far.”

“Ninfa?” Daddy said, dropping the
s
. “How do you know about this place?”

“I read about it. In the newspaper.”

“What newspaper?”

I thought for a second, trying to remember the name of Daddy's paper. “The
Chronicle
.”

“In the food section?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I never saw you reading the food section.”

“Who cares?” my mother said. “Let's just go.”

“Pull over,” Daddy said, pointing at a gas station. “I need to call and get the address.”

Daddy used a pay phone and got the address, then came back and found the restaurant on his Houston city map. He said it was definitely far, but that we could still go. He and my mother switched places so he could drive.

On the way there, my mother's mood got better. She said finally she felt like she was about to have an authentic Texas experience. Then she and Daddy asked each other a little about their work. Mom described a problem she was having with another teacher. This man wasn't doing a good job with his students, and so when Mom got them, she had to reteach all the stuff he'd messed up, plus her own stuff. Daddy told her this guy sounded like a stupid idiot, and that Mom should tell the principal on him. Mom said it wasn't that simple, and Daddy asked her if she wanted to keep busting her ass or not. She sighed and said no, not really.