new boyâs, eye.
Renée
M Y DAD ALWAYS WANTED to do something special on our Sundays together, but I didnât much want something special. I just wanted to go home and curl up in a ball. But he looked worried and asked me if I was feeling all right, so I said, âIâm just tired. We stayed up really late at the sleep-over.â
âHad a late night myself,â Dad said.
For a split second I wondered if he could have had a date. But then he continued, âApparently there was an all-out cowboy brawl at Nickless Bettyâs.â
I remembered that it used to be called Nick and Bettyâs Lounge, but then Nick died and my dad jokingly told my mom and me that it was Nickless Bettyâs now. Iâd thought that was funny but my mom got annoyed. âThatâs exactly the kind of insensitivity I mean!â sheâd said and huffed out of the room. I hated memories like that, memories that started out fun but ended in a cringe.
âGot the call about eleven,â Dad was saying. âI got there, and nine cue sticks were broken in half, and some joker had slashed the felt off the pool table. The boys were all in a lather because the jukebox was dead. But no one thought it might be because theyâd knocked it over.â My dad laughed and shook his head. âCowboys,â he said.
I didnât know what to say. I was glad my dad thought I was old enough to hear about his work, but I hated to picture him walking into a bar full of angry drunks late at night, all alone.
âWant to go to a movie, maybe?â I asked.
âAbsolutely!â he said. âAs long as itâs not about cowboys.â
The only movie that was at the right time and close by was one Iâd seen last week with my mom. I didnât say so, though, because I was afraid it would make him feel bad. I really didnât mind seeing it twice. And it wasnât my dadâs fault that he wanted our Sundays to be special. It was his only chance, I guess, to be Dad.
I wished he could relax, though. In the old days, between service calls and his daily jukebox route, he used to just pick up the newspaper and disappear behind it. I missed that. I missed everyone acting normal. I wished I could just be.
After the film was over, we picked up Thai food because my dad knew it was my favorite. Actually, I was tired of Thai food, but there we go again, everyone trying to guess what will make the other one happy and no one guessing right. Maybe after the divorce was over and done with, we could all just go back to being ourselves. In the meantime, Dad and I went back to his apartment so I could eat my 900th dish of pad Thai and chicken satay with spicy peanut sauce.
I looked at Dadâs telephone, and Mayaâs number ran through my mind, ruining my appetite. But I didnât call. I was ashamed of being such a wimp, but I didnât know what to say to her. And wasnât life hard enough without having to worry about Maya?
I reminded myself that I really didnât have anything to feel guilty about. Mom was right, it wasnât my squirm. It wasnât me who didnât invite Maya to Darcyâs party, and it wasnât me who made those nasty calls or said that stuff about her breath or her momâs teeth. I fought down a wave of guilt, telling myself that as long as I acted nice tomorrow at school, I had nothing to feel bad about.
My dad had fallen asleep in his chair. His mouth was open; he looked dead. Well, not dead exactly, but old. It made me sad to picture him here, alone all the time. No one to listen for his key in the lock. No one to know if he got home safely from late-night service calls.
I knew he was going to be embarrassed that heâd conked out while I was visiting. I rustled my homework papers, then thumped my book, and saw him lurch awake out of the corner of my eye.
I looked at the clock. It was too late to call Maya tonight. I felt like a creep, remembering last
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