“Yeah,” I say. My mouth waters. I don’t want to take my mood out on my mom. She’s worried, and that’s where her behavior comes from. I’m worried, and that’s why I get short and mean. We’re toxic together like this.
“Ha—”
I stand and face her with open eyes before she can utter my name again.
“I don’t know, Mom. I. Don’t. Know.” I grit my teeth and force a smile as my mom brings her hand back up to her face, covering her mouth.
“Jesus,” I mutter, shaking my head. I glance back into the bin and find the door hanger. I carry it along with the wreath to the front door, Bristol tagging along behind me with a star in her hands. My mom swoops in and lifts her up, and they both watch as I work the wreath onto the door. Bristol insists on stuffing the tiny, red plastic star into the pinecones, so I help wedge it into a space where it feels secure enough for the time being then kiss her on the nose.
“What do you think?” I ask, standing back to admire the ugliest wreath known to man.
“I want Dus-in to see it.”
My mouth slacks at her response. I didn’t even realize she had learned his name. I can’t help the onslaught of emotion that swallows me whole in an instant. Tears burn my eyes and spill down my cheeks without warning.
“Oh,” I gurgle out, cupping my mouth with both hands.
My mom’s panic from a minute ago is quickly replaced with parental superpowers, and she turns her body enough to shield my broken soul from my daughter.
“Oh, he is going to love it,” she says, nuzzling Bristol and shaking her on her hip. “Let’s get cookies.”
My mom eyes me over Bristol’s head as she backs through the front door, and in that passing gaze, I see it in her eyes. She knows the truth. She’s known it all along.
“Hey. Hey, come here,” Jorge says, immediately setting down the extension pole and wrapping me in his arms. I fall apart in his hug, too broken to even check whether my dad is witnessing this. I’m sure he is, and I’m sure he knows the truth, too.
Why couldn’t I feel something for Jorge? Life would be so much simpler. My heart would hurt far less. He’s full of goodness, and I don’t think he has ever made a terrible choice in his entire life, except of course, falling in love with me.
“It’s going to be okay,” he whispers over my head, cradling me to him and rocking slowly.
I sob, drenching the front of his shirt in saliva and tears. I nod a little, but I don’t believe my own body language. Not at all. I don’t know how any of this can be okay.
It’s going to hurt from this moment forward—for a lot of us. But I’m going to suck it up and take my best friend’s advice. I’m going to deal with my shit. And that has to start right fucking now.
10
There may not be many things I can control in my life right now, but this is one of them. Hannah was right. Not facing my real mother, at least on some level and in person, is an albatross I will carry around my neck until the day I die. And before it becomes too late to do something about it, I owe it to myself to take my own destiny in my hands. Especially since my racing dreams are no longer in my control.
Tommy didn’t come home last night. He probably spent the night at Bailey’s or out in the desert on the hood of his car. He and I used to do that a lot when the track was being built. Our own brand of camping. The stars provide a great backdrop for our fantasies, and something about sleeping outside has a way of clearing the head.
I wasn’t sure when Hannah would want to leave. I wasn’t even sure whether she’d know how to contact me or if she would just show up at our apartment or the track. So I got to her house at sunrise. The sun is barely over the horizon, and in its warm glow I’m beginning to feel ridiculous for being here, this place I stormed out of in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner. Why can’t I have something normal, just once?
When the Judges’ front door opens, I stand up straight and my pulse jets, ready to face Hannah, and beyond that, my real mom. Jorge steps through the doorway with a large travel bag rolling behind him, deflating my nerves, and shifting the anxious feeling in my gut to one worried that Hannah is leaving.
He holds up a palm, almost as if he’s expecting me, then quietly shuts the door behind him. I meet him halfway up the driveway and we shake hands like civilized men in love with the same woman.
“I thought you guys were staying through Sunday?” I move toward Hannah’s car, I guess willing to open the trunk for this dude and help the three of them flee. He waves me off when I motion toward the back of the car.
“I have a ride coming. Super Shuttle.” He shrugs his right shoulder and lifts the side of his mouth for a brief half-smile.
“Oh,” I say, not fully understanding yet hoping.
“Yeah.” He nods and brings his lips together for a tight, conciliatory smile.
I blow out and shove my hands deep into my pockets while I rock on my feet, not sure what emotions to feel. This is bound to be a messy situation for him and Hannah, and I’m not going to celebrate that any rift between them will be hard on Bristol. Knowing Hannah as I do, she’ll fight to make things work with Jorge for their daughter’s sake. But I saw it in her eyes yesterday. I saw it when they first arrived. I see it every time I’m in her presence. She doesn’t love him. Her life would be a whole lot easier if she did, and I would be a far better man if that’s what I truly want for her. But I don’t. And I’m not.
Thank God, the shuttle pulls up a second later and Jorge wheels his suitcase toward the street. I take a few steps to follow him but stop about halfway. I’m not sure I can shake his hand again. It’s not that I dislike him, but there’s a more than slight part of me reveling in the fact he’s leaving, and I don’t think I can hide it for long.
“Hey, Dustin?” He turns to face me while the driver takes his bag and hefts it into the van.
I glance up, plastering on a tight-lipped cordial smile.
“I need you to do me a favor, man to man.”
My stomach rolls and my right hand forms a fist in my pocket. It’s habit. Jorge is not the kind of guy I’m used to having say that phrase to me. He’s a pacifist.
“Yeah, man. Anything.” I don’t really mean anything, but it feels fitting, and it’s better than punching him.
“Whatever you two talk about today, whatever you may feel, be sure you listen and take it in before you react. If people’s stories were only a page long, there wouldn’t be books to read. Take in the entire arc. Understand the journey. It will be worth it, I swear.”
His gaze holds mine for a few seconds and I finally nod, a bit puzzled by his cryptic advice for meeting my real mom, and maybe a little offended that Hannah shared my personal business with him. But he’s her person, so it makes sense that she would confide in him. I can’t begrudge that, just like I can’t assume him leaving now means anything other than the two of them needing a little time apart.
“I promise,” I finally utter, and his mouth curves into a satisfied smile before he turns and climbs into the van.
I actually wave goodbye and meander to the end of the driveway as the van zips down the street and closes in on the main road to the highway. The breeze picks up and I shiver, straightening my arms as I push them deep into my pockets. I’m caught in this feeling of instant loneliness, and my heart races as my anxiety ticks up. I don’t like not knowing what to do. I don’t like not having a plan. And nothing over the last two and a half years has followed any sort of blueprint at all. The only thing I could mildly control was the track, and that’s why it became my life. I couldn’t love Hannah, so I loved it instead.