And I knew without looking that he hadn’t taken his eyes off me, either.
I stood there for a moment, feeling the burn of his gaze on my skin.
Then, I took a breath, lifted my chin, and climbed the stairs without giving myself the satisfaction of proving I was right.
Leo
“Are you sure you don’t want to come home for the holiday?” My mom asked, and even through the phone I swore I could smell the arroz con pollo she was cooking. “It’s been years since we’ve gone down to Harborfest for the fireworks.”
My stomach growled as I threw my duffle bag in the trunk of my car, wrapping up an early morning Pee Wee practice.
“You know I want to, Ma, but we’re having a party at the house.”
“Mm-hmm,” she said, and again, I didn’t have to see her to know the look she was giving me, how one hand would be on her hip, and the other pointing the spatula at my nose. “I know you better behave yourself, mijo.”
“I always do.”
She laughed at that, and the sound made me homesick.
I was young when my parents split, so I didn’t really have a choice on who I would live with. I remembered when I was around nine or ten wishing that it would have been my dad. I wanted to be playing football all the time, wanted to hang out with him in his impressive basement with the pool table and ninety-eight-inch TV and the constant crowd of guys that seemed to always be there hanging out. He shot the shit with Super Bowl-winning athletes like it was no big deal, with a cockiness that said he belonged in that circle even though he never got a ring himself.
I wanted to soak up his energy until that confidence lived in me, too.
But as I grew up, I realized how much my mom did for me, how she was always the parent when Dad was so often the friend. And when I told my dad I wanted to go to NBU, I felt that friendship we had rub raw, saw the disappointment in his eyes, like I’d let him down.
I never had the guts to tell him how many times he’d done the same to me.
He loved me in the ways he knew how. I was old enough to understand that now, to give him grace. He never wanted to be a father, not that young, anyway, and clearly he never wanted to be a husband, either. His dreams were dashed by an injury, a career in pro ball cut short. Fortunately, he had a big enough reputation that he was still able to use that name, to start a training center outside of the city and be invited on as a guest announcer for ESPN and Fox and whoever else. He found a way to still wrap his life around that sport, even when life threw him the hardest curveball it could have.
Football was what made him happy.
But I knew for my mom, it was always me.
She’d loved me so fiercely it almost suffocated me at times, but it was the purest, most special kind of love — the kind that’s truly unconditional.
She was the only one I ever broke down in front of after what happened in high school, the only one who knew I’d had my heart broken. I didn’t have to tell her who it was or what had happened — the fact that I was showing any emotion other than joy was enough for her to know I was hurting.
I still remember how she held me as I sobbed like a fucking baby, and then she made me dinner and ran a bath for me. We never spoke about it again, never really spoke about it in the first place.
But I knew from that moment on, no matter what I went through, she would always be there.
“We got the date for senior night,” I told her as I slipped into the driver seat and fired up the engine. “November nineteenth.”
“Did you tell your father?”
“Not yet,” I said. “I wanted to make sure you would come first.”
She sucked her teeth as if even insinuating that she wouldn’t was an insult. I waited until my phone connected to the car speakers before I set it aside and continued.
“I just mean… if he comes, too. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“I still love your father, Leo. I always will. And I can put up with him for a few hours.” She clicked her tongue. “Now, whether or not he’ll be able to stand how guapa his ex is at forty-five years old is yet to be seen. Might have to restrain him and those jealous little cleat chasers who still follow him around.”
A smile split my face. “Alright, mamá, cálmate.”
It was slow traffic moving through the campus, some sort of holiday market going on. I was just about to turn and take the back roads to get off campus quicker and take the roundabout way home when I saw Mary.
There was no mistaking her, not even in a thick crowd of people.
She had on a pair of cut-off jean shorts, the ripped edges dripping over her thighs like webs and letting her tattoos peek through. Those shorts barely contained her ass, and the thin, red, spaghetti strap top she’d paired with them showed a sliver of her stomach. She was walking slowly, looking at all the booths before she paused at one, turning enough for me to see there was absolutely zero chance she had on a bra with that top. A navy-blue bandana with white stars framed her hairline, and the whole picture was nothing short of a patriotic fantasy come to life.
I bit my knuckle before my hands found the wheel and turned a hard left into the parking garage.
“I gotta go, Mom. I just remembered an errand I need to run before tonight. I’ll call you later this week?”
“Whenever you have time. Enjoy your summer, that’s what I want most for you.”
I smiled as I pulled into a parking spot. “Te quiero.”
“Te quiero mas, mijo.”
I hopped out of my car as soon as I parked it, all but jogging toward the booth I’d spotted Mary at. While most of Boston was flocking down to Harborfest already, the entire city was full of events on our nation’s birthday that meant you couldn’t find a street within miles that didn’t have something going on. How could we not make a big deal of our nation’s independence, with so much history weaved throughout each and every block?
I pushed through the crowd, muttering excuse me as I did. I could have just waited and saw Mary at home later. She knew we were having a party tonight — was looking forward to it, it seemed. But the truth was I hadn’t had the chance to be alone with her since that night I cooked for her.
And something had shifted between us that night.
I didn’t know exactly what it was, but she no longer seemed like she hated breathing the same air as me. Actually, it was worse — because she was avoiding me.
Any time I’d walk in on her doing yoga with Braden or gaming on the couch with Kyle, she’d maybe utter two words to me before making an excuse to leave the room altogether. She wouldn’t meet my eyes, wouldn’t take the bait when I teased her.
Maybe that’s why I picked up my speed when I spotted her red shirt again, her long hair swept up in a messy ponytail that swung as she walked.
She slowed at a vendor selling candles, picking one up and inhaling deeply. I slowed my gait as I approached the tent.
“Getting that to cover up the stench of The Pit?”
Mary didn’t seem surprised by my entrance. In fact, she smiled a little as if she’d known I was coming before setting the candle down and turning to face me.
She about knocked me on my ass when she did.
Her eyes were kohl-lined and smoky, her plump lips painted the same red as her tank top. It set the green of her eyes off even more, the way her dark lashes fanned above and below them, and she offered me an easy smile like we were friends.