“What’s got into you, Ape?” He makes a fish mouth when he exhales. Mark Conrad can blow smoke rings, but Matty’s come out like sad little clouds.
I fan the smoke from my face. “Don’t call me Ape.”
“It’s just getting good, you know? I’m almost done with school. We’re almost there.”
“I won’t be done with school.”
“It’s not like it matters. You’ll get a new guitar. You can play at Gary’s until we get married.” He picks a piece of tobacco off his tongue and looks at it. “Not like I want my wife playing in a bar, right?” He starts to laugh, but it turns into a cough. “After that, you can stay with the kids and I’ll bring home the venison.”
The deer hunting obsession is getting way worse. I’m guessing Mark Conrad does that too.
“What if I still want to play at Gary’s when we’re married?” I say, twisting my promise ring around my finger with my thumb.
“Ape—” I give him a look and he quickly adds “—rul. That’s not what married girls do.”
“So what, am I supposed to join bible study and make potluck in my crockpot?”
“Potluck isn’t something you make,” he says, shaking his head like he’s old and wise and I’m so foolish. “You make jello or stew.” He stubs his cigarette out on the bench and slides to the floor. “Come here.” He spreads his legs out. I sit between them and he wraps his arms around me. “It’s gonna be good.” Cold seeps through my jeans. Matty kisses my ear. Whispers like he’s trying to get a baby to stop crying, “You’ll love it. I promise.”
I want that to be true. It would be so much easier. But I’ll never belong the way Matty does. I only fit with him because we’ve been this way forever, from when our moms used to drink tea at his house every day. He doesn’t see me how everyone else does. He doesn’t notice that none of his friends ever talk to me. And because he’s Matty, because everyone wants him to like them, they don’t say what they really think. They just pretend I’m not there. It’s not something a few years and some jello will change.
Matty laces his fingers through mine. My hands have been in my pockets; his feel like ice. “Trust me, Ape. We’re good here.”
* * *
When I get home, my dad is parked in front of the motorhome, sitting on the hood of his truck. I see him from the end of the driveway before he sees me, smoke and hot breath swirling. My head says turn tail and run, like a warning light flashing over and over again, but the walk back from the deer blind was long and it’s like twenty out. My feet hurt because my boots are too small, and I just don’t have the energy to play these damn games with him anymore. So I tell myself I’m only shaking from the cold. I hold my head high and try to walk past like he doesn’t exist. He jumps down and grabs my arm.
“What’d you say to Irene?” His fingers dig into my armpit, even through Margo’s old down jacket.
I look him right in the eyes and give him my blank face, like I’m dead. I’m a corpse. Corpses can’t talk.
He pulls my arm up. I can barely keep my feet on the ground, “What did you do to her?”
My hand is pulsing. I give him a big, sick smile. “I told her you’re Father of the Year,” I say. “That’s one lucky kid you got on the way. Congratulations.” My nose smarts and I know the tears are coming. I fight them. Close my eyes and imagine I’m running, feet pounding on pine needles in time with my heart, air stinging my lungs until I can barely breathe.
He pushes me away. “You show her respect,” he says.
“Like you do?” I open my eyes and back out of his swinging range. “Telling her you still have a job? Getting her knocked up when you’re broke? Blowing money you don’t have on a car?” I shake my head and smile, trying so hard not to cry. “You’re a shining example, Dad. I’m sure your new kid will look up to you.”
“Maybe this one won’t be such a little shit.” He throws his cigarette down, stomps it out, and opens the door to his truck.
“What? Going already?” I laugh and it sounds like it’s coming from another person. Something’s come unlatched. I can’t stop. “Why don’t you come in for some tea, Dad? We’ll have a talk.”
“Irene’s boy’s got a band recital,” he says, staring me down. “I want to be there.”