I hesitated.
“Just recite it for me. I’d love to hear it.”
He would? Was he being sincere? I suddenly felt shy. “It’s very ordinary,” I said. “She’s just, like, talking about what to have for dinner and stuff like that. And she calls herself Mama, even though by then I’d been calling her Mom for years.”
Joe leaned a little closer, waiting.
I’d never recited it for anyone before. My dad didn’t even know the recording existed. I took a deep breath. Then I fixed my eyes on a random spot in front of me.
Then I just went for it: “Hey, cutie. It’s Mama. I’m at the store. I’m thinking spaghetti for dinner. Good? With garlic bread and salad? Call me if you’d rather do French toast—but I’m about to check out, so be fast. Also, they’re out of that shampoo that smells like coconuts, so I’m grabbing the lemon one instead. Dad has to work late tonight. Not sure what your homework situation is, but I’m free to watch a movie if you are. Okay, that’s it. Home in twenty. Love ya.”
Joe was quiet after I finished. “You really know it all. Even down to the pauses.”
“I’ve listened to it a thousand times. At least.”
“It’s so heartbreaking,” Joe said. “But she’s just talking about spaghetti.”
“Because she died the next day,” I said. “That’s why.”
“So you know the day she died.”
“I don’t, actually. I can’t remember what day it was. It was sometime around now. Sometime in the spring. Sometime before her birthday. But as for the actual day? No idea. So funny. That day changed my life more than any other ever has. But it’s just one day. You know? And it’s not exactly a day you want to remember.”
Joe nodded. I could feel his reaction. I’d worried the mundanity of it might be underwhelming. But he wasn’t underwhelmed.
He seemed to get it.
“Anyway, that’s what I do every year, but this year got a little wonky. But I guess it’s okay to miss it once in a while.”
“There’s still time,” Joe said then. He checked his watch. “It’s only ten.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I’m too tired to bake a cake now.”
“What if we go get a cake?”
I frowned.
“There’s a dessert place not too far from here. I’ll take you.”
* * *
IT WASN’T UNTIL we’d made it all the way downstairs that I realized he meant to take me on a Vespa. Which was probably medically ill advised.
“My dad’s a doctor,” I said, as Joe worked the lock.
“Yeah?” he said, like I was just making chitchat.
“He always called motorcycles ‘donor-cycles,’” I said.
Joe lifted his eyebrow like he’d caught me on a technicality. “This isn’t a motorcycle. It’s a Vespa.”
“Isn’t it dangerous?” I asked.
“At ten o’clock at night when downtown is deserted?” he said. “No more than anything else.”
Good news: The helmet fit in a way that didn’t touch my surgical scar, which I was still tender about—emotionally, if nothing else.
With that, Joe sat on the front part of the seat and motioned for me to climb on behind him. Then he wrapped my arms tight around his torso and said, “Just lean however I lean.” Then he clicked the motor on, cranked the handle, and shifted us into motion. Confidently. Easily. Like a person who knew exactly what he was doing.
And we were off.
Next thing I knew, we were motoring through the deserted nighttime downtown streets, my arms snug around him. If you go exactly 20 miles per hour in downtown, you can time it so you never hit a red light. And so we just cruised along, slaloming a bit in our lane, the wind caressing us and the motor vibrating beneath, never having to stop or wait, just swept up in a current of motion.
It was highly relaxing—for such a dangerous thing.
It didn’t take me long at all to melt into the moment. Joe clearly knew this scooter back and forth, and everything he did had the ease of muscle memory.
We didn’t talk.
We just flowed along. Summer in Texas is deathly hot, but spring is cool and lovely. The March air felt like rippling water over my skin. We took a road that curved along the bayou, and we positively floated along it. We passed street art, the Dandelion Fountain, and the Downtown Aquarium, with its light-up Ferris wheel. It was a little like drifting through a dream.
How long had it been since I’d had someone to hold on to?