A few years ago those words would’ve gutted me and had me booking a flight home, but now I knew that I had to prioritize my own well-being. And today I was not putting up with it.
“I’m sorry she’s upset, but that’s not on me to fix. Not that anything I do would make you happy.”
“You could call and ask how we’re doing. So fucking ungrateful.”
I didn’t need to listen to this.
“I’m ungrateful? I pay for your utilities every month. Pay for your prescriptions so you don’t fucking die. I’m still waiting for a thank-you.”
The scoffing sound that came over the phone made my face feel hot, anger and resentment filling me. This was me with my parents. It took seconds to undo years of learning to manage my emotions of keeping myself under control.
“That’s the least you can do after we kept you fed and clothed. Now that you’re making six figures working for some Wall Street assholes, you think you’re better than us. Brito turned you against us.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. Not this again. My father hated Coach because when I couldn’t deal with being in that house anymore, he’d helped me out. My father resented that Coach had encouraged me to play baseball. To stick with it so I could get a scholarship. It was like it bothered him that despite all his efforts to break us all down, I’d made something of myself. And I hated that whenever he called me all that anger bubbled right back up.
I closed my eyes and remembered Coach Brito’s words: “Where you came from matters, but where you’re going matters more.”
“I have to go, Dad. Have a good Thanksgiving.”
I ended the call, the phone gripped tight in my hand. I felt drops of sweat trickling down my back. My head was a fuzzy mess too. Everything out of control, just from a one-minute conversation. From so far away my family could still do this to me. Again, I thought about Dani’s suggestion to settle here. But what did it matter if my father could still do this with a call? If I made Sofia come, they’d do it to her too.
Maybe I just had too much baggage for fresh starts.
My phone woke me up at 5:30 a.m., and a smile lifted my mouth as soon as I saw the number.
“Hey, Coach.”
A gruff laugh came from the speaker and once again it occurred to me how few people I had who cared about me enough to check on me on a holiday. “Boy, I haven’t coached you in anything since you were seventeen years old. Unless teaching you how to do your laundry is considered a contact sport.”
I laughed because even though I hadn’t played for him since high school, he’d been coaching me through life since day one.
“Uh-huh. You up before dawn getting that turkey ready on the DL?”
He gave a pained groan and I smiled, thinking of him in his Queens College sweatshirt silently preparing the turkey before his wife woke up and tried to make it.
“You know it. Juanita will be up any minute and I need to get this bird in before she does. I love that woman more than my life, but she might end up killing me or herself if I let her try to roast a turkey again. She has a lot to give, but she can’t cook.” We both laughed at the fond resignation in his voice. “I don’t have you around anymore to keep her distracted.”
The years I practically lived with them, Coach and I prepared dinner for the three of us whenever I stayed over. He and Juanita never had kids themselves, so having me around gave him a companion in the kitchen.
“Maybe next year.”
He made a sound that sounded like a “you better,” then whispered into the phone, “You heard from your folks?”
“Billy called last night to let me know I was an ungrateful little prick.”
A heavy sigh came over the line. “That man will never change, but that’s not who you are. I’m proud of you, son.”
I grunted in reluctant agreement knowing he would hammer that in until I registered in my brain that I wasn’t my father.
“Are you doing anything today? You get anywhere with your Queens girl? I hope you’re not messing up with her.”
My face got hot again, and this time I really did sputter. I’d mentioned her in passing once to Coach and that was enough to get roasted.
“There’s nothing to mess up. I’m going to stay home today, relax, and she’s doing the same. Tomorrow I’m going to a cookout that the women who own the company I’m consulting for are throwing.”
I heard some more shuffling and a crash, which made Coach bite back a curse.
“All right, son. Take care. Call us on Sunday. Don’t be dense. Buy a pie and bring it over to that girl if she’s home alone too.”
