“We played soccer together a few times, I took him with me to play softball with Marc and Simon, and he took me to the doctor a week ago,” I explained, surprised he hadn’t seen the pictures of us that had been posted on Kulti’s fan websites.
And even when my dad’s favorite athlete in the universe was within walking distance, the number one man in my life put me first. “What the hell did you go to the doctor for?” he snapped.
Ten minutes later, I’d told him everything—mostly. From the softball game that had gone wrong, to Kulti taking me to the doctor, to the conversation with Mr. Cordero, and finally to the German showing up to my place that morning.
Dad was shaking his head by the end, anger apparent in his eyes. “Cabrónes. We’ll sue them if they do anything,” he said, still hung up on Mr. Cordero.
What was it with these men and suing people? “We’ll worry about it later. I didn’t violate any terms of my contract, so I don’t think they can do anything.” I really hoped. “You-know-who told me not to worry about it.”
His eyes narrowed, but grudgingly he nodded.
“Ready to see your true love?” I asked with a smile on my face.
Dad smacked me on the back of the head lightly. “I don’t know why we didn’t put you up for adoption,” he said, getting to his feet.
I shrugged and followed him out of the room, noticing how slowly he was walking and the way he looked around the corner like he expected someone to pop out of nowhere and scare the crap out of him. In the kitchen, we found Kulti sitting at the small round table crammed into the corner of the room, a plate of watermelon, jicama, celery, and broccoli, with a glass of water in front of him. My mom was digging in the fridge for something.
The German stood up and extended a hand out to my dad, not saying a word.
And my poor starstruck dad glanced at him, and in a way thatwasn’t at all like his usual self, timidly stuck his hand out—only slightly trembling—and clasped Kulti’s.
“Nice to see you again, Mr. Casillas,” Kulti said in flowing Spanish, keeping eye contact with my dad.
I had to pinch my nose when my dad nodded rapidly in return, sucking in a loud breath when their hands broke apart. Coming up from behind, I squeezed my dad’s shoulders and whispered in his ear about how he needed to imagine him pooping, before taking a seat next to the German and sneaking a piece of watermelon off his plate.
Dad grabbed a seat next to me and across from Kulti, looking everywhere but at The King. This was the same man who didn’t know how to behave in a movie theater, much less church. Loud, outgoing, opinionated, and stubborn with a temper that was well known… he sat quietly in his chair.
This was exactly what I’d been worried about with bringing Kulti to San Antonio. I wanted to spend time with my parents, not have my dad so freaked out he refused to talk. I wasn’t going to embarrass him by pointing out how weird he was acting in front of the German, and I decided to try and show a little patience. We, or at least I, were going to be here for the next three days; Kulti and I hadn’t talked about whether he’d figure out another way to get back to Houston, but the fact he hadn’t mentioned leaving hadn’t escaped me either.
So, we’d see how it’d go.
Kulti nudged the plate in my direction, and I smiled as I took a piece of jicama. Then it hit me.
“Where’s Ceci?” I asked my parents.
Dad raised his eyebrows, but it was my mom who answered. “In her room.”
Of course she was. There was no way in hell she didn’t know I’d gotten home. The little pain in the ass.
“Who is Ceci?” Kulti asked, holding a piece of broccoli in his hand.
“My little sister.”
He blinked.
I shrugged. What else was I going to say? That my sister hated my guts during different moon cycles?
Fortunately, he didn’t ask anything else. I knew Dad took it personally when Ceci acted like a turd, and then my mom would get mad that we weren’t more understanding and patient with her. I was patient with her. I hadn’t punched her yet despite the dozens of times she’d deserved it.
My mom took a seat at the table and started asking if we had any plans for tomorrow, and then saying how my aunts and cousins wanted to see me. Pretty soon it was close to ten and I was yawning up a storm, wondering how the hell my dad hadn’t cracked a single sigh when I knew damn well he was used to going to bed early, too.
The silence was just weird, with me trading looks with Kulti and my mom while Dad avoided everyone’s eyes.
All right, I’d had enough.
“You want me to show you where you can sleep?” I asked the German.
He nodded.
