Sure enough, we found my parents, Ceci, and her friend in the living room waiting for us. It was my dad who made the first crack when he saw me.
In a dress shirt, slacks, and dress shoes, he must have forgotten he’d been acting like a timid little bear around the German because he immediately nudged my mom with his elbow. “Look, it’s a Christmas miracle. Sal put on real clothes.”
I exaggerated a laugh, making a face at him at the same time. “Funny.”
My mom came forward and squeezed my shoulder. “Look athow pretty you look when you wear a dress. If you dress like this more often, maybe you’d find a boyfriend again.¿No?”
Once upon a time, her comment would have really hurt my feelings. Actually, she’d said the same thing to me in the past at least a dozen times. If I dressed differently, if I put some effort into my appearance, if I didn’t play soccer, maybe I’d find someone….
Someone who didn’t know me at all and could only love me if I was half myself.
I forced a smile onto my face and patted my mom’s arm, ignoring the intense gaze coming from Kulti. “Maybe one day, Ma.”
“I’m just telling you because I love you,” she said in Spanish, picking up on how her comment irritated me. “You’re just as pretty as any other girl, Sal.”
“You’re all ugly. I’m hungry. Let’s go,” Dad said with a clap of his hands, his face too cheerful.
He knew. He knew how much Mom’s comments bothered me. Maybe they didn’t piss me off or make me cry, but they bothered me. The fact she was saying it in front of my friend didn’t help.
Staying in place, I smiled at my sister and her friend as they followed my parents out the door. Ceci hadn’t said a word to me, and I didn’t want to start crap with her tonight. I gritted my teeth and tamped down my emotions. Today was about my dad, not about my mom or Ceci.
Since we wouldn’t all fit into my mom’s sedan, Kulti and I drove separately. It was the same restaurant we’d gone to for the last three years, so I knew exactly where we were heading.
I had barely turned the ignition and driven to the corner of the block when the German spoke up. “I don’t like the way your mother speaks to you.”
My head snapped over to look at his face.
He on the other hand, he was busy facing forward. “Why do you let her belittle you in that way?”
“I….” I turned back to face out the windshield and tried to tell myself that this moment was real. “She’s my mom. I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt her feelings and tell her that her opinion doesn’t matter?—”
“It shouldn’t,” he cut me off.
Well… “She just has a different view on how I should live my life, Rey. She always has. I’m not ever going to do what she wants me to do or be the person she wants me to be. I don’t know. I just let her say whatever she wants to say, and I suck it up. At the end of the day, I’m going to keep living the way I want, regardless of what she says or thinks.”
Out of my peripheral vision, I could see his head turn. “She doesn’t support you playing?”
“She does, but she’d rather see me do something else with my life.”
“Does she understand how good you are?” he asked, completely freaking seriously.
I had to smile, his belief in me almost made up for my mom trying to guilt me into having a boyfriend and dressing up to feel like a woman. Blah. “You really think I’m good?”
“You could be faster.”
I knew he was only trying to piss me off by calling me slow.
I turned to look at him, outraged. “Are you serious?”
He ignored me. “But, yes, you are. Don’t get a big head about it. You still have quite a bit of room for improvement.” He paused. “She should be proud of you.”
I was torn between wanting to defend my mom and wanting to give him a hug for the nice things he was saying. Instead I went with “She is proud of me. It’s just… it’s hard for her with me, I guess. I know she loves me, Rey. She goes to my games, wears my jerseys. She’s proud of me and my brother, but….” I scratched at my face, debating whether or not to tell him for a second. It’d been years since the last time I told anyone. Not even Jenny or Harlow knew. Marc and Simon did, but that was only because they’d been in our lives forever. It hadn’t helped that Cordero had been the last person to talk to me about it, and he’d left a bad taste in my mouth.Everyoneshouldknow, he’d said. He hadn’t liked when I told himno.Noway.
My brother Eric had started early in his career putting a stipulation in his contract about the type of personal information thatcould be released about him. I’d followed in his footsteps with my Pipers’ contract and, fortunately, it had paid off to be so secretive. But if there was one person I could tell, it would be Kulti.
Swallowing, I asked, “Have you ever heard of Jose Barragan?”
“Of course I have,” he said with an insulted snicker.
