The man grinned.
Yeah, there was no way I could tell him no. I handed over his gift card for the mall masseuse and earned a big wink from my dad.
Kulti was back in no time, sliding into his seat while holding two perfectly wrapped boxes in his hands. The packages had shown up early that afternoon, already wrapped and ready to go inside of a larger cardboard box. We’d stashed them in the trunk of my car before anyone caught us. The German handed them both over so I could pass them to my dad, who had a look on his face like he’d just crapped his pants and realized it.
“Happy birthday from the both of us,” I said, without even thinking about how it sounded.
Dad didn’t care because he wasn’t paying attention. He was eyeing Kulti and then the boxes, and then Kulti and then the boxes all over again. Very gently, he tore off the paper of the first one and pulled out the same RK 10s I’d been trying to buy at the shoe store the day before.
He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again and reached for the next box. Inside was a plain white shoebox with no brand or logo on the cover. My dad pulled the lid back and stared before pulling out a shoe I hadn’t seen before. The familiar stitched “RK” was on the back and so was the familiar swoosh on the side.
“Next year’s edition,” Kulti explained.
Carefully, Dad set the shoe back into the box and took a deep breath before meeting my eyes, and in a very low voice said, “Tell him I said thank you.”
I put a fist over my mouth, but I wasn’t sure whether it was to keep from laughing or sighing in exasperation. “Dad, tell him yourself.”
He shook his head, and I knew that was as good as I was getting.
Biting my lip, I turned back to Kulti, who I was sure had heard what my dad had said, and repeated what I’d been told.
Very seriously, the German nodded. “Tell him he’s welcome.”
Jesus Christ.
“And tell him there’s something else in the box.”
Something else? “Pa, there’s something else in the box.” Also, like they hadn’t heard each other from four feet away.
Dad blinked, and then rifled through the nameless white box and pulled out a greeting-card-sized envelope. He removed something that looked like an index card. He read it and then read it a second and then a third time. He put the card back inside the envelope and then the box. His dark face was somber as he took a few breaths. He finally raised his green eyes to meet Kulti’s hazel ones.
“Sal,” he said, looking at the German, “ask him if he wants his hug now or later.”
“What’s wrong?”
I gave Kulti a look as I sat on the edge of the bigger bunk bed, ready to take my shoes off. “Nothing. Why?”
The German blinked at me. “You haven’t said a single word.”
I hadn’t. He was right.
How could I talk when something huge had lodged itself into my chest? Something monstrous and uncomfortable had picked up and moved in, stealing the space where my breath and words usually lived.
Kulti had stolen that piece of me when he hugged my dad back.
He’d given him two front row seats to a FC Berlin game, along with a voucher for flights and a hotel.
What do you freaking say after that? “Are you upset?” he asked.
I made a face. “About what?”
“Berlin.”
Oh my God, he looked so earnest. “Rey.” I shook my head. “How could I ever be upset over that? That was the greatest thing anyone has ever done for my dad. I can’t even….” I stared up at him as he stepped right in front of me, looking down. “I can never pay you back. Okay, maybe I can if I pay you installments over the next five years, but I don’t know what to say.”
He shrugged those brawny shoulders. “Nothing.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s a big deal.”
