“Raul,” she says, voice aggressively neutral.
“He was just leaving,” I say.
“Paloma. Good to see you.”
“How was the drive?”
“Too much traffic. I thought I’d be here an hour earlier.”
“Still construction on sixty-four? That’s been going on for years.”
“As soon as they finish it, they start all over again, seems like.”
I feel like I’m watching round seventeen of a boxing prize fight, where both contenders are circling each other, exhausted, bruised, and hurting, but they know if they turn their back, they’ll take another hit. That, plus the weird way my mom keeps glancing at me, feels like?—
“Did you know he was coming?” I ask her.
“He’s a grown man. He goes where he wants.”
So, yes. “And you didn’t warn me?”
“What, you need warning now?” She gets the iced tea out of the fridge and pours herself a glass without looking at me.
“About him? Yes!” I say, flinging an arm in his direction. “Or did you forget what happened the last time we were in this house together?”
“That was a long time ago, and you’re fine now,” he says, this man who drove three hours one way to so he could tell me everything I’m doing wrong.Fine now. My brain is going to implode.
“If I’mfine now,it’s not because of you,” I finally manage.
“What was I supposed to do? Sit back and watch you get coddled while you ruined your life?”
“Raul,” my mom says, and she sounds fucking dangerous.
“Someone had to make you take responsibility for your actions,” he says. “And it worked, didn’t it? You’ve stayed clean this time, you’re working, the rest of your life is salvageable…”
He trails off, like even he knows he fucked up.
“I almost fuckingdied, and you’re telling me it worked?”
“Get out.” My mom’s so quiet and controlled that it’s terrifying.
“It’s not my fault that’s what it took to make you?—”
“GET OUT!”
My father’s bright red, his jaw set, and he’s never been violent with his family but I’ve watched him break things before. Outdoor trash bins. Lawn furniture. Never people, but I know what’s under the surface.
“This was your idea!” my mom shouts.
“You invited him?”
She whirls on me, and even though she’s well shorter than me, I take a step back. “Yes. You two need to put this behind you because he is yourfather?—”
“That’s the problem!” I shout. “If he were some asshole off the street, none of this would be happening!”
“Don’t call your father an asshole.”
“Paloma,” he says, and now she turns on him.
