“Sorry to call you at work,” he says, the moment I say hello. “I won’t be a minute.”
“What happened?” I ask, my voice about an octave too high.
“Did Javier say anything to you when you ran into him at Paloma’s house the other day?” he asks, and sighs.
Oh my god, he knows. Shit. Fuck. This is one of those trick questions parents ask you when they already know the answer and they just want to see if you’re going to lie to them. And then when you do, they make that disappointed face that’s ten times worse than the angry face, and then you feel guilty for weeks afterward just because you didn’t trust them enough to tell the truth.
Maybe I should just admit what we did. What’s the worst that could happen, really? He’d be mildly scandalized and a little worried and maybe request that we all go together to couples’ counseling? Except Javier and I arenota couple, so it would be one-couple-and-two-people-who-fucked counseling, and Iwould have tosay that out loudto both my dad and Paloma, and he’d want to work through it. And I think Paloma might be grossed out and disappointed, and maybe they’d even call the wedding off or something until I worked through my issues, and fuck,fuck, I can’t do that—every time my dad looks at Paloma it’s like little hearts circle his head, and he would becrushed?—
“Mads?” my dad asks, and I stop spiraling.
“Nope. Not really. We chatted a little—he said he was going back home,” I manage. None of it is technically a lie: we did chat. He did say he was going back. I’m totally not lying to my dad.
“Thanks. That’s what I figured.” He sounds slightly put-upon. “He won’t answer Paloma’s calls, and she said you two ran into each other, so she asked me to call and grill you for information. Apparently Thalia and Bastien have formed a united front and are refusing to call him on her behalf.”
I come very, very close to sayingOh, yeah, he mentioned his mom’s habit of involving entire branches of the family tree in their fightsbut don’t. Then I feel bad about not saying it, and I very seriously consider giving up a little more information and then don’t do that, either. If I told my dad that Javier came over to talk and wound up sleeping on the air mattress, there’s no way he wouldn’t read between the lines and figure out what happened. And then it’s counseling, horror, wedding off, lives ruined, et cetera.
I also don’t really know Javier all that well. Mostly his dick—oh my god, what is mylife? But I think if his mom texted him and saidI know you spent the night with Madeline, he’d probably be pissed at his mom. Andalsopissed at me, which wouldn’t help matters at all.
I clear my throat, slightly worried that my thoughts are so loud my dad can hear them. “He did mention a disagreement,” I say as blandly as I can. “He probably just needs some space to cool down.”
“That’s what I told her, but you know Paloma. She hasn’t taken the time to cool down, either. Honestly, it sounds like they could both use a break right now.”
“For sure,” I agree.
“Anyway, I’ll let you get back to work. Thanks for humoring me.”
“I’m just glad no one is dead,” I say. “You didn’t even text first.”
“Wherearemy manners?”
After we hang up, I stare at my phone for a moment and wonder if I should text Javier a quickHey, is everything ok?text. But I’ve got a pretty good idea of how he feels about his mom’s habit of involving everyone and their dog in arguments, so I don’t.
Not to mention that we’re casual acquaintances at best: we fucked twice, he slept on the floor, then left without saying goodbye. Which is fine! Completely fine, obviously. There were never any strings attached.
All the same, I glance quickly around the office, then slide one hand under my desk, find the spot on my inner thigh where he bit me hard enough to bruise, and press down until it hurts.
Midday Saturday,my dad texts me to cancel our dinner plans that night because they still haven’t found Javier. I just got home with groceries, and I’m sitting in my car that’s getting hotter by the second, staring at my phone.
“What?” I say out loud, and call my dad.
When he answers, I can hear Paloma talking in the background.
“He’smissing?” I squeak.
“Hey, kiddo.” He sounds tired and worried, and my anxiety shoots through the roof. “Yeah. No one has heard from him since he left Paloma’s on Wednesday.”
I stare through the windshield of my car, and panic prickles along my skin.
“They haven’t?” I ask, my voice about an octave too high.
“No. Paloma’s been in contact with his friends from Sprucevale, and no one has talked to him since Wednesday. He’s not at his house. Paloma’s worried. You know. Given his…history.”
“Right,” I hear myself say.
Sometimes, when I’m in the mood, I’ll binge-watchLaw & OrderorCSI, and one of the tried-and-true red herring stereotypes on those shows is the Suspect Who Lies the First Time. You know, the detective asks where she was on the night of the murder, and the suspect saysOut with friends—I didn’t even see the victim, and it turns out she was lying, so the suspect gets hauled into the police station a second time, and this time tearfully admits that yeah, okay, she saw the victim that night and didn’t tell the cops because they illegally downloaded the new Batman movie and she didn’t want to get into trouble, but she swears he was alive when she left? I always thought the Suspect Who Lies the First Time was an idiot.
Suddenly I understand where they’re coming from. Because inLaw & Order, knowing that the victim illegally downloaded a movie doesn’t help solve the crime, and half the time she’s hauled off in handcuffs for piracy anyway.
