“Are you sure you don’t want to come home for the holiday?” My mom asked, and even through the phone I swore I could smell the arroz con pollo she was cooking. “It’s been years since we’ve gone down to Harborfest for the fireworks.”
My stomach growled as I threw my duffle bag in the trunk of my car, wrapping up an early morning Pee Wee practice.
“You know I want to, Ma, but we’re having a party at the house.”
“Mm-hmm,” she said, and again, I didn’t have to see her to know the look she was giving me, how one hand would be on her hip, and the other pointing the spatula at my nose. “I know you better behave yourself, mijo.”
“I always do.”
She laughed at that, and the sound made me homesick.
I was young when my parents split, so I didn’t really have a choice on who I would live with. I remembered when I was around nine or ten wishing that it would have been my dad. I wanted to be playing football all the time, wanted to hang out with him in his impressive basement with the pool table and ninety-eight-inch TV and the constant crowd of guys that seemed to always be there hanging out. He shot the shit with Super Bowl-winning athletes like it was no big deal, with a cockiness that said he belonged in that circle even though he never got a ring himself.
I wanted to soak up his energy until that confidence lived in me, too.
But as I grew up, I realized how much my mom did for me, how she was always the parent when Dad was so often the friend. And when I told my dad I wanted to go to NBU, I felt that friendship we had rub raw, saw the disappointment in his eyes, like I’d let him down.
I never had the guts to tell him how many times he’d done the same to me.
He loved me in the ways he knew how. I was old enough to understand that now, to give him grace. He never wanted to be a father, not that young, anyway, and clearly he never wanted to be a husband, either. His dreams were dashed by an injury, a career in pro ball cut short. Fortunately, he had a big enough reputation that he was still able to use that name, to start a training center outside of the city and be invited on as a guest announcer for ESPN and Fox and whoever else. He found a way to still wrap his life around that sport, even when life threw him the hardest curveball it could have.
Football was what made him happy.
But I knew for my mom, it was always me.
She’d loved me so fiercely it almost suffocated me at times, but it was the purest, most special kind of love — the kind that’s truly unconditional.
She was the only one I ever broke down in front of after what happened in high school, the only one who knew I’d had my heart broken. I didn’t have to tell her who it was or what had happened — the fact that I was showing any emotion other than joy was enough for her to know I was hurting.
I still remember how she held me as I sobbed like a fucking baby, and then she made me dinner and ran a bath for me. We never spoke about it again, never really spoke about it in the first place.
But I knew from that moment on, no matter what I went through, she would always be there.
“We got the date for senior night,” I told her as I slipped into the driver seat and fired up the engine. “November nineteenth.”
“Did you tell your father?”
“Not yet,” I said. “I wanted to make sure you would come first.”
She sucked her teeth as if even insinuating that she wouldn’t was an insult. I waited until my phone connected to the car speakers before I set it aside and continued.
“I just mean… if he comes, too. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“I still love your father, Leo. I always will. And I can put up with him for a few hours.” She clicked her tongue. “Now, whether or not he’ll be able to stand how guapa his ex is at forty-five years old is yet to be seen. Might have to restrain him and those jealous little cleat chasers who still follow him around.”
A smile split my face. “Alright, mamá, cálmate.”
It was slow traffic moving through the campus, some sort of holiday market going on. I was just about to turn and take the back roads to get off campus quicker and take the roundabout way home when I saw Mary.
There was no mistaking her, not even in a thick crowd of people.
She had on a pair of cut-off jean shorts, the ripped edges dripping over her thighs like webs and letting her tattoos peek through. Those shorts barely contained her ass, and the thin, red, spaghetti strap top she’d paired with them showed a sliver of her stomach. She was walking slowly, looking at all the booths before she paused at one, turning enough for me to see there was absolutely zero chance she had on a bra with that top. A navy-blue bandana with white stars framed her hairline, and the whole picture was nothing short of a patriotic fantasy come to life.
I bit my knuckle before my hands found the wheel and turned a hard left into the parking garage.
“I gotta go, Mom. I just remembered an errand I need to run before tonight. I’ll call you later this week?”
“Whenever you have time. Enjoy your summer, that’s what I want most for you.”
I smiled as I pulled into a parking spot. “Te quiero.”
“Te quiero mas, mijo.”
I hopped out of my car as soon as I parked it, all but jogging toward the booth I’d spotted Mary at. While most of Boston was flocking down to Harborfest already, the entire city was full of events on our nation’s birthday that meant you couldn’t find a street within miles that didn’t have something going on. How could we not make a big deal of our nation’s independence, with so much history weaved throughout each and every block?
I pushed through the crowd, muttering excuse me as I did. I could have just waited and saw Mary at home later. She knew we were having a party tonight — was looking forward to it, it seemed. But the truth was I hadn’t had the chance to be alone with her since that night I cooked for her.
And something had shifted between us that night.
I didn’t know exactly what it was, but she no longer seemed like she hated breathing the same air as me. Actually, it was worse — because she was avoiding me.
Any time I’d walk in on her doing yoga with Braden or gaming on the couch with Kyle, she’d maybe utter two words to me before making an excuse to leave the room altogether. She wouldn’t meet my eyes, wouldn’t take the bait when I teased her.
Maybe that’s why I picked up my speed when I spotted her red shirt again, her long hair swept up in a messy ponytail that swung as she walked.
She slowed at a vendor selling candles, picking one up and inhaling deeply. I slowed my gait as I approached the tent.
“Getting that to cover up the stench of The Pit?”
Mary didn’t seem surprised by my entrance. In fact, she smiled a little as if she’d known I was coming before setting the candle down and turning to face me.
She about knocked me on my ass when she did.
Her eyes were kohl-lined and smoky, her plump lips painted the same red as her tank top. It set the green of her eyes off even more, the way her dark lashes fanned above and below them, and she offered me an easy smile like we were friends.
“Figured the party tonight would undo all the pleasant scents I’ve managed to bring in over the last month.”
“You’re not wrong. There’s a very specific odor that hangs around the next day. We could bottle it as Bud Light & Debauchery.”
“So four candles, then,” she said, piling them into her arms. But she only held them long enough to make the joke before she was putting them back down.
I noted that the bag on her arm was large, but mostly empty — like she was being very careful with what she purchased. After our conversation about her family the other night, I understood why. I didn’t imagine she made much as a tattoo apprentice.
It was hard for me to wrap my head around, already working and having the responsibility of bills the way she did. My tuition was covered from my football scholarship, and Mom and Dad easily picked up the rest — including giving me an allowance every month for food, shopping, going out, or whatever else I could want.
I didn’t know what it was like to struggle, to have to think twice before I bought something at the grocery store.
I made a mental note of the scents she had picked up before falling into step with her as she thanked the vendor and stepped out of the booth.
“So, you’re not ignoring me anymore, I see.”
Her brow arched, but she didn’t bother looking at me as she said, “To ignore you, I’d have to actually think about you.”
“Ouch,” I said, covering my heart with a palm. The little smile that found her lips brought me more relief than it should have.
“You smell, by the way,” she added with a wrinkled nose, assessing the sweat making my shirt stick to my chest. “I thought you didn’t have practice today.”
“Pee Wee.”
She blinked. “What?”
“I coach Little League,” I said with a laugh. “Well, I help coach — kind of like an assistant.”
Mary frowned a bit, like she didn’t quite believe me. “So, you just voluntarily give up more of your summer time to coach football to little kids?”
“I see I’ve surprised you again.”
She wouldn’t admit it, but I saw that I had in how she pressed her lips together against a smile. She turned away from me and toward a booth we were passing, and I tried not to care that she couldn’t possibly believe I’d do something like volunteer.
“How many people do you think will come tonight?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Hard to say. It’s summer semester, so not as many people as we have in the fall, that’s for sure. But with it being the holiday, and given that we have a rager every year… it’ll probably be a good turnout.”
She nodded, pausing for a moment to look at a booth selling custom cutting boards.
“We don’t have to have the party tonight,” I said when we started walking again. “If it would make you uncomfortable to have all those people in your space.”
“It’s your house,” she reminded me. “I’m shocked you haven’t had a party before this.”
“We usually would have, but…”
“Ugh, that makes me feel worse.”
I nudged her elbow. “Don’t. The truth is probably more that Kyle and Braden like to hang out with you and don’t want to share with the rest of the team or anyone else.”
I left myself out of the equation, but hoped she saw when she gave me a look that said brown-noser that I meant me, too.
“I’m sure it’ll be fun.”
“Do you drink?” I asked.
“That’s a very forward question.”
“I just haven’t seen you in all the time you’ve lived with us.”
She shrugged, fanning herself with one hand. I noted the bead of sweat gathering on her neck, wondered when it would start its descent along the ink that disappeared between her breasts. “It’s not really my preference. I’ll have wine with the girls sometimes, or a good cocktail, but I much prefer my buzz to be of the herbal variety.”
Mary cocked a brow at me like she wasn’t sure I’d catch the reference.
“Ah, how fitting. Mary loves the Mary J.”
We ducked inside another booth with her smirking at me.
This one had free samples of different dips made from the spice packets they were selling. They sold it with direction to just add sour cream or mayonnaise. I tested a spicy red pepper one while Mary dipped a pretzel into a sour cream and ranch. She closed her eyes on a hum that reminded me of when she had my tostones, and I was almost jealous of the older gentleman who lit up behind the sample table.
“Good, right?” he asked.
“So good.” Mary grabbed another pretzel and tried a dill one next. “How much are they?”
“Three packs for ten dollars,” he said. “And just add to whatever base you want — mayo, sour cream, even Greek yogurt works.”
I saw the hesitation in Mary as she reached for her wallet.
“You know what, we should get some of these for the party tonight,” I said, fishing mine out of my back pocket before she could. I handed the man a twenty-dollar bill. “We’ll take six.”
Mary gaped at the transaction as if I’d just bought her a car.
The man grinned as he bagged up our choices, and when we fell back in line with the other people wandering the market, Mary slapped me hard across the shoulder.
“Ouch!” I rubbed the spot. “What the hell was that for?”
“For acting like I’m some sort of charity case.”
“I was just being nice.”
“Yeah, well, it’s weird and I don’t like it. So stop.”
I chuckled, and then as the crowd started to thin where we were walking, I noticed she was on the side of the path closest to the street. I slowed my step until she passed a little in front of me before I came around the back of her and she had no choice but to scoot over closer to the tents and have me between her and the street, instead.
She gave me a look. “What was that for?”
“What?”
She wiggled her finger between us. “Whatever that little dance just was.”
I shrugged. “You haven’t heard of the sidewalk rule?”
“The what?”
“You know, the guy always walks on the side closest to the street.”
Mary stopped walking at that, and when I turned, she pegged me with a bored expression before she blinked slowly like I was stupid.
“You’re kidding, right?”
I pressed a hand to my chest. “I’m nothing if not a gentleman.”
Her face warped with the restraint of holding back a laugh, and then she started walking again. “Please. As if your body would stop a car from plowing over me.”
“It might,” I said, puffing my chest a little. I smirked down at her over the top of my sunglasses. “You don’t see what I do in the weight room.”
She poked my side hard enough to deflate me and then smiled in victory when it worked, skipping a few steps ahead.
“You wanna be chivalrous?” she asked, spinning to face me as she continued walking backward. Her ponytail swung with the motion, and something tightened in my chest at the sight of her so light and carefree. “Go to a women’s march. Vote for a female to take office. Read a book on feminism. Stop using pussy as an insult.”
“Hey, I already learned that lesson. Only took you telling me once.”
She leveled me with a look. “You’re telling me you haven’t said it since that day?”
“On my mom’s life,” I said, holding up two fingers in a solemn swear.
Mary just shook her head with a smile, whipping back around and giving me that glorious view of her ass in those cut-off shorts again.
And I reveled in the feeling that she might actually enjoy having my company.
We walked the market for about another hour before we were both sweating profusely and ready for air conditioning. Mary had parked in the same garage as me, so we walked toward it together.
We were almost to it when a scraggly, too-thin cat sauntered out from under one of the buildings and directly into our path.
I paused and said, “Ick,” at the same time Mary bent and said, “Aww!”
She glared up at me as I barked out a laugh, and then she was holding her hand out and trying to woo the thing.
It was fluffy and mostly gray, but with a white chest and feet and a little spot on its head. When it flicked its tail up, I noted it was a girl, and she walked right up to Mary, sniffing her fingers for just a moment before she nudged her head into Mary’s palm and curled her back to get every inch of affection she could.
“Well, hello, sweet girl,” Mary cooed with a giggle, and when the cat weaved between her legs before quite literally knocking Mary onto her ass and climbing into her lap, Mary let out a loud laugh, her face lifting to the sky.
Her eyes landed on me next, and they doubled in size like a cartoon character, her long black lashes batting up at me. She was a complete contradiction in that moment — the tattooed, dark-humored artist turning soft at a cat curling up in her lap.
“Mary,” I warned. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Leo,” she pleaded, her bottom lip protruding as she held the cat up for me to get a better view. “Just look at her.”
“I see her, and I’ll say it again — don’t even think about it.”
Fifteen minutes later, I was pulling into a parking spot next to Mary.
At a fucking pet store.
