“It really is.”
“Okay, then let’s get out of here. Go do something.”
“Do what?”
“Anything, you grew up here, I lived here for nearly twenty years. There’s gotta be a place you want to go eat or just hang out?”
It hadn’t even occurred to me to leave this hotel suite. There’s so much riding on this it felt like the only thing to do was sit here and let the seconds tick by, but he’s right. We have nearly an entire day to wait. Might as well go out and do something.
“Okay, let’s do that. What were you thinking?”
“You’ve been gone longer than I have. You pick.”
And suddenly I know exactly where I want to go.
“A taco stand?”
“The best taco stand in the city. Manuel’s tacos are perfection and he always has Mexican Coke too. You know, in the glass bottle? You lived here for how long and you’ve never been to Manuel’s?”
“I couldn’t really go to taco stands,” he admits.
“Too famous?” I tease him, as I park my rental car down the street from Manuel’s, just like I did back in high school after every game. “Couldn’t make your way down to Los Feliz with the regular people?”
“This neighborhood is not regular,” he insists.
Fair enough. Gentrified isn’t a strong enough word, but the neighborhood has kept some of its charm over the years.
“It was when I was growing up. My parents’ house is just a few blocks away.”
“Do they still live here?”
“Oh, no, they’re . . . they passed away. My mom when I was in middle school, my dad a few years ago.”
“Shit, sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.”
“My parents are gone too.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Of course you know,” he says, and then hesitates. “Is that part of your analysis too?”
I cringe, but nod. “Yeah, it’s part of it. Not the dead parents thing, but more a . . . support system thing.”
“Right, and what does that say about Kai Nakamori’s?”
I’m really grateful for the change of subject. “It says that he’s likely to struggle a little bit without a support system.”
“Is that part of why you want those kids up in the big leagues next system? You figure they could be a part of his support system.”
“He’s learning.”
“He pays attention when you speak, Frankie. Always have.”
I blink at him, at a loss for words, just like I always am whenever he drops something like that on me, something that makes me pretty sure that we would work together, that we’d be great together, that all my hang ups about relationships, no matter who the guy is, would crumble to dust as soon as I decided to give him a chance to prove me wrong.
There’s no one I recognize working at the counter at Manuel’s, which isn’t surprising. Manuel retired years ago and I’m pretty sure none of his kids wanted the business, but at least the place looks the same and smells the same too.
