forty
. . .
“You didwhat?”I practically shout at my daughter over the phone.
“Don’t yell at me.” Kelli’s voice is trembling, and I immediately regret my tone. “And you heard me. I called Melissa. I know you said I couldn’t call her until you gave me permission, but I did it anyway, and I’m not sorry. Not one bit. And there’snothingyou can do about it from Arizona.”
Oh, boy. Here we go with the teenage attitude.
She’s not done. “If you don’t want me to break your rules, then you shouldn’t make stupid ones. And do you want to know why I called Melissa? Because you refuse to see how dumb you’re being about us moving to Chicago—ornotmoving, since you’re so dang stubborn. And why haven’t you talked to her about it? You just spent four days with her. She’s yourgirlfriend.Youloveher. You want tomarryher. And don’t even try to convince me you don’t, because that would be a lie, andyou don’t tolerate liars.”
She’s on a roll, and I don’t say anything for a few seconds to make sure she’s finished. In the meantime, my stomach clenches, because deep down, I know she’s right—about all of it. But there’s one key piece she’s missing. I’m terrified we’ll move to Chicago, and Melissa and I will break up, and then where will we be? I’ll be left with no girlfriend and no friends, because let’s face it, they’ll all choose her over me. Well, maybe not Diego, but the rest ofthem will. And I will have uprooted my daughter and her mother and moved them halfway across the country for no reason whatsoever.
“Don’t you have anything to say?” she demands with a sniffle.
I close my eyes and shake my head as I lie back on my hotel room bed. “Kelli, I love you, and I always will. But right now you’re trying my patience more than you’ve done since you were a toddler.”
“I don’t care.” I imagine her stomping her foot, just like she did when she was three and didn’t get her way. “Why won’t you move to Chicago? What’s stopping you? Because it’s not me or Mom. She wants a fresh start, and you know me, I can make friends anywhere. It’s one of the maaaaany things you love about me. And it’s something I didnotinherit from you. You don’t make friends, like, ever because you’re too busy working and flying all over the country and being a giant old grumpy pants. But somehow, miraculously, you’ve made friends in Chicago and you have a totally amazing girlfriend there. So that’s where you need to be. It’s where weallneed to be.”
I can hear her begin to sob, and my chest aches from not being able to wrap my arms around her right now. “Kell, baby, there’s things you don’t understand—reasons why moving to Chicago isn’t the best thing for us.”
“Then explain it to me! Tell me why you won’t do this!”
“I … I …,” I rub my chest. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but this conversation is over. I love you so much, Kelli, but this isn’t going to happen. I need you to accept that.”
“Well, I won’t. Because your reason is dumb. I don’t even know what it is, but I know it’s dumb. And we’ll end up staying in California, and you won’t be happy, so then I won’t be happy, which means Mom won’t be happy, and we’ll all just be stuck here together in an empty pit of despair. And now I’m going to get off the phone before I say something I might regret. I love you, but I don’t like you right now.”
My heart feels like it’s being stabbed with an ice pick. “I love you, too, baby.”
“Don’t call me baby! Good-bye.”
The dial tone sounds in my ear, and I drop the phone back into the cradle. Within seconds, my fingers begin to tingle, and sweat forms on my forehead while my breathing grows shallow. Knowing I only have limited time before I feel unable to move, I force myself off the bed and into the bathroom to splash water on my face while attempting to take deep breaths. I slump down onto the floor and don’t know how long I sit there gasping for breath with my head between my knees before the phone starts to ring. I don’t make any attempt to answer it and hope it won’t ring too many times before the hotel’s system cuts it off. After five rings, it blessedly stops. In less than a minute, it rings again. Again, I don’t answer. I don’t have the energy to leave this cool, tiled floor. In fact, there’s a towel within reach, so I may just use it as a pillow and sleep here tonight, regardless of the fact that my thirty-six-year-old bones won’t be happy with that choice.
I force myself to think of anything but the conversation I just had with my daughter. Or more accurately, the conversation she had with me, since I didn’t contribute much. I count backward from two hundred. Next, I list off the entire 1963 Dodgers roster—the year they swept the Yankees to win the World Series. Then I go through that year’s Yankees roster.
The phone rings yet again while I remain on the bathroom floor, and I’m halfway through trying to remember all the James Bond movies in order when there’s pounding at my door. I tense at the sound but don’t get up. A few seconds later, the pounding starts again.
“Bobby, open the door!” Diego’s voice filters to me in Spanish. After a few seconds, he adds, “If you don’t come to this door, I’m getting the manager to open it up. And you know they won’t hesitate to let the great Diego Sanchez into your room.”
He’s not wrong. The staff at this hotel think he hung the moon. I think he tips them more than they make in their actual paychecks.
“Fine, I’m coming,” I say loudly enough he should be able to hear me. “Keep your shirt on.”
As I pull myself up and stumble to the door, I hear him ask, “Why would I take it off?”
When I finally get the door open, Diego takes one look at me and lets out a string of Spanish curses. Then he takes me by the shoulders, turns me around, and keeps ahold of me until I’m sitting on the edge of the bed.
He squats down in front of me with his elbows resting on his knees. “What’s going on, brother?”
“Why are you here?”
“Nanette called me. She said Kelli was upset after talking to you, and once Nanette got the details of your conversation out of her, she tried calling but you didn’t answer. So she called and asked me to check on you. I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but I’m not leaving until you do.”
I don’t doubt that. “Did she tell you what Kelli and I talked about?”
He sighs and drops down onto his knees. “Yes, and I have an admission that may make you angry. But you must promise to forgive me.” He arches an eyebrow. “Promise?”
I let out a long breath. “I don’t know yet. Why don’t you just tell me what it is, and then we’ll see how forgiving I feel?”
