The Long Run, page 20
“He’s been helping me with math so I’m driving him around. He broke his foot. Plus, we’re both captains. So, you know. It’s not weird.”
Unconvincing.
“I didn’t say it was weird. It’s just... That’s very nice of you. Helping him like that. I always liked Sandro. He’s...polite.”
“Sure. He’s chill.”
“Sure. Chill. You know he’s in a band with Ronny? Ronny DiSario?”
Good, a diversion. “Yeah, wait, since when did you start hanging with Ron again?”
“She got a lot more sociable once she quit lacrosse. And I guess I missed talking to people who wanted to talk to me. Who told you we were hanging out again?”
My spine froze. Lucy Jordan, Kid Detective. I did my best to shrug casually. “...You did.”
Lucy stared through me. It was an easily disprovable lie but I wasn’t thinking at full capacity. Lucy only had to say Dro’s name and I’d fallen back into my hole. This place I put myself where I could barely put words together.
Lucy nodded. “Hm. Maybe I did.”
“Yeah. You did.”
She had more to say. I think she was assessing whether it would be worth getting into it at this moment. I was assessing whether it would be worth pushing her into the grass and bolting down the street. We must’ve stood there silently assessing for a whole minute before Luce shook her grocery bag. Like a parachute out of this stalemate of a conversation. “Welp! Mama needs romaine.”
“Tight. Susan loves lettuce.”
Oh, my God, shut the fuck up.
Lucy made a face and nodded. She started off but stopped. Looked back at me. “I got back from Spooktacular kinda early. Around sunup. Coulda sworn I saw Sandro Miceli leaving here. Dressed kinda like you.”
My stomach fell out of my ass and broke through the sidewalk. Hit the earth’s core and ran right through to Australia. I just shook my head. “...I was in Maine.”
She seemed to accept that. Or maybe she was just over holding a conversation for both parties. She put her headphones in and was gone. I started breathing again and ran inside. Dro had left at four in the damn morning. We couldn’t have been more careful. And I did us no favors, stumbling over my words like that with Lucy. Like there was something to cover up. And I was talking so well before that.
I ran through every incriminating beat of my conversation with Lucy that night after dinner. I was at the kitchen counter, trying to focus on my college app notes, when I got distracted by a scribble hidden in the margins.
Tell D 2 slap?
I guess I’d written it that night in my room. When I was researching colleges after LubeGate. I chuckled to myself.
“What’s so funny?”
I forgot Del was in the room. He was researching financial aid packages on our laptop. What was so funny? It wasn’t so much that I’d left a reminder to ask Sandro to try giving me a little slap next go-around. I think it was the fact that I wrote the note at all, where anyone could find it.
“Nothing. Just something stupid.”
I erased the scribble. We were about an hour deep into Del’s postdinner campaign to get me to expand my college choices and, while I was a little over it, I was impressed at how easy the conversation was flowing. It’s not usually like that.
Del turned the laptop to me. “How ’bout Drexel?”
“Too expensive.”
“Villanova? That scout last May loved you.”
“I don’t have the grades.”
“Sure you do. And it’s a great school. Great track program.”
I know Nova’s got a great track program. That’s why it’s on my fake “backup” list. All the schools I’d go to if Rutgers was wiped off the map. But I knew what I wanted.
“You need other choices, Seb. Deadlines are coming up quick.”
“And my Rutgers app is good and submitted.”
Del stood up. Leaned on the counter. We were talking better, sure, but I still felt that pang of guilt when he looked at me sometimes. He just makes me feel watched. “Take Mom out of it for a sec.”
“Why?”
“She wanted you to go to college. And I think Rutgers is great. I hope you get it, I do. But with your times and some effort? You have options.”
I didn’t think we were ready for this kind of conversation. But I took a page from my time with Sandro and tested my own water.
Start with a fact. Something you know for sure.
“...I wanna go for her.”
My voice did something around Del. It got quieter. Like a kid apologizing for losing his bike. Like I thought he’d chew me out if I didn’t come in soft.
He nodded. “I know. But she wouldn’t want you just going for her. It should be your decision, Seb. What you want.”
Del calls me Seb and it always hits my ear wrong. Lucy does it too sometimes. I’m not Seb. I haven’t been Seb since I was a kid. But Del saw me as this kid that I wasn’t anymore. Maybe that’s why we couldn’t talk. Maybe that was my problem.
So, I sat straight and looked at him. Stopped sounding like a kid. “Del... This is all I’ve wanted. For a long time. I get having the backups and we should do them but I just... I know. I know it’s what I want. I want to go to Rutgers. And I just gotta follow that.”
I could tell he heard me. Was really listening to me. I think it surprised him, that I was actually speaking to him like that.
“You remember the race car bed? The red one you had to have?” I smiled. The race car bed was bitchin’. I used to rush to the mailbox every weekend just to grab the new Toys R Us catalog. Clip out another picture of the bed for my wish list. “You never asked for anything. Every Christmas your mom just had to guess then, BAM, you saw that bed. It was all you talked about for months.”
“Then I got it and was pissed it couldn’t drive.”
“Which we told you a thousand times.”
We laughed. ’Cause I was such a brat about it. I refused to sleep in the thing unless Del slapped an engine and some real tires on it. A couple weeks later, they replaced it with the bed I have now. It was the first Christmas Del was a part of our family. I hadn’t thought about that in years. I could feel where he was going with it.
“You don’t want a lot, Seb. So, when you find something you do, you get tunnel vision. It’s the sprinter in you. You stop thinking about the long run.” I looked at my feet. I forgot what people like Del can do. Like Lucy. They can see all the places that you’re weak. “It’s about finding the right way to want something.”
I could feel myself retreating. I think Del could feel it too. He backed away and poured himself some coffee. Poured me one too. Cream for him, black for me. My eyes were still on my feet.
“Where’s Sandro applying?”
“Northwestern. Rutgers as a safety. But he’ll get it. He’s smart.” My voice had gone back to quiet. Del did nothing wrong but I still felt like I’d been screamed at.
“...He’s a good kid.” Del slid me my coffee. “You both are.”
He put his hand on my shoulder. I smiled a bit. Del thought I was good. Good like Sandro. He didn’t know. He wouldn’t think I was good if he knew all the things I’d done. The kids I’ve hurt. All the terrible versions of myself I became after Mom left us. But I smiled. ’Cause it was a nice thought. Being like Sandro.
Del and I hadn’t talked like that in years. That’s how it used to be with Del. He might never be my dad, but I used to be able to check in with him like that. Get real advice. And he’s right, I should be looking into other schools. I do get a little too focused when I find something I want. I guess the lesson there was that talking didn’t have to be easy. Sometimes it was work. But it was better than the alternative.
Between Lucy and Del, the week was feeling like a pop quiz on my conversational skills. A little midterm review to see if I’d learned anything from my time with a certain Italian man. Though if those chats were quizzes, this morning’s phone call must’ve been the final. The real test. But I guess if I didn’t pick up, I never would’ve put a voice to all the stories.
It had been a chill morning. I was sitting on the couch, icing my ankle after my one run of the day. I started feeling this weird click during my last mile and I thought I’d better be safe than sorry. Then I got a text from Dro.
S: sayno
Then my phone rang. I put my icepack down and answered. Dro was somewhere loud and midconversation with someone.
“—twenty different kinds of red sauce, I don’t know!”
“What?”
“Yeah, it’s him. Bash? My mother would like to—”
I heard the phone change hands and Sandro take the Lord’s name in vain. The new voice was a lot like Dro’s. Raspy and a little tired. But a lot more direct.
“—take the Lord’s name in public, my God. Sebastian?”
“...Speaking?”
“Sebastian, this is Claudia. Claudia Miceli. Dro’s ma?”
I’d just read the word shanghaied in a book and had to look it up in the dictionary to make sure it wasn’t racist. It’s funny how you learn a new word one day then it seems to pop up in your life.
On this call, I felt shanghaied.
“Oh. Hello, Mrs. Miceli. What can—”
“Listen, so Dro’s dad and the boys are all gonna be home Friday and I want you to join us for dinner, okay? We’re doing chicken but I can do a salad too if you’re not big on chicken. You like chicken, Sebastian? Tina. Tina. Tee, I am so clearly on the telephone. What did—”
“Hello?”
“—bother your brother. Yes? Perfect. It’s Dro’s favorite. Right? Dro? It’s his favorite.”
“Uh, wha—”
“Okay, superb. I am just so excited to meet you, we all are. When this one told me he’d been letting someone drive him to school every day for months without ever letting me feed him, I nearly broke a plate over—Well, because it’s rude, Sandro. It’s rude! I didn’t raise you to—”
“Hello?”
“Okay, sweetheart, it’s so nice finally talking with you. Dinner’s at seven.”
And she hung up. Jesus. My phone screen returned to my texts.
S: sayno
Oh. Say no. I was supposed to say no.
I guess there was still room for improvement on the speaking front but two out of three successful conversations this week wasn’t bad. Sixty-six percent. Which, hey, not an F. I was busy patting myself on the back when I felt a pang again. This throbbing itch somewhere in me. But it wasn’t my ankle. Another text popped up.
S: were fucked dude...
It was my stomach. Folding in on itself.
I was having dinner with the Micelis.
sandro
DECEMBER 14
BASH THE FLASH
Bash has never stepped foot inside my home. This was on purpose. The last time I had a friend over was Drew Udell in the sixth grade. We weren’t really friends, but he was fun and we teamed up for a history project. Within an hour of Drew’s stepmom dropping him off, GJ threw up on our book bags, my shirtless dad came through screaming at his phone, and Raph pushed me into a wall for playing his GTA save file. Drew’s stepmom was back before I had time to defrost the pizza bagels I’d bought for the event.
The problem with tidying up my house is everyone reads into it. “Who you trying to impress?” I didn’t want to show my hand with all my cleaning and primping. I didn’t want them to smell that desperation on me. How badly I wanted the dinner to go well. Because we’ve shared a lot, me and Bash. But we weren’t prepared for something like this.
It was almost seven and I was searching everywhere to find Lexi’s Binky. She was screaming like I’d just poured salt in her eyes and no one had any clue where she’d left it. I was running around when I got a text from Ronny.
R: Recording sesh tonight?
R: Just learned the keys to Black Parade :O
So tempting but so not the time, Ron.
S: familyt dinner. Supes busy
I scanned the upstairs for Binky because Tina recently developed a habit of stealing random objects and letting them marinate in the bathtub. I hollered down the hall for assistance but Gio was at work and Raph was too busy “sending emails” in his room to help. I found the pacifier in the half-full tub along with my shot put and the spare van keys when I got another text.
R: demo deadlines coming up
R: ur gonna have to hang with us one of these day dro
R: we don’t bite
Wow, Veronica, not now. I grabbed some towels and cleaned the bathwater off Tina’s contraband with one hand, texting with the other.
S: sorry just very stressed rn. Ill call you later
R: wtf don’t call me, never call me, just text
I rolled my eyes and gave myself a once-over in the mirror. I was plucking the odd nose hairs when I felt another text buzz on my thigh. Jesus, Ronny, take the hint.
B: Here?
Fuck. Bash. I ran face-first into the closed bathroom door then rushed to the stairs. Bash was just standing in the open doorway, looking in from the porch. I jumped down the stairs, almost falling, and dragged him in.
“Sorry. The door was wide-open.”
“Of course it fucking was.”
“Is someone fighting?”
There was indistinct yelling coming from somewhere in the kitchen area. Definitely Ma but the male voice could’ve been Gio, Dad, or Raph. “Probably.”
“I brought this.”
Bash offered me one of those Yankee Candles I always stop to sniff at Target. All the smells of White Winter Wonderland in one glass jar. “...Why?”
“You said your ma like candles. My mom said you always bring—”
“Leave it outside.” I took it out of his hands and placed it on the porch. He looked confused. “It’s too much, man.”
“Uh, it’s a candle.”
“It’s too considerate. They’ll think something’s up.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“It’s sweet but... I just wanna be safe.”
Bash nodded and I finally took a moment to look at him in the nice navy polo he bought for this. God, he looked good. It wasn’t fair. Bash was wasted on my family. He could tell I was ogling him and smiled. I wanted to tell him how sorry I was that this night was about to happen when, from the depths of hell, Ma screamed.
“Is he here?! SANDRO!?”
I cocked my head skyward and screamed back. “YEAH!”
“WELL?! How long’s he been here?! Bring him IN!!”
Bash chuckled. I’m glad he found it funny then. He wouldn’t soon. I could already feel my heart rate rising. Something that hadn’t happened since October. The weight room. I had to stay calm tonight or this house was gonna burn down.
I tried breathing and Bash rested a hand on my shoulder. “Hey. It’ll be fun. Or, at least, fine. We’ll—”
I moved away from his touch. There were just too many ways my family could fuck this up for me. I didn’t need to hand them their shot. He nodded. He got it.
“Okay. We just gotta get through one—”
My mom screamed my name again from the kitchen and I gave up.
The meal was chicken parm, a staple in the Miceli home that Ma could and has made in her sleep. To her credit, my mother knows how to make something as basic as discounted deli chicken and bread crumbs into something impressive. She’s always been good with presentation stuff like that.
It wasn’t that a dinner at the Miceli table was a surefire recipe for disaster. If that were the case, I would’ve told Ma that Bash had moved to Paris or got drafted or something simple. Anything to keep him from facing this particular firing squad. But the Miceli dinner table could be a fun night of all right pasta and good conversation if nothing went wrong. If we could keep things civil and light. If we could be a respectable Italian family, like my cousins down the shore or any other branch of our family tree. If we could just be easy for one fucking night, Bash would be okay. We could be okay.
I made sure to sit across from Bash so I could keep an eye on him. Gauge how he looked through the ordeal. Ma hadn’t even sat down yet and Gio and Raph were already halfway through shoving their plates down their gullets. Ma slapped the table and they stopped. I watched them settle and wondered which Miceli might ruin this night.
Luckily, GJ and Tina ate earlier so they were locked away in the TV room and out of the running. My dad was slammed with work and holed up in his office which most nights I would find rude but felt like a gift from above tonight. If, by the grace of God, he could stay in there the whole time, I’d really only have to worry about my brothers. Ma can be careless and sometimes hurtful, but a guest is a guest.
Ma started pouring everyone wine. “Red okay, Sebastian?”
Bash had remained perfectly still in his seat thus far, only speaking when spoken to. Smart strategy. He gave me a look and I nodded, ever so slightly.
“Yes. Thank you, Mrs. Miceli.”
“Please, call me Claudia, sweetheart.” She all but emptied the bottle into his glass. Bash drank enough to keep it from spilling over and smiled his polite approval. Ma sat down and served herself salad. “And I am so, so sorry about my husband. We usually eat as a family but he told us to start without him. Just wrapping up a call in his study.”
Gio swallowed a burp. “Our study.”
Everyone but Bash stifled a groan. Gio’s got this stick up his ass about Pop’s repairs business being “their business” now that he’s got his roofing license. Ma pointed Gio to their study. “Then go check on him.”
Gio grumbled and got up. Bash took another sip of wine and smiled at Ma. “Thank you for having me. The chicken’s really good.”
“Glad we could finally get you here! It’s the least we could do with all the gas you’re wasting coming out to the edge of town.”
