Page 28 of The Other Side of Together

I went to the pantry. Guess we missed each other. But good news! My work schedule changed. Not sure why or how, but I didn’t ask questions. So, if there’s still an offer for a second date….

I glance up, my stomach doing a couple flips. She’s at the next table, holding a pitcher as she talks to a few old ladies, her long fingers wrapped around the handle, and I picture them all tangled in my hair, then take a drag on my Dr. Pepper to cool down the vitals.

I slip the folded note I wrote during class inside the bill sleeve, then use the pen to add:

Saturday = you + me + all day. See you at 10 AM.

I lie flat in my bed, watching my fan spin. Kinda like my brain. It’s so incredibly heavy because I didn’t ask The Question weighing it down when Dad and I went for a run along the bay after I got home from Zhang’s. Today was the first time in two weeks he had longer than two hours off work. Didn’t wanna add my brain junk to his night. Even though he’s wide-awake right now, painting his room since he can’t sleep like a normal person anymore, and I’m over here pretending to sleep because I pansied out and couldn’t think of a way to bring up my burning question. It’s 2 AM. I’ve been wrestling that burning question and equally hot thoughts about Mei for two hours. Tomorrow cannot come fast enough. Neither can graduation. Unless I can find a loophole in The Bet. Gotta talk to Dad.

I throw off my comforter and hurl myself out of my room and across the hall into Dad’s.

He stops singing to his music and glances over his shoulder. “Did I keep you awake? Sorry, man—can’t paint without Zeppelin.”

“Nah.” I run my fingers through my hair. “Just…too wired, and thought you could use some help.”

He smiles, then turns back to his painting. “I won’t turn down the company. Brushes are in the box.”

I rub my eye then snatch a brush, focusing really hard on taking off the plastic while I figure out how to bring up my question.

Dad gave me The Talk in third grade when I asked him what sex was while we were standing in the aisle of the train headed to a Giants game. He’d told me we’d talk about it when we got home and, during the game, he’d stared silentlyat his Dr Pepper. Wish he had one to stare at now because he’s probably not gonna like this question, either.

I dip my paint brush in the can, then swipe it across the door jamb to the beat of Led Zeppelin squealing from the speaker. This song always brings out Dad’s falsetto and I smile, then realize the song’s almost over. After tonight’s pantry talk, I have so many questions about the motorcycle. If I don’t ask, the guilt will rip me into confetti. I should just avoid Mei. But I can’t. Also can’t lie to Dad.

I step off the ladder and wipe my hands on a towel tossed over the paint bucket as the song ends. “So, Dad…”

He watches his roller smooth gray paint over his white bedroom wall. “Yeah?”

“About the bet…”

“Yeah?”

I twist the rag around my fingers. “I have a few clarifying questions.”

“Shoot.” He stands and steps back to admire his work.

“What exactly are the requirements for getting the motorcycle? Like…you know…” I scan the polka-dotted plastic sheet on the floor and blue tape strips around the open window, hoping for all the right words to fly through it. Or maybe if I sniff these paint fumes a little longer, the question will just slip out. “Like I just wanna make sure I understand what you mean by staying away from girls. Prom’s coming up and since I’m a senior…just wanna know what’s off limits.” He glances over his shoulder and his eyes leave a streak of panic in the air, so I rush, “Just checking. You know…don’t wanna lose the motorcycle over a technicality.”

His knuckles are white on the roller handle, so I pick paint off my fingernails. He sighs and turns to me, sets the roller in the tin, and runs his hand through his hair, leaving a gray streak through the brown. He inspects his fingers and bends to snatch a rag.

Flipping an empty bucket upside down, he drops onto it,forearms on his knees. “Look, M.C…if you want to go to prom, that’s fine. I get it.” He rubs the rag so violently on his hand, his skin’s gonna peel off.

“Here’s the thing…” He tosses the rag in the corner, the gray streak still in his hair. “You’ve got goals. Big dreams. Girls get in the way, I promise. They’re fun to look at, but they’re…” He scans the room. “Like candy, maybe? Something that’s so good, you can’t help yourself, and then, you’re sick and kind of hate yourself for not taking it easy. Stopping sooner.”

Okay. So…my mom was too much sugar. Dad didn’t stop, and it messed him up. Kind of nasty to think about, but I also get how it can happen. Too many times to count, I’ve taken down a package of Oreos, then felt the effects. And Mei’s way better than Oreos, so…

“If you keep your distance, you’ll get what you want and avoid all the aches girls can cause. That being said, you can take a girl to prom, sure. You can even dance with said girl. Just don’t do any of the after-prom kind of stuff and you have nothing to worry about.” He waves his hand. “If you find some girl you can’t resist, great—finish med school then marry her. Commit. Prove you mean it and do it. Just save all the other “doing” until after you’re married, if you know what I mean.” He turns back to the wall. “Trust me—I didn’t listen to that old-fashioned advice, and it detoured my life.” He stands and picks up the roller. “I’d never take it back because I got you, but…” He shakes his head. “It messed with me, so just…save it for someone who’s worthy of all your big ol’ feelings. You know I know, and I don’t want you to know in the same way.”

My existence is a result of two people who obviously had ‘big ol’ feelings’ for each other but didn’t know they came with a kid. So weird to think Dad once had the same crazy, out-of-control feelings for my mom that I’m starting to have for Mei. I haven’t even kissed Mei, so there’s a zero percentchance of a Baby Marcus. But man…I kinda get how things could get to a Baby Marcus Warning level. A few weeks ago, I was thinking about state championships, college, finding a job, tacos, and avoiding Prom. Then Mei. Now my brain’s swimming in girl thoughts that spill over into other parts of me. Dad obviously wasn’t able to stop with my mom, so will I be able to stop if I start with Mei?

“So basically,” Dad says, his eyes back on his roller moving up and down the wall, “keep your hands to yourself, keep your pants all nice and zipped until you’ve graduated med school. That’s it. Motorcycle, car. Happy life, done.”

Hands to myself. Pants zipped. Uh…okay, but what about that feeling when my whole body wants to be as close to Mei’s as possible? What about wanting to be on a machine that pumps Mei-infused air into my lungs? Or when my eyes wanna trap her smile so every time I blink, it flashes? What do I do with my fingers when they wanna touch her like I’m a blind person identifying her in a girl lineup? Or with my brain that plays her laugh on repeat?

I find the end of a piece of tape and pull it off the wall. Mei’s definitely my weakness, and I’m gonna have to watch my intake very, very closely.

CHAPTER 11

Hey Mei. Sitting in AP Bio. Population ecology’s fascinating and all, but I’m wondering what class you’re in right now. Wondering if you’re ever gonna answer my stupid joke from last night.*1It’s a classic. Also wondering if we could hang sooner than Saturday . Midnight-3 AM seems perfect. You get loopy around 2 so that adds to the appeal. My teacher’s pacing the room so I’m gonna write actual notes.

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