Page 15 of Rebound

He comes out fifteen minutes later holding Jasmine who is in Barbie footie pajamas. Of course it has a built-in tutu. He puts her down and she wobbles to me on two shaky legs. She wraps her pudgy arms around my legs, and I bend down to pick her up.

“Look at this clean, pretty girl,” I say, and she makes a gurgling sound. She looks at her father and reaches for him.

“I’m going to take her upstairs to the Chastains. I called, and they will watch her for me for a little while. Johnny is her best friend, so it will be fine.” After giving her a sippy cup full of milk, he leaves me in his apartment.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting in the front of his car while he drives me home. Unsure of what to say to him, I look out the window and just think of what I need to do this weekend.

My mom and June Bug are both working tomorrow, so it will most likely be just me and Gaga. After about thirty minutes, he pulls up to the modest home I grew up in.

It’s just now starting to get dark despite it being close to nine o’clock.

“Thanks for dinner and thanks for the ride.” I jump out of the car as if it’s on fire. I don’t make it to the first step before his long legs reach me. “Good night, Whorekowski.”

“I’ll see you inside,” he says.

“This is not a date. It’s not necessary.” I run up the stairs, fully expecting him to leave, but he ignores me and follows me to the front door. After I open it, he walks inside.

The television is on full blast, and I can hear my mother yelling from my grandmother’s room.

Chapter 11

Seth

I wish she was ugly. If she smelled bad, that wouldn’t hurt either, but since I saw her at the adoption party, this idea started to take root. I tried to push it out of my head, but it won’t go away. Seeing Chastain and Coach married and happy, got me thinking that maybe commitment isn’t so bad. I have a daughter that I’m responsible for, and I owe it to her to give her the best childhood possible.

I don’t want her raised by nannies and hired help while I’m on the road for half the year. I don’t want her to grow up and be resentful like I am toward my own father. Though maybe I wouldn’t be so resentful if he was out of the house working instead of sitting on the couch, drinking beers and shirking his responsibilities.

We step inside the house, and the first thing I notice is how loud it is. The second is that it’s an old house and in need of many repairs. The furniture is old and is only slightly better than the crap I had in my trailer growing up. The walls could use a fresh coat of paint, and the carpet could stand to be replaced, but despite that, the house feels welcoming. It might need repairs, but it’s clean and everything is in order.

“Mom!” I hear a woman say. “You need a shower.” The words are shouted from the back of the house. She’s loud because I can hear her clearly over the blasting television.

“Okay, you can go now,” Layla says. For the first time since we’ve met, she touches me. She wraps her hand around my wrist and tries to pull me toward the door. I look down at her and roll my eyes. I don’t pull my wrist away though. Her hand feels nice. It’s soft and warm on my skin.

“You’re gonna give yourself a hernia trying to pull me,” I warn.

“You saw me inside so you can go.” She pulls again. I twist my wrist free with barely any effort and walk further into the house. She’s acting different now. She’s not only trying to get rid of me because she can’t stand me. She’s hiding something. I know the signs. I’ve been hiding my father most of my life.

A middle-aged woman stomps from the back of the house and opens a door down the hall. “Mom!” she screams right before an older woman runs out of the room without a stitch of clothes on. My eyes widen at the sight. I blink twice, thinking I’m seeing things, but I’m not. The naked woman stands there and stares at me, but I look away.

“Gaga!” Layla shrieks. She grabs a blanket from the couch and quickly covers the older woman with it. “Mom, what happened?” Layla asks.

“She keeps running away from me each time I try to put her in the damn tub. That’s what happened!” Layla’s mother says right before she blows her breath upward in frustration. She tries to grab the older lady, but she moves away and comes to stand in front of me.

She’s short and rail thin. Her face is covered in wrinkles and her brown eyes match the color of her skin. Someone shuts the television off, and the house suddenly gets quiet.

“I’m a certified Sethhead,” the old woman yells, surprising me. She puts her index and middle fingers on the side of her mouth and sticks out her tongue just like the rabid fangirls do. Then she thrusts her hips three times.

I laugh at the absurdity of it all. I even take it a step further and do it back to her. Whenever I do that, the Sethheads would go nuts. I did it at a game once after making a three-point basket just as the buzzer went off at the end of the game. That got us a win by one point, and Madison Square Garden went crazy. Everyone in the stands turned into a Sethhead that night. I did the dance back, and the place erupted in pandemonium.

Layla sighs, but I can see a small smile that transforms her face.

The middle-aged woman’s head snaps up and she looks at me for the first time. “Seth Wakowski is in my living room,” she exclaims. I offer her my hand and she takes it. “Layla, how come you didn’t tell me?” She gives her daughter a mischievous grin.

“He was just leaving,” Layla says.

“I thought you couldn’t stand him,” her mother says. “I don’t know why because he’s such a cutie pie.” I feel a blush. Layla’s mom reaches up and pinches my cheek. I’ve been called a lot of things, but cutie pie is not one of them.

“Mom, he’s a whore,” Layla says as if that should explain her dislike of me.

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