Page 8

I fucking wish. Broke my neck my junior year of college and sadly, that ended any pro chance I might have had.
So… guess again.
Any ideas?
Okay, I’ll just tell you. Porn star. Ha. Just kidding. Had you going for a minute, didn’t I? Probably not.
Actually, I’m a mechanic. I’m really good with my hands. Wink, wink.
I lied. I am, in fact, good with my hands, but I’m not just a mechanic. I’m a shop foreman, but I still work on cars. It’s why, among many other reasons, we moved from Texas to Santa Barbara. My brother, Nick—who you’ll, unfortunately, meet at some point during this—offered me a job at the dealership he owns. Working for your older brother? It’s awful. But again, not relevant at all.
What’s relevant is that my family and I needed out of Austin. When Nick offered me the job, I took it without even talking to Kelly first. Ultimately, she wasn’t pleased I made such a rash decision without her, but she wanted out of Austin just as bad. Sometimes running away from your problems can be liberating. Problem is, we couldn’t outrun it emotionally. Everything we’d been struggling with then is still very much present in our lives today. As you know.
So here we are. Living in southern California and trying like hell to make the best of it. Let me just tell you this though. Traffic in California sucks. Everywhere. At all times of the day. When you’re raised in Texas, your biggest worry is if a tractor might pull out in front of you. In California, it’s usually a Tesla driven by a douchebag who’s late for his audition or his Acai bowl order.
I rush to get home because I already forgot Oliver once today, twice wouldn’t be good. We live in a fancy suburban hell of houses. I hate it. Back in Texas, we lived on a thirty-acre ranch we shared with my parents. Now we live just outside Santa Barbara in a neighborhood with the cheapest house we could find. It needed work when we bought it, but it was the closest to what we could afford and had enough bedrooms for the kids. But if I’m being honest, it’s not where I envisioned raising my kids. Then again, I imagined my life entirely different from what it is now.
Oliver’s waiting on the front porch when I pull in the driveway, watching the kids across the street toss a football back and forth. I always thought Oliver, my first-born son, would want to play football since I did, and every male in my family did, but nope. He loves basketball.
He’s short, by the way. Takes after Kelly’s side of the family and I hate to break it to him, but he chose the only sport where height actually matters.
The moment he spots my truck pull down the sloped driveway, Oliver stomps toward me like someone—probably me—pissed him off. The door swings open dramatically and he stares at me. You know the movieScarface? Okay. Great. Do you remember that one scene when Al Pacino’s character, Tony Montana, has the shootout in the hotel and he makes it outside, bloody and barely able to stand up? Now pause when he’s on the street, and he stands in front of the Colombian pointing the gun at the dude’s head. That look. The one with blood dripping down his face and him scowling. Take away the blood, and the gun, and that’sexactlyhow Oliver is looking at me. It’s frightening, isn’t it?
“You forgot me this morning,” he seethes through clenched teeth. It sounds like a pissed-off cat hissing the words. And then he motions to the street where there’s a car parked next to the curb. “I called an Uber. They’re reliable.”
What a dick. “I know I forgot you and I’m sorry.” I glare at him. “Now cool it with the attitude and get in the truck.”
Kelly opens the door to the garage and waves me down with Oliver’s booster seat. Sure way to piss him off even more. He’s ten and still needs a booster seat according to the State of California.
“I don’t want that!” he screams back at her, his cheeks pink with anger, and slams the door in her face. Our kids are great, they really are. Such angels and so respectful.
Kelly, trying to keep her cool, pushes out a heavy breath. “He’s had a rough day.”
“What happened?”
“Hazel wore Mara’s Texas shirt.”
You know that feeling when you’ve been punched in the face? Okay, maybe you’ve never been punched in the face, but I have. About a dozen times. Thank you, Nick.
That feeling, the stunned, shocked heat to your face followed by the jolt to your heart, and then if you’re like me, the anger that you let your guard down and then, only after you’re pissed off, the pain.
That unwelcome emotion, it hits me every single time Mara’s name is mentioned. It’s nothing I can control either, and despite what every therapist tells my wife, it’s not going away for me. Why? I’m her goddamn father. My job is to protect my family, and I couldn’t protect my daughter that day.
Before I can say much of anything to Kelly, our neighbor Bonner comes walking up. You remember Bonner from this morning, right? Kid who walks around without his shirt on most of the day and has the hot wife? Yep. Him.
He adjusts his hat around backward and smiles at me. “Hey, Noah, can I catch a ride with you to the school?”
“Where’s your car?”
“I let my buddy borrow it.” He says this so nonchalantly that I think my mouth drops open like a fish gasping for air.
I stare at him with disbelief. Have you seen Bonner’s car? He drives around in a Ferrari F12. Seriously. Dude is newly twenty-one and has more money than he knows what to do with. Never mind the fact that I’m certain he’s a drug lord. Who buys a car like that and lives in the suburbs of Santa Barbara? Shouldn’t he be living on the beach? And another thing, I’m sorry, but if I had that car, my wife wouldn’t even be able to touch it, let alone my friends borrowing it. I’m also not entirely sure why Bonner wants to go to an elementary school. And I don’t actually care either.
I nod to the passenger seat of my truck. “Sure.”
Kelly doesn’t say anything more to me, waves off the Uber driver, and walks away. While I stare at her ass as she walks into the garage with Fin on her hip, Sevi crawling on all fours at her feet and trying to hand her a leash, and I’m pretty sure Bonner is doing the same. He’s talking to Oliver who is hanging on his every word. I can’t remember the last time Oliver paid that much attention to anything I said. Then again, Bonner didn’t forget him for the third time this month.
Before you go thinking I’m a bad dad, I already know I lack the ability to remember pretty much anything aside from where I need to go for work. I haven’t always been this way. I used to be on time to everything—attentive, passionate about life in general—but a year ago, it changed. I question my beliefs, the world… now I don’t even know myself, let alone the where and what I’m supposed to be doing on any given day.