Page 14 of Tell Me Softly

Chapter Eight

Thiago

Kam was the spitting image of her mother.

Not just in the way she looked, but also the way she felt superior to my brother and me.

Why was I so stupid? How could I just assume she’d be the same person she’d been when I left?

I should have known the old Kamila no longer existed.

She was pretty, sure, just like her mother; and just like with her mother, there was nothing behind that pretty face.

I felt bad for her kid brother, being surrounded by such superficial people: Kam, the ice princess, and her mother, the ice queen.

Everyone said it, and so far, I hadn’t seen anything to tell me they were wrong.

When she said she wouldn’t go to Lowe’s with my brother, I tuned her out. I wasn’t going to waste my time with her. I had more important things to do, like organize the workouts before our next game.

When I was done outside, I went to the kitchen and took all the cheese out of the fridge.

That was another thing I had to learn to do: cook.

Ever since my mother started working overtime shifts at the hospital, I was the one in charge of making dinner.

She was going in tonight, and I could hear her in the shower getting ready to go when I started preparing the ingredients.

Once Kam and the kid went inside, my brother went to his room and didn’t come out for the rest of the day.

It didn’t matter to me, really, but ever since we’d come back, there had been a strange tension between us.

I got pissed when I saw him playing pool and having a good time with Kam.

Them being friends again—that wouldn’t work for me.

It wasn’t right. My brother owed me more respect than that, and I wasn’t just going to forget it.

“Wow, honey, that smells amazing,” Mom said, walking into the kitchen and pulling on a jacket.

I was making macaroni and cheese—my special recipe, the first one I’d ever learned. I added cheese to the warm milk and stirred so it would start melting. I turned to find Mom looking for God knows what.

“What are you doing?” I asked, grabbing a chunk of cheddar and popping it into my mouth.

“I’m looking for Taylor’s immunization records.”

“You didn’t take care of that yet?” Unbelievable, I thought.

Taylor walked in and sat down, staring at her just as I was.

Mom had the same brown hair and green eyes as me, and we were similar in other ways too, but she was short––Taylor and I got our height from our dad’s side.

Mom was pretty, and I wondered how it was possible that she hadn’t managed to rebuild her life with a guy who was worth it.

But I didn’t want to judge her. She’d been burned, didn’t trust men anymore, and now just wanted to be alone.

“Taylor, get up and help me,” she said, frustrated, opening and closing some of the still-packed boxes. I turned and kept cooking while Taylor looked around sluggishly.

“Why the hell does he need his immunization records anyway?” Mom asked, pushing a strand of hair out of her face and opening one last drawer.

Why the hell don’t you keep any of your shit in order?

I thought to myself, but instead I responded coolly, “The school has to have them on file, and all athletes have to have a physical and immunizations on file in order to play.” I stirred the macaroni into the pot of cheese sauce and took a sip of the beer I’d just opened.

“Oh, thank God!” Mom said, relief filling her eyes as she squinted at the document.

“You’ve got to take this to the principal’s office; don’t you dare lose it,” she said before giving Taylor a kiss on the cheek.

Then, coming over to me, she said, “I’ll be back in the morning.

Don’t overdo it on the beer, and don’t let your brother stay up too late playing Xbox; he’s got class tomorrow. ”

“I thought you were going to have dinner with us!” I said.

“Honey, I don’t have time. I’m already running late.”

“Wait!” I stopped her, took out a plastic container, and dumped almost half the macaroni into it. “Here. Eat this on your break.”

“Thank you! I love you both!” She kissed me goodbye and ran out.

My brother turned on the kitchen TV and took a beer out of the fridge for himself.

He wasn’t supposed to, but we’d been drinking since we were fourteen, and Mom knew there was no point in making a rule we’d just break.

So instead she made us promise we’d drink in moderation and never drive drunk.

And we respected that and always obeyed her.

“You know what Harry told me?” my brother asked, settling down at the table again.

I looked up as I portioned out our two plates.

“He says Coach Klebb is quitting soon. He’s going to retire before Christmas. And apparently he’s impressed with your work. Supposedly, he mentioned you taking over for him to the principal.”

Klebb had dropped a hint about that to me too, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up. “I doubt it,” I said. “He loves his job, and I’ve only been there like five minutes…”

“Don’t bullshit me, Thiago. You’re like a basketball encyclopedia. You mapped out that last game—Klebb basically didn’t do anything—and it went exactly as you’d planned.”

“You’re exaggerating…”

“I’m not saying he’s bad. But you’re better.

You’ll get the job. I know you will.” He leaned back as I set down his plate.

“Fuck, this smells amazing.” He was at that age where he liked to curse a lot, I guess to show he was a grown-up.

By the time he’d picked up his fork, he’d completely forgotten what we were talking about.

I started eating too, but unlike him, that conversation lingered in my mind.

I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I’d like it if I really were picked to be the coach at Carsville.

That was the most I could ever hope to do with basketball, the game I’d dreamed of playing professionally when I was a kid.

We watched ESPN while we ate and then cleaned up together, even though Taylor should have done it by himself since I’d cooked.

While I put the plates in the dishwasher, Taylor wiped off the table and grabbed two more beers out of the fridge.

I looked out the window at Kam’s place. Our kitchens faced each other, just as her bedroom and mine did, and she had just finished her dinner.

I saw her laughing and holding her little brother up by the waist so he could help out washing dishes.

He had on rubber gloves that reached up to his elbows, and foam covered his face and hair.

She tried to look away when he splashed her with soapy water.

I could tell she wanted to chew him out, but the whole thing was too funny, and her smirk gave her away, and this only made Cameron want to splash more.

“Why are you smiling?” my brother asked from behind me.

He might as well have pinched me. I jumped and then turned my attention back to the pots and pans, scrubbing away and ignoring his question. He looked outside, just as I’d done seconds before.

“She’s changed a lot, hasn’t she?” he asked. There was something peculiar in his tone. “She was pretty when she was little, but now…”

His words bothered me. Don’t ask me why––they just did.

“It’s all surface, bro. A pretty package, nothing inside,” I responded, pushing hard on the scouring pad.

My brother leaned against the counter and waited for me to look at him.

“You can’t keep blaming her for what happened, Thiago,” he said. “It wasn’t her fault that…”

“It wasn’t, huh?” I turned off the water. I wasn’t going to stand for any positivity on that subject. “Whose fault was it, then?”

“You know perfectly well that––”

“If Kamila had kept her trap shut, our mother never––”

“You can’t blame her for that, dammit!”

He was making me angry.

“She swore to me she wouldn’t say anything,” I said. It was true. I remembered her looking me in the eyes and promising me that no matter what, she’d never repeat what we had seen. “I begged her not to, and she did anyway, and the consequences of that––”

“Whatever. It’s past time you got over it.

” He rarely talked to me so bluntly. “I don’t know why you’re obsessed with finding someone else to blame.

Looking outside our family. Dad’s the one who fucked it all up, Thiago!

Not our mother, not Kami, not her father, and not us, even if you keep asking what we could have done differently… ”

“I never––”

“You think I never heard you at night?” His words surprised me. “You think I didn’t hear you crying at night saying her name? The way you’d shout in your sleep about how if only it had been you or me who––”

“I never said that. You’re my brother, and I love you. I never…”

“I know you love me. But you loved her more.”

“You’re being an idiot.”

“No, I’m telling you what I think. What I believe. What I know.”

“Well, you’re wrong!” I shouted, wishing the conversation would end. “And we’re never talking about this subject again. Look through that window and you can see the home of the person whose fault this is, and nothing you or anyone else does is going to change my mind about that.”

I didn’t wait for him to respond before walking off, slamming the door, and shutting myself up in my room.

When I peeked out the window, I saw she had been watching us. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second; then she drew the curtain and hid behind it.

Had she heard us shouting?

I hoped so.

Maybe that would help her finally get it through her head.