by Julie Murphy
“Ruth, you gotta quit with this stuff.” I shove the stack back across the table.
But she pushes it back. “There’s no reason you should be stuck here forever. I know you’re over this place. It’s so obvious.”
“No reason? Are you serious?” I ask, trying not to raise my voice. “I have plenty of reasons. I have no money, no car, a knocked-up sister, mediocre grades . . . I can keep going,” I tell her.
“Those aren’t reasons,” she says. “They’re excuses.” She takes her plate and walks it back to the kitchen, leaving the stack of brochures and catalogs there.
I wait until she’s out of sight before thumbing through the stack. I spy Delgado Community College and flip through the pamphlet before putting all of them in my backpack.
TWENTY-SEVEN
We were never good about splitting up our time equally between Mom and Dad like the court had mandated, but Christmas Eve has always been Mom’s. Meaning it was the final hurdle to jump before I could relax and enjoy my winter vacation from school.
This year Christmas Eve falls on one of Mom’s workdays, so me, Hattie, Tyler, and Freddie all make the drive down the coast to the row of casinos, where the lights never stop twinkling.
There’s something beautiful about the casinos from the outside, but when we walk inside we’re hit with that familiar haze of smoke that, for me, will always smell like Christmas Eve. Once you’re inside, there’s something so disorienting about the lack of windows, which makes you forget whether it’s day or night.
Mom is waiting for us at the entrance to the buffet. She wears her uniform of black cigarette pants, a white tuxedo shirt, and a black vest with a red-and-green-plaid bow tie for the holidays. Her hair is done up in a high ponytail that makes her look too young, and dangling from her ears are Christmas tree earrings made of little pom-poms. She waves us over, past the security guard.
Mom goes for Hattie’s belly first, petting and cooing at it. “Baby,” she says. “Look at you and that tummy. You look almost as big as I was when I was full term with you.”
Hattie sighs. “Merry Christmas, Mama.”
“And this must be the proud papa!” says my mom as she makes her way to Tyler. “You ready to have your life flipped on its ear?”
Tyler, who has so perfectly crafted the I-don’t-give-a-shit face, is as white as a sheet. “Uh, yes, ma’am.”
There’s not a lot I admire about my mother, but her newfound ability to turn Tyler into a nervous little boy might be her most redeeming quality.
And then there’s me. “Hi, Mom.”
She takes my hand and then takes the hand of an unsuspecting Freddie. “And who is this?”
“Freddie Floaties,” Hattie pipes up.
My mom squints. “Well, I haven’t seen you since you were a little tyke hiding behind your grandmama’s legs.”
“It’s nice to see you again, Ms. Leroux.”
My mom winks at him. “Let’s get some grub.”
Mom loves when we visit her at the casino. This is her in her natural element—in a place where she is more than the woman who lives in a one-room apartment and got pregnant too young and left her family when they needed her the most. And even better, we brought more people for her to show off her kingdom to.
She leads us to a U-shaped booth at the buffet before we all split up to fill our plates.
Freddie stays close to me, and we both opt for fried chicken and mac and cheese. Tyler piles his plate high with crab legs, and Hattie goes for the mashed potato bar and shrimp cocktail. Mom waits in line at the carving station for ham and all the traditional fixings.
We reconvene in our giant booth, where Tyler has started in on his plate before anyone else could even sit down. I’m not saying there’s a good way to eat crab legs, but I am saying there is a bad way, and Tyler seems to have mastered it. He cracks and slurps and cracks and slurps and cracks and slurps, and it is turning into the most annoying song I’ll never be able to get out of my head.
“So have y’all thought about what’s happening once the baby comes this spring?”
Tyler freezes mid-chew with a fresh crab leg in his hand.
Hattie reaches under the table for his hand. “Yep, we’ve been making a few plans, right, babe?”
Tyler nods and swallows. “Sure.”
“Have you really?” I ask. Foot in mouth. I can taste it.
Hattie narrows her eyes at me. “As a matter of fact, we have.”
“So where’s the baby going?” asks my mom. “Y’all know your dad’s trailer is only so big. It’s not some clown car that you can keep squeezing more people into.”
Well, she has a point there.
Freddie clears his throat, and I try to tell him sorry with a side-eye glance.
“Not that it’s any of y’all’s business,” Hattie says as she dunks a shrimp in cocktail sauce. “But the baby is going wherever it is that we’re going.”
“And where is that?” I ask. I should really shut up. But the frustration I’ve felt since the moment Tyler moved into our house has begun to boil, and there’s no going back now.
Beneath the table, Freddie touches my thigh, and I pull away in annoyance at his attempt to reel me in.
“We don’t have to have it all figured out right now,” Hattie bites back.
Tyler is quiet. And so is everyone else. Even my mom. None of them see what I see. They can’t possibly understand that at the end of the day, it’s me and Hattie. Just the two of us. I would jump into the Grand Canyon for my sister, but there’s something unfair about the fact that by being born her sister, my destiny is predetermined. I will always be a few steps behind her, picking up the pieces and putting them back together again, waiting for my own life to start.
“This baby is coming whether you’re ready or not,” I say. “And he hasn’t done jack shit since he moved in except beat the highest score on his lame video game.”
Tyler takes the napkin out of his lap and throws it on the table. I can see his ego swelling. “I don’t know where you get off disrespecting me and the mother of my child—”
“The mother of your child? She was my sister long before she was the mother of your child, and—”
“Okay, okay,” Mom says, trying to settle us down. “Everyone, chill out for a minute.”
We eat in silence until Mom turns her attention toward Freddie and me. “You’ve never brought a friend to Christmas dinner before,” she says. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“That’s because they’re not friends,” Hattie blurts.
Well, I guess I deserved that.
An elated squeal comes out of my mom. “Ramona, do you have a boyfriend?”
Freddie looks to me, waiting for my answer.
There is a battle inside of me between my feelings for Freddie and my indignation toward my mother. The idea of hurting Freddie makes me sick. I know what it’s like to be hidden. But I cannot stomach the thought of my mother thinking some boy just came along and turned me straight.
“We . . . are good friends.”
I try to explain myself to him with my eyes, but he looks away and studies his plate.
I wait for Hattie to call me out, but she doesn’t. She’s a good sister. I’m not.
Merry Christmas to me.
We take the coastal highway back to Eulogy, and Tyler drives to Freddie’s house first to drop him off.
When we pull into the driveway, I get out as soon as Freddie does. “Give me a minute,” I tell Tyler and Hattie as I slam the door behind me.
“Freddie,” I say. “Freddie, wait. Hear me out.”
He turns around but says nothing. His shoulders rise up and down, and the veins in his neck bulge with irritation.
I hold my hands out in caution. “You’re not a secret,” I say. But this all seems so familiar, except that it’s not me on the receiving end this time. “We are not a secret. But coming out to my mom was the hardest thing I have ever done. Every time I see her it’s almost like I’m having
to come out all over again, because she just won’t get it through her head that this is more than a phase.”
“So I guess I’m the phase then?” He takes a step toward me and into the stream of light radiating from inside his house. And now I can see all the pain and all the hurt right there written into his freckles. “This is just a phase.”
Carefully, I place a hand on each of his biceps. “Nothing about this is a phase.” I don’t know how true it is, but my feelings for him are too intense to be so temporary. “For my mom, the world is black and white. If she knows I’m . . . dating a boy, she’ll think I’m ‘cured.’ And that you’re to thank.” I shake my head. “But there’s nothing wrong with me.”
“Does it matter what your mom thinks?”
I shake my head. “Of course not.” But she’s still my mom. My horrible mom.
I see the confusion on his face. “So does this mean you’re bisexual?”
I wish I could just say yes. I wish I could put myself in that box for my sake and his, but I don’t know. For a moment, I think of Grace and how I so desperately wanted answers from her. To know who she was so that I could know what that made us. I feel a brief twinge of guilt, because now I think I might better understand how Grace felt all those months ago.
I don’t know if I’ll ever want to be with another boy again. But what I’m not confused about is this: I want to be with Freddie, and that is the only thing I know in this moment. So I tell him, “I don’t know. I haven’t decided what this means except that I like you. I like kissing you and holding your hand and being with you, but I don’t know that means yet. And that is all I can give you right now.”
The tension in his jaw eases slightly. “Okay,” he says. “That’s okay. But you should know that this isn’t some casual thing for me. I feel . . . very strongly about you. About us. Viv had me on the back burner for a long time.” He takes a deep breath. “I can’t do that again. Especially not with you.”
His words weigh heavy on me. I’ve seen Freddie have his heart broken. If it happens again, I don’t want it to be my fault.
Behind us, Tyler honks the horn.
I shoot my arm into the air, my middle finger raised. It’s not like I can make things any worse at this point.
Freddie reaches deep into his pocket and hands me a paper lunch bag that’s been flattened and folded several times with a blue ribbon tied around it. “Open it at home,” he tells me, and gives me a quick kiss on the lips. “Merry Christmas, Ramona Blue.”
“Merry Christmas, Freddie Floaties.”
The whole way home I sit with his present in my lap.
In the front seat, Tyler and Hattie bicker back and forth, but tonight I am tuning them out.
At home, Tyler and Hattie both go to Hattie’s room, which is a surprise, but I guess right now Tyler is in better graces with my sister than I am.
I untie the electric-blue ribbon and lay it flat on my bed to put in my chocolate box. Inside the brown bag is a leather cord bracelet with a light-blue evil eye in the middle. Attached to the cord is a tag from Hex, the store we visited in New Orleans. The tag reads LIGHT-BLUE EVIL EYE. Meaning: communication and willpower.
I slip it onto my wrist and hold my hand to my chest. I didn’t get Freddie anything. We don’t really do Christmas presents at home, so it didn’t occur to me. Getting him a present now would be too obvious.
But I’m going to make it up to him. I will make it up to him when he least expects it.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Saul swings his door open and shouts, “Happy New Year!”
“Could you ask them to leave their shoes outside the door?” asks a voice from inside his apartment.
Saul rolls his eyes, but can’t stop himself from grinning. “You heard him.” He’s trimmed his facial hair and has traded his porn-star chic uniform of cutoff jorts and a tank top for fitted charcoal pants and a soft blue button-down shirt. He almost looks . . . like an adult. A hot adult with a job that doesn’t involve a margarita machine.
Freddie, Hattie, Tyler, Adam, and I all kick our shoes off and leave them on the mat to the side of the door, where Ruth’s sneakers already sit. As we file inside, Saul hands us New Year’s hats—feathered headbands for Hattie and me and plastic top hats for Freddie, Adam, and Tyler.
Saul reaches into the kitchen and yanks a short Latino boy with caramel eyes and a buzz cut away from the sink by his wrist. “Y’all, this is Reggie.”
Reggie nods at us once. “Rogelio, but I go by Reggie.” He has a faint accent and rolls his R when he says Rogelio. He shakes each of our hands. His fingers are callused like my dad’s, and he wears khaki pants and a black polo shirt. The two of them standing together look like a pair of gay dads.
“Reggie,” Saul says, “this is . . . y’all. Though I’ve never met you.” He points a finger in Adam’s direction.
Ruth steps out from the hallway with a feathered headband gathered in her fist. “Saul, this is Adam. The guy I was telling you about with the two moms. Be nice. Adam, this is my brother. If he makes you uncomfortable, he’s doing it on purpose.”
Saul winks at Adam.
“The guy with the two moms?” Adam asks. “Is that all I am to you now? No wonder I didn’t tell you sooner.”
Ruthie rolls her eyes but laughs, and I think I can feel a bond forming between them.
“I’ve heard a lot about each of you,” says Reggie.
Saul laughs. “And none of it was good.”
Hattie shoves him.
Reggie and Saul are the perfects hosts. They’ve set out plates of finger foods and cookies with little paper appetizer plates that say Happy New Year in gold. It’s almost easy to ignore Ruth scowling in the corner.
Saul has everyone gathered around their brand-new TV as he links it to the internet and shows videos of one of his former classmates, who has not so secretly posted videos of himself doing covers of pop songs.
“Isn’t this the guy who tried out for America’s Next Superstar?” asks Adam.
“Oh yeah,” says Ruth. “They put him through to Hollywood.”
“As a joke,” Saul adds. “I would honestly feel bad if the guy weren’t such a jerk.”
Ruth clicks her tongue. “No, you wouldn’t.”
“Okay, you’re right.”
“We should do shots every time he touches his ear like he’s got one of those earpieces in it,” says Adam.
“I’m out,” says Ruth, plopping down on the couch.
Saul yanks a bottle of whiskey off the bar. “Oh, it’s on.”
While they pour themselves shots, I peruse the snack table with a beer dangling between my fingers.
“The legendary Ramona Blue.”
I turn to find Reggie. “Can’t say I don’t live up to the name,” I say, stroking my tousled locks.
Reggie leans up against the counter behind him and spreads his arms out on either side to brace himself.
I take a swig of beer. I’ve been sipping it for too long now; it’s warm and flat. “We were all a little nervous about you,” I admit.
Reggie looks up to me. His eyes have a shine to them that makes it hard to look away. It’s easy to understand what Saul sees. “I like that.”
“How so?” I ask.
“I love Saul.” He says it so simply. “And y’all do, too. If you’re suspicious of me, it’s probably because you’re protective of him. I’m in favor of anyone who’s in favor of his best interest.”
“I’ll buy that.”
He points to Ruth, sitting on the arm of the couch with her arms crossed. “Now, she flat-out doesn’t like me.”
I twist my lips together as I search for the right words. “I wouldn’t say that. Ruthie doesn’t like change.”
Reggie says nothing but nods along.
“You gotta understand,” I tell Reggie. “Saul challenges Ruth in a way that only he can get away with. He makes her braver and funnier. The two of them in that house together were like two pillars holding each other up. She keep
s him accountable. She’s the reason he puts gas in his tank and pays his car insurance instead of investing in something ridiculous like a Dolly Parton pinball machine.” I sigh. It’s hard not to think of Hattie. “She’s not sure how to exist without him.” I’m not sure I’m even talking about Saul and Ruth anymore.
“She resents me then.”
I half smile. “You took her sunshine. Can you blame her?”
His shoulders slope.
I hear Freddie’s deep laugh behind us. “Don’t worry,” I tell him. “She’ll find her own soon enough.”
I watch Ruth for a moment as she tries not to laugh at some story Adam is telling her. For so long I believed I was the only person who truly knew what it felt like to be left. But maybe it’s not just standing still that gets you left behind. You can be going places and still find yourself abandoned in some way.
The rest of the night is spent playing games and telling horrible jokes. Freddie and I don’t even hang out much, but I can feel my body rotating around him like we’re two magnets. Saul is the DJ and plays all his favorite obnoxious dance music.
I can taste the excitement in the air as we draw closer to midnight, despite Hattie dozing off on the couch. With a minute to go, Saul runs around making sure we each have noisemakers.
We all turn to the TV for the last of the countdown. “Five!” we shout as the Times Square ball on the television begins to drop.
“Two hundred and nine!” shouts Adam with a near-empty bottle of whiskey in his fist.
Freddie pelts him in the head with a throw pillow, but he doesn’t relent.
“Two hundred and ten!”
The rest of us shout over him to finish the countdown. “Four, three, two, one!”
“Happy New Year!” I yell, and blow into my noisemaker.
Tyler pulls Hattie in for a kiss, and Saul gives Ruth a kiss on the cheek before Reggie twirls him away and dips him, planting a kiss right on the lips. Adam looks to Ruth and the two high-five.
I turn to Freddie and I can’t help but see Christmas Eve play out all over again, when I told my mom we were just friends. Running my fingers over my wrist, I fiddle with the evil-eye bracelet he gave me.
