Absolutely Maybe

by Lisa Yee

  Oh God. I just want to get home and go to bed. I can’t believe Hollywood’s picked now to talk. I know what he’s going to say, and I’ve been dreading this conversation ever since he tried to kiss me last year. (We both pretended that nothing happened.) “That’s okay,” I tell him. “You don’t need to say anything.”

  “But I have to tell you, it’s been eating me up inside.”

  “Really,” I insist. God, he’s making my headache worse. “Please don’t say anything.”

  “But— “Hollywood, I know, okay.” I’ve always suspected he’s had a crush on me.

  “You know? How do you know?”

  “I just do.” No point in embarrassing the poor guy. Plus, I don’t need this right now.

  “I thought I was pretty good at keeping it a secret,” Hollywood stammers.

  “It was fairly obvious.”

  “Yeah . . . it’s not really something you can hide. Are you mad at me?”

  I soften. He is so sweet. If only he weren’t... so Hollywood.

  “How could I be mad about that? I’m a little uncomfortable,” I explain honestly. He’s wearing that stupid lopsided grin. “But I’m flattered, and I value our friendship.” I try to emphasize the word friendship. “And that’s what I want, okay. For us to remain friends. Hollywood, can you do that?”

  “Of course I can! I thought about not saying anything at all, but I’m glad I did. I mean, you’d eventually find out, right? I can’t hide this from you forever.”

  Hollywood leans over to give me a kiss. I push him away.

  “Whoa, back off, boy. Friends. Friends only, okay?”

  He smiles sheepishly, then shakes my hand. I hope I haven’t hurt him too much.

  “Friends,” he says. He almost looks relieved. “Hollywood,” I say softly. “Are you going to be all right?” “I’m more than all right, Maybe. I’m thrilled that we had this talk and that you don’t hate me.” He’s so sweet. How could you hate someone for liking you?

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  The lunch rush is over. I am stirring the refried beans as Jess counts how many tortillas are left. Her mother makes them daily by hand. Suddenly, Jess looks up and her eyes grow big. “Look at that!”

  We get the occasional fancy sports car, but a Rolls-Royce is a Benito’s first. “Those are my friends,” I boast.

  From a distance they look like an odd duo—too-tall Hollywood and tiny Ted. He’s wearing his fedora, which makes him look more ridiculous than normal.

  “So this is the famous Benito’s Taco Truck #4,” Ted booms as he approaches.

  “What should we get?” asks Hollywood as he takes out his camera. “What’s al pastor? Is it religious?”

  “Hey guys,” I say. “This is Jess, my boss.”

  She blushes and says, “I’m Maybe’s friend.”

  “Jess, as in Jesse James?” Hollywood quips. It’s a totally lame joke, but Jess laughs. I’m glad she’s being nice to him. He’s probably still devastated from last night.

  “We’re her friends too,” Ted announces. “I’m Ted, that’s Holly— “Hi, I’m Daniel,” Hollywood says, reaching out to shake Jess’s hand.

  “This is on me, guys,” I tell them. “Have a seat.”

  As Jess and I head into the truck, she whispers, “He’s cute.”

  “Ted?”

  “No, Daniel.”

  Hollywood cute? I take a second look. His acne seems to have cleared up and he’s gotten some color, so he doesn’t look quite as pasty as he used to.

  Jess and I carry out an assortment of tacos. When Hollywood offers Jess his chair, Ted looks shocked. “When did you get manners?” he asks.

  Hollywood ignores him. Instead, he fetches another chair and sits down next to Jess, leaving me standing. Ted eyes Jess as he digs into the tacos. “Wow, you’re pretty and a good cook?” he crows with his mouth full. “I think I’m in love.”

  “This is the best taco I’ve ever tasted,” Hollywood tells her.

  Ted moves his chair between the two of them. “I can eat a lot,” he informs Jess. “I think I’m going through a growth spurt.”

  The guys crowd around Jess. Anytime Hollywood starts to ask her something, Ted interrupts with his own lame question. I get up to get a soda.

  “Hey waitress, get me another one, will you?” Ted calls out.

  “Can I fetch anyone else anything?” I ask sarcastically.

  They all call out their drink orders. Hollywood asks for more guacamole and then immediately turns his attention back to Jess. He certainly seems to have gotten over me fast.

  When I’m in the truck, Jess rushes in all flushed. “Maybe, your friends are great, and good eaters too. I’m going to make some more tacos.”

  “They’re okay,” I say nonchalantly. “Holl—Daniel used to have really bad acne.”

  “Oh,” Jess says, as the onions sizzle. “Well, you can’t tell. It’s gone now. And his hair. I’ve never seen hair like that. Don’t you just want to pat him on the head?”

  Nooooo, I want to punch him in the head sometimes. “You don’t think his hair is weird?”

  Jess laughs and gives me a sly look. “I like people with weird hair, Maybe.”

  As she grabs some extra napkins, Jess keeps chattering about Hollywood. It starts to bug me until I realize I should be happy that my friends are getting along. I try to chill out.

  “Hey, I’ll bet Ted will give you a ride in the Rolls if you ask him.”

  Jess’s face lights up. “Really?”

  “Sure!” I say a little too enthusiastically.

  “Oh, wait.” Jess shakes her head. “I can’t leave the taco truck. If anything happens, Uncle Benny will kill me.”

  “I’ll stay with the truck.”

  “Would you? Oh Maybe, you’re the best!”

  After Ted polishes off the rest of the tacos, there’s a mad scramble to see who will open the car door for Jess. I’m kind of hoping Hollywood will offer to stay with me, but I’m left alone. As I wipe down the inside of the truck, I spot something on the floor near the driver’s seat.

  Dear Ms. Jessica Consuelo Guadalupe Morales Lopez, After careful review of your application and references, we are happy to offer you admission to Princeton University. . .

  It’s dated several months ago. I slip it back in the envelope and put it on the dashboard just as the white Rolls-Royce pulls up next to the taco truck. Everyone inside is laughing as Jess gets out. “Thanks for the ride!”

  There is a chorus of “Our pleasure,” and “We should do this again,” and “See you later, Jessica.”

  “Okay, Maybe,” Ted shouts, “your turn. I’ll drive you home.”

  Jess whispers to me, “Maybe, you are so lucky to have friends like that.”

  I smile weakly. “I guess I am.”

  As I get in the Rolls, Hollywood gets out. He shrugs. “Ted says he needs to talk to you alone first. I’ll just wait with Jessica, I guess.”

  Is Ted trying to play matchmaker now?

  I get into the front seat. Ted takes something out of his brief-case. “Thought you might want to see this. Check out page thirty-seven.”

  I gasp. There it is. My ticket to finding my biological father. I stare at the ad that Hollywood helped me write and that Ted placed in Variety for me. There’s the picture of Gunnar, with Chessy cropped out, and below it reads:

  Desperately seeking gunner! Taken in tearida, November 1992 Gunnar, please call (407) 555-7132 ar e-mail 911maybe@gmail.com My heart races. This has got to work. If it doesn’t, I may as well give up.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Jess is humming as she chops onions. I’m on the grill today. We work like a team that’s been together for years. I can do everything she does, though not quite as well. Still, I’ve gotten good enough that when it’s not too busy, Jess goes for a walk on the beach and leaves me alone to run Benito’s Taco Truck #4. I’ve learned to banter with the men, laugh at the funny jokes, and shoot down the stray ones that are stupid or sexist or both
.

  “Are you okay?” Jess asks when she returns.

  “Why do you ask?”

  Jess shakes her head. “No reason, just wanting to make sure. You seem distant.”

  “It’s been three days and he hasn’t called.”

  “Who?”

  “My father.”

  “Three days isn’t a long time. Maybe he hasn’t seen the ad yet.”

  “Variety ‘s a daily publication. So if he hasn’t read it by now, he probably won’t.”

  I don’t want to talk about my search. Sometimes I’m sorry that I even mentioned him to Jess. She always wants to talk about what’s going on and it’s humiliating to never have any news. “What’s up with you?”

  “Well,” Jess says, as she throws the onions into a plastic container. A shy smile crosses her face. “I have a date.”

  “You do? With who? Tell me!”

  “Daniel.”

  I drop a tortilla on the floor. “My Daniel?”

  “Is that a problem? I thought you guys were just friends.”

  “It’s fine,” I laugh, trying to sound lighthearted. “We are just friends. I mean, come on! Me and Daniel, that’s funny.” When did he call her? They just met. “Hey, it’s great you guys are going out. He’s great! Why should it be any of my business who either of you goes out with? You two will have a lot of fun!”

  All the way home, I can’t stop thinking about Jess and Hollywood dating.

  Sammy and Willow are snacking on sushi when I get home. Vilma was here today so the house looks great and smells like lemons. Candles illuminate the table even though it’s still afternoon. Willow is wearing a red kimono. I don’t ask why.

  “We got you a California roll,” Sammy says. California rolls are my favorite. I love the avocado in them.

  “Uh, no thanks, I’m not hungry.”

  As I head to my room I hear Willow say, “She’s so strange.”

  Hollywood and Jess? Well, why not? He’s free to go out with anyone he wants. And I did tell him that I just wanted to be friends.

  Twig is still wearing the kimono when I surface at 9:30 p.m. in search of food. Sammy is already sleeping. It used to bug Chessy that he went to bed so early, and I can tell it bothers Twig too. I think she’d prefer going to clubs and parties than hanging around the house.

  As Twig sashays around the living room she tilts her head to one side and says, “I like it!”

  “You like what?” I grumble.

  “Black beer soda. I got a part in a Japanese television commercial! Blondes are very popular in Japan.”

  She slumps across the room.

  “I like it! “I like it!”

  I retreat to my room and pick up the phone. Its me.

  “He hasn’t called,” Ted reports. I can hear him eating potato chips.

  “He hasn’t e-mailed me, either. But that’s not why I’m calling. I have gossip.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “Hollywood’s going out with Jess.”

  “No way! Hollywood and Jess?”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  Ted releases a deep sigh. “Well, there goes a good one.”

  Just as I hang up the phone, Twig knocks on the door. “Maybe, is this a good time to talk?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, good.” She pushes the stuffed animals onto the floor and sits in the rocking chair. I consider kicking her out of my room, then remember that Twig has been semi-nice to me lately. “It’s Sammy,” she says.

  “What about him?”

  “I don’t know where we’re at. He doesn’t say much and when I try to talk about us, he shuts down.” “That’s just the way he is,” I explain. “He’s not a big talker.” “Well, I know he used to be married to your mom once . . .”

  “Twice.”

  “Twice?”

  I nod. This information leaves Twig momentarily speechless. Finally she says, “Okay, so then commitment is clearly not an issue with him. Maybe, why do you think he can’t commit to me? He hasn’t even, he hasn’t said, he won’t. . . never mind.”

  “He won’t what?”

  “I don’t even know how he feels about me. Sometimes I think he just let me move in with him because he was lonely. He once told me that I reminded him of someone.”

  Duh. Had Twig not noticed the photos of Chessy that used to weigh down the walls? Could she not see the resemblance?

  “I think I might lose the beer commercial,” Twig sighs. She picks a plush poodle up off the floor and hugs it. “I really want this job to prove to Sammy that I’m worthy. But my agent says that I slouch, and if I slouch during the shoot, I’ll be replaced.”

  I look up at her. She’s on the verge of tears. “Willow, she’s right,” I say gently. “You do slouch.”

  “Well, your hair looks like hell,” she yells, throwing the poodle in my face. “So don’t go around thinking you’re better than me. You’re just a loser with bad hair!”

  As I pick up the poodle, I think about Twig. She’s not that bad. Not like the Fantastic Five. She’s even tried to help me.

  “Willow?” I call out as I walk through the house looking for her. “Willow?”

  Twig is sitting on the front porch puffing on a cigarette. Some people look cool when they smoke. Twig looks stupid. “I don’t slouch!” she insists. She tosses her cigarette onto the ground and stubs it out with the pointy toe of her shoes.

  “Yes, you do,” I tell her as she follows me into the house. “You walk like an old lady.” I know I’m going to regret what I am about to say, but can’t stop myself. “Willow, I can teach you how to stop slouching.”

  “You can? How?” Twig grabs my arm. “Oh please, please, please, Maybe,” she begs, “help me!”

  It’s as if a lifetime of CC’s Charm School training is coming back to me. I take a book off the shelf and put it on top of Twig’s head.

  “Walk,” I command.

  The book slips and hits the floor with a thud.

  “Again, but this time throw your shoulders back, like this. And hold your head up high,” I say. Then I add, channeling Chessy, “Pretend you have a neck brace on. ‘Cause if you don’t do this right, you’ll be wearing one when I strangle you.”

  Fear flashes in Twig’s eyes.

  “Kidding,” I tell her. “Willow, chill out, I’m only kidding!”

  For the next few hours, I yell at Twig and she does what she’s told. It is almost fun. Finally, when she’s able to saunter across the room with a plate on her head and an egg on the plate, I know I have really accomplished something. Who knew telling someone to stand up straight could be so rewarding?

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  He is soooo sweet.”

  All Jess can talk about is Hollywood. I’m doing everything in my power not to puke. It would be bad for business. “He’s kind of a dork, if you must know,” I tell her as I pass an al pastor burrito, extra rice, extra cheese, no onions, over the counter.

  “Where’s the extra side of salsa?” the customer asks. I hand him a small plastic container, and he stares at me until I give him two more.

  I turn back to Jess, who’s now dicing more tomatoes. “I mean, Daniel’s really nice and everything, but he’s always got that awful Super 8 camera. It’s kind of weird, don’t you think?”

  “What’s carnitas?” the next customer asks. “What’s the difference between that and al pastor?” We get this all the time. Dutifully, I recite the different kinds of tacos twice. He decides on beef taquitos.

  “Daniel didn’t bring the camera on our date,” Jess says, picking up our conversation as I make change for a twenty.

  “He didn’t?” That’s weird. I’ve never seen Hollywood without his camera. “So, uh, what did you guys talk about?”

  Jess’s eyes get all misty. I check to see if it’s the onions, but they’re nowhere near her. “Everything. It’s so easy to talk to Danny. We talked about college, and our goals and dreams . . .”

  Danny?

  “Thre
e polio tacos,” someone yells. “Hold the salsa, I’m allergic to tomatoes!”

  Hollywood used to talk about his dreams with me. Not that I care. I don’t have a monopoly on dreams. But he wouldn’t have gotten into USC if I hadn’t kept pressuring him to apply.

  “Are you guys going out again?” I toss some marinated chicken on the grill and sprinkle it with salt and cayenne pepper. I feel a headache coming on. I must be dehydrated.

  Jess nods. “Danny says we should all go out together. You know, him and me, and you and Ted.”

  “Wouldn’t that cramp your date?”

  “He didn’t even kiss me good night,” Jess confides. “Not yet, anyway.”

  I take a swig of soda. My headache seems to be going away.

  After cleaning up around the taco truck, I hurry home. I’ve promised to help Willow with her posture again. She’s waiting for me outside the house. “Look!” she says without even bothering to say hello. “I think I’ve got it!” I follow Willow into the house as she sashays like a model on the catwalk. No trace of slouching here. After more posture drills, I am confident that she’s going to do all right. We both collapse onto the couch, laughing and congratulating ourselves. Sammy walks in and doesn’t even try to hide the look of surprise on his face.

  “Maybe was just helping me with my beer commercial,” Willow explains gleefully.

  “She’s going to be great,” I tell him.

  “Oh, okay,” Sammy says, still clearly stunned. “May I take you two out to dinner?”

  “I’ll grab my purse,” Willow says. “Can we eat Japanese?”

  Sammy turns to me. Even though he’s always offered, I’ve never gone out with him and Willow before.

  “I’ll get my jacket.”

  At Tsujimoto’s Sushi, Willow peels off the tempura batter and nibbles on a string bean.

  “Just take a couple of bites,” Sammy urges, holding out a shrimp with his chopsticks. “Look at Maybe, see how much she’s eating.”

  That was probably the worst thing he could say. I know Willow thinks I eat too much.

  “I’m not hungry,” she whines.

  “You’re never hungry,” Sammy groans. “Listen, you’re beautiful, but if you don’t gain some weight, you’re going to get sick, and then your career will be over before it gets started.”