“Did he?” She puts on her best fake disbelieving voice. “Well, that makes you even more special then, doesn’t it?”
She manages to get a quick hug before he wiggles out of her grasp and starts to chase Rex around the front of the house.
“Stay away from the road, buddy,” I call as I grab his suitcase and hand it to Nadine.
“Thank you.”
She waves me off. “Don’t need to thank me for watching my own grandson. We love having him here.”
And I know she does, but still, I’m thankful for the role she’s played in Christian’s life.
“The feeling is mutual,” I say as I watch my son run around carefree and happy. Kids are resilient. That’s what the doctor told me when I’d asked how being raised primarily by one parent would impact him.
Victor, Christian’s father, makes it down for a weekend about once a month to see him. As far as my son is concerned this is normal, he hasn’t gotten to the age where he compares his situation to others, but I know it’s coming. He’s in daycare and started preschool last fall and though he’s seen a diverse group of kids from all sorts of families, eventually my son is going to ask me the hard questions about his father.
Still, Nadine takes him every other weekend, even when Victor doesn’t come down, and she’s gone above and beyond what I could have imagined. The woman wasn’t my biggest fan when she found out that Victor knocked me up, but she’s never held that against her grandson.
“Congratulations on your play.” My gaze shoots up to hers in surprise. “I saw your mother at the grocery store. She’s very proud.”
“Thank you.”
She nods, and we stand there awkwardly.
“You want me to come get him on Sunday?” I offer.
“Nonsense. Bill and I will drive him back after Victor leaves, like we always do.” She huffs like my offering is the real imposition. "And besides, Christian likes to go to that pancake place in Valley so we'll take him for pancakes and then drop him off after. Unless you'd like to join?"
That pancake place is IHOP, but she refuses to call it by name, another Nadine quirk. I mull over her invite. I never know if the correct answer is yes or no. We have a decent relationship, but I don't want to intrude on her time. Christian races by me and I grab hold of him to hug him before I leave. "I think I'll leave the pancake party to you guys."
He bounces at my side. "Are we going to IHOP?"
Oops. I shoot her an apologetic look.
"Not until Sunday, but if you go inside, you'll find blueberry muffins waiting for you. Say goodbye to your mom first."
She takes a few steps toward the house to allow us to say our goodbyes.
“You be good for Grandma and Grandpa, okay?”
He nods once, but his eyes are already darting toward Rex. “Hey, look at me.” He does, albeit reluctantly. “I mean it. Listen to Grandma and promise me you’ll have lots of fun with Daddy when he gets here, okay? You can show him your new soccer skills.”
“What about you? You won’t have any fun without me around.”
My chest hurts at the idea he worries about me while he’s supposed to be having fun with his dad. “I promise to try if you do, deal?”
He smiles and bobs his head, and I step back. “I love you. See you on Sunday.”
“Bye,” he calls out as he runs toward the house. “Loooove you.”
I watch him disappear into the house before I get in the car, already missing him. I know the time he spends with his father and grandparents is good for him, but it makes for a long weekend for me.
The only silver lining? It’s Thursday, my favorite day of the week.
5
Katrina
I work at the campus café twice a week – Tuesdays and Thursdays. With my scholarships and some student loans to help cover the remaining of our living expenses, it’s enough money to cover the necessities without keeping me away from Christian at night. And honestly, I like the time to myself. Especially Thursdays.
At exactly ten fifty-three he walks through the door into University Hall. Every Thursday is the same and every Thursday I wait eagerly. His eyes find mine and a cocksure smile lifts the corners of his stunning mouth. His confident stride is long but unhurried.
I don’t allow myself to ogle his body because that would be giving in to the battle of wills we’ve been engaging in for months. But I know what I’d see if I did.
Black hair, light brown skin, a lean but muscular body that he covers in clothes that hug his body and look like they’ve been selected by a freaking stylist.
He’s always somehow totally put together and still manages to exude masculinity and panty melting prowess. It’s not fair for a guy to look so effortlessly handsome.
Joel Moreno. Valley basketball player – actually, scratch the first two words – he’s just an all-around player. And I can’t even blame him. If I were a guy and I looked like that, I’d be sleeping my way through coeds too.
What I wouldn’t give. I resist making that “mm-hmm” noise guys make when they see a girl that they think is super hot. That noise is exactly how I feel.
Look, I haven’t had sex in four years.
That’s right. Four years. Oh, and the last time I had sex, I got pregnant. Good times. That’ll make you trigger happy. And leave you with a present that scares off guys in their twenties forever after.
I give in and meet his gaze which I regret immediately because his grin grows impossibly wider and mocking. I don’t have to look around to know every eye in University Hall has turned in his direction. He’s a magnet.
I straighten behind the counter of the university café and busy my hands by retying the blue apron around my waist. My body overheats as he walks closer. Even if I were blind, I think his presence would fire every neuron in my brain and alert me to the danger. Because that’s exactly what this guy is – dangerous.
He doesn’t say a word as he steps up to the register and places a hand on the counter.
Looking at his chin, I say, “Hi, what can I get for you?”
“Ah, don’t be like that Kitty, you know how I like it.”
Always Kitty, never Katrina or even Kat. The nickname should rankle. It should, but it doesn’t. There’s something about the way he says it like he knows it’s ridiculous and he just wants to get a rise out of me.
When I don’t acknowledge his comment – and yes, I know exactly how he likes it – tall, cream, two sugars, and a side of tits and ass to go, he speaks his order, “Tall house roast with cream and two sugars.”
Wordlessly I grab a cup and fill it with coffee, leaving an inch for the creamer and sugar I add next. I know he’s staring at me as I complete the task and I know when I turn around it’ll be appreciation I see in his eyes. That look gets me through the week.
When I turn, his dark eyes lift slowly until he’s studying my face.
“Anything else?”
“How about dinner tonight, Kitty?”
Direct and to the point. Interesting approach. I’ve gotta give it to him he’s been far more persistent than I ever predicted. My heart thumps rapidly against my brain’s better judgment. My body sings, but I lift one shoulder noncommittally. “Sorry, not interested.”
We play this game every week. He hits on me and I turn him down. He thinks we’re playing the longest game of hard-to-get ever.
We’re not.
Or, I’m not anyway. I have no intention of being had. The pickup attempts, which I actually sort of love, will never be good enough. I mean if things were different, I probably would have pulled him over the register the first time we spoke. Being with Joel would be fun and crazy hot, I’m sure. But things aren’t different. I’m not the kind of girl that Joel Moreno dates, if he seriously dated at all. Casual seems to be all he’s interested in and my life is scheduled, routine, and doesn’t exactly lend itself to quickies in the stock room.
But for two minutes every Thursday, I get to pretend I’m just a regular college girl flirt
ing with the most popular guy on campus. And I’d be lying if I said I don’t also indulge in a little harmless daydreaming about what those quickies in stock rooms, bathrooms, alleyways (hey, they’re fantasy) might be like.
I’m not sure why he keeps coming back when I’ve given him no indication I’m going to change my mind, but I think at this point he just wants to prove he can have any woman he wants. He’s clearly not used to rejection.
He probably thinks I’m making this a challenge for sport’s sake, but if he really stepped back and thought about it, he’d realize that he doesn’t even really want me to say yes. Maybe he’s already figured that out. He never pushes – never asks me twice or calls me out on my lame excuses. Subconsciously, I think he looks forward to me shooting him down every week.
I’m quite possibly the last loosely hanging thread that holds his ego in check. The next time he’s banging some lucky girl he’s going to do so with a satisfaction that couldn’t be found if he didn’t have my weekly ‘no’ to ground him to the possibility of rejection. When you win all the time, the game isn’t fun. I’m the pesky loss each week that makes him work harder and appreciate the wins all that much more.
My legacy at Valley U may very well be the motivation that urged Joel Moreno to win over every other girl on campus. You’re welcome, ladies.
With a nod, he hands over his credit card for the coffee. I take my time, drawing out the process to delay his departure.
“See ya next week.”
As he walks away, I finally take him in – every gorgeous inch – and I let myself believe it’s all real. That he really did ask me out hoping I’d say yes and that he’s going to spend the next six days mulling over how to break me down. I want him to fantasize about me the same way I fantasize about him. That’s all he can ever be. All I can be to him. I’m okay with that. Fantasy is almost always better than reality and Joel Moreno is my perfect fantasy. Why mess with that?
After my morning shift at the café, I sprint across campus to Adams Theater. It’s the first day of rehearsals for the spring play. Every semester the screenwriting department teams up with the theater department to put on an original performance written and performed entirely by students for a Spring Showcase. This year is the first time a junior’s play has ever been selected. My original play, The Tragic Love Story of Hector and Imelda will be performed in just a few months and I’m so nervous I feel like I’m going to throw up any time I stand still long enough to think about it. Which is thankfully not often.
My advisor, Professor Morrison, the screenwriting department head, is standing just inside and greets me. “Katrina, I was just talking about you. Meet Brody Bradley.”
Brody Bradley. His tongue twister of a name works because he’s the kind of guy that couldn’t possibly have a normal name. Someday he’ll be on Broadway or starring in an Oscar-nominated movie and crowds will go wild for him.
“Nice to meet you.” I shift my backpack up higher on my shoulder and offer my hand.
“Brody here is going to be your Hector.”
My Hector.
Anxiety on high, I shiver when his big hand encloses mine and bright green eyes take me in. If I hadn’t seen him perform, I’d be worried. His personality is big and charming – loud. Nothing like Hector’s understated appeal. But I’ve seen Brody pull off crazier. Last semester he played the phantom in a re-telling of The Phantom of the Opera and brought me, and the rest of a sold-out show, to tears.
“I’ll leave you two to chat. Excuse me.” Professor Morrison places a hand at his waist in an almost bow-like gesture and steps away from us.
“So, you’re the screenwriter huh?”
“Aspiring. Yeah.”
“Not aspiring anymore. I’ve read the script, it’s good. I’m really excited about it.”
“You are?”
One side of his mouth lifts and he cocks his head to the side like he’s trying to figure me out. “Of course. Come on, let me introduce you to everyone else.”
The next hour is a whirlwind as Brody introduces me to the entire theater department. Faces I’ve admired and some others that work behind the scenes. I’m awe-stricken and totally inspired. And the smile on my face is large and genuine when I exchange numbers with Brody and Tabitha who is playing Imelda.
“A bunch of us usually go out Friday night after rehearsals,” Tabitha tosses out as we’re leaving. “You in?”
“Oh, I…” My voice trails off as I reach for an excuse and realize I have none. The few times I’ve been invited out to parties I’ve had to say no because of Christian. We don’t have family in Valley so that means no mom’s nights out unless there’s daycare provided. That’s not something you see listed on the campus bulletin board.
But there’s no Christian this weekend and Tabitha looks at me with such contagious excitement at the prospect of hanging out. I surprise myself by saying, “That sounds fun.”
And it does.
6
Katrina
I sit at the front of the stage with my notebook in my lap and the printed script in front of me. Brody and Tabitha are running through the opening scene where Hector and Imelda meet at the Día de los Muertos, or the Day of the Dead. It’s a nod to the movie Coco, where my inspiration emerged, but I also chose it because I knew how beautiful the stage could look lit up with fake candlelight as the backdrop to the start of an epic love story.
The stage crew is working on the creation of the large canvas that will eventually be painted and have lights strung through it and it’s already more beautiful than I ever could have imagined.
“It needs something.”
I glance over at Willa’s words to find her studying the stage intently, playing with her lip piercing. She continues, “I’m not getting the historical or the Mexico vibe.”
My stomach drops at her words, which were said kindly but don’t make me panic any less. She nudges me with her elbow. “Hey, it’s a great story and it’s going to be amazing. I’m sure the costumes and props will bring it all together.”
I sigh. “No, you’re right. It feels contemporary and American because that’s what I know.”
“What made you decide to write a historical play anyway?”
Bite the corner of my lip and wonder the same thing but don’t say it out loud. I can only shrug. Honestly it wasn’t intentional. I never dreamed it’d be so difficult to translate the culture and time of Mexico in the early 1900s. Apparently a lot was going on in Mexico, the whole world actually, that I failed to consider.
“What we need to do is research.” She claps her hands together. “Ooooh, let’s plan a trip to Cabo. We can get a tan and ask around about history and whatever.”
I smile at her wide-eyed excitement. Willa writes the most beautiful and insightful words, primarily poetry and short stories, but she talks like a nineties valley girl which makes me laugh. I adore her.
She’s also probably the closest thing I have to a college friend. We’re in all the same classes and are both part of a critique group that meets once a week to share our writing and bounce ideas off one another. Her enthusiasm and creativity make her a great critique and brainstorming partner, but I wonder how she’s able to put her thoughts on paper so poetically when she ends sentences with things like “and whatever.”
“I think I’m gonna have to solve this problem from Valley, but that’s not a bad idea. Maybe we can chat with the Spanish department and see if they have some recommendations. In the meantime, I need to work on the ending. I can’t figure out the last scene where Imelda receives the last letter from Hector a month after his death.”
I bring the end of my pen to my mouth as I try to visualize it. I want it to be perfect.
When rehearsal is over, Tabitha bounds down from the stage.
“Hey, Katrina, you still in for tonight?” Her gaze flits over to Willa. “Hi, I’m Tabitha.”
“Sorry. Tabitha this is Willa, she’s a screenwriting major too.”
“Well, you both
should come out tonight. I just need to swing by my place and change.”
Willa stands. “I’m out. I’ve gotta work tonight.”
“Katrina?”
“Oh, I…”
Willa nudges me. “Go. You have to go.”
She’s right, but I’m suddenly more nervous than I anticipated. “Okay, yeah, I’m in.”
Willa’s excitement is far greater than mine as we pack up and follow Tabitha out of the theater. She knows how seldom I go out and I’m sure Monday I’ll be under intense scrutiny to get every detail.
“Have fun. Get drunk, kiss boys or girls… just kiss someone.” She purses her dark purple lips and kisses the air.
“I really don’t think that’s going to happen.” I huff a nervous laugh, but the excitement of the unknown makes butterflies dance in my stomach.
“See you later.” Willa waves. “Nice to meet you, Tabitha.”
Tabitha returns the wave and then turns to me. “Why don’t you follow me to my place and we can pre-game and then catch a ride with Brody to the party. He takes longer to get ready than anyone I know so we should have plenty of time for a drink or two.”
This slightly embarrassing dirt on Brody somehow puts me at ease and a drink before walking into my first college party sounds great.
Tabitha’s apartment is just a few blocks from campus. It’s smaller than the place I rent for me and Christian, but I’m still jealous as I take in her cute décor – white couch, light pink throw pillows. The thought of a white couch anywhere near my son makes me cringe. And the toys and kid stuff that always seems to make its way to the living room no matter how many times I tell him to put it in his room doesn’t make for a very chic space.
“What do you want to drink? I’ve got wine, tequila, vodka, rum, a bunch of mixers.”
“Whatever you’re having is fine. I just need to make a phone call real quick.”
“You’re not bailing on me already, are you?”
I shake my head. “I have to call and check in on my son.”
The Fadeaway: A Smart Jocks Novel Page 3
