What You Left Behind (17 page)

I exhale. “Thanks.” I hang up and call Mom. She doesn't answer the house phone. Her music in her office is probably too loud. I try her cell. Four rings and then voice mail. I redial. Same.
Fuck
.

Five minutes and countless calls later, I still have no idea where my mother is.

The guys are all leaving the locker room and on their way to the field.

“You coming, Brooks?” Andrew, one of our fullbacks, asks, filling his water bottle at the fountain and screwing the lid back on.

“Yeah. In a minute,” I say. He gives me a wary look but shrugs and leaves.

I rest my forehead against the cool metal of the lockers and try to think. Hope can't stay there until I'm done with practice. If I don't get her before three, I'll be charged extra. And I don't have anything extra to give.

I have no choice. I have to go.

I shoot Alan a quick text that I'll meet him at the day care, grab my keys, and start to run, still in my cleats and shin guards. When I get to my car, the clock on the dashboard says two fifteen p.m. Practice is starting now. And I'm on my way out of the parking lot. Coach is gonna have my ass.

Alan's waiting outside the day care building, leaning against a brick column with a sign that says
No
loitering
.

“Why are you out here?” I ask.

“They made me leave. Said people without kids aren't allowed in there. I think they thought I was some sort of creeper or something.”

I sigh. “Be right back.”

There's a line at the metal detectors, and the security people don't seem to be in any rush, chatting with each person who comes through. My heart is pounding, every second feeling like an hour. Finally I cut to the front of the line and say, “Sorry, I'm in a rush. I have to pick up my kid.”

The middle-aged woman at the front of the line with '80s hair—you know, the kind with the bangs that are hair sprayed to look like they're flying in every possible direction—stares at me, appalled. She takes in my soccer gear and my long hair and my sweaty face and looks like she's trying to decide if she feels bad for me, “poor teenage dad, what a shame,” or if she wants to tell me to go to the end of the line and wait my turn like everyone else, that it's not
her
problem I have a baby at seventeen.

“She's sick,” I add. “Really sick.” I toss my keys in the bin and go through the metal detector before anyone can stop me.

I sprint down the halls, sliding a little in my cleats, and finally reach the day care.

“Ryden Brooks, Hope's dad,” I call out to Sonya as I bypass the front desk and head directly to the baby area. Hope's in a crib, crying. No one's paying attention to her. The two teachers are busy changing and feeding other babies. Goddammit. I lift my baby from her crib, hold her securely to my chest, grab her bag, and leave without saying anything to the teachers. No time.

I only stop to fill out the form that says Alan can pick up Hope from now on, and then I'm on my way again, though I have to take it a little slower on my way out of the building—can't go sliding in my cleats with a baby in my arms. I retrieve my keys from where I left them at the security station and meet Alan outside.

“She's crying,” Alan says.

“No shit, man.”

“Does she need to be changed?”

“Probably.” I hold Hope toward him. “Do you mind taking care of it? I really need to get back to practice.”

Alan's mouth presses into a hard line for about a second, but he looks at Hope and starts making those idiotic smiley faces people do at babies and takes her into his arms. “No problem. See you after practice.”

By the time I make it to the soccer field, it's close to three o'clock. I'm forty-fucking-five minutes late. Again.

This time no one even looks at me when I arrive. That's worse than them all staring, because it means they're getting used to me being unreliable.
I'm so not that guy
, I want to shout at them. I'm the guy who puts in extra time at practice, who gets there early and stays late. I'm the guy who runs five miles on Saturday morning even when we don't have practice. I'm the guy who's pulled a W in every single game played for the past two years, the guy with the lowest goals allowed average Downey High School has ever seen, the guy who's ranked in the top five high school goalies in the country, for Christ's sake. I'm the guy who's going pro.

Coach calls me over to the sidelines. His voice is pretty level, considering, but I already know this is going to be bad.

“I'm so sorry, Coach,” I begin. “I had an emergency. It won't happen again.”

“I've heard that before, Ryden.”

Ryden? He never calls me Ryden. He always calls me Brooks.

“I mean it this time. There was a problem at the day care—”

Coach O'Toole nods, still watching the drills out on the field. “I have kids too, Ryden. Four of them. And their mother and I are divorced. I know what it's like. There're times when they're with me that I just don't know how to handle them. Someone's always sick or getting her period or needs to be picked up from somewhere or needs help with some science project or decides she's a vegan and won't eat anything I've made for dinner. I know, Ryden. I get it.”

Why the hell is he telling me all of this?

“Lots of people get it. Anyone with kids gets it. Being a parent is the hardest thing in the world.” He claps a hand on my shoulder and finally turns to looks at me. “But the world is full of single parents, and we all have jobs to do, apart from being parents. And my job is to get this team another state championship and keep producing players who go on to play D-One. And your job is to be part of the team and do what's expected of you, what's expected of everyone here. And if you can't do that, I understand…but then you're off the team. I can't hold you to a different set of rules than everyone else.”

My heart stops dead in my chest. I shake my head fiercely, trying to find the magic words that will turn this conversation back around. “I know. You're absolutely right. I know I've been undependable, but I've finally got it figured out. I swear. Give me one more chance, Coach, please. I won't let you down again.
Please
.” I know I'm begging, but I don't give a shit. I'll get down on my hands and knees and kiss his sneakers if it would make him change his mind. I
can't
get kicked off the team.

Coach considers me a minute, arms crossed, chewing on a huge wad of gum.

“Please,” I say again.

Finally his shoulders relax a little. “One more chance. If you are even one minute late to a practice or game from here on out, that's it.”

I nod like crazy. “Yes, of course. I understand.”

“And you're still benched Friday.”

“Got it.”

“All right, go join the rest of the team.”

I resist the overwhelming urge to hug him and jog out onto the field.

Mom's sitting on the front stoop with a glass of white wine when I stop by to drop off Hope before work. “Everything go okay getting Hope from day care?”

“Actually, no. They wouldn't let Alan pick her up because he wasn't on some list, so I had to get her. I was late to practice.”

Mom nods. “Those places have to be really careful about who they release the kids to.”

“I called you.”

“You did? I'm sorry, bud—I had my ringer off.”

“I called the house phone too. Where were you?”

“I was out.”

I narrow my eyes at her. Something's off. “Where'd you go?”

“I had a date.”

“A
date
?”

“I'm allowed to date, you know,” she says.

“Yeah, but on a Monday afternoon? That's just weird.”

She shrugs. “You're not the only one whose schedule has been crazy since Hope was born. We've all been struggling to find time for stuff, Ryden.” She says it softly, not bitter at all.

I scoot closer to her and rest my head on her shoulder. “I know. I'm sorry, Mom. You know I love you, right? And that I appreciate everything you've done for us?”

She smoothes my hair. “I know, buddy.”

“So you wanna tell me about the guy?”

“No, I'm not really sure what it is yet. But I like him.”

“Well, as long as he's good to you, I like him too.” I stand up. “Gotta go to work.”

“Have fun.”

• • •

I search the whole store but don't see Joni anywhere. Maybe she's off? She usually works Mondays, but maybe she switched with someone.

It's not until I take my fifteen that I discover she actually is here. She's in the break room, curled up on the little couch, red-eyed and crying, a box of Whole Foods brand recycled tissues tucked in the crook of her arm.

Before I allow myself time to think about what I'm doing, I'm by her side and pulling her close to me. She starts crying harder, burying her face into my shirt. I just hold her tight and let her get it out. I have absolutely zero idea what I'm supposed to say. Joni's always so happy. Strong. What could have made her like this?

People come in to the break room, take one look our way, and turn right back around. So apart from a few brief entrances and exits, we're alone.

Eventually she pulls away. She's not crying anymore, but her face is all splotchy, and her eyelashes are clumped together with moisture. I'm supposed to be back out on the floor by now. But fuck it. I'm not gonna leave her. I'm not a
total
asshole.

“I got your shirt all wet,” she whispers.

I shrug. “It'll dry.”

“I'm so sorry,” she says, blowing her nose. “I don't know why I'm acting like this.”

“Just a guess, but probably because something is wrong?”

She looks at me through bloodshot eyes. “I didn't tell you this, because I didn't want you to think I'm one of those stupid girls who makes drama out of everything—”

“I don't think that.”

She nods and takes in a shuddering breath. “My dickwad ex-boyfriend and my best friend have been hooking up all summer.”

Ex-boyfriend? What ex-boyfriend? Okay, focus on the best friend. “Carrie, right? Or Karen?”

“Karen. Yeah.”

“Not cool.” She's crying about her friend getting together with her ex? Does that mean she still has feelings for him?

“Well, I knew about it,” she continues. “She told me a while ago. I was trying to be cool with it. Even though it felt like shit. But it turns out they've been talking about me a lot. Like, comparing notes on personal stuff I've told them. And apparently he's told her pretty much every detail about the times we had sex. Stuff that even I didn't tell her. And we've been friends forever.”

Thinking about Joni having sex with some dude makes me feel like I just ate a bad hunk of meat. Plus, it's like she has this whole other life that I had no idea about. “What kind of stuff?”

“What I liked to do, what I didn't like to do. He even told her about when we lost our virginity to each other. All the graphic, gory details.”

“I'll kill him,” I say, and for a second, I actually mean it. I fucking hate this guy, whoever he is. “Tell me his name and I'll go kick his ass right now.”

Joni sort of smiles at that. “You're sweet.”

I wasn't exactly going for sweet, but whatever. “How'd you find out?” I ask.

“That's the worst part. They've been having these conversations in front of other people. Like, drunk at parties or on Facebook or whatever—places I haven't really been, because I didn't particularly want to see them being all kissy and gross with each other. They had a code name for me, but everyone obviously knew who they were talking about. I'm his only ex-girlfriend. And when I walked into school today, all these people started calling me
Jog
.” She shakes her head and coughs a little.

“Jog? What does that mean?”

“Apparently ‘Jeff's Old Girlfriend.' I finally got one of my other friends to tell me what was going on. But even she'd known for months and didn't think to tell me about it until today.” She shakes her head. “Jog. So stupid. It's not even
clever
.” She's trying to joke, but the crack in her voice gives her away.

I pull her into my arms again. She melts into me a little. “I'll kill all of them,” I whisper into her hair.

“Yeah, don't do that. Then you'd have to go to prison, and I'd be left without any friends at all.” She sniffles.

“Hey, don't forget about Julio in the deli, and the tattoo shop girl.”

“No, they're just people I've met. It's easy to meet people. Real friends are harder to come by.”

With Joni in my arms like this, I think we must be the real kind of friends. We might actually be each other's only friends.

But then she asks, “Your ex-girlfriend wouldn't do anything like that to you, would she?” and I know she might be my real friend but I'm not being one to her. Why should I feel weird about this other part of her life when I'm keeping a World Cup stadium full of secrets from her? I'm still just another “person she's met,” even if she doesn't know it.

“No,” I say. That's true, at least. Meg wouldn't do anything anymore.

“Good. Though, you're a boy. It would probably be different for you anyway.”

I don't say anything. I just squeeze her tight and hope she doesn't notice that she's being held by the arms of a liar.

“I'll be fine,” she whispers.

“I know you will.”

Then she starts crying all over again.

• • •

Joni and I stay in the break room until our shift is over. No one comes looking for us. The manager must have heard something was going on and decided to let us be. Or maybe we weren't missed. It's one of the benefits of working in a place with so many employees.

At ten o'clock, we walk out to the parking lot together.

“Let me drive you home,” I say.

“You don't have to do that.”

“There's no way I'm letting you get on a bus right now.” I unlock my car doors. “Get in.”

We don't talk about the fact that Joni has to go to school tomorrow—and the day after that and the day after that—knowing everyone knows the intimate details of her life. Instead, I tell her about Mom's mysterious midafternoon date. She tells me about the fifth book in the
Bahamas
Bikers
series, which she just finished. We talk about her family some more.

“I want to tell you something,” she says, sounding like she's thinking it through as she goes along. “Something nobody else knows. I feel like that would make me feel better, as if I've still got some control over who knows things about me.”

I glance at her. “You sure?”

She nods. “I can trust you, right?”

My breathing feels spiky all of a sudden. I mean, yes, she can trust me in
that
way—I won't tell anyone else. But I haven't been truthful with her. But what am I supposed to say?
Nope, you can't trust me. Sorry. Want to choose a radio station?

“Yes,” I say before the silence goes on too long. “Of course you can.”

She smiles. “When I was really little, and my dad and stepmom first got married, I had a crush on Elijah.”

“Your stepbrother?” I say. “Gross.”

“I know, right?” she says, laughing. I like it a lot better when she laughs than when she cries. “I think he was the first crush I ever had. I was four and drawing family pictures that looked more like misshapen balloons than people, and he was seven and sculpting perfect likenesses of our dog Tito. His room was filled with real art supplies, and I would just sit in the doorway and watch him work for hours. Witnessing his art take shape was like seeing into his thoughts. And something about that fascinated me.” She laughs again. “Plus, I liked his blond hair and dark brown skin. I'd never seen anyone like him before.”

“Does
he
know about this?”

“No way! I'd never hear the end of it. It only lasted a couple of months at the most. By the time I was five, he was officially in the brother-only column.” She looks over at me. “Repeat that and you're dead.”

I do some sort of made-up hand signal, grinning. “Your secret's safe with me. Scout's honor.”

“
You
were a boy scout?”

I give her a look. “Hell no. I was way too cool for that shit.”

That makes her laugh again.

We pull up in front of her house, and I flick off the ignition and turn in my seat to face her. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah. After this year, I won't have to see any of these people ever again, right?”

“Right. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Thanks, Ryden.” Joni leans toward me, and for a split second, I think she's going to kiss me again. And for an even smaller fraction of a second, I think maybe I
want
her to. But her head veers to the side, and she gives me a quick peck on the cheek. I breathe out in relief. Yes. Much better.

“See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” I say. “See ya.”