Read the room?What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
I’m scared to examine it too directly. The melancholy in hisvoice, and how pained he looked when he saw me with Mark Winterson in the lobby—a dizzying, ground-shifting feeling rears up, like I’ve been reading him wrong for years. I can’t stand to think it all the way through; I need a safer topic.
“So what do you do at the gym?” I ask around a bite of burrito.
“Lift weights.”
“Damn, Greg, who even are you?”
“It makes me less depressed.”
“You’re depressed?”
“Isn’t everyone?” He smiles to himself and looks out at the ocean. “Got into it a few years ago when that was more of a problem. It’s better these days.”
It makes me think about how much I missed, avoiding him all these years. I wish I could have been the bigger person and gotten over it sooner, so I could have been a friend to him when he was going through that. He made a dumb mistake when he was seventeen, and I just can’t let go of a grudge.
I love her.
The warmth of acceptance in his voice when he said that, steady, unbending—I feel like I don’t deserve it.
I lean my head on my raised knees and look at Greg. He shifts to get more comfortable on the sand, and his dad’s gold chain glints in the moonlight.
“What do you remember about your dad?” I ask.
“Not a lot,” he says, staring at the water. “His vibe, mostly? Calm, reassuring, even-keeled. So I try to be like that when I can.” He chews on his bottom lip. “It’s mostly snippets of things, not full memories. A shirt he wore. A flash of his smile. Some random things he said.” Greg makes his voice deeper.“Real men know how to cook.”
I nudge him playfully. “Guess you didn’t take his advice? When do you ever cook?”
He laughs a little sadly. “I—” For a strange moment, he hesitates. “Yeah, I should get on that.”
The silence stretches out, waves crashing. The burrito is gone now, and I crumple the empty wrapper in my hand.
“Okay.” I can’t put it off anymore. “Let’s see if this gives Mom some peace.”
There’s a tight knot of dread in my gut as I choose the photos to upload. For a few weightless seconds, I sit there holding my breath.
ruby.ocampo:
Mom? Are you still there?
And then the words pop up on the bottom of the screen:sampaguita72 is typing.
sampaguita72:
Where else would I be?
Is Rob still working that same job? He hasn’t gotten a promotion yet?
Rina’s going so gray, I can’t believe she hasn’t started dyeing her hair!
All the same things she would nitpick in life. The questions that would frustrate me and make me zone out on the phone from New York, sayingmm-hmmat regular intervals.
ruby.ocampo:
Do you feel any different?
sampaguita72:
