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I balled up my hand and put it against my mouth, pretending to hold back a good retch.
“Cochinas,” Mom repeated, still shaking her head.
“Okay. Ceci? Sal? Who wants to go?”
My little sister sighed from across the table. Sometimes it was weird looking at her. She looked so much like our mom, brown hair, fair skin, brown eyes, fine boned and slim. She was the pretty kid. The really pretty one that had had boyfriends back when she was in fourth grade, while I’d been… not having boyfriends in fourth grade. Back then my only boyfriend had been my imaginary love, Kulti, the guy who happened to be sitting next to me in that exact moment.
“I’ll go first.” She pulled a small box from under the table and had our mom give it to Dad. “Happy birthday. I hope you like it, Daddy.”
Dad tore open the paper and then the box with the excitement of a little kid. He pulled out a beautiful frame with a really old picture of him and Ceci on a swing set. He grinned and blew her a kiss, thanking his youngest daughter for her gift. Then, expectantly he turned his attention in my direction and made ‘gimme’ hands.
Kulti held his hand out. “I’ll get it.”
I grabbed my keys from my purse and handed them over. “Thanks.”
He’d barely left the table when my dad leaned over, a glassy look in his eyes. “I’m not dreaming, am I?”
Mom groaned.
“You think I can take a picture of him here?” the birthday boy asked.
I thought about what would happen if a picture of my dad and the German got on the internet. On the inside, I winced. A lot. But what was I going to tell my dad? No? Because I didn’t want the world to know that Kulti had spent time with my family? Because I didn’t want rumors floating around? I didn’t. I definitely didn’t want any of that.
On the other hand, he was so excited and happy about everything, despite the fact that he still hadn’t said a direct word to my friend.
How could I tell him that was a bad idea? I couldn’t. Dad would go on to send a picture to every person he’d ever known.
There were worse things in life, weren’t there?
“Sure, Dad.”
The man grinned.
Yeah, there was no way I could tell him no. I handed over his gift card for the mall masseuse and earned a big wink from my dad.
Kulti was back in no time, sliding into his seat while holding two perfectly wrapped boxes in his hands. The packages had shown up early that afternoon, already wrapped and ready to go inside of a larger cardboard box. We’d stashed them in the trunk of my car before anyone caught us. The German handed them both over so I could pass them to my dad, who had a look on his face like he’d just crapped his pants and realized it.
“Happy birthday from the both of us,” I said, without even thinking about how it sounded.
Dad didn’t care because he wasn’t paying attention. He was eyeing Kulti and then the boxes, and then Kulti and then the boxes all over again. Very gently, he tore off the paper of the first one and pulled out the same RK 10s I’d been trying to buy at the shoe store the day before.
He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again and reached for the next box. Inside was a plain white shoebox with no brand or logo on the cover. My dad pulled the lid back and stared before pulling out a shoe I hadn’t seen before. The familiar stitched ‘RK’ was on the back and so was the familiar swoosh on the side.
“Next year’s edition,” Kulti explained.
Carefully, Dad set the shoe back into the box and took a deep breath before meeting my eyes and in a very low voice said, “Tell him I said thank you.”
I put a fist over my mouth but I wasn’t sure whether it was to keep from laughing or sighing in exasperation. “Dad, tell him yourself.”
He shook his head, and I knew that was as good as I was getting.
Biting my lip I turned back to Kulti, who I was sure had heard what my dad had said and repeated what I’d been told.
Very seriously, the German nodded. “Tell him he’s welcome.”
Jesus Christ.
“And tell him there’s something else in the box.”
