Page 111 of Charming Like Us
“You alright?” Oscar asks, glancing at me for the umpteenth time. His clutch strengthens on the steering wheel. Like if I asked him to go anywhere, he’d whip the car and reroute in a millisecond.
“My dad just asked if the kiss was a publicity stunt.” I unsnap my seatbelt. Too uncomfortable, I pull the milkshake-soaked tank off my body. “I can’t fault him for going there—even though, I’d like to believe he’d think better of me. That I’m not the kind of person who’dpretendto be into dudes as a PR ploy. But he’s not in my head. We all have different perspectives.”
“My perspective isn’t as accommodating as yours, bro.” His glare blazes the road, then the rearview mirror. “That’s shitty of your dad to text you that. He could’ve led with anything else.”
“He’s not that bad,” I say, but I smile at how Oscar is defending me. Wadding up the dirtied tank, I throw the thing in the backseat where my longboard rests and reply to my dad.
I text:not a stunt. I’m dating Oscar. I’ll call you & mama later.
Oscar switches lanes. “I’ll try not to judge too harshly until I meet him.”
Meeting the parents.I buckle my seatbelt.
Will they like Oscar? He’s a Yale grad, but he’s abodyguard.Predictably, my dad will ask me,what’s his goal in life? What is he striving towards?
I’m not sure “protecting a celebrity” is going to cut it.
My dad served in the Navy. He could’ve gone into a private security sector later on, but he chose a more lucrative career. High risk, high reward.
Oscar’s job is high risk, no reward. I respect that, but I can’t foresee whether they will.
Stressed out, I roll my linebacker-like shoulders, stretch my arms up and then extend one over Oscar’s headrest.
“Is your body sore?” Oscar asks, considering I’ve been hoisting heavy equipment.
“I’m stressed out, man,” I confess.
I catch myself off guard whenever I sayman.I said “dude” a lot more when I lived in California, and it reminds me I’ve been in Philly since I was eighteen.
Fuck…almosttenyears.
Where has time gone?
Chasing a dream.Searching for higher ground. That thought reminds me of a song, of music, and I almost fiddle with the radio.
Oscar’s concern is on me. “Meu raio de sol, let me give you some positive affirmations.”
What’d he call me in Portuguese?My lips rise and I look him over. “Isn’t positive affirmation-giving my job?”
“I don’t just dig for compliments, Long Beach. I know how to give them.”
I smile more. He’s boosted me up far higher than anyone ever has. “That’s true.” I keep my arm over the headrest.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
He catches my eyes for a beat. “Your phone might be on diarrhea-mode right now, but it’s fleeting. And this stressful moment in time will pass.”
I like that one.
Inhale. Exhale.
I breathe out and try not to look at my phone that’s definitely taking steaming piles of shit.
“How was that?” Oscar wonders.
“You’re a solid A+ in my book.”
