Page 125 of Wild Catch
Turning the baby blues on me, Starr says, “We told you, we wanted to know what the verdict was.”
My eyebrows come together. “And I already told you, so why are you still wasting your time here instead of going home?”
“Because the pizza won’t eat itself,” Rivera says, taking another bite.
“And also because we didn’t think you should be alone,” Machado finishes off.
That raises my hackles and I drop my half-eaten slice on the box. “What? Do you think I’d harm myself or something? You don’t know me, you?—”
“Of course I don’t,” he says with surprising calm, considering I was just about to snap his neck. “And that’s not what I meant. I just thought it’d be really shitty to leave you alone after the really shitty night you’ve had.”
“Very eloquently put, brother,” Rivera says, but pronouncing the last word the Boricua way—brodel.
“I have to say…” Starr brushes the flour off his hands before reaching for his plastic cup filled with soda. “Your face gave me a weird feeling that something was gonna go south tonight, but I didn’t think it would go so epically south, you know?”
“Since when do you know my face so well?” I ask in a deadpan.
He stops the cup halfway and gives me an incredulous look. “Dude, I’m your other half. I see your freaking mug everyday. You have like one smile and seven different types of frowns, and tonight your expression was neither of them.”
“I thought Kim’s other half was Rose?” Machado teases.
The cowboy looks at him. “Otherplatonichalf, I meant.”
I sigh. It sincerely hadn’t occurred to me that just as I’ve been analyzing Starr’s every move and mood, he might’ve been doing the same. Or that I’ve been more transparent than I thought.
“I hate this,” I admit quietly.
“Hate what?” Rivera prods.
“I hate that everybody knows I don’t have my shit together.”
“Bah.” Rivera waves his pizza, sending a slice of pepperoni flying in the air. “None of us do. We just pretend in different ways.”
“Yep,” Starr confirms.
“Uh huh.” Machado nods.
“Wait.” Starr smacks the slugger on his chest with the back of his greasy hand. “You’re a dad. Don’t all parents have their shit together?”
“Hell no. What makes you think so?” Machado snorts. “Because bing a single dad isn’t for the faint of heart.”
“I wouldn’t know. I grew up in an orphanage.” Starr shrugs.
Machado’s jaw drops. “Oh, damn. I’m sorry.”
“I also can confirm that not all parents have their shit together,” I say, for only the second time in my life volunteering this information. “In fact, mine completely screwed me over. It’s why I get the panic attacks and all that shit.”
“Wait, what happened?” Starr frowns.
Meanwhile, Machado holds his hands up. “Listen, dude. You don’t have to share if you don’t?—”
“Screw that. If you don’t talk to us right now I’m running you over with your own bike,” Rivera says, kicking my legs that are extended beside his.
I make a deliberate pause to take a fortifying swig of soda. “I guess I could say this in many different ways but the gist of it is that my family is abusive and neglectful.” I set my cup down and reach for what’s left of my pizza slice.
“Did you just casually drop a bomb like that?” one of them asks.
“Yeah…” I trail off and take another bite.
