Star Witness

17

TOMÁS

We end up staying an extra night at my dad's house. I missed him more than anticipated.

Usually I spend most of the summer with him. This summer I wasn't going to, because my doctors wanted to monitor me more often this year. But this way I still get to see him. There's something nice about making sure I'm important, making sure he has something to think about when I come to his mind. Especially because my dad has a new life, new kids. It tends to be one of my biggest fears that people can't see me when I'm not there.

Something in me is still angry at him hypothetically, posthumously. Thinking about what would have happened if I died. He would have had all this to come back to--my mama would have had nothing. We were a youth mistake, a fumble he was allowed to move on from, so where does that leave us? But I know it's unfair.

Getting packed up to leave is a slow process, mostly because Alice is making a basketball game out of putting clothes in her suitcase. And Jesse's suitcase. He's usually the target of Alice's torment, and to be fair, he takes it with grace. Like a five-year-old and the family cat, as Mia says.

I'm doing my nebulizer in the kitchen, listening to their distant chaos. My dad drops down beside me with his coffee.

"Looking forward to hitting the road again?" he says.

"You're being sarcastic, but yes, actually, I am. You forget, I still have all my teenage wonder. Even just the act of driving is exciting to me."

It makes him grin. "Teenage wonder gives me hope," he answers. "And you do, in general."

We glance toward the living room, the suitcases being packed a wall away.

"I like Jesse," my dad says.

I look at him. "What is it?" He tries to appear innocent, and I shake my head. "You're using the voice you use when you have something to say. What do you want to say?"

"Oh my God, you sound like Josie." He gives me a smile, then looks down. "Nothing. I just... want you to be okay, and I want him to be okay, that's all."

"Well... good aspirations."

"Just. You can tell me, I'm not the police. You haven't... done anything with him, have you?"

I laugh. "Like, sex? Dad, I don't even think I've ever seen his shoulders."

"No, like... partying, like, drugs."

It annoys me more than it should. "Why does everyone think he makes me brainless or something? It's not like he fundamentally alters who I am as a person. Or changes the fact that I've gotten most drugs already through an IV."

"I'm not saying he makes you brainless. I just want you to make good choices, is all. I know I did a lot of crazy things to impress your mom."

"Me and Jesse are not you and mom."

He laughs again. "Well, you could sound a little less horrified at the possibility, maybe." Then sobers. "I know. That's not what I'm saying either. Just stay safe, alright? I'm not going to pretend I have a clue, or even that I have much control disciplining you. That's up to Jo, all of it. We agreed. But I have a vested interest in you staying safe, Tomás. I'm half responsible for you existing, after all." He touches my hair, moving an unruly piece back to its spot. "And, you know, we came so close to losing you. I need no more of that."

The we almost lost you card. The mantra of my life. I've banned the phrase in our own house, but my father loves like fathers do. He acknowledges only what needs to be acknowledged. And that phrase, really, is the only way he can acknowledge it. So I let him say it. Here; be sincere, in your little ritualistic way. Here.