Pear trees at the outer edge of the parking lot bloomed in faux-snow, the way they did every year on the California delta. I grabbed a handful of snacks, poked a white straw through the juice box grabbed orange slices, and took a few glugs from my water bottle. Afterward, I gathered the soccer balls into a net and gave them to Coach. He taught beginning Spanish at my middle school.
“Thanks, Pulga,” which was his nickname for me even though I was almost 5’7”. Your mom says to ride home with Carol.”
Parents folded up chairs and hoisted them into their trunks. Carol’s Mom mother pulled up in their family’s blue Pontiac. We waved good-bye to our friends and ran toward her.
“You girls have a good game?”
“Yes, thanks.” We plopped onto the back seats, and placed our water bottles in the holders for drinks. The sun stung my arms. We didn’t say much more, tired and our hair damp with sweat.
Carol’s mother looked just the opposite of how we felt, her brown hair highlighted and swept into a knot without a single wisp on her neckline. I sat right behind her. Her nails on the wheel were a shade of coral. She worked part-time at the Heavenly Spa in Davis. For my mother’s last birthday, she gave her a special coupon for a two-hour facial.
It took longer to get home because of a traffic accident, which gave Carol and I more time to talk about a new karate movie. She’d seen it last weekend and kept telling me how I’d love it. “It’s about this girl who becomes a karate champion to avenge the death of her father,” she said.
Mom, Dad, and I were going to see it this evening. Dad had bought advance tickets. “That way we can get walk quickly through the doors and get good seats.” We liked the middle rows. He said we’d get a jumbo box of popcorn and a pack of Twizzlers.
When Carol’s mom dropped me off, my friend waved at me through the window, “Call me later about math homework. And tell me how you liked the movie.”
“Will do.” I dug for my house key in my backpack and opened the door, but didn’t see our car in the driveway. I guessed Mom had stopped at the market on her way home to pick up a few things, something she frequently did, but just to be sure I called out, “Mom?” I almost tripped on her sweater, which lay flat on the floor. In the kitchen, I saw a half-eaten container of yogurt. The TV was on. There were no messages. I wished she’d think of me more instead of always worrying about the papers she had to correct, or the grades she had to enter. Carol’s mom would’ve known if anything was wrong. But why hadn’t Mom said she was going to be late? Whatever it was, it looked like movies were off the table. It wasn’t fair.
I fell asleep on the couch in my uniform. When I woke up, I heard the key in the door.
Mom held a crumpled paper bag. She came to sit next to me on the couch.
“What’s in there?” It didn’t look like a grocery bag. Her make-up looked runny. She’d buttoned her shirt unevenly so that it hung in two pieces. She crunched the bag against her chest.
“Where’s Dad?”
She shook her head.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” The fact that she wasn’t saying anything was making me more nervous. “What is it? Say something!” She sank into the couch and closed her eyes, made a muffled sound, a moan, grabbed my hand and pressed it to her lips. She placed my hand down with great care as though it were porcelain, and made sure it rested safely on the couch cushion. Moved her bag from one side to another. She tried to say something, but didn’t make any sense.
“Mom, what’s wrong with you?” Sometimes she didn’t feel good and I fixed her tea.
She tried again and began to explain. “It was a freak thing.”
“What do you mean? What freak thing?” She rolled the top of the bag, digging her nails into the paper, and almost tearing it.
“A heart attack, Liana. It came out of nowhere.”
A heart attack? That only happened to old people. He wasn’t old. “But he’ll be all right, won’t he, Mom?”
She took a breath. She struggled to say something.
“When can we visit him?” My heart thudded inside my chest. My hands felt clammy. I felt an urge to go to the bathroom.
“He died Liana,” Her lips stayed open. “A fatal heart attack.”
“No,” I said slowly. “That can’t be right.” I stared into space. Just a few days ago, Dad had watched me score the winning goal for my team. Afterward, we’d gone to my favorite restaurant to celebrate. They’d served spaghetti with marinara, pesto, and mushroom sauce, ice cream for dessert, something called spumoni with fruit and nuts. Waiters tried not to bump into us as they zipped around tables carrying heavy trays. Dad talked about his latest trip and dipped his bread into the marinara sauce that had gotten all over his shirt. I ordered pesto. Tonight we were going to see the movies. I was spinning, falling off a deep cliff, the kind Wily Coyote looked down to find the Roadrunner. What did fatal mean? How could that single word take him away from me?
“He died,” Mom said and tore open the contents of his bag—his wallet, a phone, and socks. She shook them onto the couch cushions, her eyes carved into her face. Mom turned the paper bag upside down. Pieces of paper floated out: three movie tickets.
Light from the street lamppost seeped through our Venetian blinds. I sat unable to move. The evening was like someone had put in a plastic bag over my head. I couldn’t breathe.