Thirteen
1990
Noah had been afraid no one would come. Not because Mer wasn’t amazing, but because he wasn’t sure many people knew just how amazing. Mer did her own thing, and she didn’t have a lot of time for a social life. They’d both talked about trying out for the school’s basketball teams, but neither had the money or the time. They worked after school and on weekends, squeezing friendship in the cracks. But looking around the crowded room, you would think Mercedes was the most popular girl in school.
Noah pulled at the tie at his throat and straightened the cummerbund at his waist. He’d never worn a suit before, and here he was in the warehouse behind Maven Salon, in a grey tuxedo. Everywhere he looked were high school kids—tuxedos, fluffy dresses, teased hair, and too much eye makeup—just as uncomfortable as Noah. But there was music and platters of food—tamales, tacos, nachos, and churros—making the formal clothing bearable.
Mercedes had told Abuela and Alma a quinceañera wasn’t important, but they insisted it was. Mercedes worried about money, and a quinceañera, even one where the venue was free and the food was homemade, wasn’t in the budget. Abuela and Alma had pulled off a small miracle, and everything was perfect.
Mercedes was in pink ruffles—she’d found the dress at the Deseret Industries, the local equivalent to Goodwill—and she and Alma had altered it to fit her. Cora was dressed in an off-the-shoulder, deep green sheath that complemented her red hair and made her legs look a mile long, another second-hand find. Heather had taken Noah to a tuxedo shop and helped him rent the penguin suit he found himself in. It had cost him fifty bucks for one night. Mer’s present had cost him another $50, but she was worth it. Now he just had to give it to her.
“I have a present for you,” he murmured, ducking down so he could speak in her ear. She smelled like pink icing and Exclamation perfume. Mercedes smiled at him, licked her fingers, and set her cupcake down.
“You do?” she squealed.
He shoved the pink shoebox into her arms, relieved that he wouldn’t have to carry it any longer. Mercedes’s feet didn’t show beneath the ruffles of her dress, but he’d heard her wishing for shoes that matched her gown. He’d made it his mission to get her some. They were Cinderella shoes, high-heeled and glittering, the kind of shoes that should disappear at midnight. They looked like they would be extremely uncomfortable, and they were so small he was sure they wouldn’t fit. Alma had assured him they would.
Mercedes opened the box, and Noah could tell from her indrawn breath that he’d done well.
“Noah,” she breathed. “Oh, my gosh.”
“Now you can take off those sneakers,” he muttered, pleased that she was pleased, embarrassed because they were pink and sparkly, and he’d purchased them all by himself.
Mercedes was immediately toeing off her stained canvas sneaks and pulling the first shoe out of the box, pushing the tissue paper aside. She balanced herself on his arm as she slid one shoe on and then the other. When she straightened, still clinging to his arm, she was several inches taller.
“I feel so powerful.”
Noah started to laugh. She was a tiny, pink toy, like something you’d see on top of a cake—in fact, the cake Alma had created had a figurine that looked just like her.
“I want to wear shoes like this every single day for the rest of my life,” Mercedes cried, lifting her skirt so she could stare at her feet, entranced.
“Your feet would fall off if you wore shoes like that every day,” Noah replied.
“It would be worth it,” she retorted, fierce.
He laughed again.
“Should we try to dance?” he asked, noting the song, remembering it was her current favorite. Madonna’s “Vogue.”
She nodded, ecstatic, and shoved the pink box, her old sneakers inside, under the table.
“This is the best day of my life,” she cried, striking a new pose every time Madonna instructed her to.
“Who are all these people?” he asked, trying to keep up with her. His poses were mostly folded arms and a series of bad mimes.
“Cousins mostly. And a few kids from school.”
“You have this many cousins?” he marveled. He’d only met Jose and Angel. He had no idea.
“Well . . . not exactly. Word gets around. Mami said not to worry about guests, that she would make sure we had a party. Abuela and Mami have connections, and everyone is related in one way or another. Work, family, heritage.” She shrugged. “Mami told me to invite everyone I knew.”
About fifteen percent of the student body at East High was Latino, and all of them were at Mer’s quinceañera. Noah shook his head, marveling.
“Someday I’m going to have a big family,” he said, pulling her close as the music changed to Sinead O’Conner singing “Nothing Compares 2 You.” Another of Mer’s favorites. Her heels brought her face closer to his, and he felt that same stirring he always did when he looked at her. She made him feel safe. Happy.
Mercedes smiled up at him.
“Me too,” she said.
“Aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents. It’s awesome,” he breathed.
“Yeah. I guess it is. We aren’t close . . . but in a way, we are. Everyone looks out for each other. After Papi died, we had food for a month. I didn’t know half the people who stopped by.”
Her eyes flickered from his, and she flashed a smile at someone beyond his shoulder. He turned his head to see who she was grinning at. Cora was dancing with a boy who was holding her like she was glass. The boy looked smitten.
“Cora, stay away from Diego. He’s bad news,” Mercedes barked, and then winked.
“Why are you telling her that? The more trouble they are, the more she likes them,” Noah muttered.
Mercedes whispered back, “Don’t worry. Diego is the sweetest boy in the universe. Not a bad bone in his body. She’ll be safe with him.”
* * *
The money represented years of savings. Fifteen thousand dollars would pay her rent on the duplex for eighteen months. But Mercedes had approached Keegan and confronted him about something that wasn’t technically any of her business, and now she was paying for it. Literally. She’d made him aware, put ideas in his head, and made herself, Noah, and especially Gia, vulnerable. If she’d just kept her mouth shut, none of this would be happening. It was her fault, and now she had to fix it.
Paying him to go away wasn’t wise, but she didn’t know what else to do, and deep down, she hoped Keegan would have enough shame and selfishness that he would take the money and go, never to be seen again. If that happened, it would be money well spent.
She went to the bank and withdrew the funds, trying to quiet the nervous quake beneath her skin, but she didn’t give the money to Keegan right away. Mercedes wouldn’t be giving him a dime until he was officially gone. She sat silently by as he gave his two-week notice and set the staff at Maven into a tizzy. No one wanted Keegan to go. For a week, it was all anyone talked about. Gloria Maven even offered him a raise and ten percent ownership in Maven if he stayed. Mercedes began to see her dreams of purchasing Maven and turning it into MeLo slipping away.
That night, Keegan was waiting for her in the parking lot again after work, shaking his head and biting his lip. “I don’t know, Sadie. Gloria really wants me to stay. She’s making it hard for me to leave. I’m thinking fifteen thousand isn’t going to cut it, after all.”
“And what about your problem that only money can fix? Gloria has sweetened the pot, but not with cash,” Mercedes retorted.
“True. Which is why I’m still willing to work with you.”
“Work with me?” Mercedes whispered, incredulous.
“Yeah. Make it twenty-five, and I’ll leave tomorrow. I’ll just go. The two weeks are almost up. A few days won’t matter.”
“Twenty-five thousand?” Mercedes was going to be sick.
“Take it or leave it. I’m thinking that other little problem will work itself out, and I’d be a fool to walk out on Maven.”
“And next week or next month you’ll be back saying you need more. That twenty-five isn’t enough. So, I’m going to have to pass, Keegan. I don’t trust you to keep your end of the bargain.” Her back was so tight and her stomach so twisted, she wouldn’t have been surprised if her spine suddenly snapped.
She moved to open her car door and Keegan’s arm shot out, pushing it closed again. He crowded her, pushing her back against the side of her Corolla.
“Don’t do this, Sadie.”
“Don’t do what? Don’t say no to you, Keegan?” she said, shoving him, trying again to get in her car.
“I called a lawyer. I have an appointment for next Wednesday. Twenty-five thousand or Noah Andelin is facing a paternity suit. I don’t like the idea of my daughter being raised by another man.”
Mercedes froze, and Keegan saw the moment he had her. He put his hands on her shoulders and ducked his lips close to her ear, like a lover saying sweet things.
“Pay up and I’m gone tomorrow, Sadie. Give me the twenty-five, and this is over. You can continue playing house with the doctor and my daughter. I don’t really give a shit what you do. But I need that money.”
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. She just wanted him to go away, to leave her alone. To leave Noah and Gia alone.
“I have twenty, Keegan. I’ll give you twenty thousand dollars. That’s the best I can do,” she relented. Oh, God. Twenty grand. It would take her five years to save that much money again.
Keegan stared down at her, eyes narrowed, and touched her lips with the pad of his thumb, considering. She wrenched her face away and shoved at his chest. He laughed like it was all just foreplay. He didn’t step back.
“Twenty isn’t enough,” he said. “But I’ll take it on one condition.”
“And what’s that, Keegan?” she snapped.
“You bring the twenty, in cash, tomorrow to work. I have to say goodbye to everyone, and I have a couple of clients I need to see in the morning.”
“That’s the condition?”
“No. I’ll take that money tomorrow, but I’ll take a kiss now, in exchange for the five thousand I’m leaving on the table. Just so you know what we could have had.”
“Is this all just a big joke to you?” Mercedes said, incredulous.
“Come on, Sadie. I want you to like me again.” He swooped in, his mouth hot and his hands cold, making her shudder. He clearly misinterpreted her tremor as desire and moaned against her lips, kissing her like he was trying to convince her he was someone else, someone she welcomed and wanted. But she gave him nothing but indifference, knowing indifference would bother him more than anger, and after several attempts to make her respond in the way he liked, he pulled away with a sigh.
“I’ll miss you, Mer.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Ah. That’s right. That’s what Dr. Noah calls you. I forgot.” He grinned again, and winked. He released her and strode away, wiping his mouth as though his lips were still wet from hers. “See you tomorrow, love.”
* * *
“Keegan doesn’t like me,” Cuddy muttered as Mercedes led him to the sink. Keegan had passed by, winking at Mercedes but giving Cuddy a wide berth.
“Keegan only really likes himself, Cuddy. But today’s his last day. You won’t have to see him again.”
“I don’t like Keegan either,” Cuddy mumbled. “He’s too pretty. Like a snake.”
Mercedes wasn’t sure she would ever describe a snake as pretty, but supposed they had their own beauty, if you set aside the ick factor.
“You’re pretty too, Miss Lopez.”
“Thanks, Cuddy.”
“Not like a snake.”
“That’s good.”
“Snakes don’t have families,” he whispered.
“No . . . I wouldn’t guess they do.”
“Cora liked to talk to me.”
“Well, you’re a nice guy, Cuddy.”
“I told her about her dad.”
“You knew Cora’s dad?” Cora had never mentioned it, and Mercedes couldn’t imagine her keeping something like that to herself. Cora was obsessed with anything having to do with her father. Daddy issues mixed with abandonment, mixed with the trauma of his terrible death.
“I could see him. Been seeing him for a long time. Now that Cora’s gone, I don’t see him anymore.”
“What?” Mercedes gasped. Cuddy continued rambling as if she hadn’t spoken.
“He didn’t have any legs. He didn’t need ‘em anymore, but he still didn’t have ‘em. Ghosts don’t need legs. But he showed himself to me that way . . . maybe so Cora would recognize him.”
Mercedes turned the clippers off. Her hands were shaking, and she couldn’t get a clean line until they stopped.
“I’m scaring you,” he whispered.
He was.
“Why are you telling me this stuff, Cuddy?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Sometimes I forget to stay quiet. You make me feel safe, Mercedes. And I say what’s in my head.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, and Mercedes heard the click and slide of rocks spilling through his fingers. “I need more rocks. I’m floating away.”
“Then you keep all your rocks today. I don’t need one.” She finished with his hair, shaky and uncomfortable, hating that she was afraid of him, hating that she might not feel safe with him again.
“I’m sorry, Mercedes,” he whispered. “All my life I’ve been scaring people away.”
She smiled at him, meeting his gaze in the mirror. He had sad eyes. So deep and dark, like the ocean at midnight. So troubled. In that moment, he reminded her of Noah in the eighth grade, his hair shorn too short, his eyes too big in his thin face.
“That’s why I give you rocks, you know,” he said.
“Why?”
“If you put them in your pocket, you won’t float away either. You won’t leave us behind.”
“Ah, Cuddy. That’s sad.”
He nodded. “The sadness never floats away. It’s heavy. It’s like a huge boulder. A mountain.”
“Yeah. It is, isn’t it? Maybe we can roll it down a hill.”
He smiled and suddenly he was laughing, revealing teeth that badly needed dental work.
“Gonna roll my sadness down a hill,” he laughed.
“Gonna roll my sadness down a hill, gonna roll my sadness down a hill,” Mercedes sang, devising an impromptu tune and clapping, the way they did at Bible Camp when they sang “Dem Bones.”
The shop was empty, and she twirled around, unfastening the cape from Cuddy’s shoulders and shaking it out in time with her new song. Cuddy reached into his pocket and set a rock on her table.
“Thank you, Miss Lopez.”
“See you next time, Cuddy.”
He was almost out the door when he turned and walked back sheepishly.
“I saw you arguing with Keegan,” he said.
“When? Last night?” The thought that Cuddy had been waiting all night for a haircut made her sad.
He shrugged and rubbed at his face as though the days all ran together.
“A while back. It was dark. I was afraid you’d see me and tell me I was breakin’ the rules. I wasn’t loitering. I was just walking by.” He gulped, and Mercedes knew he wasn’t telling the truth.
“And you saw me arguing with Keegan.”
He nodded, embarrassed. “Be careful, Miss Lopez. Snakes don’t have families.”
* * *
On Friday, May twentieth, two weeks after Keegan Tate left town, Mercedes came home from work early to find Noah perched on a ladder, attaching a backboard and basketball hoop above her garage door. Mercedes parked on the street behind his Subaru, leaving the driveway clear.
“What is this?” she called, climbing out of her Corolla and shading her eyes to peer up at him. The afternoon was warm—seventy degrees—and beautiful, and Noah was in faded jeans, an old T-shirt, and a backwards ball-cap. His goal had been to have the hoop erected hours ago, but Alma had the day off for Mer’s birthday. Alma knew his schedule, knew he’d worked all night, and insisted he have a nap while she watched Gia. He’d slept for five hours, and Alma and Gia had done just fine without him. So the big, red bow around the hoop hadn’t happened, and he hadn’t showered, but maybe he and Mer could play a quick game of horse for old times’ sake.
“This is your birthday present, Mercedes Lopez,” Noah said, smiling down at her.
“You remembered!”
“Have I ever forgotten?”
She screwed up her face, considering. “Nope. I don’t think you have. But I wouldn’t mind forgetting this birthday.”
“Feeling old?”
“Yes,” she groaned. “I am. Old and depressed. I always hated that you and Cora had birthdays before mine. I hated being the youngest. Not anymore. I never thought I’d actually be thirty. I don’t even know how it happened.”
“I got you something else too. Something guaranteed to make you feel fourteen again. It’s in that bag. I wrapped it, but Gia unwrapped it when I wasn’t looking.”
Mercedes ran to the bag, pulling out the blue box with the white lettering. “You got me high tops?” she breathed, reverent.
“White, high-top Reeboks with red accents. The basketball shoes you wanted and couldn’t afford . . . in 1988.” They were about as long as the palm of his hand, but he’d checked the size three times. A woman’s size five. Mer’s feet weren’t much bigger than Gia’s.
She squealed and kicked off her obscenely high, red sandals. Not waiting for socks, she shoved her feet into the Reeboks and proceeded to lace them, giggling as she went.
“Do they fit?”
“A little loose, but with socks, they’ll be perfect.”
“A little loose,” he muttered.
“We need a ball,” she said, jumping up. Her red dress was a fitted, sleeveless number that hit just above her knees, and the new sneakers—despite the red accents—were all wrong. Yet somehow, she made it look good.
“I bought one. But you’re going to have to fight Gia for it. I tried to take it from her, and she morphed from Gizmo into a Gremlin.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s inside with Alma. She kept chucking the ball out into the street. I convinced her to practice tossing it into the toy box. So far, so good. Although . . . she has been remarkably quiet. She’s probably doing something terrible in there.”
Mercedes scampered into the duplex and was back moments later, carrying the ball.
“Gia is eating frosting, and she didn’t even notice when I took it. Mami made me a birthday cake and tamales. You’re staying for dinner, right?”
“I am definitely staying for dinner. I plan on eating half of that cake by myself. You ate half of mine.”
“I made yours. I earned it.”
“True.”
“I think that’s it,” he said, tugging on the net just to make sure. He climbed down and moved the ladder out of the way. “Take a shot, birthday girl.”
“I have to get warmed up. It’s been at least five years since I shot a basketball. How did that happen?” she moaned. “What have I been doing with my life?” She dribbled around, hiking her dress on her thighs so she could get in a better stance.
Noah played some half-hearted defense, swiping the ball out of her hands and throwing up a fade-away jump shot that managed to find its way through the net.
Mercedes huffed and rebounded his shot. Her ponytail was coming loose, and Noah reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her small ear. She was so pretty. So precious to him, and the words just slipped out, even though he’d promised himself he wouldn’t say anything.
“You got something going with Keegan Tate, Mer?” Noah asked, his voice gentle, his eyes pained.
She stiffened, her eyes flying to his. He’d stayed quiet about what he’d seen for two weeks, knowing Keegan Tate was no longer at Maven, knowing whatever he’d witnessed wasn’t his business, and probably wasn’t serious. But Mer was his business, and he wasn’t going to stand by while someone moved in on his girl. She was his girl. Whether they were both ready to admit it or not.
“No.” Mer shook her head, her face hardening. “Why?”
He bit his lip and studied her, noting her tight mouth and her wary gaze. “I saw you . . . kissing him . . . the other night. Outside of Maven.” He rubbed at his beard, clearly embarrassed. “I swung by, thinking I’d catch you closing up, thinking maybe you’d want to go through the McDonalds drive thru with me. Grab a Coke and a large fry, maybe an ice cream cone if we were feeling crazy. I couldn’t get Gia settled down, so I put her in her pajamas and thought I’d just drive around until she gave up. It was nine o’clock when I drove past the back lot. Neither of you even turned your heads as I slowed. I thought for a minute you were upset. But then he kissed you, and I kept driving, glad you hadn’t seen me.”
“You and Cuddy both got an eyeful, it seems.”
“Cuddy?”
She shook her head, and waved the question away. “I don’t like Keegan Tate, Noah. The kiss was not consensual. And now he’s gone, and I hope I never see him again.”
Noah felt a surge of rage. “What do you mean, not consensual?”
“I mean I didn’t want to kiss him. He got the message. He left. The end.”
Noah released his anger with a heavy exhale, and eyed his friend. He hadn’t been able to get the image out of his head—Keegan Tate bent over her, his hands on her shoulders, kissing her like she belonged to him. It had worn a hole in his gut, and he’d kept his distance for the last two weeks, noting at the same time that Mer seemed to be keeping hers, beyond Mondays and watching Gia. She’d been quiet. Subdued. And if he didn’t know better, she was worried about something.
“Is something wrong, Mer?”
She met his eyes steadily and passed him the ball, a neat bounce pass they’d performed a thousand times over the years. He did an easy lay-up and rebounded the ball before looking back at her.
“You’re not yourself. You seem . . . off. You’ve been off for a while,” he pressed.
“Maybe it’s just turning thirty.” She shrugged. “I’m not where I wanted to be in my life.”
“No? Where did you want to be?” he asked quietly, closing the distance between them. She sighed gustily and looked down at her tiny feet in her new Reeboks. Noah wound his hand around her smooth pony tail and tugged gently, forcing her to look up at him. When she spoke, her voice was soft, her eyes shadowed.
“I wanted a place of my own, and I rent. I wanted a business of my own, and I’m still working for someone else, with no end in sight. I wanted a family of my own—a big family—and it’s just me and Mami now. I’m getting older . . . and I’m no closer to my dreams than I was when I started. I might even be further away.”
He didn’t know what to say. Mer had always been as driven as he was. In the last year, his drive had been channeled into daily survival, but he realized he hadn’t even thought about what Mercedes’s plans were. He’d taken her for granted. Maybe that’s why seeing her kissing slimy Keegan Tate was such a shock.
“You look so tired.” He rubbed at the crease between her brows. “I’ve been worried about you,” he murmured.
Mer gasped, slapping his hand away. “You never say that to a thirty-year-old woman, Noah Andelin.”
“What? I didn’t say you looked old. I didn’t say you looked ugly. I said you looked tired.”
She scowled at him.
“Mer, come on. You always look amazing. Even when you’re tired.”
“I need specifics, Noah. Or I won’t believe you.”
“Every part of you is beautiful. The arch of your foot. Your toes. Even your knees are pretty. Your elbows. Your freaking armpits are pretty. Who has pretty armpits? Nobody.” He pointed at Mercedes. “But you do, Mercedes Lopez. Even your damn armpits are pretty.”
She giggled and raised her right arm, peering at her armpit, her sleeveless red sheath leaving them bare to her view. “They are kind of nice,” she agreed.
Noah put the ball in her hands, and Mercedes dribbled past him, squared up, and took a shot. The ball swished, and she wiggled her hips, triumphant. “I’ve still got it. Thirty years old, and I’ve still got it.” She began doing the moonwalk across her driveway, and Noah snagged the ball before it rolled into the street.
“Tell me more nice things,” she demanded. “I still haven’t forgiven you. Pretty armpits aren’t going to cut it. You’re in trouble.”
Noah took a shot. “Hmm. Nice things. Okay. You always smell good, and I’ve never seen you look less than perfect. I remember when you told me you wanted to make people look beautiful, I thought to myself, ‘that’s because she’s beautiful. If anyone knows how to make something beautiful, it’s Mer.’ You are this little package of perfect. So perfect that sometimes it’s intimidating. Cora used to ask me if she was as pretty as you are.”
“Cora was beautiful,” Mercedes defended, trying to steal the ball as Noah dribbled past.
“Yeah. She was. But she wasn’t as good at the presentation. And she knew it.”
“She didn’t have to be. She was naturally stunning. Hair. Skin. Body. Eyes. It was all just there. I had a mustache when I was nine. It took a little more work for me. I have hips and boobs, and I’m short. I don’t have anywhere to store anything extra. Lucky for me, my blood is pure vinegar. It makes for a great metabolism.”
Noah laughed. “You never had a mustache. I was there when you were nine, remember? And you have a great metabolism because you never stop moving.”
“Will you put that on my headstone?” she asked.
“What?” Noah frowned.
“Here lies a little package of perfect.”
“All right. If you promise me one thing.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t talk about your headstone ever again.” His voice was pained, and he tossed the ball onto the grass.
“Okay, Boozer. Never again.”
He walked to her and scooped her up, red dress, Reeboks, and all, and hugged her tight. She squealed, surprised, but let him hold her, her feet dangling off the ground, his cheek resting against her head.
“You may not be where you want to be in your life, Mer. But I’m so glad you’re in my life. Your birthday is one of my favorite days, because it means you exist, and I’m so grateful for that,” he murmured.
“You can stop saying nice things now. Okay?” There was a tremor in her voice that made Noah swallow his own emotion back. “I forgive you for saying I look tired. I need you to stop being so sweet or I’m going to cry, and then my makeup will come off, and I really will look old.”
“I meant every word.”
“Even about my armpits?”
He began walking toward her front door, still holding her, her legs still dangling. “Especially about your armpits.”