“I don’t know. Right here, probably,” I said, pointing at my TV.
“But I want to watch it with my best friend. You have to be there.”
I shrugged, resisting the strong urge to tell her you can’t always get what you want. “We’ll see,” I said. “It’s still a few weeks away.”
“What are you doing for Christmas?”
“Going to New York,” I lied, though the idea had crossed my mind. Anything was better than being with my mom this year.
“Oh,” she said. “That will be fun.”
“Yeah,” I said, thinking that nothing in the world sounded like fun. Nothing seemed to matter at all.
“Well, if you change your mind … and don’t go … will you spend the day with us?”
I knew exactly who us included and thought that there was zero chance of that. Less than zero.
“Sure, Luce,” I said. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” she said. “You’re my best friend.”
“And you’re mine,” I said.
“Promise?” she said, but I knew that wasn’t really what she was asking. She was asking for my forgiveness. She was telling me that she knew how selfish and childish she was being. But that she just couldn’t help it. Just as she couldn’t bring back her mother or the baby she’d loved for only a few weeks.
So I looked at her and told her the truth. “Yes,” I said, thinking that not only was she my best friend but she was really the only thing I had left. “I promise.”
Forty-four
Because I had no other options, I decided to go to New York after all, booking the cheapest flight I could on Christmas Eve, the last one out of Dallas, and landing at LaGuardia so late that the airport had mostly cleared out. My father had said he was sending me a car, but there he stood at the bottom of the escalator leading to baggage claim, wearing a dark suit, holding a little white placard that read: MERRY CHRISTMAS, SHEA BUTTER STADIUM!
I laughed when I saw the pet name I’d almost completely forgotten about, feeling more touched than I could ever remember feeling when it came to my dad. This would be our first Christmas together since he’d left Texas, as my mother had put it in their divorce agreement that I couldn’t go to New York until the twenty-sixth. In other words, she got Christmas with her daughter, just as he got Christmas with his daughter.
“Hi, Dad,” I said, grinning. “Nice sign.”
He smiled, did a funny little at-your-service bow, and tucked the card into his breast pocket. “Merry Christmas, honey.”
“Merry Christmas … You didn’t have to come out here. I could have taken a taxi.”
“It got me out of mass,” he said, winking. Upon his third marriage, Astrid had made him convert to Catholicism, but his heart wasn’t in it, any more than his heart was in being a college football fan or a Republican. They were just things he did, not felt.
“I’m sure she’s thrilled with me,” I said as we walked toward baggage claim and the only active conveyor belt. “Gotta be that one,” I said, pointing. “Sorry. I had a carry-on, but they made me check it …”
“Yep. Carousel number three,” he said, slowing his stride and squinting up at the arrivals board. “And stop worrying about Astrid. She’s doing her thing. She’s fine.”
“Still. It’s Christmas Eve.”
“Oh, stop with that. I wanted to come. Did you decide how long you’re staying? Because I want to get reservations and tickets.”
“Tickets to what?” I said, football still on my mind. I knew the Jets and the Giants were both off, so wondered if he might be talking about the Knicks. Basketball might be a nice change of pace, actually.
“To shows, plays, the Rockettes … anything you want.”
I smiled, then spotted my frayed roller bag, swooping in to grab it.
“Let me get that for you,” he said, as I wheeled it toward him. “I’m your driver, remember?”
“Shea Butter Stadium,” I said, shaking my head and turning over my bag. “I totally forgot about that.”
My dad laughed, clearly proud of himself. “Nobody else calls you that?”
“Uh, no. Nobody’s really thinking about the Mets in Texas.”
“What about butter? They think about butter in Texas.”
I laughed and said, “What are you tryin’ to say?”
“Y’all like your fried foods,” he said, doing a shitty Southern accent.
“Yes, we do.” I smiled, following him outside, the first few seconds of cold blasting my face and shocking me the way it always did. “Damn,” I said, pulling my only scarf across my face.