Nancy Miskinis. That’s a pretty interesting name. The Miskinis part anyway.
Dad showed up on Thanksgiving morning (not Wednesday like he said). He came in the door, said, “Hi, boys,” and then walked around the house, examining the state of things to make sure we weren’t doing any damage.
He wasn’t alone. He arrived with a red-haired lady named Nancy Miskinis. She wore a giant pink puffy sleeping bag for a coat. That’s what it looked like—a sleeping bag with a hole cut in the bottom. And when she pulled that off, the sweetest perfume poured off of her. I liked her right away.
“You can call me Miz, boys,” she said.
“Okay!” I said.
“That’s quite a bruise on your head, Taco,” Miz said.
I nodded. I smiled. Darius made a fugly face if ever there was one. Me, I was very happy to meet this Miz because I’m a happy guy.
You know what? I was happy. I’d had a pretty good couple of days. Everyone at school thought it was super fly that I was arrested for climbing my girlfriend’s house again. They were all like, “Awesome, man! That’s courageous. You’re a Taco Grande with special hot sauce!”
Coach Johnson called me into his office and said I had better stop acting like such a phenomenal dumb ass or I’d find myself derailed for years. I appreciated that he cared.
Actually, Mr. Edwards, Mrs. Mullen, Ms. Tindall, Mr. Lecroy, and Dr. Evans all took time to have private meetings with me and said pretty much the same thing Coach Johnson said. They were all looking out for my future. They wanted to make sure my tomorrows were as great as today, right? They’re all good people.
I totally aced my calc quiz on Monday too. Brad and Sharma had come over on Sunday to study more. If you do the work, pal, anything is possible.
The choir room was rife with kids singing Wizard of Oz songs, as auditions were the following week. Everyone was so nervous and excited about it all. I love the musical season! And Maggie was gone, so I joined right in.
Tuesday night had been the first home basketball game.
Because I was cut from freshman b-ball—a stroke of luck that allowed me to go out for a musical, which I love—I have been available to play the bass drum in the pep band during games. I’m not in band, but Ms. Carlson, the band director, says I have more pep in my step than anybody around. (That’s true.) And holding down the beat is a fine way to show my enthusiasm for the team.
This home game was out of control too. Bluffton defeated Hazel Green by two points on a last-second three-pointer scored by Ryan Bennett. Everybody was falling over in the stands as the ball swooshed through the net. (I almost rolled over the bass drum.) Then we all rushed the court, and a bunch of people lifted Ryan over their heads. Hazel Green is like a tenth the size of Bluffton and only has six players, and we probably should’ve beat them by like a hundred points. But it was a wicked party at the end! Maggie wasn’t there, seeing as she was in Ohio at her grandmother’s, but that didn’t ruin our victory. What a great day.
Wednesday, we didn’t do work—not even in calc.
And then at eleven on Thanksgiving morning, Dad and Nancy Miskinis in her giant pink puffy sleeping bag walked in.
A few minutes after they arrived, after Dad’s home inspection, Dad landed himself in the bathroom, which gave Darius an opening to start a conversation. He’d been staring at Miz like a confused caveman since they had arrived.
“Who the hell are you?” Darius asked her.
Miz smiled at him. Then she said, “Taco, help me bring in the food from the car.”
“You got it!” I said.
We carried in a whole Thanksgiving dinner, pal. Turkey, stuffing, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce in cans, soft white bread, and two pies: one apple, one pumpkin. We had a feast on our hands, which made me like Miz even more.
The Detroit Lions started playing some football on TV, so Darius and Dad sunk into the couch and did what they do best, which is veg out (even though they both hate the Lions). I’m not about vegging, so I worked with the fragrant Miz to heat the beans, potatoes, and turkey.
“You’re a little chef, aren’t you?” Miz said.
“Well, I don’t have formal training, ma’am, but I like to think I’m handy with a frying pan,” I told her.
Darius seemed to think there was a wall between the kitchen and the living room, but there wasn’t. Never was. He seemed to think me and the Miz wouldn’t hear him behave like an animal.
“So is that our new mom?” Darius asked during a commercial break.
“No,” Dad said. “You’ll only ever have one mother.”
“Are you doing her?” Darius asked.
“Darius,” Dad said. “Careful.”
“She looks like a portly pig in that coat.”
“God damn it,” Dad said. “You’d better put a cork in it.”
“Or what? You’ll have her sit on me?”
In the kitchen, like fifteen feet away from that hubbub, Miz smiled. “I think we can set the table. Is it easy enough to move your computer off there?”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s no trouble at all,” I said. I’m sure my face was red because I was so embarrassed about stupid Darius, but Miz seemed totally fine.
“Is porky serving us ham for dinner?” Darius asked.
“I’m sorry about him,” I said to Miz. “Darius had a bad past life, so he’s very ornery, generally speaking.”
Miz winked at me. “I expected a little pushback. I suggested your daddy should let you both know I was coming, but he thought it would be a nice surprise.”
“It sure is a nice surprise,” I said.
“Aren’t you sweet?” she replied.
Then she leaned over and gave me a grandma-style peck on the cheek. I could smell that perfume—or maybe it was lotion?—on my face the rest of the day. Whatever, dingus. I liked it a lot because mom types are good.
During the Thanksgiving meal, Darius stewed in his own sack of mad. He ate fast and hard and sort of growled while he chewed. I, on the other hand, made a lot of fine jokes, and Miz laughed and laughed and slapped my shoulder a bunch. Dad’s eyes sparkled as he watched us make jokes. He clearly thought Miz and me were all that. I liked seeing Dad happy because he’s not a very happy guy. Not normally.
Unfortunately, the good times couldn’t last. The situation between Dad and me got tricky like two minutes after everybody ate their pie. Dad dropped his paper napkin on his plate and said, “Miz, Darius, how about you two go and finish watching the game? I need to have a conversation with Taco.”
“About how he’s gonna be a dad?” Darius hissed.
Dad’s face turned red, and he shook his head.
“You going to talk dad to dad?” Darius taunted.
“Shut up,” I told him. “You said you weren’t going to tell him.”
“How about you and me get to know each other over some football?” Miz said to Darius.
Darius kicked back his chair. “I’m going downstairs.”
“You’re welcome to stay for this discussion, ma’am,” I said. Given what was about to go down, I really wanted her there to cushion the blow.
“I’m going to get a little beauty rest on the couch, I think.” She smiled, but I could see the worry lines creasing her forehead underneath her big pile of red hair. “You boys do your talking.”
A second later Dad said very quietly and slowly, “What the hell is Darius talking about?”
“Nothing,” I said. “No biggie.”
“There’s shit going on, isn’t there? Got a call from Mr. Frederick. Said he’d like to talk to the two of us over at Country Kitchen tomorrow. Said you got busted climbing up the Corrigan house again. Said he figured you had a crush on this crazy Maggie chick that you couldn’t let go of. He laughed quite a bit about you, Taco. Laughed because he thinks you’re such a good kid—just too enthusiastic.”
“Uh-huh?” My heart was beginning to pound hard. “That’s nice.”
“Bullshit. You’re a screwup. We don’t have time or money for screwups in this family, do we?”
I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to answer his question or not, so I said, “We should sit down and talk with Mr. Frederick, I guess.”
Then Dad got even quieter. “Taco,” he said. “What the hell does Darius mean dad to dad?”
My heart really took off right then, pal. It raced so fast, it made me dizzy. I heard echoes of what Mr. Frederick said when the cops pulled me off the Corrigan home, what Mr. Corrigan said when Maggie and her mom were fighting. The words reverberated in my mind. This is real. This is real. This is real.
“Um. Well. Maggie Corrigan wanted to show that she loved me, and I love her completely, so we began to do it…recreationally.”
“Do it recreationally?” Dad’s face turned purple. “Where?”
“You know…in her woman parts.”
“Yeah, no shit. Where did this ‘doing it’ take place?” Dad asked. “In her car? Out by Belmont Tower? The Big M?”
Oh balls, I didn’t want to answer where. But I couldn’t lie to Dad’s face, and I couldn’t just not talk. “Here,” I said. “In the master suite.”
Dad reached across the table and slapped my face. His thumb smacked the bruise from my fight with Darius, which made my eyes water really badly. “Why was there a girl in this house? I told you no girls.”
I blinked because I couldn’t see very well with the tears. “Because I love her and my butt hurt, so I felt like I had to bend the rules.”
Dad slapped my face again. His wedding ring—the one that made him married to mom, not Miz—stung my cheek.
“Shit. Don’t,” I said. “Please.”
“You disobeyed me,” Dad said.
“Yes,” I said.
“And she’s pregnant? Is that’s what Darius meant?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Goddamn it, goddamn it, goddamn it, Taco.”
“I didn’t mean it. We weren’t trying.”
“No shit. What is she going to do about it? Get rid of it?”
“I don’t know.” I blinked my tears. They rolled down my face. “I don’t know anything,” I said.
“Are you going to be on the hook for child support?”
“I…I don’t really know what that means.”
“Jesus Christ!” Dad shouted. He stood up. He kicked the computer tower, which was sitting in the corner of the room. “Miz!” he shouted. “I need some air. Let’s walk.”
Miz got up fast and hightailed it after Dad, who was stomping out the door. It was maybe forty degrees out there, but they didn’t take their coats.
They disappeared down the street. I stood at the picture window and watched for them because I wanted to tell Dad I was sorry for breaking the rules and being such an idiot and everything.
While I was waiting, Darius came upstairs. “Don’t worry about that asshole, man. He barely gives us any cash anyway. Every month it goes down by like fifty bucks. Pretty soon I bet he doesn’t give us anything. This is our house, not his house.”
“Really?” I asked.
“I paid the rent for November. All of it,” Darius said. He puffed out his chest like a king or something. But he actually made me scared because I know Darius wasn’t a king.
“Shit. I have to… I should get a job…you know, to help you out.”
Darius shook his head. “You don’t think I can take care of you?” he bellowed.
“There are expenses, Darius. You have expenses, and I have expenses. I have a fine to pay, you know? And there’s Maggie.”
Darius glared. He spoke really slowly. “That is not the deal. I work my ass off so you can be a kid, so you do well in school, so you do your stupid extracurriculars, so you graduate and go to college. You will not get a job, Taco, or all this torture you’re putting me through is a total waste.”
“But we’re screwed,” I said.
“I can handle it.”
“But my fine? And Maggie?”
“I can handle your fine,” Darius said.
“But the baby?”
“Shut up, Taco. You don’t have a baby. Maggie Corrigan has a baby.”
“No, asshole,” I said. “I have a baby too. If I can’t get a job, give me my damn swimming pool money so that I can afford my stupid life!”
“You tell Maggie Corrigan that she’s not welcome in this house anymore. Not ever again or I’ll call the cops. You got it?”
“You’re a jerk!”
“I’m your dad!” he shouted back.
We both got quiet. Just then we heard a car start. Dad and Miz were back from their walk, but they didn’t come inside. We watched them through the picture window. They just took off.
“What the hell?” I shouted. “Miz’s sleeping-bag coat is in the closet!”
“They’re probably going back to the hotel to drink.”
“Why aren’t they staying here?”
“Because Dad’s an asshole. I’m sure they’ll waddle their fat butts back soon enough though. Dad won’t want to buy her a new coat,” Darius said. Then he turned and went back down to his basement.
Dad didn’t contact me for the rest of the day. Later he called Darius and invited him out.
“I’m going to meet the jerk over at Dieter’s,” Darius said. “He wants to discuss you.”
“Why can’t I go?” I asked.
“First, you’re in high school. You can’t go to a bar. Secondly, he doesn’t want to talk to you—just wants to talk about you,” Darius said.
I still figured Dad would swing by sometime during the evening to talk (and to get Miz’s coat), but it didn’t happen. Around 9:00 p.m., the phone bleated, but it wasn’t Dad. Mr. Frederick was on the other end of the line.
“Hey there, Taco,” he said.
“Yeah?” I asked. I couldn’t get a lot of air because I was home alone and didn’t know what the shit was going on with anyone.
“You and your dad are meeting me at Country Kitchen at 9:15 tomorrow morning.”
“We are?” I asked.
“Your dad will pick you up at nine, okay?”
“Why didn’t Dad tell me?” I asked. “Why are you calling?”
“He’s a little stumped about your state of affairs, son. He didn’t want to yell at you, so he asked me to make the arrangements.”
“He probably didn’t want to hit me either,” I said.
“Hit you?” Mr. Frederick asked.
“Never mind,” I said. “See you tomorrow.”
I had a very shitty night.