“Until then, I think I’m going to like California.”
“I know you will, El. Just promise me you’ll be safe. Don’t go home with strangers.”
“Pfft. I wouldn’t even know how to flirt.”
“They’ll flirt with you. I can’t wait to hear the stories.”
“Love you, Sofia.”
“Love you, El.”
She hangs up. Deep down I know she wanted to come, but something at home keeps her there. I don’t know if it’s her mom or what, but I’m now determined to get her to Los Angeles before I leave.
5
Quinn
My dad’s tinkering with his motorcycle when I pull into the driveway. He looks up briefly, waves and goes back to whatever he’s doing. I run my hand over the chrome handlebar, over the gas can and finally over the leather seat. He’s had this bike for as long as I can remember, back when it was just him and I, cruising the streets of Los Angeles. When he bought it, my grandmother threw a fit, yelling about how he was trying to kill us both. Thankfully, I can say my dad, with or without someone else on the back, has never been in a wreck.
“Do you ever think about trading this in for something new?” I ask, pulling up a stool.
“All the time, but the memories outweigh what I’d get for a trade-in.”
“Memories are in your mind and heart,” I tell him. He pauses and looks at me. My dad and I are the spitting image of each other. At least that’s what everyone tells us. Right now, I’m his junior, with our matching style of dress, complete with beanies. I never intended to start wearing one until my mom bought me one for Christmas. I started using it because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. I figured she thought I’d want to emulate my dad, and in some ways, I do. Once I started, I never took it off and now these hats are a part of me, part of who I am.
“Some are visual,” he says. “I can remember the first time I took you for a ride. You sat right here,” he points to the front. “And I drove all the side streets, so you’d get used to it and then I moved you to the back and showed you how to hang onto me. It was a few months before you were comfortable. There’s the time I made your grandma ride. I can still hear her yelling and laughing at me.”
“Or the first time you took Mom for a ride.”
My dad smiles, and his cheeks become flush. If he wasn’t so in love with her, I’d wonder what has him so embarrassed.
“What about when I added the sidecar?” he asks.
This time I laugh. “That was fun. The twins loved it.”
“So, you see, I can’t get rid of it.”
“Buy a new one. It’s not like you and Mom don’t go riding all the time. I bet she’d love one of the brand new bikes.”
“She tell you that?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Just an observation.”
“Huh. What brings you down?” He crouches down and starts working on whatever piece is giving him trouble.
“Thought I’d catch some waves.”
“Your mom won’t allow it. There’s a rip current right now, it’s nasty. ‘No swimming’ signs have been up for about three days.”
“Oh.”
Dad looks at me again and stops what he’s doing. “Want to go for a ride?”
I shake my head.
“Want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”