Home > The Smallest Part(9)

The Smallest Part(9)
Author: Amy Harmon

“I remember the day this was taken,” Noah said, softly smiling.

“Me too. But was it . . . before?” Mercedes asked. “I couldn’t remember.”

“Yeah. It was.”

“It was a good day. We got to go to a pre-season Jazz game, remember? Papi got four free tickets on a job he did, and he took us.”

Noah nodded. “The Jazz against the Clippers. The Jazz killed ‘em.”

“I got sick—”

“And threw up in my collectible cup,” Noah finished.

“You didn’t even get mad at me. You carried it away like it was no big deal. What thirteen-year-old boy does that?”

“I was afraid if I didn’t get rid of it, Cora was going to puke too, and I didn’t have another cup.”

“Open the other present,” she said.

“You got me two?”

“I got you more than two. Open it!” Mercedes insisted.

He tore off the wrapping and pulled out a collectible, 32-ounce mug with a screw-on lid and Karl Malone and John Stockton on the side, the old Jazz logo rimming the top.

“Where did you find this?” he cried.

“I have my ways. It’s not exactly the same as the one you had . . . but close. And bonus, there’s no vomit inside. However, there is something else.” Noah screwed off the cap and tipped it over. Two Jazz tickets slid out into his hand.

“They’re for tonight, which is why I asked Heather to watch Gia. And—” Mercedes picked up the final box. “You can wear this.”

“There’s a definite theme going on here,” he mused, but pulled the ribbon from the remaining box. When he removed the folded, purple jersey, shaking it out so he could see it, his eyes widened and swung to hers.

“Eaton?”

She shrugged, worried that maybe she’d messed up. “I was going to get you a Malone, #32 jersey, but then I saw that. And it felt right. I got one for myself too. It made me laugh. It’s like Cora’s going with us that way.”

His throat worked for a moment, his eyes clinging to the jersey. “I love it,” he whispered. “Cora would get a kick out of it.” His eyes rose to hers. “Thank you, Mer.”

“You’re welcome. Your final gift is hotdogs at the Delta Center, so go change. We’re gonna be late.”

They weren’t late, but the skies were dark and cold as they walked hand in hand from the crowded parking lot, hurrying against the sharp wind. The leaves scattered like flocks of starlings, rushing, lifting, and twirling away. Mercedes’s legs were so cold in her ripped jeans she couldn’t feel them, and her toes felt like foreign objects on the end of her four-inch heels.

“It’s basketball, Mer. Not fashion week. What happened to the days of sneakers and basketball shorts?”

“I still own some sneakers. But they have heels too.”

Noah laughed and pulled on her long ponytail. She’d threaded it through the opening of her cap, but it still swung halfway down her back. “High heels, ripped jeans, and a baseball cap,” he catalogued.

“And hoops,” she said, flicking the huge, gold hoops hanging from her ears. “Ya gotta wear hoops when you’re watchin’ hoop.” She sounded like Rosie Perez from White Men Can’t Jump.

“It works for you.”

“I know.” She winked. “Heels make me tall.”

“You’re still not tall, sweetheart,” Noah said.

“They make me feel tall on the inside.” She knew the endearment was an afterthought, but she liked the sound of it. When most men called her sweetheart, it was dismissive. When Noah called her sweetheart, she felt his affection.

“It won’t be the same without Karl,” Mercedes mourned, changing the subject. “Who are we going to cheer for now? The traitor.”

“I can’t believe he went to the Lakers,” Noah said, sounding like his younger self. He’d always despised the Lakers. When she’d asked him why, he told her it was because they were always winning. He liked rooting for the underdog.

“I never used to miss a game, now I don’t even know half the Jazz players,” he confessed.

“Maybe it’s time we restart our fandom,” she suggested.

“Maybe so.”

The arena was bright and raucous, and it smelled like salt and nacho cheese. A beat thumped across the ceiling, down the rows, and gathered on the floor where the players were warming up. It was like Disneyland, where no troubles existed, and nothing mattered but the next few hours. They found their seats, pulled their jackets off, and Noah left to get them some drinks and snacks before the opening tip. When he returned, his arms full, he handed Mercedes a cup and folded himself into the seat beside her.

“These tickets had to cost you an arm and a leg, Mer.”

“Don’t worry. I slept with a client. Got ‘em for free.”

“Oh yeah? Good. I was feeling guilty.”

She snickered and took a big swig from her Diet Coke.

They spent the first half getting acquainted with who was who, getting used to a new lineup, and talking about the old days.

“Ostertag’s still here!” Mercedes crowed, and she and Noah threw their heads back and called his name, “Ooooooosterrrtaaaag,” the way Hot Rod Hundley did whenever the big, bald center scored.

It wasn’t until the time out at the beginning of the fourth quarter that everything went bad. The huge jumbotron hanging in the center of the arena lit up with the Kissing Cam. It took a moment for the crowd to get in on the action, but it wasn’t long before the whole arena was laughing and pointing as the camera swung from couple to couple, everyone participating with good natured pecks and the occasional passionate lip-lock. It wasn’t until the people around them started to scream and point, that Mercedes recognized herself, larger than life, sitting beside Noah, and realized what was happening. The words KISS HER lit up the screen around their faces, pulsing bigger and bigger.

“Por qué?” Mercedes groaned.

Noah’s face was tight and his shoulders stiff, but he leaned toward her, sliding his hand around her neck and pulling her close. His kiss was light and soft, his eyes open and holding hers. His beard tickled her chin and the crowd clapped and hollered until another couple lit up the jumbotron, closing the curtain on their performance.

Like that, their laughter was gone, taking with it the carefree teasing and the window of peace and forgetfulness. For several minutes, they sat in awkward silence, aware of each other in a way they weren’t before, uncomfortable with each other in a way they’d never been. Mercedes reached over and laced her fingers through his.

“I’m sorry, Noah.”

He didn’t ask her for what. He didn’t brush away the apology. He just squeezed her hand once and let it go, keeping his eyes trained on the court. He watched the game, though from his bleak expression and faraway eyes, Mer knew he wasn’t following the action. The game wasn’t fun anymore. Being with him wasn’t fun. It hurt. All of it. And it was way too soon.

“Let’s go home,” she said, and pulled on her coat.

His eyes found hers. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “If we leave now, we won’t have to fight the crowds.”

He stood immediately, snagging his own coat, and followed her up the stairs toward the exit. Noah didn’t take her hand like he had on the way in. He walked with his hands stuffed in his pockets and his eyes on the ground. When they made it out the main entrance doors and started down the sidewalk to the huge parking lot, he picked up speed, and Mercedes struggled to keep up with his long stride. He was at least two lengths in front of her when he suddenly realized she wasn’t beside him. He turned and cursed quietly, stopped, and waited for her to catch up. But he didn’t resume walking when she reached him.

“I haven’t kissed anyone but Cora in ten years,” he blurted.

“I’m not anyone. Kissing me is like kissing Gia. Right? Like kissing your mom.”

He scoffed. “I never kissed my mom. Your mom kissed me more than my mom did.”

The odd twisting in her chest came again, causing her to press a hand between her breasts to ease the pain.

“Mami kissed you because it was easier than telling you she loved you,” she explained, knowing the reason wasn’t important, but needing something to say.

“Yeah. I know.” Noah was silent for a moment, standing hunched against the cold, one hand in his pocket, one hand clamped around the back of his neck.

“The thing is . . . kissing you isn’t like kissing Gia, Mer. Kissing you . . . feels like I’m betraying Cora. And even though she’s gone, I’m not ready to go there yet. Not even with my best friend. Not even for the Kissing Cam.”

Mercedes didn’t trust herself to speak or even meet his gaze. She just nodded and began walking again, desperate to escape the sense that her six-month sabbatical from crying was about to end in very noisy, painful tears. She hadn’t cried for Cora. She hadn’t cried for Noah or Gia. She hadn’t cried for herself.

“I’m sorry, Noah. This was a terrible mistake,” she gasped, walking so fast she was almost running, her arms folded across her chest. “I thought it would be good. I thought it would be okay. I thought we would laugh, and we could forget for a while. That’s all.”

He was easily keeping stride with her, but she could hear his frustration when he reached out and grabbed her arm, forcing her to slow down. “I don’t want to forget, Mer. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. If I forget her . . . then she will truly be gone.”

It was like a dam burst in her chest, a rush of water and grief so torrential, she couldn’t see her shoes. And she couldn’t take another step. She sank to her haunches in the middle of the sidewalk and covered her face with her hands.

“Mer?” Noah whispered, sinking down beside her. He tried to lift her chin, to pull her hands from her face, but she yanked her head away, the momentum sending her falling back so she sat down hard on the concrete.

“I’ve hurt your feelings. That’s not what I wanted. I just needed to explain,” Noah said, aghast.

“Let’s just g-go home, ok-kay?” she sobbed. “I’m all right. I’m j-just t-tired. N-no b-big d-deal.”

He helped her to her feet, looping his arm around her waist, and she walked the final stretch to the parking lot, staggering like she’d had too much to drink. She wished she had. The lot was packed with cars of every make and color, but there wasn’t a soul in sight, and they slipped in between the sleeping vehicles until they found her Corolla.

“I’m driving,” Noah said when she began digging in her purse for her keys. She surrendered her purse without a fight and let him tuck her into the passenger seat and pull the belt across her lap and click it home. But he didn’t move away. He wiped the tears from her cheeks, peering under the brim of her baseball cap, his own eyes wet in the weak light.

   
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