Chapter 21:
The 1989 Chrysler Maserati and other bad decisions
After all the stress, I needed some peace and quiet so I picked out a nice hiking trail in the area, packed my gear, dressed in my sex offender best and made my way into town. Luckily most of Aspen's tourists seemed to spend their time in the mountains rather than in town, so the streets were deserted. I enjoyed the serenity, taking deep breaths, smelling the fresh mountain air, as I strolled past red-brick storefronts. After a few minutes of walking, I reached the bus stop, which happened to be across from a Marijuana Dispensary.
I snickered.
This was Colorado, alright.
By the time I sat down, my fingers were twitching in anticipation of the hike. The enticing mountain slopes tempting me in the distance. I could almost touch them, dig my heels in, lie down on the soft red soil.
I had always loved nature.
Just as the bus pulled up I heard a gasping voice call after me.
"Wait Kai, hold up."
I turned around. It wasn't a reporter this time. Enrique of the Majestics came running up the slope.
His sweaty blonde locks stuck to his reddened face. He had probably ran the entire distance from the hotel. By the time he got here and had recovered his breath enough to talk, the bus had left. I silently cursed him.
"Is it true, that you and Wyatt are..."
He cautiously looked around. There wasn't anyone but us here, yet he couldn't bring himself to say the words. I did appreciate someone being considerate for the first time.
"Yes, it's true." I groaned. "No need to be cryptic about it. Everyone already knows."
"Really now? Knowing him it doesn't surprise me." His voice broke. "But I never pegged you as the type."
I had always known Enrique as a player, until now he had struck me as too self-absorbed to care about other people's sexuality.
"What? Did you come here to ride me for being gay?"
"Nothing wrong with it." He insisted. "I just wanted to hear it from you, I guess." He sounded defeated.
On closer inspections his eyes were puffed, like he had been crying.
I nodded. "Right."
It didn't make any sense.
"I'll be on my way then. Good luck tomorrow. And uh." He was nervously shifting from one leg to another. "Congratulations, I suppose."
Then he walked off, shoulders slouched.
How strange. He was the first person to actually take us seriously.
Finally, I put two and two together.
En-riqu-e.
Oh fuck.
"Ricky!"
He turned around.
Shit. It was him.
"You are Ricky." I said accusingly.
A burst of jealousy briefly washed over me before I realised how petty that was, considering I was the one married to Wyatt.
"Uh, yeah?" He looked confused. "Did he not tell you?"
Of all the things, meeting my partner's ex was not something I was prepared for. Even for the press scenario I had ran anxiety driven simulations in my head.
"He left out some details." I said blankly.
"Like, that we dated?"
"He said you weren't really interested in that." I cut back, defending Wyatt.
How pathetic of Enrique to come crawling back just as his first love had moved on and then try to rock our relationship.
Naturally, I grew an instinctive dislike towards him, though I could not say for sure if it was genuine or societal norms had brainwashed me to feel that way. From movies and observing my father's relationships, I concluded I was supposed to feel at least mildly antagonistic yet act civil, not to be the bigger person, but in order to one up him.
"Of course I was, it just wasn't that easy, we are different, you know." He said, clearly grasping at straws.
"Seems to me that we are the same."
He sighed. "I have an image to uphold. And I'm actually close to my parents. It's not that big of a deal for you, with your grandfather being in jail and your family name ruined. You have nothing to lose."
"That is low."
Enrique had always struck me as macho but harmless. I would have never guessed he was capable of such cruelty. To imply it didn't matter if I was gay because nobody loved me enough to be disappointed by it. Worst part is, it wasn't a stretch to believe it was true. Was my father's lax attitude due to him not caring? It was easy enough not to get upset at things that don't matter. Any reasonable parent should have been concerned, right?
"Sorry. That came out wrong. I meant you can be more carefree."
"Do you really think having my grandfather locked up makes me less anxious?"
He dramatically threw his arms in the air.
"I don't know, man. It seems you got it all figured out. You married the guy I love, you don't have the right to play the victim here." He said with a quivering voice.
"You are right." I admitted shamefully.
What the hell had I been doing? I was the bad guy here, rubbing salt into his wounds, rather than showing compassion.
Enrique wiped a tear out of his eye.
"I don't know why I'm mad at you." He shrugged. "I missed out. It's my own fault for taking too long to appreciate what we had."
What was I supposed to say to him? Would it be weird if I comforted him? Was that even fair? I'd be taking away his right to hate me.
He ended the conversation before I got a chance to come up with anything.
"Take care, Kai. Treat him well."
Well, That was weird.
What had my life come to? I had eloped with my boyfriend. Been dishonoured by the press. Now it turned out I was involved in some sort of love triangle with Enrique, of all people.
As if the universe was trying to make a point, that yes, life could indeed get stranger, I recognised the trustfund hippie in the tie-dye shirt that came walking out the Dispensary. He carried a brown paper bag and had a real guilty disposition.
"You gotta be kidding me."
He spun around.
"Kai."
"Yes, Dad."
"This is not what it looks like."
I crossed my arms. "So you did not fly all the way over here, only to prioritise getting high over actually comforting me?"
"No, that's not it. I thought we could get high together."
I snorted. "Father of the year."
To be fair to him, it was in character. It didn't even lower the bar much, as the bar was already underground.
He was still standing in the same spot, like a deer in headlights, chewing his lip and crinkling his forehead as though he was devising an exit strategy. Seems he resigned to not having one, so he pointed at his car.
"I was going to take you on a hike, that way we could be alone, and talk. I thought I'd bring the weed just in case."
I wasn't buying it, but since the mountains had been my planned destination, I did agree to get in the car with him. Why the hell not, at this point?
-x-x-x-
We had taken rest at the shores of a photogenic lake. The crystal clear water was glistening in the bright sunlight as through it was made from celestine, its crisp surface rippling as I skipped stones across it. In the background, a gentle breeze was making the trees dance, branches twisting and shifting in unison. Natures perfection sharply contrasted with my fathers clumsy attempts at rolling a joint.
"I thought you would be good at it, by now." I remarked dryly, tossing yet another stone in the lake.
"I mostly use a bong at home. Dammit, I really should have bought a pipe. I think there is something off about my saliva, it doesn't seem to work on most papers."
Yes, that had to be the reason. Not that he was clumsy, or anything.
He finally got the paper to stick and held the joint up triumphantly.
"Here you go, son, take the first hit."
"They might drug test me, so no. But you go ahead, I know its what you came here for." I said coldy.
He looked genuinely hurt by that remark, and to my amazement, he tucked the joint away.
"I'm actually trying my best here, son. In my own way. You seemed to vibe with it when you were younger."
"So your parenting style of choice is neglect?"
"That's a bit harsh."
"How would you describe it?"
He reached for a stone, throwing it in a half-assed manner. I was bitter to note, that it travelled further than any of mine.
"I hated how my father raised me." He said somberly. "I wanted to be the opposite of him. I wanted to be a parent that is also your friend. So you could feel safe coming to me about things you were inevitably going to do, like get into trouble, drugs, or sex. I grew up terrified of my father. I never felt heard. He never cared to listen to my side of the story. He would just get angry and smack me. It didn't even matter if it was my fault. Any embarrassment to him was deemed reason for punishment. I swore to myself I would never become like him."
He kept his eyes glued to the lake, they were watering. I had never seen him get this emotional before.
"I appreciate it. What you were going for, anyway. But sometimes I need a father not a friend."
"Would you rather I be angry with you right now?"
"No." I admitted. "Maybe you're not so bad after all."
"I have my perks." He winked. "Now, tell me how you feel about the press outing you. Your real emotions. Unfiltered."
I wanted to cry in his arms. But his buddy energy made me feel compelled to keep up the tough guy act. Like I was constantly trying to impress a friend who would leave me if I didn't fit the mould.
But he wasn't my friend, he was my Dad. And he wouldn't leave me if I started crying.
So I did. And it felt right.
I told him of my guilt. How I had actually come to regret my overzealous decision to marry my boyfriend. And my panic about not being able to go back to how things were. Not without breaking everything. My father held me and listened patiently. Gently brushing his hand over my hair and whispering comforting platitudes.
"You're going to be okay. This too shall pass. Go with the flow."
They weren't very profound, but his hippie mantras were exactly what I needed right now to feel protected.
"I think I just got carried away by something that felt good for a change." I admitted.
"We all do. We are human. It's really nothing to be ashamed of. The first love of my life landed me a criminal record. The second gave me a baby. Bless your heart, I love you." He added with a smile.
"Next, meeting the third love of my life led to me getting a cringy tattoo." He proudly showed off the shamrock on his ankle.
"You're right, that is tacky."
"The fourth broke my front teeth and gave me this scar."
He pointed at the one on his chin. It was obvious he had needed stitches for it.
"Then the third one came back and gave me four years of marital mediocracy. Yet, I'm crazy enough about her that I would take her back in a heartbeat. You see, son, you are just at the start of your journey of making an ass of yourself. Don't overthink it. Just enjoy the ride. There are some real emotional highs in there that make it all worth it. It's a never ending tug of war between seeking comfort or fun."
I nodded. It was time for me to have some fun. I deserved it.
"Thanks Dad."
-x-x-x-
"This is my father. He's going to chaperone us for a while. He will help with interviews and such."
My Dad put a hand on my shoulder and grinned proudly.
"Are you trying to pass off your dealer as your Dad?" Tyson teased me, to which I gently nudged him.
"He might be both."
That remark landed me one too.
Kenny nodded his head enthusiastically. "That's is fantastic. It will be good to have an adult around!"
I'm sure they were all too happy not to deal with my mess themselves. I couldn't blame them. I had brought my Daddy in to handle it for me. That's what parents were for. It felt nice to let someone else take the reigns.
My teammates were a little too interested in him for my liking, but he knew how to entertain. And how to tell stories without revealing anything of value. He kept it up, sharing funny anecdotes about my childhood, until someone knocked on the door. It was Judy. My father's eyes lit up the moment he saw her. He casually pressed himself against the door frame, thrusting out his chest and flexing his biceps, probably to distract from his bulging gut.
"Hello there, pretty lady. How can I help you?"
"Hi there, you must be Kai's brother."
"His father actually. Dan."
Her expression changed from irritated to interested. Maybe he met the age threshold.
"Really? I'm Judy. Team Manager of the PPB Team."
"Pleasure to meet you." He winked.
I gaged.
Judy however, seemed to enjoy being hit on. She was giggling like a school girl.
"Likewise."
I had met Max' father. Seems she a liking for the rugged type. My father with his unshaven face and ever-present stench of weed embodied that category. His pockets were still stuffed with his goodies from the dispensary and he was giving off an obvious odour. Even Tyson had noticed.
She smiled. I had never seen Judy look this entranced before. Maybe she was getting a second hand high.
"What brings you here, my lady?
"We got a memo." She handed him a paper slip. Their hands touched for a painfully long moment. "They moved the match to 3 pm. They want to hold a press conference first."
"Thank you for letting us now. I'll see if I can move it, I think we both agree that beyblading should come before gossip, right?"
"Absolutely. That is what we are here for after all."
Max and I exchanged knowing looks, when our parents made plans to reconvene at dinner to talk things through. Dad smiled giddily after she left.
"Damn, I didn't know there were hotties like that working in beyblading."
"She is also Max' mom." I pointed out.
"I meant to say she is a very respectable woman." Dad swiftly corrected himself.
It even made Max laugh.
My father had always had an indescribable charm about him. Most people took an immediate liking to him. It was only after a few too many promises had fallen through, that people realised he was all talk.
"I should go train." I announced.
"But we went on a two hour hike today." Dad protested.
"This is the world championship. Strolling around a mountain isn't going to cut it."
He sighed.
"You do you. I'm going to have a smoke break."
I rolled my eyes. He wasn't being subtle.
"You do you."
-x-x-x-
My father did well in keeping the press situation under wraps. His background in advertising came to his advantage. He knew all the legal loopholes and managed to turn tides in our favour, presenting Wyatt and I as the victims of a homophobic agenda.
"Juvenile athletes should have a right to privacy. No matter their sexuality!" He had told reporters.
Soon headlines from those same online news sources that had relished in our misery were questioning whether it was "Problematic to out celebrities".
I was surprised to learn my father was actually good at his job. Maybe he had scored his position based on merit rather than nepotism?
It was nice to have him around, even though he did have a tendency to drop off the face of the Earth at random times of the day. Probably to puff his pipe.
"You two have that in common." Max observed. "Not much else though."
I thanked him for the compliment.
"Are you worried he will end up your step father?" I couldn't blame him.
Max just smiled and shook his head.
"Nah. My parents have a strange relationship. If they stay together for too long, Mom gets sick of Dad's antics, just as he needs a break from her being such a Type A Personality. So they will split up, for years at a time, then they start missing each other. They are a co-dependent mess. They need each other to function.
The uncertainty was very stressful for me when I was younger. I'd always look for couples on TV for guidance on what relationships should look like. But I realised, that mould does not fit everybody. Certainly not them. They will always be each other's one true love, they just need to do it their way. And it works. They are much less miserable than other couples."
What he said made more sense to me than it should. I knew I loved Wyatt, and I couldn't see myself be with anyone else. Yet I didn't physically want to be with him 24/7.
"I'm more concerned for your Dad. Better prepare him for heartbreak." Max added.
"He'll be alright. When he gets too overwhelmed by his emotions, he'll flush them down with some brown."
He truly wasn't that hard to babysit. As long as the "brown" referred to weed or alcohol and nothing more messed up like Black Tar Heroin or some shit (I mean that literally, the day he starts fermenting his faecal matter to get high I'm out) I was okay with my duties.
"I think he is only rebounding anyway. He is currently separating from his wife."
"You never mentioned your parents are getting a divorce. Are you doing alright?"
"Not my parents." I corrected him. "Him and my step mother. She never liked me much. I want to say I'm happy I won't have to deal with her anymore, but that seems a bit cruel, considering."
It was obvious to everyone that my Dad was an emotional mess right now, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. All the more reason I was grateful he had come to support me. Even though I knew he, in part, had done so to distract himself.
-x-x-x-
"I'm getting a new tattoo, today." My father announced to the team at breakfast. "Wanna join me Kai? I'll let you pick out one for yourself."
My teammates barely batted an eyelid, used to his antics by now.
"Christ. You're such a terrible parent." I said.
"Can I get one too?" Max asked enthusiastically. Having fully accepted him as his step father for the time being.
"Sorry squirt, I'm trying to impress your momma, not upset her."
"I don't think that's something Judy will be into." I pointed out.
Dad still had a cheeky, all knowing, grin plastered on his face. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head.
"Trust me, bossy women like her love a bad boy." He claimed confidently.
Max gagged. I rolled my eyes.
"So are you coming, Kiki?"
My teammates giggled, like every time he called me that. Much to my dismay, they had picked up the habit too.
"Yes." I groaned.
I was a teenager after all. Of course, I thought tattoos were cool.
-x-x-x-
The tattoo parlour was nestled between a ski rental and a bar. The crowd looked like an even blend of both patrons. Mostly college kids. Talking about their adventures in the mountains.
"My plan is to, like, get a tattoo every place I travel too, so that I'll have a cute travel log, but it's, like, on my body." A girl, decked out from head to toe in Patagonia gear, announced.
"Oh my Gosh, Becky! That is such a unique idea! I'm totally gonna do the same."
I chuckled.
In the waiting room there were two frat boys discussing how large they wanted their Greek letters to be.
"Do you think I should add a drop shadow to it?"
His mate egged him on. "Totally! Then people can see it from a distance."
I looked over to my Dad. Were we that tacky too? He was still entranced in a conversation with his artist, so it gave me some more time to look around. There were framed photographs of dolphins on ankles, lower back butterflies, bald eagles carrying banners that said "9/11 Never Forget!".
"What do you think? Should I get the tribal or the barbed wire?" Dad asked me.
"Remind me, what tribe do you belong to, again?" I teased him.
He pinched my painted cheeks. "Same as you, kiddo."
Touché.
"You can't go wrong with the barbed wire." The tattoo artist insisted. "It's all the hype right now. It will never go out of style."
"Surely, that can't be right." I remarked, yet nobody seemed interested in my wisdom.
"Have you picked out one for yourself yet?" Dad asked, smiling kindly.
"Not sure I want one actually."
"Just get it on your back. You can't get tired of it if you don't have to see it." He advised.
I scoffed. His logic was flawless as always.
By the time the artist had finished my father's tacky barbed wire, making him look even more like the tool that he was, I had picked out a design for myself. Yes, a tribal. I was aware of the irony. But I did like the idea of matching it to my face paint. In the moment, my reasoning seemed very grown up.
"Can I get this one in blue." I asked.
"Yes, any colour." The artist confirmed. "Where do you want it?"
"My back." I said, deciding to follow my Dad's terrible advice.
"Between your shoulder blades?"
"No, lower back. So I can hide it under high pants, if I want to."
My Dad and the artist exchanged a puzzled look, then burst into laughter.
"Kiki, I know I'm the Chrysler Maserati of parenting, but I will NOT let you get a tramp stamp."
"Wait? Chrysler made a Maserati?"
"Yes, and it's both the worst Chrysler and the worst Maserati." My Dad insisted. "Look, I got a tattoo of it."
Of course he did.
It shouldn't come as a surprise that it was on his butt cheek. It was just as atrocious as you would expect. No bigger than a beer coaster, but with blown out lines and spotty colouring. And that was just describing the artistry. The make and model of the car was ugly too. It looked like the one JFK got shot in. If it was, it was history's biggest misunderstanding. The assailant was probably aiming at the vehicle.
"If you can get a reckless tattoo, why can't I?" I pouted. "Nobody outside the bedroom will see it anyway."
The frat boy, now with Greek letters branded onto his biceps decided to join in.
"You will look like a faggot, kid." He shouted from the waiting room. The entire parlour erupted into laughter.
"Your boyfriend will like it." His friend hollered.
For a brief moment I panicked, fearing they might have recognised me.
"Hey, shut it!" My Dad reprimanded them. "If my son wants a tramp stamp, he can get a tramp stamp. And he will rock it!"
-x-x-x-
Surprisingly enough, Judy was basic enough to fawn over my father's new adornment. Maybe he did know what he was talking about. Sure it was silly, but as I had come to realise, most people act pretty stupid when emotions get involved. Even logical minds, like Judy.
"Did you end up getting one?" Takao asked enthusiastically.
The guys had been inspecting my body closely for any visible signs of ink.
I flashed them my sore ass crack.
"Oh, Kai that's..." They seemed to be at a loss for words. Hastily exchanging looks hoping someone else would say something first. Finally Max jumped to the occasion.
"It suits you well, and the design is cool, but those tatts have a bit of a reputation." He giggled. "They are quite popular with girls. On guys not so much. Unless they are, um, on the gay side."
"I think I crossed that threshold when I married a guy."
He nodded. "See, so it doesn't matter, just thought you should know."
"You actually pull it off." Takao admitted with a hint of admiration in his voice. "It matches your face paint."
"Kai does a talent for making bimbo trends look cool." Hiromi stated, appreciatively.
Maybe I should rework my reputation, considering my teammates reactions were more analogous with "yeah, that makes sense" than shock.
To be honest, even I wasn't all that surprised by myself. I was hardly the same person who had arrived at boarding school a few months ago.
"By the way, mail arrived for you." Ray said, elegantly switching the topic just as he was expected to give his opinion.
He passed me the bundle, two envelopes in total. As soon as I saw the Cyrillic lettering my heart dropped.
Oh fuck.
-x-x-x-
AN: I've been getting back into this fic in the past month. I enjoyed diving into the tackiness of the early 2000s for this chapter. Lets be real, anime Kai would be the type to get a tribal trampstamp! Chapter 22 will come soon. I am grateful for your faves and reviews, and also constructive criticism. Knowing that people care is what keeps me going lol. Love you all!