Wilson Mooney Eighteen at Last by Gretchen de la O Page A

don’t want to
disappoint your parents.”
    “ You’re not disappointing
anyone,” he said as he held my chin. Our eyes met. “You haven’t
been crying on your birthday, have you?”
    “ No, I just wanted to
splash some water on my face, that’s all.” I felt a thick wall of
self-preservation build up between us as I shut down his
questions.
    “ Wilson, Max…hello…are we
going to finish this game? Or are you guys going to forfeit?” Frank
hollered from the great room. His words provided the perfect excuse
to U-turn off the road we were about to head down. I looked at Max,
waiting for him to answer his father’s call. When he kept staring
at me, I took the lead.
    “ Yeah, Frank, we’re
coming. There’s no way we are forfeiting on my birthday!” I scooped
up the hand towel and stepped past Max before I brought my hand
down to his. “Come on, let’s kick some ass.”
    He smiled before he snatched the towel
from me. “I’ve got it. Meet you there.” He bent close and kissed me
delicately on the cheek.
    Funny. I was the greatest at changing
the subject, and he was the best at moving away from my issues. He
knew I didn’t want to dwell on anything that would change or ruin
my time with him and his family. I watched him run through the
kitchen before I stepped into the great room where we were going to
make Goldstein history with Max and me beating his dad and sister
at pool.
    “ Ah, there you are,
where’s your worse half?” Frank teased. His eyes glistened like
Max’s, his smile warm.
    “ Come on, Dad, we all know
he couldn’t compete, so he sent Wilson in here to surrender.”
Camille swung her hand in the air with her invisible white
flag.
    “ Actually, I sent Wilson
here to finish the game.” Max came strutting from the kitchen.
“Right, sweetheart? It’s time for some new blood to rule the pool
table.” He snatched his cue from the holder on the wall before
swooping in for a winning kiss.
    “ Ahhh…sure,” I
answered.
    “ Well then, whose turn was
it before we stopped?” Frank humbled himself.
    “ That would be Wilson. She
knocked the nine-ball into the right corner pocket before the Lemon
Fizzies fiasco,” Camille piped up.
    “ Yeah, I bonked the yellow
ball into that pocket.” I pointed to the corner where the ball
dropped in.
    “ Okay, Wilson, so it’s
your turn. And no help this time, Bucko.” Frank turned to
Max.
    “ Hey, I showed her how to
hold the cue stick; that’s all,” Max answered with his hands in the
air.
    I held the long, smooth stick straight
against my chest. I remembered to bend, relax, and rest my aiming
hand on the felt. I slid the wood against my fingers, my grip
tight; I aimed to get the solid green ball into the center basket,
right side, affording myself one look at Max before I hit the white
ball. I watched it knock into the green ball, creating a chain
reaction of all the other solid and striped balls huddled in a
clump around it, causing them to scatter across the table. Crappily
enough, my green ball didn’t drop into the basket; but I was
excited to see the black eight ball fall right in. I turned to Max,
proud that I knocked a solid into the side basket thingy. Frank and
Camille cheered while Max scrunched up his nose.
    “ That was good, right? The
solid black ball was one of ours, right?” I was confused by Frank
and Camille’s celebration.
    “ No, sweetie, you want the
eight ball to be the last ball you knock in after all the other
solids. But hey, on the bright side, you are really getting the
feel of using the cue stick.” He came over and kissed the top of my
head.
    “ Great, I just lost the
game for you,” I pouted. I looked over at Camille; she was
assembling all the balls in the triangle and Frank was running the
blue chalk square over the tip of his pool stick.
    “ Okay, another game? This
time, Wilson, you’re on my team, Camille, you’re with Max. You gotta win one
game on your birthday,” Frank winked before he smiled