I could still count on my fingers the number of flights I’d ever been on, and none of them had ever taken me out of the only time zone I’d ever known, but now I was the closest thing my dad had to an expert. I answered everything as best I could, let my nervousness about flying show so he could see I wasn’t used to traveling this way, not yet.
When they called the section to board that included my row, he stood up faster than I did and said, Go, go, before they shut the door.
—They won’t shut the door. Getting everyone on the plane takes forever.
I hooked my thumbs under the shoulder straps of my book bag, my real suitcase—the big one, stuffed with the clothes my dad and I had washed at a Hialeah Laundromat I’d passed hundreds of times but never entered—already somewhere inside the plane’s belly. My dad looked up from his work boots.
—Listen, he said. Call your mother when you land over there.
—Are you serious?
His eyes went up to my forehead. Don’t make that face, he said. Just do what I tell you, okay?
—She won’t talk to me if I call. Neither will Leidy.
He looked at the jetway, at the line of people trickling down it.
—Just do it, trust me, he said. Call me too.
He swallowed, still looking down the tunnel that would take me to the plane. I watched the skin of his throat move up and down. I said, I will.
—It’s good you’re going, he said.
The agent at the counter scanned in ticket after ticket. She took one from someone’s hand and had to turn it around before holding it up to the scanner. My dad elbowed me and said, Here, then slipped a folded bill under the strap of my book bag up by my thumb, into the curled grip of my other fingers.
—It’s what I owe you, he said.
I put my other hand over my eyes so he couldn’t see that I was about to cry.
—Stop, he said. It’s gonna be fine.
I felt his hand grab my shoulder, too rough at first, but then the fingers relaxed some. The money felt wet in my fist. I kept my eyes covered. I squeezed the bill tighter.
—Come on, Lizet. I don’t know what you want me to tell you. You could’ve stayed here for school. Are you doing the harder thing? Yeah. Maybe you can think that’s better even if we don’t.
I pulled my hand away from my face. He shrugged and said, You’re learning something, we’ll see what it is. We’ll see where it takes you, right? It’ll take you somewhere. Look, you’re going somewhere already, right?
He turned his face from the jetway to the ceiling. He shoved his hands in his pockets, jangled the keys and coins in them, his face examining something above him. Then his arm shot up, and I jumped away, but he pointed to the ceiling, his hand bouncing as if he wanted to be called on in class.
—There’s a leak up there, see? Right where that fixture is.
He scooted in closer to me, aimed his finger at a ceiling tile, at a light ringed by metal. I looked hard, turning my face at different angles, but I didn’t see the leak; I don’t think one was there. I’d bet money on it.
—Yeah maybe, I said. Right there?
I lifted my arm parallel to his, our shoulders touching.
—Right there, yeah. He whistled through his teeth. He said, And they just remodeled this whole fucking place.
His arm dropped, the hand back in his pocket but his shoulder still pressed against mine. He said, I can’t fucking believe that.
We stared up at that spot until I made myself say it: I better go, Dad.
—Okay, he said.
He hugged my book bag more than he hugged me, his hands touching somewhere near the bag’s zipper. He put his lips on the top of my head and held them there. He breathed into my hair. Then he pushed off from me and clapped me twice on the shoulder.
—Don’t lose the money, he said. Be good. Be safe. Keep warm.
—Dad, it’s hot in California, just like here.
—Some parts are cold, he said. Where you’ll be it’s cold at night. Look it up.
I stood on my toes and kissed him on the cheek, the rough starts of his beard poking my lips like barbs. He wiped the back of his hand over it and said, Go already, go.
He flapped his hand at me, shooed me toward the gate, looked up at the ceiling tile again, squinting at it now.