Don't Tell (Don't 1)

I wrapped a protective arm around Natalia.

“This kind of reminds me of a place I used to go fishing with my dad,” I told her.

“Really? You fish too?”

I laughed. “Of course. My dad and I fish, hunt, football—all that stuff.”

“You’ve never really mentioned your family.” Her hand slid to my thigh and I felt relaxed. We fit together so well.

“What do you want to know?” I asked.

“Where are your parents now? Are they still together?”

“Oh yeah. They’ve been married thirty years. Still going strong.”

“Basically, the opposite of mine.” She looked up at me.

“I think all marriages have their problems. The key is to find the person who can change with you. My parents seemed to have figured that out. Sometimes I don’t know how.”

“And mine didn’t. I think my mom kept expecting my dad to move us back here eventually. And he never tried. She was homesick. She missed her family, and when my grandmother became ill, it was the last straw. She wanted to be home and he refused to leave France. He’s not a very flexible person.”

“And that’s why you moved to Dallas? That’s shitty. I’m sorry.”

“I was asking about your family. Not talking about mine. Tell me more about these parents.” She changed the subject.

The sun rose higher and I looked across the lake. There was an early morning boater headed in our direction.

“There’s not much to tell. My dad played football and he and my mom met in college. She was along for the ride since the beginning. Football was her life too. I don’t know what discussion they had about me playing, but it was always understood that I was going to be a football player. She was all in. Still is.”

“What if you wanted to be a doctor or an engineer? Or an artist?” She smiled slyly.

I chuckled. “I don’t think my dad would have gone for that.” I stretched one leg out over the pier boards. “I never asked. I never thought about doing something else.”

“I guess that’s like ballet and me. I started dancing when I was three and it was in my soul.” She squeezed my hand. “I can’t imagine being anything else either.”

“Do you like Texas now that you’ve been here?” I wondered if she felt the same homesickness her mother did.

“It’s not Paris, that’s for sure.” She giggled. “And when we moved, I was a senior in high school. There’s no worse time to have to change schools. Everyone already knew each other and they were applying for colleges. I didn’t even know what the SAT was. It was a miserable year. I missed my friends. I missed Madame Collette. I missed my studio. I missed my dad, even though he was a complete asshole.” She stopped to drink her coffee.

“What was so different when you moved?”

“I don’t know if it was all the big trucks. Or the hats. Or maybe it was how everyone said hey and y’all. It took a long time to adjust. Everyone was welcoming, much warmer than my friends in France, but it didn’t mean I understood it right away. Texans are unique. And my mom always seemed French to me. I never saw her in her home element until we moved to take care of my grandmother. Now I know she’s really a southerner at heart. She either changed a lot for my dad or changed when we moved back. I don’t know. But there’s a huge difference between living in Paris and Dallas.”

“I can see that. But I’ve never been to Paris. Hard to compare.”

“You should go.” Her eyes lit up.

“Maybe some day.” I wondered what it would be like to walk through the streets with Natalia. She could show me where she lived and went to school. Maybe I’d pick up some of that dirty French she always whispered in my ear. I shook my head. I was getting ahead of myself.

“All right, so you moved, and what changed things for you? Why haven’t you moved back?” For all I knew that could be her plan. Maybe she was saving up to get back to France.

“My mom made sure I went to the School of the Arts and once I was there for college, I found my place. I made friends. It made Texas feel like home. Plus, she lives in Dallas, and I don’t want to leave her here with no family. It wouldn’t seem right after everything she’s done for me.”

I didn’t think about my parents like that. I never felt as if I owed them a damn thing. I loved them—that wasn’t it. But my success was their success. I carried on the legacy of my dad’s name every time I hit the field. I didn’t owe him for that. Sometimes I thought it was the other way around.

“What do you say we take a walk around the lake before we drive out of here?” I suggested.

“Sounds good.” She stood and folded the blanket. It was starting to warm up now th