Free Gingerbread by Rachel Cohn Page B

me back to my family in San Francisco, and that's why he made me wait with Luis at his apartment for hours and hours until he came home from work. I couldn't help but compare: Sid-dad had taken the day off work to personally drive me to the airport (he said it was because Fernando was still mad at me but we both knew it was because he was going to miss his little hellion) and to lecture me in the car about, like, always wearing a hat in the sun, and trying to find a place in my heart to get along with Nancy, and how I shouldn't let anyone make a Yankees fan out of me when he'd spent years making me a Red Sox fan, and yet Frank-dad couldn't even be bothered to pick me up at the airport, much less hang with me my first hours in Nuevo York.
    Not like waiting with Luis (or "Loo-eese" as he says it ... sigh) was such trauma city. Luis and I clicked like buds right away, starting from the moment when I ignored the back door to the Town Car he held open for me and I hopped into the front seat.
    "You're a frontie, eh?" Luis said, smiling.
    "Nah," I said. "I am just from Cali, where we are more laid-back."
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    "It's like that?" said Luis dream-driver (Fernando, take notes).
    My deductive reasoning instinct kicked in and I said, "Suppose you had to pick me up in the middle of the night for something, okay, and--"
    "Uh-oh, you're in trouble already?"
    "I most certainly am not. You didn't let me finish. Suppose you had to pick me up in the middle of the night. Would you stop for donuts if I asked?"
    Luis thought on it a second and said, "Krispy Kremes or Dunkin' Donuts?"
    "Either," I said, even though the correct answer was Dunkin' Donuts.
    "Krispy Kremes, yes. Dunkin' Donuts, no."
    There's no accounting for taste, as Nancy says.
    I still loved Luis anyway. I was trying to figure out if his sweat-clinged T-shirt muscle mania biceps could possibly be any sexier.
    "How come it is so hot here?" I asked, leaning in to blast the a/c.
    "It's August! Whadja expect?"
    "I did not expect to be sweltering," I said. "In San Francisco in the summer you have to wear a winter coat."
    "Get out!" Luis said.
    "It's true." I nodded.
    When we drove into the city, I was surprised that I did not remember it at all. I was born in New York, but it did not feel like a homecoming when I saw those massive skyscrapers. The skyline looked like a sci-fi madness kingdom.
    "Did Frank tell you about me?" I asked Luis.
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    "No," Luis said. "He just gave me your flight information."
    I had the feeling Luis was used to not asking Frank for personal details.
    "Well, I am not his niece," I said.
    "No kidding." Luis laughed.
    I guess I had always imagined Frank living in a big mansion in the country somewhere with, like, a huge dog who slobbered onto ancient carpets and framed photographs of Rhonda and Daniel on tables and walls everywhere, pictures chronicling from the time they were buck-teethed babes to their high school graduations, with bad hair and big grins. Maybe there would be a wall in the family room marked with crayon lines to show how much Rhonda and Daniel grew every year, like the kind Ash, Josh, and I made in a closet in the basement because Nancy would freak if we touched her upstairs interior decorated walls. So I was surprised to arrive at a condo on the Upper East Side of Manhattan that was totally the bachelor dude kind of pad. There were two bedrooms in the apartment, with big dining and living rooms overlooking Central Park, but the furniture was all leather and corporate-y: new. I had hoped I would get to sleep in Rhonda's old room and I could go through her old yearbooks and read her diary or something, but instead Luis showed me to a guest bedroom that had as much character as a glass of milk. And what good is plain milk without a shot of espresso? The hotel-looking furniture needed a serious splash of leopard print. Suddenly Alcatraz seemed like a resort in comparison to The Real Dad Corporate Suites.
    "There's a big TV in the living room," Luis