I couldn’t help but chuckle. “I am, actually,” I said with a smile. After pouring just one spoonful of soup into my bowl, he turned to me and I smirked. “I’m not Asian or Islander or anything like that. I get that a lot. My sister and I both got my mom’s eyes. But we’re one hundred percent Mexican American.”
My breath actually caught when, for a moment, his deep piercing eyes were fixed on mine. “I see.” His gaze intensified so suddenly it completely took my breath away. “They’re very pretty,” he said then cleared his throat and resumed filling my bowl.
I managed to thank him, but I’d been caught so off guard by his compliment it was a barely audible whisper. Further proof that I was right about my theory that I wouldn’t be able to hold a conversation with a man like Aaron for too long without making an ass of myself.
“Are you”—he turned and handed me the near full bowl of soup but mercifully spared me the intense eye contact—“uh, having a good time tonight?”
“Yeah,” I nodded, keeping my eyes on the bowl. “I almost didn’t come. But I’m glad I did now.”
It was just a compliment, damn it. One I should be used to. So I forced myself to look up at him again. His eyes narrowed as he moved away from the pot of menudo and leaned against the counter with his bowl of soup. “Did you have other plans?”
“No.” I shook my head, unable to keep up the eye contact, so I focused on my bowl of soup instead. “I just worked kind of late and was tired.”
“But you’re here in Michigan alone? Bea mentioned you’re just here for school. All your family is in Los Angeles, right?”
I glanced up in time to see him blowing on his steaming soup. He stirred it, and then his eyes were on me again. For another near breathless moment, I wondered if he knew what power his simple gaze carried. It was insane how instantly my heart sped up.
“How’s that been for you?” he asked curiously. “Tough being away from home for the holidays? You gotta be missing your folks.”
I cleared my throat, not because his question made me uncomfortable but because I knew my response would likely make him uncomfortable. I was used to answering questions like these, but most people weren’t used to hearing or knowing how to react to my response.
“Not really. I’m an orphan,” I smiled so he wouldn’t think he touched on a sore subject. “But I live with my aunt, and she came out here and stayed with me for Christmas.”
The smile hadn’t been enough because his fell. “I’m sorry,” he said, as uncomfortable as I’d expected. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t be,” I assured him, feeling as if I’d regained a little bit of control—my composure. “It’s not like this is something new to me. My sister and I were without parents from a very early age. So”—I shrugged, shaking off the memories that could very easily kill the mood—“not that big of a deal.”
“Ah,” he said, seeming a little relieved. “But you have a sister. Is she in California too?”
I almost felt bad for him now. It felt ironic that my tragic past empowered me because it made him so uncomfortable. He’d for sure think he’d shoved both feet nice and deep into his mouth now. “She’s dead too.” I brought my attention back at my soup and stirred. “She passed a couple of years ago.”
“Well, shit,” he said, sounding so oddly defeated a soft laugh escaped me. Though looking up at him and meeting those eyes brought me down a notch again.
“Don’t worry about it, really. I’m just sorry my life is such a downer.” I never would have thought I’d be making light of this—my situation—my sister being dead. But he wore the most painfully uncomfortable expression on his face it was almost comical, and I couldn’t help laughing.
“No, no,” he said quickly. “That’s not what I meant. I just me—”
“You’re just making small talk,” I assured him again in my most understanding tone. “And for most people, these would be normal questions. My circumstances are just not so normal. But I’m used to it. I actually feel bad for people when we get to this topic because it doesn’t bother me at all, but I know people—well like you—weren’t expecting to touch on such a heavy topic. It’s really not that heavy for me. Not anymore.”
He finally smiled, though it was a bit disheartened. Something about his beaten-down demeanor made me smile. For once, he wasn’t so intimidating. His embarrassed state brought him down a notch. Made him vulnerable. Less transcendent.
“How old are you?”
“Nineteen,” I said, glad we were on a safer subject.
“So young.” Those intense eyes once again easily made me weak. “And you’re out here all on your own?”
“I’m only alone for the holidays. I have a roommate,” I said, immediately feeling the guilt that after days of being so utterly consumed with the despair she’d been the furthest thing on my mind since I’d walked into this kitchen. “My best friend since high school. She’ll be back in a few days.”
“Why didn’t you go home with her?” he asked, but I could tell he was being cautious.
“I just got a job a few weeks ago. There was no way I could get the time off so soon.”
“Ah,” he nodded. “That kind of stinks, but at least your aunt was able to come out and spend Christmas with you. Where do you work?”
I told him about the chintzy hotel where I worked and explained why—because of my no car situation—unlike Eileen and Beatriz, I couldn’t work at the mall and had to settle for this crummy job. His brows lifted in interest; then he smiled.
“Yeah, my sister’s lucky that way. My parents were able to afford to get her a car. When I was her age, I often had to take the bus too.” Even the sudden sour expression on his face was breathtaking. “Talk about a humbling experience. They’re some real nuts on those buses.”
“Hey!” I giggled because I knew what I’d say next would have him kicking himself again. “You’re talking about mi gente! I’ve owned a bus pass almost my entire life.”
Instantly, I saw the panic in his eyes. “Well, no, I meant—”
“I know. I’m just teasing,” I said before he fell all over himself trying to take it back. “Just because I’m used to the bus doesn’t mean I don’t agree there are some nuts who take it. A lot. But I actually like that part of it. My roommate’s like you,” I added with a smile because he still appeared so full of regret. “She’d rather walk sometimes than take the bus. But I’ve always said one day I’m gonna write a book called The Bus People. Man”—I laughed softly—“the stories I could tell. It would for sure be a best seller.”
He stared at me silently for a moment, the regret in his eyes replaced with something else—something that made me gulp. “Sounds like you could write a book about your life and it’d be a best seller. For someone so young, I get the feeling you’ve lived more than most people twice your age.”
I smiled and, unlike I had been doing all night and avoiding getting caught up in his gaze, I stared into those amazingly intense eyes. One moment he could come across as so completely serious and remorseful as he had a few minutes ago, and in another, like now, he could look so . . . impressed? It was the only word to describe how he was staring at me.
“I guess for someone my age my life has been quite a roller coaster. But I’d like to think every one of those twists and turns has molded me—is still molding me—into the person I’ll someday be when I finally grow up. Riding the bus all those years, even this job I have now . . .” I added a bit wistfully. “I don’t know what it is, but as much as I complain about it, I tell myself all the time it’s preparing me for something.”
He nodded, his eyes still on me with that strange expression, then peeked around a bit sneakily. “I’m suddenly finding it hard to believe you and Bea are the same age. She’s not half as grounded as you are. I love my sister, but I swear that girl makes the most harebrained decisions sometimes. Too often she lets her heart or ego decide things she should really be letting her brain decide.” He smiled again. “I get the
feeling you and her differ in that way too. At least a little. Because I know she’d never take the bus much less consider it a life-learning experience. You probably put a lot more thought into any life-altering decisions.”
I stared at him, gulping again, but this time for a different reason. I was suddenly consumed with a mixture of fear and remorse. I wasn’t nearly as grounded as he seemed to think. I glanced down at my bowl of soup, afraid he’d see his words had finally touched a nerve. Only if he asked why, I wouldn’t even know how to explain it.
“I’m sorry. Did I—?”
“No.”
I shook my head, looking up at him, feeling panicked that the emotion I suddenly felt might be obvious. This was not something I anticipated talking about tonight.
“Jesus, Henrietta,” he said, straightening out. “I didn’t mean to—”
“No, no,” I assured him, and then suddenly I had diarrhea of the mouth. “I’ve just been a little emotional lately. My roommate. We’ve been best friends forever, and the other day we had a big argument over the phone, and we’re not even speaking right now. It’s the first time since we met that we’re not speaking. It’s why I almost didn’t come tonight. I wasn’t really feeling up to it, but it’s nothing you said, I promise.”
Of course, it was all true. Everything I told him about my reaction was because of the argument with Edi. Only after hearing his assessment on how different he thought I was from his sister, who he considered far more immature than I, the emotion I was suddenly feeling ran so much deeper.
Life-altering decisions.
I knew I’d be making one real soon, and up until that moment, I was certain what it would be. His words had inadvertently hit it right on the nose. Would I be using my head or my heart?
Smiling at him even through my blurred vision, I shrugged. I was now enormously grateful that the tears that had begun to fill my eyes had subsided. “Gads,” I said, trying to muffle my sniffling with a chuckle. “Melodramatic much?”
He reached for a napkin on the counter, handing it to me. “I don’t think it’s melodramatic to be upset about a fallout with your best friend.” Wiping my nose with the napkin, I peered at him, still feeling beyond silly. “I know the feeling,” he added. “It’s tough when the one person you feel understands you better than anyone else refuses to speak to you. I’ve been there. It’s normal to feel emotional.”
I smiled, but somehow I couldn’t imagine this big strong man blubbering about one of his good friends not speaking to him. Still, I appreciated his trying to be kind and not rolling his eyes at me.
After I dabbed my eyes, he pointed at the corner of his own eye. “You smudged your makeup a little there,” he said.
I began to wipe one eye, but he shook his head. “The other one.”
Moving the napkin over to the other one, I wiped again until he took a step forward.
“May I?” he asked, touching the napkin.
I nodded, feeling a strangeness inside me. He dabbed gently at the corner of my eye before wiping with his bare finger. “I’ve never seen eyes like yours, Henrietta.” Our eyes locked for one long lingering moment. “They seriously are something else.”
Feeling the air sucked out of me, I waited, unable to move or say anything. The moment left me completely winded—too stunned to look away—yet at the same time I didn’t want to. His eyes dropped to my lips, and something flashed in them. My eyes were on his lips now and then his Adam’s apple as he gulped. Aaron pulled his hand away from my face and stepped back. He seemed as stunned and speechless as I felt. When he finally began to say something, a couple of Beatriz’s cousins entered the kitchen. Both guys seemed a little tipsy and immediately started in on Aaron when they saw him with the bowl of menudo in his hands. “Don’t tell me you’re done for the night,” Gil said.
“C’mon man,” Niguel said, pouring some tequila into a shot glass. “The party’s just getting started.”
I motioned casually with my head that I was out of there even as my heart beat erratically. Aaron smiled apologetically for the interruption but said nothing more. I scurried into the dining room, my heart going a mile a minute just as Eileen was coming to search for me. Thankfully, the tears were long gone, and I did my best to appear as unperturbed as I felt. Though my pounding heart made that nearly impossible.
“We’re headed to the room now.” She yawned. “You can bring that and eat it in there if you want.”
I followed her into Beatriz’s room, glad the night was almost over. Back in Beatriz’s room, I was thankful again for the distractions: eating my delicious menudo then making my sleeping area and getting ready for bed. Most notably, I was surprised the troubling thoughts about my relationship with Edi were quickly drowned out by other thoughts—other more pressing thoughts I knew shouldn’t be so exciting. I kept replaying my conversation with Aaron. How he’d regarded me and how one innocent touch from him coupled with another compliment and an intense gaze had rendered me speechless. It’d been beyond the distraction I needed because I hadn’t even thought of Edi or even calling Daphne until the next morning.
~~~
New Year’s Day after Beatriz’s mom dropped me off at home, I called Daphne to ask how the party had gone, and she told me all about it, only Edi had never showed up. Neither had Delena her clingy high school teammate. Edi had since admitted Delena was one of the only people she’d come out to in high school because Delena was also gay. She’d actually been Edi’s first experience, and they were both invited last night but had been no shows. It was a bothersome revelation to say the least, but strangely I wasn’t beside myself as I thought I might be.
Despite my mind wandering back to my conversation with Aaron again and again that day, I left a few pathetic voicemails for Edi I later wished I could take back. She’d be home in a few days, and I knew it’d be rough, but I was determined to do one thing, especially after hearing her cry and knowing the only other time I’d seen her cry since I’d met her was also because of me. I was now determined to prove how much I loved her. Even if it wasn’t in the same way she loved me, it should still count for something.
The morning she was supposed to arrive home, she didn’t. I started to worry that she decided to stay home longer and then later that maybe something had happened to her. I talked to her parents early that evening, and they said she’d left that morning and even called to tell them she’d made it here just fine that afternoon.
I had an idea where she might be. Now that Edi was out and admitted that so was Astrid, I felt even more threatened by Astrid. I wondered if she might spend the night with her. The very thought made me sick with worry. What if she started spending lots of nights with her until . . .?
I’d been so worried I didn’t realize I hadn’t eaten a thing until around one that afternoon when I had one of my usual dizzy spells: another infuriating reminder of the crap genes I’d inherited. As if it weren’t bad enough that I’d been cursed with fucked mental stability, a vision of my mother needing to hold on to something after a violent dizzy spell flashed in my head. She always said it was because she hadn’t eaten. Of course, I’d been cursed with the same damn physical weakness. For as long as I could remember, if I went too long without eating, my stupid body responded angrily by making my head feel as if it were spinning.
By nine that evening, I was a mess. I’d been lying in my chair bed in the front room since eight. When Edi had left for holiday break, she told me to feel free and sleep in her bed while she was gone. I did at first, loving the smell of her on her sheets and pillows. But ever since the day she’d hung up on me, I’d stopped sleeping in her bed, too consumed with guilt to lie there taking in the scent of her anymore. I hated myself for having made big strong Edi cry—again.
I’d almost dozed off when something woke me. The door to the apartment closed, and I heard footsteps near Edi’s room. Then I heard voices: Edi and another girl talking.
“Stay with me, please,” I heard Edi say in a lowered voice.
r /> I sat up and listened to my heart pounding as what was happening became clearer. Edi was in her room with a girl. I heard someone make a shushing sound then giggling.
Something came over me. A rush of adrenaline mixed with terror all but consumed me, and I jumped out of bed. It was happening already. I charged to her room on a mission. The door was open and Edi and Astrid were standing next to her bed, Astrid’s hands on Edi’s face and Edi’s arms around her waist. Astrid leaned in and rested her forehead against Edi’s. I felt the air sucked out of me, and it was all I could do to not scream. I charged at her, swinging palms open.
“Get away from her!” I screeched as Edi turned around, startled.
I managed to land one open hand across Astrid’s face before Edi grabbed me by the waist and held me as I kicked, screamed, and tried in vain to swat at Astrid. “I want her out!” I screamed, still kicking and trying to get out of Edi’s death grip.
Astrid held her hand to her face where I’d landed my one hit and backed out of the room.
“I told you she’d be nothing but drama, Edi. Don’t do this,” she said. “She’s just gonna keep hurting you.”
“Fuck you!” I yelled, incensed. “You don’t know anything about me!”
“Oh, I know all about you,” she said with a glare.
The more she spoke, the more the terror outweighed the rage I was feeling. This was really happening. Edi was replacing me. “Out! I want you out of here!” I screeched still fighting Edi’s hold on me, and then she brought me down to the bed lying on me and holding down my hands.
“Thanks for the ride, Astrid,” Edi said, staring at me. “I’ll call you later.”
Astrid stood there for a moment without saying anything or moving. “Get out!” I yelled, my heart nearly pounding out of my chest, and I was beginning to have a hard time catching my breath.
For a fleeting instant, I was hit with the visual of my drugged-up mom staggering into my bedroom late at night with a man just as equally drugged up. As instantly as I was hit with the visual, it was gone and I shook my head.