by Zoey Castile
Well, Mamá. It happened. I met her.
* * *
“That was a good thing you did, papito,” Tía Ceci tells me as we get on the train and go back to her apartment in Forest Hills.
“I should have done it sooner,” I say.
She purses her metallic pink lips and holds her hand up, like she’s agreeing with me but not. “Ya pues, it would have saved me two hours standing in the cold.”
I told my mother everything. About Ginny. About Faith. About meeting Daria Charles and how we talked all night. I told Daria everything I could remember of my mother, even that I hadn’t visited in five years. I promised Daria two things, and this is the one that was the most pressing.
“I can’t wait to meet her,” Tía Ceci says.
“I don’t know, Tía. There’s so much that I can’t take back.”
“Don’t take it back. Keep moving forward. Your heart is too big, papito. You have to leave some room in there for yourself.”
* * *
In her house, she unwraps all of her shot glasses. Some of her neighbors and her latest boyfriend are over to watch Real Madrid play Manchester United. She lines up ten of the glasses I’ve brought her. Three from New Orleans, a couple from Vegas, one each from Miami, Houston, Ireland, Jamaica, and Kansas City. Gaudy, shiny little pieces of the places I’ve been.
We take a couple of shots with the others, but the cold tequila does not go down as smoothly as before.
“You know,” I say, biting into a slice of lime, “Faith drinks whiskey.”
“She misses you.” Tía Ceci holds her shot the way a fancy woman might hold her teacup, with her pinky up.
“You can’t know that.”
“Of course, I do. How can she not miss you?” She goes off into her room, and I can hear rummaging from her dresser.
Rodolfo, Tía Ceci’s boyfriend and a former marine, shouts at the television, though I can’t tell if he’s happy or crying. Is that what I look like when my team is losing?
“Here,” she says, setting a small red velvet pouch in front of me, the kind Colombian people use to keep trinkets and rings and even finger bones in (seriously).
I shake my head. “No.”
“Your mother told you. She told you what to do.”
I drop the necklace in my hand. The last time I held this, I was bloody, and I’d just snatched it off that woman’s neck. My father called me a thief, but by some miracle, the woman told the police that it belonged to my dying mother. My dad never dropped the assault charge, and the judge felt pity for me, so all she gave me was a month.
The gem might be the size of a dime, but it has the weight of the world to me.
I drop it in the front pocket of my shirt. “Thank you, Tía.”
“Make sure she knows, Aiden.”
* * *
In the morning, I take the first flight to New Orleans to go get my Faith back.
24
So Close
FAITH
The Mayor’s Masquerade Ball is held every year in the Elms mansion.
My parents are already there, along with my mother’s team. Angie and I watch the house for a moment, the white pillars lit from the ground with a beautiful light.
“Hm,” Angie says, and I believe we’re thinking the same thing. “Do you think the Confederate soldier turned merchant who built this place ever thought a Black female mayoral candidate would be having a ball in it?”
I give her a strong glance. “I hope he’s turning in his grave.”
“I’ll drink to that,” she says, and we head right in.
I gather the black skirt of my dress. It’s a simple, sleeveless Christian Siriano with heavy silk that tapers to my waist. At the door, there’s a man all dressed up in nineteenth century French regalia. I grab a black-and-red mask while Angie chooses a hot-pink-and-blue one to match her pink tulle gown.
The lights are dim, the music is not even remotely French, but at least people are already dancing to the DJ’s Top 40 selection. The two teams of candidates are placed at tables on either side of the grand ballroom. My mother’s deep in conversation with Judge Benthu and his wife. By their smiles I get a good feeling about this. On the Moreaux side, Reginald’s almond-shaped head is covered by the mask, but nothing can hide the scowl on his face or the tight smile on Virginia’s fine features. She’s chatting with the election commissioner’s wife, both clutching Marie Antoinette glasses fizzing with champagne.
A hot blush starts to creep across my chest when Virginia’s green stare finds mine across the room. Her smile becomes more natural, and Angie places a hand on my arm.
“Look! Drinks,” Angie says, swiping two glasses from a waitress. She winks at Angie and my friend returns with “Keep ’em coming.”
“What should we cheers to?” I ask, and the words send a spike of memory through me. I touch the pendant resting on my chest.
“To winning,” Angie says.
“Don’t,” I say.
“Because—”
“No.”
“All I do is win win win.” And then she’s twirling on the dance floor along with a crowd of others.
She leaves me to my own devices. I go over and kiss my parents, smile and nod and play the role of the dutiful daughter. Today I mean it. Today it isn’t a role at all. It’s just me.
“What about you, Faith?” Judge Benthu asks me. “What can we expect from you soon?”
I look at my parents and back at the old man, his white skin crinkled at the corners of his eyes and lips. This is a man who has smiled and laughed his way through life. “Well, I’m applying to take the bar. There’s a lot of land here that needs protecting.”
“That’s a fine mission, my dear,” he says genuinely.
“I’m proud of you, baby,” my dad says, pressing a kiss on my forehead.
“So am I,” my mom says, and she takes my hand and squeezes. “I love you, Faith.”
I can’t be sure if she’s doing this because we’re in front of people. It doesn’t feel that way. My mother doesn’t give praise easily, and she wouldn’t fake it for a crowd. In this moment, I am at peace, even if there’s something missing.
“Faith!” A familiar voice comes from my right. A short, stocky, older blonde weaves through the hordes of dancers and pulls me away. I excuse myself from my parents and the judge, and follow my friend.
“Gladys!” I lower myself to embrace her. She’s in a black-and-red frock that’s all lace and fringe. She’s brought a tiny alligator covered in glitter and clipped it to her messy blond hair. “You look wonderful. I didn’t realize you would actually come.”
“Thought I’d liven this funeral up. Everyone’s so serious.”
“There’s a lot on the line,” I remind her.
“Well, there’s no mystery as to who I’m voting for, hon.” She pulls me toward her. “But I came to tell you in person that we’ve got funding to keep all the programs running. I can hire more interns. Thank you, darlin’. Thank you.”
My mouth must be hanging open, because she closes it by pressing her thumb on my chin. “What? What did I do?”
“The donation was made in your name, Faith.” She pulls me into another hug. “Don’t you go start crying on me now! It’s a celebration. That tall drink of water’s been staring at you since you walked in.”
“Who?” I ask, because I don’t see anyone.
But Gladys is gone.
I adjust my mask a bit because it’s starting to pinch behind my ears. The song slows down to a pretty number I’ve never heard, with plucking guitars. People start to leave the dance floor, and only sweethearts remain, swaying back and forth.
There’s a man across the room. When the crowd shifts, I make out a fine black tux that tapers just so, white gloves and all. A simple white eye mask over his smooth face.
A face I’d recognize anywhere now that he’s unobstructed.
It’s like I’m in that dream, where you’re moving in one direction but you’re not actually get
ting any closer to where you mean to go. That’s what it feels like while Aiden strides toward me, a tiny smile on his face because I’m wearing his mother’s necklace.
I’m still a bunch of nerves, all wound up and ready to spark. I want to slap him. I want to kiss him. I want to embrace him and never let go.
He bows in front of me and holds out his hand. “May I have this dance?”
People are looking. Of course they’re looking. I’m my mother’s daughter and he is the most beautiful man in the room.
I take his hand.
AIDEN
I see Faith the moment she steps out of the car with Angie, and my heart stops.
She is a vision, a princess arriving at the ball, and I’m anything but a prince, but I know she’s mine. Her perfect breasts are visible in the sweet V-neck of the dress. The black silk ripples like water in the mansion’s lights.
I grab a drink and down it, then head back inside. I grab a white mask from one of the butler guys and find a place to wait for her. Even if I’m here on the invitation of Daria Charles herself, I can’t ambush the future mayor’s daughter. Instead, I cling to the walls.
That’s the great thing about spending so much time trying to be anonymous. I’ve learned how to blend in. One woman in a white ruffly dress that makes her look more like a ghost than anything is already so drunk she tries to give me her empty glass to refill.
“Don’t work here,” I tell her, and she keeps on floating by.
When I see Ginny and her husband, the vein in my neck gives a little throb because he’s got his thumb pressed on the inside of her wrist. I wonder if he knows who I am. I wonder if my being here is hurting her.
Ginny, on the other hand, has caught sight of me. She presses her fingers to her earrings and tugs. She gives the smallest shake of her head, then continues talking to the housewives and the important people in suits.
Angie walks toward me and does a double take. “What are you doing here?”
“I was invited,” I say. I tell Angie all about my meeting with Daria and my quick trip to New York.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asks.
I sigh. “I wasn’t sure if I should come.”
“Don’t fuck this up,” Angie tells me, digging her pointed nail through the fabric of my tux.
“Can you do me a favor?”
“Maybe.”
“Can you bribe the DJ for a slow song?”
“You’re lucky you grew on me,” she mutters.
“Like a flower?”
“Like fungus.”
Then she’s off, and I’m holding my breath for the song to change. For the crowd to clear. For Faith to stand alone.
I wade to her, mi reina. Mi vida.
“May I have this dance?” I ask, and I’m a little proud that my voice isn’t trembling or breaking. Dances like this have never been my specialty. The music becomes a romantic waltz.
I spin her to the center of the dance floor, her skirt swishing around her legs. Bring her against me. There’s so much that I want to say to her now that she’s in my arms, but all I can do is lead her in this waltz around the room. All I want to do is bask in her eyes, admire the way that gem fits perfectly against her warm brown skin.
But there’s a tug of sadness on her lips, and I want to take her mouth in mine and right it. I press my fingers on her side to let her know which way to turn.
“I didn’t know you could waltz,” she says.
“I’m glad there are a few things about me that will still surprise you.”
She stares at her hand on my shoulder, avoids my eyes. Her voice is so small, so hurt, when she says, “I called you.”
“I was getting dressed,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
“You keep saying that but you still do things that hurt me.”
I lick my lips. “I only did what you asked me to, Faith.”
Her big, beautiful brown eyes finally fall on mine. “I didn’t realize how easy it was for you.”
“One of my rules is to not play games, mi vida.” I spin her and she moves willingly, anticipating my next moves.
“What changed your mind?” she says as she falls back into my arms. But for a moment, her finger traces the gem on her chest.
“Your mother, actually.” I tell her everything, and she’s more shocked than I ever imagined. “My tía Ceci was the one who gave me the necklace. I wanted you to have it. I meant every word. No strings attached, Faith. I love you, and the woman I love will wear my mother’s necklace.”
“If you meant every word, why did you write ‘good-bye’?” she asks, resting her fingers on my shoulders, lowering them to the top of my chest just like she did when I caught her in the street, when she wobbled. I want to catch her whenever she starts to fall.
“I wasn’t going to come. I wanted the decision to be yours.”
“What changed your mind?”
I sigh. “My greatest fault is that when it comes to you, I’m weak. I wanted to see you. When I saw you were wearing the necklace—”
“Don’t test me,” she whispers. “That’s a game in itself and you don’t like playing games.”
“Hm. You’re right.”
“What if I wasn’t wearing it? What if I still feel the same? What if it didn’t match?”
We both laugh at that, and it feels so good to hear her laugh that I could weep at her feet. The music starts to slow down.
“Are you staying in New Orleans?” she asks, resting her head on my shoulder.
I lower my face into her hair, breathe her in. “I am. I have a contract with Ricky to open the show here.”
“And then?”
“And then, I can do whatever I want.”
She looks up. “What does mi vida mean?”
I laugh, and I feel her vibrate against me. “My life, Faith. It means my life.”
Her eyes widen just so, and I lead her into one last spin. This time she comes back to me on her own. For the first time I realize that the entire dance floor is empty except for us at the center, that Ginny and her husband, and Faith’s parents, and half of New Orleans are watching.
I couldn’t care less because Faith repeats my words. “Mi vida,” she calls me, and punctuates her words, this song, with a kiss.
* * *
There’s a solid hour of speeches. I meet Faith’s father officially, and while he doesn’t smile at me, he at least shakes my hand. People come up to us, and everyone mentions our “sweet little kiss” on the dance floor.
It took every bone in my body (except that one) to stay still as Faith pushed herself up on her toes to kiss me. My dick gave a little jerk, jealous of my stupid mouth because it got to taste her lips again.
While Reginald Moreaux gives his speech after Mrs. Charles, Faith gives my arm a little tug. I blink and nearly lose her through the crowd. She goes upstairs, and I recognize the tiny twitch of her gloved index finger as she motions for me to follow.
The second floor of this mansion is empty, but I still look over my shoulder, my blood rushing everywhere but my head as she walks into a room and locks it.
“You keep doing that,” I say, turning to where she’s pressed herself against the door. She takes her mask off, and it’s like staring into the sun. My sun.
“You keep following.” She reaches for my mask and takes it off, adds it to the mask on the floor.
“I would follow you wherever you wanted me to go, Faith.” I get all up in her space, and she brushes her hair off to the side. “Can I kiss you?”
She grabs the front of my tux and gives me a hard tug. “You can devour me, Aiden.”
I capture her mouth with mine. Grab her by her small waist and plop her on top of a table. The room has one of those plush daybeds, but for what I want to do to her, this tabletop will do just fine.
She moans against my mouth, her sly fingers going right for the gold, rubbing my straining erection.
“Fuck,” I gasp.
“Already?” she asks with a tiny gi
ggle.
“I didn’t bring protection.”
She sinks her fingers into my waistband. Untucks my shirt. “I’ve been on the pill since I was sixteen.”
I arch my eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t lose your virginity until eighteen.”
She rolls her eyes. “The pill is for more than birth control. I’ll write you a list later. After you fuck me in this room where some nineteenth-century bride probably did her stitching.”
“I love when you say words.”
“Any words?”
I tap her lips with mine. “Any words.”
“Mi vida,” she says, shy, sweet, like she’s afraid of getting the words wrong.
I catch her pouting bottom lip with my own. Well aware that there are over a hundred people downstairs, including her father and my ex-client, my dick is still fucking throbbing with need.
Faith pulls her skirts up her thighs, spreading her miraculous legs for me. She’s wearing a devilish lace thong that’s about to be in my fucking mouth. She fingers her slit and shuts her eyes. “I want you inside me, Aiden. I’ve missed the feel of you.”
She slides a finger in and brings it to her own mouth. I could come just watching her do that. But first I get on my knees and drape one of her legs over my shoulder. I rub my nose against her soaked lace thong. I pull the fabric aside, and then close my mouth around her aroused clit. Lick my way into her wetness. I press my hands on her knees to brace as she crosses her legs against my back. I would bury my face between her legs for eternity if she keeps moaning like that.
“Aiden,” she says, yanking at my shirt with an urgency that drives me wild. Because she needs me just as much as I need her.
I undo my belt, my button, in seconds. Her hands are a frenzy pushing away my shirt, and when she grabs a hold of my cock, it jerks in her hand. I’m dripping with pleasure as she strokes upward, grinding me to her tight little cunt.
But I fuck her leg instead, my dick leaving a trail of precum on the inside of her thigh. She kisses my neck.
“What’s wrong?”
I can hardly breathe from the strain of my dick. “I just want you to know. I want you to know that I haven’t been with anyone else since—”
