Her Perfect Affair

by Priscilla Oliveras

  “The thing is,” Rosa answered, carefully measuring her words. She wanted to build their confidence, not feed any insecurities about sharing their poetry. Not that she had room to talk. Oh, she was participating in the slam, but reading one of her favorite pieces written by another poet. Not one of her own. “This is the club’s first slam. The first time many of you have performed or even read your work aloud. This”—she opened her arms wide to encompass her home away from home—“has been our safe space, so to speak. It’ll always be that, even outside of Poetry Club. Hopefully you know that by now. I think it’s the perfect place for us to start.”

  Carlotta and Javier nodded. The blond besties joined in with their agreement.

  “Next semester, if everyone is comfortable, we’ll talk about locations where we can venture out,” Rosa offered. If she was still working at Queen of Peace.

  The thought sobered her. Still, she soldiered on for the kids. “Maybe the coffee shop downtown. They’ve held open stage nights for musicians in the past. I can touch base with the owner if everyone is up for it.”

  “Fiiiine,” Iván groaned the word. “Guess my big public debut will have to wait.”

  Ricky barked out a laugh. Carlotta and Javier shared shy smiles.

  “Iván, your debut happened the day you walked in here and shook the place up,” Rosa teased. “The world has no idea what’s in store for it when it comes to you. But I know you’ll be great!”

  True to his tough-guy reputation, Iván answered with some cocky head bobbing, his lips twisted in a “you know it” smirk as he fist-bumped with Ricky. But she caught the slight shade of embarrassed flush that stained his tan cheeks.

  “To recap,” Rosa said, “we’ll meet—”

  The library door opened, and everyone turned to see who was walking in nearly an hour after the last school bell. Their meeting was about to end.

  Jeremy stepped inside, his tall, broad-shouldered frame draped in his navy-officer-style cashmere coat, a grey scarf tied around his neck. Dark jeans and a pair of dark brown leather Chukka boots peeked out from underneath the length of his coat. His cheeks were ruddy from the cold, his hair mussed more than likely from the bitter Chicago wind.

  “Oiga, Señorita Fernandez, it’s your boo,” Iván catcalled.

  Now it was Rosa’s turn to feel the burn of an embarrassed flush.

  Jeremy’s gaze immediately sought her out. Their eyes met, his lips splitting in his trademark confident grin.

  “Don’t be so immature. He’s just her friend,” Carlotta chided Iván.

  “Ha, the dude’s been here to pick her up every day this week,” he shot back. “I seen his fancy wheels out front. If being her ride every day is what you call a friend, then maybe I want you to be mine so you can drive me around. I’m saving up for my own set of wheels.”

  He waggled his brows at her, laughing at Carlotta’s muttered, “Dream on.”

  “Don’t mind me,” Jeremy said, pulling out a chair at the table closest to the door. “I’m simply the lady’s chauffeur.”

  He winked at Rosa, completely undermining his claim. Gracias a Dios her students couldn’t hear the more than friendly thoughts about him running through her mind. Or see the pulse in her throat racing simply because he’d walked into the room.

  This was day three of Jeremy staying at her house. Sleeping in the room next door. Sharing her bathroom and mixing his toiletries with hers. Making breakfast and brewing her mint ginger tea. Driving all the way into Chicago to pick up a few tins of her favorite Export Soda crackers from the mercado. Sitting on the floor or the end of her bed in the evenings while they talked about the latest books they’d read, what drew him to work with computers, a foreign film they’d heard about, or the places they longed to visit.

  She could almost fool herself into thinking that they’d fallen back into their old friendship. Yet, she’d be lying if she didn’t admit to sensing the ever-present undercurrent of awareness between them.

  For her, at least.

  Her body knew what it wanted.

  Her mind kept getting caught up on what-ifs, buts, and what-abouts.

  Those doubts kept her from broaching the topic of how they planned to move forward, co-parenting together. Instead, she’d focused on resting and keeping the nausea at bay.

  Jeremy was no longer pressing her for answers, but it was as if a timer slowly, relentlessly ticked away the seconds, minutes, hours of her reprieve. The conversation couldn’t be held off much longer.

  She still wasn’t eating much, but the half days at work, along with having someone handling things around the house, did help. Jeremy took his role as caretaker seriously. He wouldn’t even let her lift a pinky finger to do anything. She was either relegated to the couch or in her bed resting. Maybe at the kitchen table while he brewed tea, made a new pot of soup, or washed the dishes.

  He’d actually suggested he carry her up the stairs to avoid overexerting herself.

  She’d put her foot down over that one.

  Not because she was perfectly capable of walking on her own.

  More like because she didn’t trust herself to let go of him once they got to her room.

  “You sure you don’t wanna be my chauffeur?” Iván teased Carlotta, drawing Rosa’s attention back to her students.

  Carlotta rolled her eyes at him.

  “Okay, let’s wrap things up. Does anyone have a piece they need help with, or have you all decided what you’re going to perform? Our poetry slam is two weeks from today. That’s the last day of finals so it’ll be a super way for us to close out the semester before break. Invite your family and friends. I’ll bring drinks and sweets.”

  “¿De veras?” Carlotta’s surprise matched the other kids’.

  “Really,” Rosa confirmed.

  “Oye, tremenda fiesta in the library. We be getting the special treatment, a’right,” Iván singsonged.

  Leaning over his table, he started thumping a rhythm with his hands. Ricky jumped in, adding a mix of beatbox sounds with his mouth, creating a vocal percussion imitation in sync with Iván’s rhythm.

  The beat was like a contagious virus infecting them all. Barbara and Marla hopped up to dance by their table. Even normally quiet Carlotta rose and crooked a knee on her seat, her arms and torso moving to the groove.

  Rosa’s foot tapped, her shoulders shimmying with the beat.

  Then Javier surprised them all by chiming in with a freestyle verse. “You think you really know us. That you got us figured out. But listen to our words, and don’t you make us shout. Open your ears. Listen to our voice. Don’t miss our slam by makin’ the wrong choice. Yeah.”

  He punctuated his last word with an arms-crossed, tough-guy smirk at the other two boys. A pose Rosa had never seen the reserved young man mimic before.

  “Oooooh, my boy’s been holding out on us!” Iván crowed. He slid out of his chair, racing around to slap Javier on the back.

  Ricky reached an arm out to fist-bump Javier, who flashed a wide grin. He glanced at Carlotta, who gazed at him with admiration.

  The kids whooped and hollered over Javier’s impromptu rap, and Rosa couldn’t help but smile, pleased by their camaraderie.

  It hadn’t been like this three months ago when she’d held their first meeting. Only Marla and Barbara had known each other. Carlotta had seen a flyer; Javier had heard the announcement about it over the school intercom. Iván hadn’t been an original member, joining about a month into the school year, and he’d dragged Ricky along a week later.

  The Poetry Club, her pet project, had brought together this mix of students who normally wouldn’t socialize with each other, helping them find common ground.

  This was exactly what she had been hoping for.

  An overwhelming sense of peace and rightness sprang through Rosa like a fire hydrant spouting water on a hot summer day. She turned to Jeremy, anxious to include him in this moment.

  He smiled at her. A patient, understanding curve of his lips th
at warmed her soul. Somehow she knew he understood how happy this scene with her students made her.

  Kids feeling at home in her library, bonding over spoken and written word. Sharing the experience with each other. With her.

  She was delighted that Jeremy had arrived in time to witness this. See why her job was so important to her. Why it would be painful if she lost this.

  Though, if it meant standing up for herself and her baby, no matter how hard it would be, she’d step away.

  Overcome with the rush of pleasure-pain her thoughts brought, Rosa laid a hand on her stomach and stretched against her chair back.

  “Okay, okay, people, let’s take this outside,” Carlotta called out. “Señorita Fernandez needs to get going.”

  “Thank you, Carlotta,” Jeremy said as he walked over to join Rosa and the group. “Hi guys, I’m Jeremy. A close friend of Señorita Fernandez.”

  He shot her a teasing wink, as he used the description of himself he’d given Carlotta on Monday when he’d first met her.

  Introductions were quickly shared around the tables, Barbara and Marla doing a grand impression of a teenage girl swoon. Then the intros reached the feistiest of their group.

  “Iván here.” The teen hopped off the corner of his table to stand in front of Jeremy. Shoulders back, feet anchored in a wide stance, chin tilted up, it was as close to a tough-guy impression as Iván could pull off while wearing his Queen of Peace Academy navy sweatshirt over a white polo and khaki pants. “So you’re a close friend, huh? I see how it is. You treat her right. She’s one of the good ones.”

  Jeremy offered his hand to shake. “No worries with me, pal. I know what a gem she is.”

  Iván gripped Jeremy’s hand, and the two engaged in a man-to-man stare-down.

  “On that note—” Rosa pushed back her chair so she could rise, mortified at their mini-standoff over her.

  Thankfully Iván took her cue. The teen gave Jeremy one of his signature chin jerks of approval. Then, with a “Let’s roll, people,” he grabbed his backpack and led the group toward the door.

  “Make sure she gets some rest, okay, Galahad?” Carlotta told Jeremy.

  Jeremy answered with a two-finger salute to his temple.

  Carlotta shot him her big-sister stare before turning to Rosa. “Hasta mañana. I hope you feel better.”

  “Gracias,” Rosa answered, slightly embarrassed at all the fuss over her, but amused by Carlotta’s use of her nickname for Jeremy.

  The kids piled out of the library, chattering on their way out, but not before Rosa noticed that Javier was carrying Carlotta’s backpack for her.

  Jeremy moved to Rosa’s side, and together they waved good-bye to her students.

  As soon as the door closed behind them, Rosa let herself fall back into her seat. With her workday at an end, the fatigue she’d been battling could no longer be ignored.

  “Sorry about that,” she mumbled. “I’m not sure what Iván was thinking with his warning and stare-down.”

  She’d been surprised, yet sweetly touched, by the teen’s protective posturing. As well as Carlotta’s.

  Jeremy shrugged out of his winter coat and pulled out the chair beside her. His blue and grey plaid crew-neck sweater brightened the color of his eyes and stretched snugly across his broad chest. With his jeans and boots, he looked casual and comfortable. Devastatingly handsome.

  Then again, she’d found him equally as handsome in gym shorts and a T-shirt, sweaty after hours of playing basketball at the university gym.

  “They’re good kids,” he answered. “It’s clear you have a positive effect on them.”

  “I try.”

  “You do,” he stressed. “Don’t brush off the compliment. You deserve it. Rosa, you care. About your job, about your role as a mentor. About them.”

  Not one to accept praise easily, she ducked her head, pretending to pick at a piece of nonexistent lint from her black skirt.

  Jeremy nudged her knee with his own. “Hey, it’s not every day I have to defend myself to a scruffy-faced hip-hop poet with a fade cut and a mile-wide attitude.”

  Rosa smiled, slanting Jeremy a look from under her lashes. “That mile-wide attitude is what brought him to the Poetry Club in the first place.”

  “How?” Jeremy leaned his forearms on the table, like he was settling in for her story. Actually interested in hearing about her kids.

  His obvious interest chipped away at her uncertainty concerning whether he might grow bored with her simple life here in Oakton, with her.

  The students’ acceptance of him, his ease in venturing into her world this week made her think that their different lives could mesh. Then again, it was far easier for him to go slumming in the suburbs. Jeremy seemed comfortable anywhere.

  She, on the other hand, had qualms about fitting into his life in Chicago. Despite what she’d told Yaz about getting used to the spotlight the Taylor family lived under. Rosa liked her quiet life in the suburbs. Jeremy was used to charity events, networking cocktails, and fancy dinners. Could their worlds intertwine? Doubts continued to hound her.

  “What do you mean?” Jeremy prodded, reminding her of his question.

  “Iván’s English teacher and I were in the teacher’s lounge about a month into the school year, and she brought up some concerns about him. He wasn’t necessarily misbehaving in class, but she knew he wasn’t working to his potential either.”

  Rosa paused, remembering that first conversation. As a new employee, she’d been surprised the older woman had confided in her. “They’d started a poetry unit. Not a favorite of many students. But for three days in a row he ‘accidentally’ brought the wrong textbook.”

  “Classic avoidance move,” Jeremy said.

  “Exactly.” Warming to her story, Rosa swiveled in her seat to face him and her knee wound up pressed up against his under the table.

  Jeremy didn’t slide away to give her more space.

  Sucker that she was, she didn’t move either.

  Instead, she let herself enjoy the contact, as innocent as it might be.

  “He was on the brink of getting a demerit for repeated misbehavior,” she continued. “I suggested a different solution for her to consider. He could either take the demerit, and put himself in a hole before the first nine weeks had barely begun, or attend the Poetry Club meetings during the weeks they were studying the poetry unit.”

  Jeremy chuckled, the laugh lines around his eyes deepening. “Oh, that’s evil. But smart.”

  Rosa grinned back at him, enjoying their easy conversation. “It just so happens his first meeting we were discussing Juan Felipe Herrera.”

  Jeremy’s blank expression led her to elaborate.

  “Herrera’s the first Latino U.S. Poet Laureate. He was selected in 2015.”

  “Got it. See, even I learn when I’m around you. It’s a given your students are going to as well.”

  His teasing caused a delighted warmth to spread over her.

  “Anyway,” she continued, preferring to talk about her students rather than herself, “Javier knew about Herrera so he chimed in with some info. Then I showed a video of a Herrera interview where he mentions his idea that all text, even that found in ads or greeting cards, or used by songwriters and rappers, has poetry at its core.”

  Jeremy’s expression brightened as he made the connection. “Great idea to play that video. I’m sure it made an impact on the kids, just like you have.”

  “Yes, well, apparently I—um—” Flustered by his compliment, Rosa stumbled with her story. “Apparently something that day really resonated with Iván. The next week, he showed up for the meeting with Ricky in tow.”

  Jeremy leaned toward her, his knee pressing against hers. “It’s interesting. I read an article recently about how some schools in the Chicago area are using poetry to help students convey the jumble of thoughts and feelings they struggle with. Especially when it comes to what’s going on in their lives, in our city’s inner-city neighborhoods.”
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  Surprised by his knowledge on a topic so important to her, Rosa angled closer, placing a hand on his forearm. “I might have read the same one. I considered finding out more about the schools in our area, see if there’s some way my kids can connect with theirs. Would you happen to remember the article’s title or where you read it?”

  “I can share it with you. My mom emailed it to me, along with several others. They were part of her wily way of trying to convince me to help with one of her charity events. Actually, she wants me to . . .”

  He broke off, his gaze shifting away from her to stare at his clasped hands on the laminate tabletop. His jaw muscles clenched as if he was trying not to say something.

  “What is it?” she asked, worried by the pained expression on his face.

  “I have to ask you a question, a favor really, I’m not sure you’re ready for. But my mom insisted I try.”

  If the dread lacing his voice hadn’t grabbed Rosa’s attention, his mention of his mother at the same time definitely did.

  “You can say no, and I’ll completely understand.” He swiveled in his seat, moving to place his right hand on the edge of her backrest, his left arm still leaning on the table, his knees straddling her chair.

  “I already told my mom that I won’t allow you to overdo things,” he rushed on. “Not when you’re finally feeling a little better. I mean, you seem like you’re getting better rest and you look like you’re feeling healthier. It seems like you’ve had another good day—have you?”

  Bueno, that might be a little optimistic. Her pureed chicken soup from lunch had made an unfortunate reappearance shortly after. But she’d munched on a couple crackers with olives, then a few bites of papaya before Poetry Club, and that had all thankfully stayed down.

  But forget her health for a second, there was something else she wanted to get straight.

  “First, let’s make this clear.” Rosa turned in her own seat so she could face him, meeting him eye to eye. “There’s pretty much nothing you can or can’t ‘allow’ me to do, okay?”

  Jeremy had the good grace to wince at her words. “Point taken.”