After Us

by Amber Hart

Not sure how she could forget.

  “Remember what?” she asks.

  Her voice commands my attention. I look up.

  Melissa’s a beautiful liar because her eyes are on my lips. Her words try to block the truth. Her stare gives her thoughts away.

  I grin. “The water.”

  Like you don’t know.

  Give her a chance to act as though she’s just now retrieving the memory.

  “Oh, right.” She bites her top lip nervously. “Yeah. I mean, sure. That day.”

  She’s stumbling over her words. Her tongue’s tripping over itself. I love watching her falter. Because it means something.

  I lean in.

  Melissa inhales sharply. Doesn’t move.

  I enjoy the effect I have on her.

  “You wanna go somewhere? Ven conmigo.”

  I really think she might. I need to get her somewhere quiet. Hopefully somewhere where she’ll talk to me about Faith. Maybe Faith told Melissa the details of what happened to Diego that night. I don’t know. But I intend to find out.

  “Where?”

  “I have a hotel room here.” Her eyes go wide. “It’s my twin brothers’, Eduardo and Pedro’s, twenty-first birthdays. We’re here for a week. Estamos celebrando.”

  It took me nearly a month’s worth of building houses with the contractor I work for to save up enough to stay at a nice hotel. I never in my life thought I’d be staying in a place like this.

  I only live thirty minutes away. Amazing how much difference thirty minutes can make. Roads that start with older, more run-down houses like mine slowly morph into million-dollar homes on the water.

  I tried suggesting that I just drive out to la playa every day, but mis hermanos weren’t having it. This is what my brothers wanted: a week on the beach. A week free of everything. And I have to admit, it is relaxing.

  Melissa doesn’t respond. She only stares at me, and I realize how forward that must have sounded to her. I didn’t mean it in that sense. Not that I’d object.

  “You can stop by for a drink. Or just hang out. It’s quiet there.”

  Her expression relaxes. “I’m not off for another hour.”

  I sip my water. Watch her face. “Come by after.”

  I might conveniently forget mi mamá’s rule.

  A server, the guy from yesterday, tells Melissa that she has more drinks to deliver on the fly. He needs her help with cabana seventeen.

  “I’ll be right back.” She says it like a promise.

  My disobedient eyes don’t care that I tell them to stare at the table. They find Melissa, balancing a tray overloaded with drinks. Guys flirt with her. One touches her leg. It’s none of my business. Maybe she knows him. She passes the drinks out and smiles. They’re still looking at her as she cuts a path through the sand back toward me.

  “Sorry about that,” she says.

  One guy whistles. She laughs.

  “This job,” are the words mumbled under her breath.

  “Is it worth it?” I ask.

  Melissa tilts her head to the side. “Well, I’ve flirted with no less than twenty guys. Complimented even more girls. And made three hundred dollars in five hours. You tell me.”

  Can’t deny that the money is impressive. “Bien.”

  A grin crawls up her face. “What room?”

  My heart stampedes in my chest at the thought of Melissa in my room.

  “Two-oh-four.”

  “One hour.” She brushes my arm lightly. “I’ll meet you then.”

  5

  melissa

  Ring, ring, ring.

  I wait as the phone rings three more times. I’m off work, still at the beach. Cell to my ear. Like most times, Faith doesn’t pick up. She probably won’t call back either. That’s okay. I’ll keep trying.

  “Faith,” I say into the phone, leaving a message. Hand cupped to my mouth to block out the sea breeze. “I miss you.”

  Most of my voice mails go like this. Me not knowing what to say, besides that I miss her. Me choking up because my best friend is lost to agony.

  “I miss you so much.”

  I try to think of something more to say. My mouth is full of emptiness.

  So I hang up.

  Nothing left to do but wait.

  I’m a tangled bundle of nerves. I’m jittery and breathing irregularly. And, God, why can’t I stop fidgeting? I need to control myself. I unhook my hair from a clip. Let it fall down my shoulders. Recheck my pink sundress, looks okay.

  Relax, I tell myself. Breathe.

  I take the stairs two at a time. There’s one elevator and a million guests. With luggage and people constantly going up and down, it’s easier to climb. The air is musty in the stairwell, I guess because most people don’t use it. It’s a reminder of the times that I spent in the library with Faith. Dusty and old. It’s not a bad smell.

  As soon as I open the door to the second floor, I’m hit with a wave of fresh, humid air. I spot Javier’s room. Last one on the end. A rectangle door and circle knob and untold shapeless questions hanging in the air.

  What am I really doing here?

  Why does Javier’s gaze wrap around me so fiercely that I can hardly breathe?

  What does he want from me?

  His room is private. Vending machine alcove on one side. Windows on the other. No neighbors, except down the hall.

  I know what it’s like, being alone. Living in an empty house most of the time. I’d give almost anything not to be alone. To have Faith back, living a few doors down, coming over whenever. For my mom to not work as many double shifts. To have sisters who aren’t away at school.

  Alone is good until it turns into days that turn into weeks with barely any contact with other people. That’s one reason I love my job. No shortage of people there.

  ROOM 204 announce gold numbers hanging just above the peephole.

  Knock, knock.

  One, two, three seconds until Javier answers. One, two, three skittering beats of my heart.

  “Hola,” he says, lazy grin on his face.

  I want to touch his grin.

  “Hi.”

  His eyes are the color of soil before it rains. His stare is trained on me.

  “Come in.”

  His voice is the warmth of a summer storm.

  I glance at his black shorts and red shirt. He’s wearing a hat turned slightly sideways, easy style. Simple but coordinated.

  One step into the room tells me that it’s nice. Marbled countertops, fridge, and two-burner stove. Plush living room and hideaway doors that separate a bed and nightstand. Behind tan couches with palm tree patterns hangs a large painting. A lone sailboat against a backdrop of blue. Everywhere blue. The waves the sky the fish below. A flat screen television is attached to the wall facing the couch.

  But despite the seeming luxury, I also know that this is just a regular room at the hotel. The expensive ones start on the fifth floor.

  I try not to look at the bed, white comforter with green pillows and sham. I try not to notice the way it fluffs in a rolling pattern. I push back the need to know what it feels like.

  Focus.

  “Nice room,” I say. Match his lazy grin.

  I lower myself onto the comfortable couch.

  “Wanna drink?” he asks.

  “What do you have?”

  Javier goes to the fridge. Bends. I no longer see his body over the top of the counter.

  “Coke, sweet tea, agua, cervesa,” his voice tells me.

  He blends everything fluidly. Spanish and English.

  “Sweet tea.”

  Faith and I took Spanish in high school. I remember enough to understand the basics, though I was never really that great a student. Some things come naturally to me, like sports and exercise. But not studying. That was always Faith’s strong point.

  Javier’s head pops back up. He digs through the freezer for ice. Fills a cup. I don’t miss the way his eyes slide across to me. I don’t pretend that I’m not staring back
at him.

  I fear the way he makes my body feel.

  Javier hands the cold glass to me. I take a sip before setting it on a coaster in front of me and force my hands not to shake. Make my spine sit tall. My eyes watch his.

  His look.

  God, that look.

  I’m melting. Dripping into a puddle at his feet because his look is so, so, so

  Piercing.

  “Gracias for coming.”

  How could I not? Of course I came. Even though I probably shouldn’t have. Even though I haven’t dated anyone since my diagnosis almost six months ago. I slowly let my mind think the word.

  Cancer.

  I freeze. Such a jagged word. Sharp edges that cut through a carefully planned life. The life that cervical cancer killed. Like going to college, traveling, relaxing at the beach in swimsuits that don’t cover my scarred stomach, these were my plans. Having kids one day. That’ll never happen now. Having fun without the worry of life withering under the brutal fingers of cancer.

  The doctor walks in, a folder in his hands. His face is rounded with a perfectly arched smile. I relax a little. Stop tugging at my hair, a nervous twitch. A smile is good. A smile means that the abnormal area that they saw on ultrasound was probably nothing.

  The results of my biopsy are what he holds in his hands. He flips a page in the folder.

  One page. Everything will be okay.

  Two pages. He sits in a chair.

  Three pages. He wrecks my life.

  “It’s cancer.”

  He doesn’t tell me how sorry he is. He doesn’t tell me it’s just a joke after all.

  And I can’t believe my ears because how could this be true? I can’t have cancer. I’m only eighteen. I haven’t taken a college course. I’ve never been in love with a guy before. I haven’t been rock climbing like I always dreamed of doing. Or skiing. I haven’t even made up my mind if I want to dye my hair this summer. Will I have hair to dye this summer?

  Oh, my God, I have cancer.

  The doctor waits patiently, allowing me to absorb his words.

  “How?” is all I manage to ask.

  He sets the folder down. “It’s more common than people think.”

  But it’s not common for me, Doctor.

  “Does anyone in your family have a history of cancer?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never asked. I didn’t realize that I’d have to ask.”

  He’s not smiling anymore. “You’re going to need surgery, Melissa.”

  He hands me a form to sign.

  “Immediately.”

  What’s the point in dating during a time like this? Surgeries and medicines and recovery times. It’s not fair to ask someone to understand. Though I’m in remission, the cancer could come back. My six-month checkup could reveal that the surgeries weren’t enough, that I’ll need chemotherapy or radiation.

  But then I look at Javier and I wonder about roads not taken. I wonder how much fun they could be if only someone had the guts to explore them. I look at Javier and I decide that I don’t know how to say no to him.

  Life can be so short.

  I wonder if maybe I should be seizing moments instead of pushing them away. I’ve wanted another opportunity to see him, but I never thought it would happen after Diego and Faith left.

  “What have you been up to lately?” he asks.

  Everything.

  And.

  Nothing that I can tell you.

  “Not much. You?”

  His jaw tightens. “Dealing.”

  I have an urge to reach out, to say something. If only there were something to say. Because the face of his pain is crushing.

  But I don’t say anything. Mostly because nothing I say can bring Diego back. I know from the experience of losing my dad—of him being gone for good—that no words are better than empty words. That looks of pity and small condolences do nothing to lessen the agony. But silence? Silence can heal. Because silence allows others a chance to speak, to vent, and that’s a million times better than a crowd of “that’s too bads” and “what a shames.”

  And then Javier says something that strikes a painful chord in me.

  “How’s Faith?”

  He really wants to know? Well, then. Here’s how Faith is. She’s struggling. Barely answering my calls. Always making excuses for why she has to go two minutes after we start talking. She’s avoiding me. I’m not exactly sure why, but I think maybe it’s all too much for her, being forced to remember the life she had. She watched the boy she loved die. Something like that changes people.

  It scares me.

  And I worry about her. I wonder how she can sleep every night and not scream into the air from the memories. I imagine the nightmares that must ravage her dreams, the visions that must haunt her daily. I wonder how she doesn’t bite into her pillow and let loose the agony in guttural cries.

  Or maybe she does. I wouldn’t know. What I do know is that the kind of friendship we used to have—spending nearly every day together, not holding one thing back—is nothing, not anything, like what we have now.

  But I won’t give up on Faith. Even if she only talks in small spurts about absolutely nothing. The weather and schools she’s building and not much else. Even if she only says “hi” and “bye” and sometimes “how are you” in the middle. Even if she doesn’t truly listen when I talk or realize how hard this is on me, how much it hurts not to have her here.

  I won’t give up on her.

  Though sometimes, I think she wishes I’d do just that. I think Faith’s pushing and pushing and fighting our friendship. Some days, I feel the block of distance that she’s wedging between us, heavy like concrete.

  But I’m stronger than her attempts at space. I will wait. And she will, one day, be better. And if by some chance it’s all too much to bear, if she teeters from the burden, I’ll catch her as she falls.

  Because that’s what friends are for.

  Javier is still looking at me. I haven’t answered his question. It’s a loaded one, and I think he knows that. What I can’t figure out is why he asked it. Maybe he genuinely wonders how she’s doing. Maybe he’s being polite.

  Or maybe not. Either way, I won’t mention Faith’s personal demons. That’s her story to tell.

  “She’s okay,” I lie.

  I will lie for Faith a hundred times if necessary. I will protect her fiercely. I will call her number every week no matter what. And I will leave messages even if she never listens to them. Because what she’s going through is bigger than me and my wounded feelings. It’s bigger than Javier’s inquisitions.

  Javier bounce, bounce, bounces his knee. His brows scrunch together and I wonder if he knows that I’m a liar. It looks like he might say more, so I switch the topic.

  “I’ve never actually seen a room in this hotel before,” I say. I’ve only heard people talking down in the bar about how nice the rooms are.

  His face relaxes into something easy. Like maybe he’s grateful for a reprieve from the memories, too.

  “Me either, before now.” He takes a sip of water and speaks. “But wait. Don’t you work for them?”

  “I work for them, sure, but only on the outside,” I explain. “Taking orders. Serving drinks.”

  “Right.”

  I wonder what he’s thinking.

  His eyes zone in on my mouth.

  I wonder if he wishes for my lips like I do his. The strongest of all currents, tugging, pulling. I wonder if, like me, he dreamed about the way I tasted long after my tongue left his. Javier never tried anything with me after that day, and I was too busy finishing high school and applying to colleges to think about why.

  But I never forgot his lips.

  Judging by Javier’s comment earlier on the beach, he didn’t forget mine either.

  “What have you been up to?” I ask.

  I wonder if he has a girlfriend. I don’t know much about Javier, I realize. That needs to change.

  “Summer school. Family. Work.
” His answers are short. Not enough.

  “What’s your family like?”

  He laughs. “Big. Eleven sisters and brothers.”

  He shifts positions. One leg brushes against mine—

  And everything stops, a hanging moment. Dangling from the sky, about to fall. I hold back a shiver. His touch. Just a touch. That’s all it takes for my cheeks to drown in heat. My pulse hammers away at the skin of my neck, looking for a way out.

  “I never forgot the water,” I blurt.

  I shouldn’t have admitted that.

  Javier grins. “I know.”

  I hate that he makes my bones wobbly and my blood rage. I love that he’s here. I love the way his eyes watch me wherever I am. I love that he never forgot the water either.

  “Are you with anyone?” I ask. Because something in me needs to know.

  His grin spreads into a sly smile. “Would I ask you up here if I was?”

  Good question.

  “Not sure,” I answer. “I don’t really know enough about you.”

  He nods. “True. We should fix that.”

  Please. “Okay.”

  “And to answer your question,” he says, inching forward, evoking a tremor from my trembling muscles, “I’m not with anyone.”

  My eyes don’t leave his.

  “Me neither,” I say, though he never asked.

  I’ve never been with anyone seriously. Dating. Fun. That’s my thing. It’s not that I never wanted a serious boyfriend. It’s just that it never happened for me. Things always fell apart easily. Amicably, sure, but they fell apart nonetheless. I guess I don’t really know how to hold stuff together.

  “Mmm” is Javier’s response.

  I want to know what’s happened to the air in this room, how he’s so effortlessly syphoned it away. Because I can’t find oxygen to draw into my lungs when he stares at me like that. My breathing becomes embarrassingly erratic. I’m trying to hush it, but with no other background noise to disguise the effect he has on me, I’m sure it’s obvious.

  Javier chuckles.

  My cheeks demand his attention, drowning in red to catch his eye.

  He hasn’t touched me directly, I realize. All of this and Javier hasn’t even tried anything. I can’t imagine having enough strength in my joints to withstand a direct touch.