by Amber Hart
“We,” he says between breaths, “work perfectly, muñeca.”
Javier’s hands travel down my sides, careful to avoid my stomach.
He remembers. He remembers that I have parts of me that I can’t discuss. He doesn’t push me to explain. Maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on Javier for keeping the issue with his mom from me.
I’m not sure how it would work, Javier dating me, his mom hating that her son is with someone who isn’t Latina. Because that’s what I’ve gathered so far, that she doesn’t like the idea of Javier and me.
I pull away from his lips. “What about your mom?”
“Forget her,” he mumbles, reaching for my mouth again.
I take a step back. “Will I always be a secret?”
I hate the way my voice trembles. I have secrets, too, sure. But I’m not sure that they’ll stay a secret. I want to tell Javier why he can’t touch my stomach. I want to spill my guts until there’s nothing left. Then at least he can decide if he really wants me.
“I don’t know,” he replies.
I bite my lip. Swallow emotion. Voice what’s really bothering me. “Am I just a game to you?”
Because I don’t have time for that.
“No,” he says. “Can’t I just kiss you and watch you smile? Can’t we just have fun and be together?”
“You can have fun with any girl, Javier. Any Latina girl. Why me?”
“Because I—” he stops. Chucks a shell into the ocean roughly. “Because I need you.”
My eyes narrow. “You need me for me? Or for info about Faith?”
He rolls his shoulders. “Both.”
And there it is. The simple, yet complicated truth. He needs me because he wants me. And because he wants to learn about what happened to his cousin.
I remember what May said. Wouldn’t you?
Wouldn’t I want to know more about my loved one? Wouldn’t I need to pour concrete answers into the holes that pocket an incomplete picture? Yes.
I give in to him. It’s a dangerous thing to do. But it’s the right thing, I think.
“All right,” I say.
Javier relaxes. Folds me into his arms. I find his lips again.
I’d like to be the only reason that Javier sticks around. Not because of unanswered questions, or Faith, or anything else other than me.
Maybe if I give Javier a path to closure, connect him to Faith, I will be.
20
javier
Picking Melissa up from her house has got me on edge. She mentioned having a few sisters and a mom. I’ve never met a girl’s parents before. I’m breaking the rules for Melissa.
I don’t usually get involved. I have fun. I play it safe with girls that I never have to call back. Create memories of good times never to be repeated. Nothing solid.
I’m taking a big risk.
I don’t have any other choice. I need more info on Diego’s death.
Also, I like Melissa.
“Hi,” Melissa says, opening the door for me to come in. Smile on her face. I glance at her tiny shorts and loose tank top. My eyes land on her red sneakers.
She looks amazing.
“Hola, mami,” I say, pulling her in for a kiss.
She gives me a quick peck, even though I want more. Something smells delicious.
“You cookin’ for me?” I joke. “ ’Cause I only eat Cuban food. You know how to cook Cuban food?”
She looks embarrassed. “Actually, I am cooking. And no, I don’t have the slightest clue how to cook Cuban food, but I’m trying to. You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want.”
I’m an ass.
“I was just joking,” I say. “I eat all kinds of food.”
She doesn’t need to cook for me.
“I thought we were goin’ to the park?” I ask.
It was Melissa’s idea. Kicking the soccer ball around. She thought I’d like it, which I do.
“Yeah, but I thought maybe we could have a picnic, too?”
Food and soccer. She pretty much nailed it.
“Okay,” I say, stepping inside.
The smell reminds me of home. Hot chiles and sweet fried banana. Melissa leads me to the kitchen, where one of her sisters is cooking.
“This is May,” Melissa says. “She’s helping me.”
Four pots sit on top of burners, food inside.
“Hey,” I say.
May smiles. “Javier.”
“You’re late,” someone says from behind me.
I turn to find an uptight chick in fancy clothes staring at me. She has Melissa’s face.
“What the hell,” I mumble under my breath.
“I’m Megan,” she says, extending a hand.
Formal. I’m the opposite of formal. This should be fun.
“Javier,” I say.
I shake her hand. Her grasp is practically stronger than mine.
“Yeah, I got that,” Megan says.
Melissa steps in. “Chill, Megan.”
Megan grabs her purse. “Gotta run,” she announces. “Maybe next time you can not be ten minutes late? Then I can actually talk to you.”
No, thanks. I’ll be late every time if it gets me out of talking to you.
I immediately don’t like that sister.
Megan heads out the door.
Melissa rolls her eyes. “Don’t mind her. She’s different.”
A girl I recognize enters the kitchen.
“Concert,” I say.
I’ve met this sister at a concert once. She got me, Diego, and a few of our friends through the front door.
She smiles. “Yeah, you remember that? I’m Monica.” Monica looks like Melissa, too, only with more makeup. “How have you been, Javier?”
“Good,” I reply.
My eyes slide to the living room. It’s done up nicely. Modern furniture. Big TV. Huge flower vases. And lots of space. I don’t know what it’s like to have space. I share a room with Eduardo and Pedro. Even though they’re in college, my family can’t afford dorm rooms. My brothers commute to school and I get to know what it feels like to never be alone. I definitely don’t have a living room with space like this.
“My mom’s not here,” Melissa says.
I nod. Walk to the food. May steps aside so that I can peer in. Rice in one pot, beans in another. Chicken simmers in spices. Fried bananas caramelize on low heat.
“Good job,” I say, laying a hand on Melissa’s back.
I kiss her. She kisses me, too, but just briefly. I watch an embarrassed grin crawl up her face. She glances at May.
May’s smiling.
Melissa goes back to the stove, grin attached. I like watching her cook. The way her eyes draw together as she concentrates on spooning food into Tupperware containers, careful to not spill it.
“We taking that with us?” I motion to the plastic containers full of food.
“If you want,” she says.
I help Melissa put the food into a large paper bag. Wave good-bye to May. Monica’s on the couch watching TV so I wave to her, too.
“Nice to meet you guys,” I say. Open the front door.
That wasn’t so bad. First time meeting a girl’s family and everything went smoothly. If you don’t count the uptight sister. I smile to myself. My rule of never getting serious enough to meet a girl’s family? Melissa has smashed it to pieces.
And she’s not even Latina.
“You have got to be kiddin’ me!”
I yell at Melissa like I would a teammate. I don’t hold back. She asked me not to. She said she’d prefer to be treated like an equal. She didn’t want any free goals or passes. I didn’t plan on it. Competitiveness flows through my veins. I couldn’t play nice if I wanted to. Which is why, when Melissa scores her second goal on me, I’m frustrated.
“You lied,” I say, out of breath.
She laughs. “What do you mean?”
She bats her eyes like a princesa, looking all innocent.
“You said you’re not as good as me
in soccer,” I point out. “Which is a lie.”
Melissa is good at soccer. She’s more than good. She spins circles around me, even passing the ball through my legs once. Her kicks send the ball flying through the air, almost to be knocked away by the goal post. But she’s landed a goal twice now. Both times within millimeters of the top post.
“I’m a little rusty, actually,” she says.
Hate to see her when she’s been practicing.
“You’re crazy,” I say, laughing. “You this good at all sports?”
She smiles and runs to me. “Pretty much.”
She leans in for the ball. Swipes it up with one hand.
“You hungry?” Melissa asks.
“Definitely,” I reply.
Wind tangles Melissa’s hair around her face, wrapping her up. The smell of sulfur water is everywhere. Sprinklers go off in the distance, saturating the open fields. We find a picnic table.
“Tell me something you’re not good at,” I say. Mostly to make myself feel better about getting beaten by a girl.
“School,” Melissa answers. “I’m not good at school. I try, but it’s just not my thing. I like being outside. I like running. Playing sports. Whatever, as long as I’m not cooped up in a small room staring at books.”
I know what she means.
She pulls out Tupperware containers and plastic plates. “I’m not good with stress either.”
My attention is hers. “What kind of stress?”
Melissa scoops food.
“The kind that sends my best friend overseas.” She hands me a plate. “The kind that leaves my stomach all wrong.”
I want to ask about Faith, but I also need to know about Melissa’s stomach.
“You wanna talk ’bout it this time?” I’m careful to keep my voice even. I don’t want her to freak out like the last time that I mentioned her stomach.
Melissa takes a bite of chicken. Twirls the fork in her small hand.
“Maybe.”
She’s not looking at me anymore.
I reach a hand to hers. Slowly. Careful to not push too far.
“What happened to—”
Melissa cuts me off with a sharp glance. Okay, so asking is off limits. I’ll have to let her tell me on her own.
She withdraws her hand. Eats in silence for a minute. The food is actually really good. I want to tell her that, but I don’t want to ruin the moment that Melissa has started by mentioning her stomach.
She takes a deep breath.
“I have scars, Javier,” she blurts.
Her fork drops from her fingers. Rattles against the plate. Her face stills.
Scars? Plural.
From what, Melissa?
I wait for more information. But it never comes.
“I don’t have a problem with scars,” I tell her.
She picks her fork back up. Scoops food into her mouth. “Let’s talk about something else. Like how you need to improve your soccer skills.”
She attempts a weak smile.
I don’t want to stop talking about Melissa’s scars. But she’s over talking about it, so it’s done.
“Guess I do need to work on my skills.” I shovel food into my mouth, starving. “This food is bien, by the way.”
Her face splits into a real smile this time. “Really?”
“Sí,” I say, grabbing seconds. “You can cook for me anytime.”
“Will you give me Cuban recipes?”
Not so easy. Mi mamá is the one with the recipes. And if I ask, I’ll have hell to pay. She’ll want to know why I need them. She’ll ask who they’re for.
“I can try,” I say. “I’m not the one who cooks at mi casa.”
“Your mom cooks?”
I nod.
“Okay,” is all she says.
My mom doesn’t like Melissa. She doesn’t even know her. It shouldn’t be like that.
I pull Melissa close. “Thanks for the food.”
She touches my cheek. Strokes a finger down my lips.
“You’re welcome,” she breathes.
I want to know what it’s like to have Melissa cook for me again. I want more than a couple dates and info about Faith. I need Melissa in ways that I don’t even understand yet. Like the way that I think about her when she’s gone. Like how I imagine what it’d be like to touch her body in all the right places. Like how her soccer skills make me want to bring her by mi casa to play with my brothers, too. They’d be impressed.
Only, I can’t.
I can’t bring Melissa to my house because there’s no way that mi mamá would be cool with it, and I’m not sure how Melissa would take the rejection.
“I like you, Melissa,” I say, bringing her lips closer. “Even if you have scars. Even if mi mamá doesn’t approve. Even though you’re so good at soccer that it makes me crazy jealous you have that much talent.” She relaxes in my arms.
I don’t know how Melissa and I will work together. I’m not even sure that we will. But I want her. And that’s enough for now.
She smiles. “Are you gonna talk all night, or are you gonna kiss me?”
Kiss her, of course. So I do.
21
melissa
“So, what happened at the park?” May hammers away with questions the next morning. “Did he like the food? Did you mention the thing about his mom not liking you?”
I rub my eyes. Try to wake up enough to form coherent sentences.
“What the hell, May?” I grumble. Check the clock. “It’s nine in the morning.”
May sits on the bed beside me. “Who cares about the time? Did he kiss you?”
I roll over. Throw a pillow over my face.
Smother the memories of my dream. Where Faith was still here and we were still friends and, God, why did so many things happen?
Like cancer.
Like Diego dying.
Like Javier becoming mine in a way I’ve always wished was possible.
That’s the only good thing in a list of many that play through my mind.
May yanks the pillow away. “Wake up, sleepy.”
“Maybe if you were home last night I could have told you,” I say, yawning.
May has never badgered me about guys.
What’s new this time, sister?
“I went out with Brock,” May says, glancing away quickly. “Now back to you.”
Nothing is easy with May and Brock, so I know there’s more to her story.
“Javier ate the food. Liked it. He kissed me. His mom doesn’t like me because I’m not Latina. Can I sleep now?”
“Fine,” May replies. “But you’re gonna have to tell me about him eventually.”
Why?
“No, I won’t,” I mumble.
“Yes, you will,” she says, a smile in her voice. “Because I know, unlike the other guys you’ve dated, that you really like this one.”
Once again, she’s right.
I’m looking at pictures of Faith. We’re young. I still have braces, those horrible things. Faith is looking at me like they don’t exist. Next. We’re at a water park. I have one hand on my hip, another near my mouth. We’re laughing. Next. Faith is sitting beside me in the cafeteria at school. Her eyes are downcast. Mine are looking far off. I don’t remember who took this picture. I don’t remember why. But I’m glad I have it.
I’m flipping through a photo book and wondering what happened to my best friend. I still call her that, but does she call me her best friend, too?
I’m not sure anymore.
I don’t know why she won’t talk to me. I’ll keep trying, of course I’ll keep trying, but that doesn’t make it easy. Her rejection.
Faith’s refusal to answer the phone is a saw to my heart. Does she realize I’m bleeding out?
Faith’s dismissal of the years we built together is a gash that I don’t know how to sew together.
Faith has the needle and thread. Faith is the one who needs to make a move.
Here’s a secret: Sometimes I sta
re at her house. At the windows, the rain that splatters against it. I watch her dad and stepmom go in and out. And then I see her little sister, Grace. Grace is a miniature Faith. Chop a little more than a decade of life away and they look identical. Forget about a broken heart, and they’re the same. I stare at Grace mostly.
I can’t talk to her, though. I can’t because the hurt is too much and I won’t show that to Grace. She deserves better.
Grace is Faith’s clone. If I could go back to that age and be Faith’s friend all over again, knowing how it would turn out, would I?
Yes.
It’s that simple.
It’s that complicated.
The person I never see come out of the house is Faith. Because it’s not her house anymore, is it?
I pick up the phone. A bright screen stares back at me. It screams happy colors that feel like a lie against the truth of my mood. I’m not happy that Faith has disappeared on me.
I want my best friend back.
I punch in numbers. Each number brings me one step closer to the hope I hold that Faith will answer. And maybe, just maybe, she’ll actually talk to me about something meaningful. Something that lasts more than three minutes.
Maybe even something that doesn’t make me sit on my bed and fight back tears this time.
Ring.
This ring has become a horrible reminder of the friend I’ve lost.
Ring.
She’s not going to answer.
Ring, ring.
I’ll have to leave another message that she may or may not ever hear.
Ring, ring.
Forget it.
Ring.
“Hello?”
I’m so shocked that I don’t answer for a second. Then, my voice. “Faith?”
It’s been almost two months since I’ve talked to Faith. “Hi,” she says.
Shuffling in the background. Someone’s voice. “Who’s that?”
It’s not really the question I want to be asking. What I really want to ask is why she left so suddenly and how did she think that made me feel and what is the reason for her elusiveness?
“No one,” comes my best friend’s reply.
I miss her like I miss the snow that I’ve only seen once but remember so much more vividly than all of Florida’s sunniest days combined. Because the snow was much more beautiful. Because the snow understood the colder parts of me. Like the pain left behind by Dad leaving. I’ve accepted it, but I haven’t forgotten it.
