After Us

by Amber Hart

  “Since now,” he says. “So go.”

  I eye him a moment longer. “Fine.”

  I walk back to the bar. Wipe it down and stack the drink trays. Clock out. Javier finds me.

  “How were tips today?” he asks.

  “A little less than normal,” I reply.

  Some days are good. Some are average. None are exceptionally bad. The perks of having a good job.

  Javier’s sunglasses rest lazily on his head. He peers out at the water.

  “You ready?” he asks.

  “For what?”

  “To come with me.”

  Even though I have no idea what’s going on, I take his outstretched hand. And suddenly I’m being shocked with pleasure. Skin to skin. My eyes on his. The rough pads of his fingers touching me. I want to stop in the middle of the sand. I want to kiss his lips. I wish we were people sketched onto a drawing board because I’d erase everyone else around us. It would be me and Javier and not one other soul. For this time. For these moments.

  Javier drags me along. My sandaled feet burn where hot sand flicks up onto my toes. He stops at a small boat that’s lodged in sand. Normal for this part of the beach. People park them here and drag them out to the water when they’re ready to go for a ride.

  Which is exactly what Javier is doing now. Pushing the boat toward the sea. I almost don’t even notice when Brock joins him.

  “You remember what I showed you, right?” Brock asks.

  But he’s not talking to me.

  “Yeah,” Javier answers.

  They push until the boat reaches the shore. Until the bottom is soaked in water. It bobs a little there.

  “Have fun,” Brock says, wiping his hands on his shorts.

  I walk to Javier, because I get it now, but I still don’t believe it.

  “You’re taking me on a boat ride?” I ask.

  Finally, Javier smiles. “Sí, vamonos.”

  It’s been years since I’ve ridden in a boat. So long that I barely remember what it feels like.

  I turn around to ask Brock where he got the boat, but he’s gone.

  I want to ask a million questions. I want to know how it works. Where I’m supposed to get on and where I stand once I do. Or do I sit? I’m not sure. Do I have to wear a life vest? How do you drive this thing?

  I don’t say a word. I sew shut my lips and decide that I’m going to have fun with Javier, because why not?

  I take off my sandals. Carry them in my hand. Wade into the water, grateful to be wearing my bathing suit. I’m up to my hips by the time I reach the boat, which is now being dragged by the current.

  “Climb the ladder,” Javier says.

  I’m not sure where the ladder is so I walk around the boat until I find it attached to the side. I throw my sandals over the lip. They land with a flop on the floor. The ladder is easy enough and I’m in the boat with only four steps up. Javier stays in the water.

  “You coming?” I ask.

  He pushes the boat out farther. It’s easier for him to do in the water.

  “In a sec,” he replies.

  We’re deeper now. Javier isn’t standing on the sea bottom anymore. His feet kick behind him in the small ocean swells. We’re finally deep enough for him to climb the ladder, too.

  He hops in. Wet and gorgeous. He goes straight to the wheel. Presses a button on the dash and turns the key. The motor flares to life. I watch the way Javier’s muscles move, sure and practiced, his back taut. Sweat and water glisten off his muscles like oil. I have an urge to touch him there. Just the thought of it makes my cheeks warm.

  He catches me looking and grins.

  I try not to be embarrassed. To not blush. I fail horribly.

  I channel my attention into the boat’s interior instead. White floors that feel like plastic beneath my bare feet. Red seats that conform to me as soon as I sit on them. Hand rails that stretch around the boat—ten feet maybe. I grab on to one as Javier drives into deeper waters.

  Javier doesn’t say anything. I take the opportunity to watch him again. His eyes are on the water and wind in his hair. Striking, beautiful, delicious. My hair lashes out at me with each gust of briny air. It smells like fish and salt and seaweed.

  And I love it.

  The way the wind roars in my ears and salt stings my skin. Steady, even, perfect, we glide across the surface, motor chopping the water. A wake follows us wherever we go.

  I love the way the sun punches my skin with its intense rays and the way birds fly ahead and the way pelicans dive into the water. I watch boats in the distance. Other things bob on the water also, too distant to make out. Perhaps a bird or a fishing net.

  I don’t remember ever feeling this alive. I wonder if I’ve ever told Florida thank you for the beauty that it surrounds me with. Fish and sea and hot, hot, hot. I want to jump into the water and smile at the sun and hold on to this feeling forever.

  The wind begins to die down. I almost like this more. Cruising slowly until we reach a stop. My hair is a tangled mess. We haven’t come that far at all, I realize, as I glance back to the shore.

  Javier cuts the engine. The key stays in the ignition. He throws an anchor down. The boat tugs as soon as the anchor hits bottom. Which is only moments after he drops it. How can that be?

  I peer at the water again. Understanding dawns on me. We’re at a sandbar. The ocean is shallow here, unlike the water we rode through to get to this point. Here fish swim just below the boat in clear water. Shells collect in troves.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say.

  I spot a jellyfish. The outline of something, maybe a stingray, buried beneath the sand. The sandbar itself only has inches of water above it. Shallow enough that people are standing on it, fishing, farther down.

  Javier takes my hand. “Come with me.”

  I’ll go with him anywhere.

  He hops off the boat. Helps me down. My feet sink into sand, leaving imprints.

  “Brock says that sharks hang out by sandbars,” Javier informs me.

  This is not comforting. I eye the boat. Maybe it’s safer to stay out of the water. Javier sees my expression and laughs.

  “Don’t worry. They won’t come this close,” he says. But I’m still not sure. “They’re too busy lookin’ for food around the sandbar.”

  We walk a little down the sandbar. The boat stays anchored and waiting. Javier’s hand finds my lower back and rests there. I’m wearing a one-piece again, but the back is cut out so I feel his skin against mine.

  I want to drown in Javier. I want to sink into the way his mouth moves and the feel of him on me and the way his eyes swallow me whole.

  “I thought we could look for shark teeth,” he says.

  What a normal thing to do.

  It’s so normal that it feels abnormal. Like everything in my world is backwards and now Javier’s flipping it right side up.

  “I’ve always wanted to,” he says.

  He’s trying to be normal, too, I realize. With everything Javier has told me about Cuba—running away, hunger, violence—I get why he’d want a slice of average.

  We walk the sandbar, searching for shark teeth. Javier takes time to tell me more about his family. Three sisters. Eight brothers. A laid-back dad. An overbearing mom. A small house. Big love. I picture it all. I imagine bunk beds and shared space and Cuban food. I imagine soccer in the backyard and brothers fighting over who’s the best player.

  It reminds me of me and my sisters. Growing up together. Sharing a room with May. Playing sports. Always competitive. I tell Javier about them, too. It’s a good part of me. It’s a truth that I’m willing to share.

  It takes nearly an hour to walk the whole sandbar. Twice. A few times I think I’ve found a shark tooth, but it turns out to be a rock or chips of shells. Finally, Javier picks up something. Small, black, and sharp. Shark’s tooth.

  “Good job,” I say.

  I still haven’t found one, but that’s okay. For this time—water surrounding us, on our own is
land of sorts—I’m free.

  Javier allows himself a small smile, and tucks the tooth into his pocket. We make our way back to the boat, sandbar to ourselves now. The fishermen have left. The sun will leave soon, too. It slowly descends, sliding down clouds and blue sky. Preparing to paint a beautiful sunset.

  Javier helps me up the boat ladder before hopping on. He goes to a compartment and pulls out two granola bars. Hands one to me. He doesn’t say a word as he eats it, eyes cast away. I sit on the red seats across from him and watch his face.

  Javier watches the sky. His eyes are full of something that I want to be a part of. I remember the first time that I kissed his lips in the water. The time that he nearly kissed me in the hotel room—if it weren’t for Ramon’s interruption. I think about our kiss at the zoo, and about how he fits perfectly with me. How we’re made from this mold that’s so different but that we both, shapes of our own, fit into this space rightly. I watch as he finishes the granola bar. As he drinks water and offers me some. I drink it, too.

  And suddenly . . .

  I can’t take it anymore.

  I set the bottle down. Walk to Javier. He turns to me, a little off guard. I sit next to him, almost in his lap, and lean toward his face. I don’t have to lean much because Javier is hungry for me, too.

  “Mami,” he breathes.

  He kisses me deeply. Reaches into my soul and caresses it softly.

  His fingers are on my neck, trailing lightly. Making me shiver.

  I touch him back. I feel his bare stomach, his chest, his lips. And then, with his body pressed against mine, I feel other parts of him. Parts that confirm how much he needs me, too.

  Javier touches me like he never wants to stop. Which is good.

  Because I don’t want him to.

  32

  javier

  When Melissa presses her body against mine, I lose it. I kiss her back. Hard. I reach for pieces of her, all of her. Lips and thighs and hips. Stomach and ribs and that spot on her lower back.

  Necesito mas.

  “Mami,” I breathe into her.

  She rakes fingers through my hair. Pauses at the base of my neck.

  I don’t want her explorations to stop, but I take her pause as a chance to fold out the bench seats. Melissa stands. Watches me. Only takes a second for our seats to become a makeshift bed, all joined together. The cushions are low enough that no one will see us.

  I pull Melissa against me. Lower her to the cushions. Blond hair slides off of her shoulders and lands on the improvised bed.

  Mi preciosa.

  “Are you okay with this?” I ask.

  I might die if she says no.

  “Yes.”

  She assures me with kisses. Scalding lips and grinding hips. I reach for the string that ties around her neck, holding her suit in place.

  She lets me undo the tie. Her breaths become heavy. I watch her face. I’m controlled by her eyes and this need.

  There’s something else, too. An undercurrent of emotion. I’m afraid to name it because I’m afraid of what it means. That I might actually like Melissa in a very real way. I’ve kept myself locked up. I’ve known that liking a girl leads to a relationship and that’s just not my style.

  Melissa has destroyed my style, not caring that I have this pain because she understands pain, too. She describes her life through songs. She kisses me and makes me forget that this world hasn’t been very kind. I lose myself in Melissa. Strings undone, but bathing suit still covering.

  I like this girl too much.

  I’m too far gone to stop now.

  I pull the straps down farther.

  I suck in a breath at the sight of her bare chest. Small breasts. Goosebumps across her tanned skin. I can’t see any farther than her ribs because that’s where I stopped. Where my hands abandoned the straps and landed on her flesh instead.

  “Melissa,” I rasp.

  I kiss her like I’m disappearing. Like this will be the last time.

  This can never be the last time. I want to stare at every inch of her body one hundred thousand times.

  “Javier,” she answers back.

  Melissa’s hands are whispers traveling across my stomach. Landing just above my board shorts. She pauses, deciding. And then slips her hand inside.

  I groan.

  Now she knows just what she does to me. Every kiss and teasing flick of her tongue against mine. I’m glad she knows. I love the way she’s touching me.

  I yank her suit down lower. Kiss along her ribs. I’m falling apart.

  “I need you, mami.”

  It’s the biggest truth I have. More solid than the shaky ground I normally stand on. More complete than this life that’s left me not totally whole. Melissa is the best thing I know.

  She needs me, too. Say her deep kisses. Say her movements against me.

  I reach into her suit. Ready to feel more.

  I don’t get the chance.

  Melissa yanks my hand out and pushes me away with sobering force.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, voice shocked.

  I can’t understand what’s happening. One second I’m kissing her, the next second Melissa’s done, putting distance between us.

  “What?” I ask, confused.

  “You touched my stomach,” she says. Not nicely.

  I reattach the Velcro on my board shorts so that they sit low on my hips again. Rake a hand roughly through my hair.

  “Yeah, Melissa,” I say. “That’s normally what people do when they want each other.”

  I’m wound up too tightly. Her lips and kisses and I thought . . . I thought . . .

  “What just happened?” Might as well come out and say it.

  “My stomach, Javier.” Melissa looks like she’s ready to cry. “You touched my stomach. You almost t-t-touched my s-s-cars.”

  I thought Melissa needed me like I needed her. There was only one way to make that happen.

  “How else was I supposed to touch you further?”

  “I don’t know,” Melissa says. “You can’t touch my scars. You know that. You just . . . never mind. Can we go?”

  I don’t want to go. “If you want.”

  Even though I’m frustrated and she’s angry, I’m still staring at her chest. I want to kiss her again. I wish there were a way for her to block out the scars and whatever put them there. They’re controlling our moment. I want her to be with me. I want her concentration to be on me, not her past.

  Melissa readjusts her bathing suit. Ties it in a bow again. My chance, gone.

  It could have been something more. It would have been pieces of me shared with her. It would have been me and Melissa leaving our problems behind and being together freely.

  I turn the key in the ignition and head back to shore. Melissa stares blankly out at the coast. No life in her eyes.

  We’re left with no words. Motor running. Water lapping. Gulls screeching.

  This isn’t how I was expecting things to go.

  Life doesn’t give a shit about what I want.

  33

  melissa

  I don’t know what I’m doing. Driving back home from the beach. Wondering where things went wrong. No, that’s not true. I know exactly where things went wrong. It’s just hard to accept.

  I messed up.

  Javier was touching me, wanting me. Just an hour ago, I had Javier’s lips against mine. All the privacy we needed, and I ruined things.

  I couldn’t help it.

  My scars and their story are insecurities that wreck my life. I couldn’t let Javier see. There’s no way he could touch them. Then he’d feel my brokenness. It’d become too real.

  Javier didn’t seem to mind the idea of the scars, but that’s only because he doesn’t know them for what they really are.

  A reminder.

  A forever.

  Jagged.

  Broken.

  Ugly.

  Coming by your house in 30 minutes.

  I reread the text three ti
mes just to be sure. It’s ten in the morning on a Saturday. I have to be at work by noon.

  Javier is on his way.

  I’m worried. He’s not breaking up with me, is he?

  I hate the thought.

  Maybe he wants to talk. Maybe what happened yesterday on the boat is still bothering him. Wouldn’t blame him. I don’t know how to make it right. The fact that I denied him. The way I left him.

  I wonder why Javier even wants to still talk to me at all. I wonder at the fingers attached to these hands that touched him so intimately. I wonder at the fluttering, fluttering, fluttering of a million wings in this churning, nervous stomach of mine. I close my eyes and relish the taste of him. Needy and delicious.

  No, I can’t lose Javier.

  I jump out of bed. Covers attach to me like cobwebs, ensnaring me. I nearly fall, flustered.

  I throw on green shorts and a white top over the one-piece that I’m wearing to work. Slip my feet into flip-flops. Make my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth and hair. I don’t bother with putting on makeup.

  Fresh faced, I grab a banana and a yogurt for breakfast. Scarf them down. My eyes are on the window. On the driveway, specifically.

  Javier arrives early.

  I’m quick to grab my purse and meet him outside so he doesn’t have to knock. It’s a hasty move. Eager, and he probably knows it. I don’t care. I need to make things right between us.

  I open his truck door. It protests my pull with a small metal groan. My body sits on seats that are worn down to the springs, ripped in some places. The truck smells like dampness mixed with cologne. I roll down the window. Let fresh, humid air blow across my face.

  I’m not sure if Javier wants to talk right here in his truck. In my driveway. But I don’t want to have this conversation inside where my sisters can hear. I wonder if this is all right, me coming out here and sitting in his truck like I belong here.

  Can he hear my galloping heart?

  Nerves taunt me, eating at my stomach with a sharp bite.

  I risk a glance at Javier. He’s clean shaven. White shirt and ratty jeans. Sunglasses in place. His usual grin gone.

  “Wanna have breakfast with me before work today?” he asks as he stares at the windshield.

  I regret already eating. I won’t tell Javier that.