After Us

by Amber Hart

  I don’t know why fourteen is the cutoff. It never made sense to me. Either way, I still have two years before I can technically walk this strip without my parents. Faith and I already agreed that if anyone asks our age, we’ll lie. Say we’re fourteen. They’ll never know the difference.

  “Let’s go in here!” Faith says, catching up to me. She points at a jewelry shop that sells natural stones like onyx and moonstone and jade.

  A bell jangles loudly as we open the door and step inside. It smells like lavender. A lady behind the counter asks if we’re looking for anything in particular. We say no. But once we begin looking, we find it. Two matching rings with three tiny stones. Orange, yellow, and green amber. We have just enough money.

  “To friendship,” I say, smiling.

  “Forever,” Faith agrees.

  I still have the ring, though it no longer fits the same finger.

  “Everything is going to be fine,” Faith says, disrupting my thoughts.

  My lab results have already been determined. Whatever news the doctor plans to give me is already reality. Like it or not.

  I never expected to hear news that could end my life while sitting next to Faith, but life is funny like that. Life gives you things you never asked for and takes away things you always dreamed of. I wonder where life gets the nerve.

  Faith wanted to come today. She figured I’d need support. I wonder if Javier needs support, too. I don’t like to think about it, how Diego will change Javier’s world today. Maybe he already has. Maybe he’s showed up at the hospital and delivered the news that he lied. Hid his survival. I wonder what Javier is going through. How he’s going to take the news. I should be there with him.

  I’m thinking about leaving. Calling the doctor later and asking for the results over the phone, even though that’s not the normal protocol. But I don’t get the chance because the doctor walks in. Smile on his face.

  Just like last time.

  I don’t know if that’s good or bad. Maybe he smiles no matter what.

  “Hello, Melissa,” he says. “How have you been?”

  Horrible. Awful. Worried. “Fine.”

  “Any discomfort from the surgery sites?”

  “No.”

  Just say it already.

  “Do you mind if I take a look?”

  I freeze. Yes, actually, I do mind. Because even though you put the scars there, Doctor, I haven’t showed anyone besides May. That shouldn’t change now.

  I look at Faith. “I’m not sure.”

  Her eyes narrow. The doctor tries a different avenue.

  “Maybe your friend could step outside?” He’s politely asking Faith to give us privacy.

  “It’s just that I haven’t showed anyone besides May,” I explain to Faith.

  “Remember when you dared me to take chances at the restaurant?” she asks.

  I think back to it, a time when we were in high school and Faith still lived here. I pushed Faith to admit whether or not she thought Diego was hot. What I was really pushing her toward was stepping out of her shell. I have a feeling that she’s about to do the same to me.

  “You wanted me to be free. You wanted me to kill fear,” she says.

  Faith makes no move to leave.

  “It’s your turn,” she challenges, her voice soft.

  It’s a gentle challenge. One I think she’ll back down from if I insist. But I won’t. Because she’s Faith. And because she’s right.

  I lie down on the table. Lift my shirt above my belly button and push my jeans down slightly, enough to reveal my scars.

  Cold fingers prod my belly. I wait for it to be over. Eventually, I will have to face that this is permanent. That I’m scarred. That cancer bit off pieces of me. Inside and out.

  I stare blankly at my stomach. One long pink line digs into my abdomen. Two small ones hide inside my belly button. I can’t look away.

  “Would you like to know the results of your blood work?” the doctor asks. Quits poking me.

  I fix my clothes. Faith takes my hand and squeezes, her way of telling me that she’s here for me.

  “Yes,” I reply numbly.

  No moment has ever mattered more.

  “Your cancer,” says the doctor, “is gone.”

  Time

  just

  stops.

  I’m struggling to believe his words. They’re the same words I’ve been wanting to hear for six months. They’re all I’ve dreamed of. And here, now, I’ve got them. They’re mine.

  “Completely gone?” I double-check.

  “Completely gone,” the doctor echoes.

  “Forever?”

  “We hope,” he says. “You’ll have checkups, but everything looks good, Melissa. Congratulations.”

  I glance up. Find Faith’s watery eyes. Fear doesn’t have any place here.

  “Thank you,” are the words out of my lips.

  To Faith. To the doctor. To life.

  Because sometimes, people get second chances. For the first time.

  I look back down to where my scars hide under my clothes. They’re hard to accept. But one day, if I try hard enough, hopefully I’ll see them not as ugly reminders, but as beautiful souvenirs.

  They are what I’ve taken home from my battle with cancer.

  One day, maybe, I can even wear them proudly.

  EPILOGUE

  javier

  She is beautiful, so beautiful. A thousand million thank-yous that all whisper her name. Over and over again I wish I could tell Melissa how grateful I am.

  She saved me.

  I don’t blame her for ratting me out to Faith.

  It brought Diego back.

  I think of what she said on the day of my release from the hospital.

  I’m in the passenger seat, staring at Melissa’s beautiful face.

  “I have something to tell you,” she whispers as she pulls up to my house. She cuts the engine. Her eyes land on my hospital bag, then on my bandaged body.

  I worry that me being in the hospital has reminded Melissa of her time there—her surgeries—and I want nothing more than to take the pain from her. But when she looks back up at me, there’s a smile on her lips.

  “My cancer is gone.”

  My eyes widen. I’m hearing the best news possible.

  “I’m officially in remission.”

  I want to congratulate her. Ask how she feels. I don’t want to push too far. I settle on: “I’m proud of you.”

  Because I am. Melissa is the strongest person I know. She battled a deadly monster, and won. She held hope tightly in her hand and promised to never let it go.

  I look at Melissa now, cancer free, and I get this feeling like I never want to let her go.

  “Mami,” I whisper into her ear.

  Her breath catches. Her eyes switch direction. She stops looking at Faith and Diego—sitting in her living room across from us—and starts looking at me.

  “Yeah?” she asks, so close to my face.

  I pretend not to notice the way my cousin grins. I don’t even care that I’m transparent. Yeah, I care about a gringa.

  He does, too.

  And yeah, it goes against everything I’ve been taught, everything I’ve ever known.

  She’s worth it.

  “Bésame.” My demand is quiet. Only Melissa can hear me.

  When her eyes drop to my lips, I forget that we’re in her house, saying good-bye to Faith and Diego, who have been in town since I got shot, staying at Faith’s old place. I forget they might be watching us. I don’t know one single thing except for her lips, the way she presses them against mine. The power in her touch.

  A throat clears. I don’t welcome interruptions.

  “Damn, man,” Diego says, grinning. “We only got a few minutes.”

  The car will be here soon to pick up Diego and Faith. Take them back to the airport. For now, Nicaragua is their home. There’s still more work to do there, Diego says. They’re changing people’s lives, Faith mentions. I wonde
r if Faith and Diego’s lives are being changed, too. From the way my cousin smiles more, from the way he seems at peace, I think they are.

  I’m happy for him.

  Melissa and I will be leaving soon, too. We’ve talked about it the last couple weeks since my release from the hospital. There’s a community college in a small Georgia town, a place Melissa once visited and loved. It’s a college she always wanted to attend, but couldn’t because of her cancer. Well, now she can. And as it turns out, my grades aren’t an issue. They accept anyone who is willing to pay for classes. As long as I work, we can afford an apartment near campus, too.

  It’s still hard to believe. In a couple weeks, Melissa and I will move. Next semester, I’ll be going to college. Melissa has her life back. We’ll be together, in our own place. No more MS-13 and looking over my shoulder. No more wondering if they’ll send members to find me, because I’ll be gone.

  A life, free.

  “Two minutes, to be exact,” Diego says.

  “So?” I reply jokingly, glancing at mi primo. Way I see it—his arms wrapped around Faith, his fingers stroking the underside of her knee—Diego knows exactly how I feel.

  I lean in for another kiss from Melissa. She shies away. Smiles mischievously. God, I love her smile. I want to memorize Melissa’s face with my lips. I want to touch every part of her. And as much as I don’t want my cousin to leave, I need time alone with Melissa.

  “So, can’t you wait two minutes?” Diego jokes.

  “I don’t know, man,” I reply. “I can try.”

  It feels good to joke with mi primo. Like the deepest breath of fresh air when all I’ve been breathing is toxic revenge.

  Now I don’t have to.

  Diego gets that I’ve fallen hard for Melissa, but not all my family understands. I tried to tell mi mamá that Melissa saved me. I tried to explain that moving away to college with Melissa is a really good thing. But without being able to tell her about the gang, or Diego, she doesn’t understand why I was shot, though she has her suspicions, or why I need to move to such a small town far away. And though she’s happy that I want to attend college, she isn’t happy that I’ll be there with Melissa. I can only hope that mi mamá will accept Melissa one day. There’s a chance she never will. There’s a chance that some people will always look at me and Melissa together and wonder:

  Why?

  I may never be able to convince the universe, people like mi mamá. Because some people don’t want change. But I’d like to think that with each chance taken, each kiss and touch and show of passion, we get one step closer.

  “Will you guys be able to visit us at college?” Melissa asks, eyeing Faith.

  I think their friendship is similar to mine and Diego’s. It’s the kind of bond that doesn’t die. Not with distance. Not with tragedies.

  “Maybe,” Faith replies. “And maybe you can visit us, too.”

  It feels good to know that we don’t have to worry about MS-13 anymore. They’re still out there, free, some of them. But Wink isn’t. He’s behind bars for life—where he belongs—charged with too many crimes to name. And thanks to the US government sting, the cartel has returned to Cuba. Receding back onto Cuba’s mainland like prey being hunted. Hopefully, they’ll stay there. I wonder if one day, they’ll be completely destroyed.

  It’s hard to imagine my homeland being safe. It’s a long shot, but possible.

  “You should visit on your college breaks,” Diego says. “Tómate unas vacaciones.”

  “Sometime,” I agree.

  “You know how to reach me,” Diego says.

  An open invitation. A number in my phone and a life not finished.

  “We have to go,” Faith says.

  It’s a good good-bye. One filled with next times and until thens and a future worth living.

  “Do me a favor,” Diego says on his way to the door. “Don’t find trouble this time.”

  He smiles, but he’s serious. I promise, and I mean it. Faith hugs Melissa good-bye. My fist bumps Diego’s. Our version.

  I think maybe Melissa wants to cry, so I kiss her. Promise her that we’ll see them soon.

  “Take care of my girl,” Faith says. Hops in the car.

  From the doorway, I say, “Always.”

  I don’t have to ask Faith to take care of Diego. I know she will.

  I watch the car pull out of the driveway, then face the girl who changed everything for me.

  “The house is ours until morning,” she says.

  My lips twitch, a grin forming. “Oh, yeah?”

  I run fingers through her silky hair. Watch her mouth turn up in the smallest smile. She places a hand on my stomach, careful not to press near my lung. It’s not quite healed.

  “I have something for you,” I tell her.

  Wide eyes stare back. “You do?”

  “It’s on your bed.” I put it there earlier when she thought I was using the bathroom.

  “And how did you manage that?” she wonders.

  I shrug. “Skills.”

  Melissa laughs and walks up the steps, leaving me to follow. I wait for Melissa to see it. A small square box on her pillow.

  A memory for you.

  “Open it,” I say.

  She does. First untying the red bow. Then cracking the lid. Her eyes land on the bracelet. She picks it up.

  “From our date,” she says, remembering.

  It’s the same shark’s tooth I found at the sandbar, on a silver chain. Small, but hers. A part of us.

  “I love it.” She clasps the bracelet around her wrist. A token.

  “And I love you,” I say.

  The words slip from my lips. I’ve known for a while.

  Melissa stills. I want her to know I mean it.

  “Te amo, mi princesa.”

  “I love you, too,” she whispers.

  It’s happiness like I’ve never known.

  It’s all I need.

  I gather Melissa in my arms. Taste the swell of her lips. She breathes like I’m made of air. She drinks me in with every inhale.

  “There’s something, one last thing, I need to do,” Melissa says.

  She takes one step back. Two deep breaths.

  “You asked about—” Pause. Shaky breath. “About my . . .” Torturous look. “Scars.”

  The last word is a whisper. Barely there.

  “You wanted to know about my scars,” she continues, trying to steel her voice. “They’re horrible. But if you want me, they come, too.”

  Of course, they do. I never thought otherwise. Her scars don’t make me want her any less.

  Actually, I want her even more.

  “I love you, mami,” I repeat. Wait for her to look me in the eyes. “Whether you have scars or not.”

  A tear slips down her face. Gut reaction, I kiss it away.

  “You have no idea,” I say, pulling her closer, “how beautiful you are. It will never matter that you have scars. I will never see you as anything less than brave, beautiful, mine.”

  A kiss.

  “Mine.”

  My voice is rough. Needy. Emotion and love and this amazing girl.

  “I need—” She waits. Steadies her shaking hands. Clasps them to her shirt. “I need for you to see them.”

  I see the horror in her eyes. The absolute terror she feels at asking me to look.

  “I need you to be sure that you are okay with this before we go away to college,” she says, hitching her shirt up just enough. Lowering her pants to a level just below her hip bones. She looks off at the wall, waiting for my reaction. Like she’s scared of how I’ll respond.

  I see them clearly. Her scars. Nothing will change the way I feel about her.

  Why can’t you see?

  You’re perfect.

  My hands grip her hips. She tenses. I wait for it to pass. Finally, Melissa looks at me. I lower her to the bed.

  Will you be offended if I tell you they’re beautiful?

  “Does it hurt?” I settle next to Mel
issa.

  “No,” she replies.

  I stroke her ribs, her arms, her neck.

  “Can I touch you now?”

  She hesitates. “My scars?”

  “Yes,” I answer. Serious. I won’t if she doesn’t want me to. But I really hope she lets me.

  Her lips press together. A thin line.

  She’s not telling me no.

  “I would never hurt you,” I promise. “These,” I say, fingers hovering over her scars, “won’t change the way I feel ’bout you.”

  Melissa lets go of fear. Nods.

  With her permission, I lower my fingers. Meet warm flesh. Skim the tender surface of her scars.

  I still my fingers. Wait to see if Melissa’s okay. She’s not. She’s anxious. I kiss around her stomach, try to loosen her up. Try to show her that I have no problem with her scars. Maybe one day she won’t either.

  Maybe I can help her see.

  I kiss down her hips. Listen as her breathing deepens.

  It’s hard not to lose myself in Melissa. The rise and fall of her chest. The way she lets me touch her so freely.

  “These,” I say, lips just above her scars, “are beautiful.”

  Melissa makes a noise like a whimper. I move up to her face.

  “Is it okay that I think they’re beautiful?”

  I don’t want to upset her. But, turns out, she’s not upset. She’s the opposite of upset. Melissa kisses me hard. Doesn’t stop kissing me.

  I want to kiss her lips forever. I want to wake up every morning knowing that Melissa is mine. Despite the scars. Even though I made mistakes. Regardless of whether or not mi mamá approves. Some never will. Through cancer and gangs and almost dying, both of us, we’re still together.

  Love, I think, is to blame.

  And I understand, for the first time, that life does offer more than violence and hunger and trying to survive. Sometimes, if you want it bad enough, life will even give you a chance to become something better.

  Melissa breathes passion. She moves closer and whispers how much I mean to her. I refuse to let her go.

  Does she see it in my face?

  Can she tell that I’ll move the world for her?

  Before Melissa? Pain. Suffering. Destruction.

  This is what change looks like.

  I’ve found a life worth living. Love worth having.

  This is the face of redemption.