Applause from the TV in the middle of the room makes me wonder why it’s even on. It’s some judge show with a woman snipping at everyone. Since I don’t have my own TV, I’m not up on the popular shows. I couldn’t care less. I replace Gran’s hand back in her lap. The blue floral housedress she has on is one of her favorites, though it seems big on her. Is she losing weight? I make a mental note to ask Annie. My aunt takes care of the medical stuff.
Gran keeps her focus somewhere else. I also have that Fitzgerald stubbornness. I don’t like to quit. I scoot my chair closer and angle it so I can look outside too. The courtyard runs the length of this room with a small garden. A couple of building lights illuminate the doorway leading out. The rock wall in back is about ten feet high. Beyond that, there’s an apartment building next door.
Nothing is visible except the encroaching darkness of night and the glow from this room’s own lights. “I'm doing good, Gran. I ran into an old friend yesterday. Remember Kitty? My girlfriend from high school? She's still gorgeous and still hates me.”
I cross my ankles and continue my one-way conversation, hoping one day she’ll remember me and call me by my name. “You used to say we meet people for a reason. I agree. My home burned down last night while I was having dinner with Kitty’s family. Her grandmother offered me a place to stay. It’s nice.”
Gram’s nose begins to run. I take a tissue from the package on her lap and wipe her face. More age spots cluster her cheeks. “I'm changing my life like you advised me to. Did you know I'm a mechanic now? I fix cars and stuff.”
Finally, she turns her head and regards me. “Oh, young man, you must be the orderly. Is it dinner time? Did I miss it?” Her hands shake when she reaches out to me.
“No, Mrs. Fitz, you didn’t miss it,” I say. The returning sadness makes me sit up. Every time she says that, I feel like a failure.
Then she smiles. I'm instantly transported back in time. Flashes of my life with her: eating dinner, watching TV, accompanying me to school, CCD events, and graduations. Reliable, I could always find her in the audience of anything that involved me. CYO basketball games, numerous baseball games… if they were local, Gran was there, my legal guardian, my rock.
That’s why I endure this every week. Three months of visits so far. We’re family.
It would be easier to stop coming, but I can’t do that to the woman who’s been more of a parent to me than the ones who created me.
I haven’t seen my dad since he was sent away fifteen years ago. And Mom? She spends more time behind bars than anywhere else, except for getting high, stealing, and prostituting herself. Oh, and buying more heroin.
A nurse waves to me from the doorway. I nod and stand. “Well, Gran, looks like it’s dinner time.”
When I check her, she's returned to that elsewhere place with those vacant eyes I suspect see things no one else can. After I slip the tissue inside the pocket on her chair, I place a gold cross necklace around her. The chain thin, the cross small, it's an inexpensive gift, but a necessary one. She lost the other one she wore, and I know how important having one is to her. I'm glad I kept it in the small plastic bag and stored in my wallet weeks ago. “Merry Christmas, Gran.”
How many more holidays do I have with her? Emotions begin to choke me. Swiping my face, I kiss the top of her head and whisper, “See you next week.” My pace is quick as I leave. The nurse retrieves her and wheels Gran to the dining hall.
The elevator doors open and I step out into the lobby just as my phone pings. Kitty messages me, asking where I am. I answer, and she responds by telling me to wait, she's on her way. Two rides with her in one day. That's something else I could get used to.
4
Catalina
I drive in silence. The radio is low, and Devlin sits beside me, lost in his own world. It's not easy seeing someone you love so much wither away.
We sit in traffic on the Deegan Expressway. In twenty minutes, we crawl a few inches. Good thing we’re early. Red lights flash up ahead. I’ve seen my share of cop cars for a while. With its chain, a tow truck yanks a minivan up onto the flatbed. An officer waves us into the left lane. Of course, so many drivers crane their necks to scope out the accident scene, they slow our progression down.
“Where are we going?” Dev glances out.
“We are having dinner at a restaurant in Ridge Hill.” When he doesn’t say anything, I describe it. “The shopping center in Yonkers, over by the rink where we used to go ice skating.”
“Oh, Murray’s. Okay. I’m in between wheels right now. I forgot.” Then he shifts. I know that move. He’s uncomfortable.
“Don't worry. It's just me and you, Dulce and her parents. They're paying. They want to finalize everything.” I point to the things protruding in my work tote on the floor beside his feet: my iPad mini, various folders, and papers.
From one lane, we’re thrust back into three open lanes once again. Within minutes, we pass the Cross County Shopping Center interchange. “Sal sent me all the info. I’m trying on the suit tomorrow during my lunch break.”
“Good.” I switch to the right lane, knowing our exit is coming up. “This is actually the best time to have to jump in for someone. All the hard work, planning, and arguing already happened. Now you get to enjoy the parties and act like you were a part of it all.”
He lets out a light laugh.
“Were you even planning on going to the wedding?” I flip the signal on.
“I didn't get an invitation, so I figured I wasn't invited.”
I take the Exit 6A ramp up towards Stew Leonard Drive and merge onto Ridge Hill Boulevard. “I addressed the envelope with your name on it. Sent it to your Gran’s address last September.” Does he realize I’m fishing for details about where he was?
“Annie purchased a post office box when she moved… for the three of us. She didn’t tell me about having any mail.” He’s still staring out. Is he uneasy?
“Well, it must've gotten lost or stolen. Seems like you were meant to attend anyway. Look at the decorations. Everything’s so pretty. All the lights and glitter. I love this time of year.” Soon I take a left onto Rebel Street. I pass a bunch of stores until I pull into the correct parking lot and kill the engine. Immediately, I yank my visor down, grab my bag, and touch up my lipstick. Satisfied, I smack my lips together before adjusting the clip in my hair. After I toss my things back into my bag, Devlin makes a strange face and jumps out.
“What? Did I miss anything?”
When he opens my door, he blurts out, “I thought you looked beautiful already.”
Thank goodness, he’s already out of my car when I gasp. He’s the only one I’ve ever believed when he uttered those types of words to describe me.
“Gorgeous.” “Amazing.” “Hot.” Those were alien words before him.
The guys I dated would say “you look pretty…” The “but” implied by what remained unsaid. After hearing those words enough times, I knew what they meant.
I was pretty for a fat girl.
With Devlin? None of that crap. Ever. Even before we went out. The guy treated me like a freaking princess in high school. His words rang truthful.
So why did he stand me up with no attempt at communication?
Prom was the night I planned to get back at all the haters, bullies, and insensitive twits. The slim girls who judged me simply by the amount of flesh on my hips. The idiot guys who couldn’t look me in the eye when out in public. The individuals who believed only the skinny could be considered “gorgeous.”
That night I’d walk into the party wearing an incredible gown that made me look like a princess, on the arm of one of the hottest and nicest guys in school. The baseball star. The sweet boy the nuns adored. And he was mine.
He didn’t care that I wore a size 12.
There I go again. Living in the past. I grab my bags and climb out, resolving to live in the present. The present where Devlin has never bothered to apologize or explain anything.
He
’s worse than those kids.
Inside the restaurant, the spices assault my senses. My stomach growls. Good thing I left Abuela with a plate of leftovers on her TV table and the six o’clock news on. The bright colors and ambient lighting create an ideal environment to chat and eat.
Dulce greets us by the hostess stand. By the bounce in her step and unending smile, wedding fever is contagious. Her curls are held back by a red headband with plenty of sparkle. The overhead lights wake up the bling, drawing a half circle glow above her until she resembles a magical pixie. Her black and silver dress gives her an air of someone older. Dare I say my cousin not only looks but is an example of a twenty-two-year-old with her life together?
Some heads pick up as we walk by. Appreciative gazes follow her. For once, I don’t think she notices. “Dwight’s flight is Friday morning. My dad took off to drive me.” She practically squeaks as she squeezes my arm.
My Tía Renata and Tío Felipe stand and wait for us to approach. I hug and kiss each one. "Hi. You remember Devlin?”
I scoot in around the table. Devlin shakes their hands before joining me. Dulce sits on the other end, by her parents.
For the next ninety minutes, we eat and talk over the events. First, there's a parade of appetizers as the platters are set down. Various types of empanadas and tapas, along with calamares fritos (fresh fried calamari), and my favorite, queso fundido. I immediately dip a chip into the gooey melted cheese, sure to grab chorizo bits. Dev samples everything.
Tia sips her port sangria and Dulce orders another tropical mojito while we discuss the lists displayed on my tablet. Dev tries Ironbeer, a fruity soft drink, and I have a Jupina, relishing the carbonated sweet pineapple taste.
The food and desserts lists, flowers, table settings and decorations, even the games and scheduled events, are gone over. Dulce beams. We finish by the time our meals arrive. A content silence settles over us while we enjoy our dishes.
Growing up with a Puerto Rican father and Cuban mom, Manny and I were fortunate to have two different cultures which occasionally overlapped in some flavors of dishes. Both hold firm opinions in building a strong foundation of family, religion, along with continuing traditions and beliefs. Mom's parents retired to Florida. I try to visit them once a year, either in the summer or during winter break. With the wedding, they're flying in on Thursday and staying with Dulce's family.
I dive into my plate of mofongo con pernil, savoring the smashed-up plantains cooked with garlic and roasted pork. Being nice, I offer some to Dev, who slices off a chunk of his Cuban sandwich for me. We fall back into our pork heaven until every inch of our plates are cleared.
Since we left room for dessert, Tía orders a sampler of churros, tres leches, and flan. Wherever there’s flan, I’m happy. I launch into my serving, feeling Dev’s eyes on me. “What?”
His smile could melt my panties again until I return my view back to my custard. “You look kind of,” he leans in so only I hear him, “orgasmic whenever you eat flan.” With that, he smirks and dips a churro into the chocolate sauce.
In a flash, I look away, settling to stare at my spoon, not imagining him biting into that donut stick. Dulce gently kicks me under the table. There's no way I'm repeating what he just said, especially to her. She'll never let me live it down, and then I'll have to stop eating flan. Or churros.
And…that’s not happening. Nunca. Jamas.
“So, Catie, the girl's party is happening tomorrow night at Abuela's, right?” my cousin says as her dad takes care of the check.
I finish my flan. “Yep. We’ll be making party favors and wedding souvenirs all night. The last delivery came today. Whatever else we needed, I picked up this morning.”
My cousins, a bunch of our girlfriends, and arts and crafts time. Talk about loud, crazy, and fun.
We say our goodbyes in the parking lot. Dulce is meeting a girlfriend at the movie theatre down the road. Before we get into my car, Dev points to the dent in the driver’s side door. “I can fix that at the shop. Give back to you and your grandma for helping me out.”
“Sure.” The air has turned frigid. His breath puffs out in clouds, and another damn memory surfaces about us ice skating on a small pond we knew about in Van Cortlandt Park. Just us, under the moonlight, and some tunes playing from his phone. When I fell, with him on top of me, we were in such a perfect position, just like in the movies. Romantic. His hair slid down the sides of his face, and all he did was gaze into my eyes and cup my face with his cold hands.
Our kisses lasted so long. We only pulled apart because the ice had soaked through our jeans. The boy could kiss. He took his time in every area, so tender and mesmerizing. Falling into him happened so quickly.
“Kit-I mean Catie, you okay?”
I shake my head, slipping out of that moment. Its effect is apparent from the warmth trailing its way around my belly. Abuela doesn't realize having him around is going to get harder and harder. “Yeah.” I put my bags in the back and get behind the wheel.
“Thanks for lunch. I think this substitute best man thing will work out.”
Once we’re settled in, I start her up and pull out. It’s after nine and the lot is still busy. With Christmas less than two weeks away, the frenzy of the shopping season continues. I’m glad I’m done with my list.
Am I? With the addition of Devlin, that’s one more person to find something for.
While waiting at a light, I think of a see-saw. All throughout my school years I tried just about every diet new on the market. Maybe I lost a few pounds. A couple of inches. I became lost in that teeter-totter way of living while consumed by searching for the way—the ONE way—that would be my solution to fitting in with the other slim girls I thought society demanded I be a part of. The quest I once figured I needed to take wasn’t necessary.
After accepting my body was not built for a size 0 or 2, it took time to become comfortable with what made me me. I did it, and finally satisfied, I jumped off the see saw. I found clothing that fit, was fashionable and affordable, which suited my taste and individuality.
With Devlin here, that seesaw feeling is back. This time it’s my emotions and feelings swaying from one side to the other. I want to be strong, not take him back, but keeping to my initial belief is getting harder, especially when he’s so close. I can smell his cologne. He touches me. Talks to me. Everything he does chips away at my resolve.
Is Dulce right? For now. I’ll do this to make her happy. At the end of this period, will I be able to jump off that seesaw, or will I be stuck on it once again?
As for giving him a present, an idea sprouts. I should get even.
5
Devlin
When Kitty mentioned having some girls over, I figured on hearing laughter and talking while a bunch of girls hung out working on stuff. When I go upstairs at nine to grab a bottled water, Zoe and Amanda from my high school class corner me in the kitchen.
Zoe is a small girl, but her attitude and mouth have always made her appear more substantial. With her long nails stabbing into my tee, she makes her way up my chest, demanding answers to her questions.
“Why are you here?”
“What do you want?”
“Why now?”
“Where were you all this time?”
One after the other in rapid-fire succession, the cousin’s best friend sets her sights on me next. Being in the cross-hairs is tiring. My mouth opens to answer, but I can’t get a word in.
Amanda stands beside me, shaking her head. “Devie, I can’t believe you’d live inside this house after what you did to Catie-girl. Damn well broke her heart.”
Music plays in the dining and living rooms. Abuela went out with a group of church ladies to attend some volunteer meeting. Maybe I should’ve gone to the movies or remained downstairs. I hold up my hands in a show of allegiance. Or is it surrender? “Listen, my home burned down. Mrs. Garcia is nice and offered me a place. I was away. All I want is water.”
I speak clearly, b
ut I don't think they hear a word I say. The verbal assault continues, now jointly.
"You've got no right to invade her life."
“Do you know what she went through?”
“Why didn’t you care?”
“How could you let her suffer like that?”
“How much Friendly’s ice cream can one person consume?”
“Poor Catie was so depressed. She lost her scholarship.”
“Everything over an estúpido.”
"Yeah, maricon."
I push Zoe’s mini swords off me. “Can you two quit it! Wait, what did you call me?” The barrage of insults I can take, but what they’re saying about Kitty is new. I push away from the corner to face them. “What happened to Kitty?”
Amanda crosses her arms over her chest. Her tight shirt has her breasts almost bursting out of her V-neck sweater. "Aw, you still call her Kitty. When you guys were dating—"
Zoe shushes her with a slash of her arm. “Cállate, idiota.”
A tense few seconds tick by. I wouldn't like one of my friends telling me to shut up and calling me an idiot, but I've heard these girls do worse. Amanda gives in, rolling her eyes.
Returning to me, Zoe pours the accusatory looks over me like asphalt into a pothole. “You disappeared, left her with no date. We picked her up, took her to the hall. She spent the night calling you a hundred times. Where were you? Not one text. We thought you were dead.”
“Or cut up in the gutter like una rata,” Amanda drops in.
They think I’m a rat? I hate rats.
“You don't show for school. Ever. Then her parents get killed. Dios, that summer. She couldn't take it. Didn't go away to college, gave up the awards. Pobrecita.” Amanda tears up and wipes her cheeks.
“Kitty didn't go upstate like she'd planned? She told me she was home on winter break.”
Zoe drops a look on me that could make a man’s testicles wither. The girl is tough. “No private school. She’s at a city university now. The girl loved you so much. When the rumors started, they broke her. We heard you got mixed up in some crazy shit. That your dad had you making drug drops for him.”
Covet the Curves: a Romance Collections Anthology Page 32
