by Ceves, Nina
He felt the familiar pang of regret and guilt. His mother had tried to help him in school. One day in fourth grade he looked around the classroom at the other kids and at his teacher’s angry face and he had a shocking realization, a truth that hit him straight in the face. He was that kid. He was the kid who was always in trouble. He could never understand how the other kids could sit still. He went from going into zones of pure focus where everything else faded away, to episodes where he felt as though he was taking everything in and couldn’t focus on what was supposed to be important. He was classified as having behavior problems and being a slow learner. All along, his mother was his biggest supporter. She had no background in education, but she advocated for him, trying to help him learn whatever he needed to learn, and trying to get the teachers to understand that he was not a bad kid. Not a dumb kid.
By the time she got sick and then died, Daniel was done. He barely made it to graduation. The only thing that got him there was the memory of his mother’s faith and love, how she would not have wanted him to be a high school drop out. As soon as he was out, he worked in construction, a company a friend’s family owned. The pay was good and he relished being outdoors a great deal, using his strength. He looked back on his days stuck in classrooms under fluorescent lights as though it was a memory of a nightmare. Only occasionally, he had stopped and wondered if he was missing out on something, such as when friends graduated from college and were excited about their careers. Some were going into teaching, others planned to focus on jobs related to computer programming, or business. He had quite a few friends, though, who graduated and worked in entry-level positions, in retail, for example. It was only now, as a father, he was trying to look ahead. Meantime, he had to just get through each day, as well. Things had gone downhill when his former boss had retired, passing the construction business along to a nephew. The new boss valued profit over anything else, and preferred to use day laborers in order to save money. He had been glad for the excuse to let Daniel go. Since then, Daniel got work wherever he could. He had a good reputation for working hard, but there was a lot of competition and not a lot of full time positions available at the time. He had moved to Albuquerque from southern New Mexico, thinking there would be more opportunities. There were, but he had less contacts, too.
He got down and started picking up toys. This house. That was another thing. He had moved in with Elijah a few months ago. A guy on a construction site was renting out a room, had heard Daniel needed a place. Then, the guy had gotten seriously injured on the job. He had moved back to Mexico to live with family when his money had completely run out. Daniel had meant to look for a housemate, but the idea of interviewing a stranger to live with him and his kid felt weird, so he kept putting it off. And now that Elijah was crawling, he thought this house wasn’t the best fit for them. There was no fence around the scrubby little yard, and they were on a busy street. The neighbors next door pulled into their driveways so fast, and were loudly argumentative into the night. He was going to need to look for another place. He sat down heavily on the couch, a toy truck in his hand. He spun the wheel and thought of Alma. It was hard to imagine inviting her into this chaos, into his confused lack of clarity. Leaning back, he closed his eyes. He thought of the sound of her laughter, the feel of her lips when they had kissed. He thought about her, just her. How their eyes kept meeting yesterday. Everything about her. F - word. it, he thought, committed to not cursing, even in his thoughts, now that he was a dad.
Come into my chaos, he thought, smiling tiredly, thinking of Alma. You choose. It’s a mess but… it’s kind of awesome, too.
Chapter Sixteen
Alma got ready for bed. She chided herself for thinking Daniel would have called her. It was too late, he was not going to call. If she wanted to talk with him, she should have called him, she told herself. She felt stupid. She had just hoped to talk with him. Now, what? Every day, she would hope he would call? And if he didn’t, then what? She would feel bad? No, this was stupid.
She thought back to her relationship in college. Andres. It had been so sudden and intense. There was no courtship period. It had been a heady, meant to be, can’t live without you kind of relationship. Andres had been so tender and sensitive, needy and quietly dramatic. Alma’s life had revolved around being there for him throughout his ups and downs. He relied on her emotionally, having depression and anxiety. He was an artistic young man, and although he could be caring, he was self-absorbed. Alma had gone from dating just a little bit in high school, her mother very protective, to diving head long into an incredibly intense relationship within her first month of college. Breaking up with him, during her last year of university, had felt as necessary to her as breathing. She had felt as though she had started to drown in the sea of his needs. However, the guilt that she felt in separating them was horrific and enduring. His anguish and sorrow haunted her. Her feelings of responsibility toward him made her question her decision over and over again. Last she heard, he was still living in northern Wisconsin, having moved back in with his parents after being admitted to a psychiatric unit briefly. Thinking of this, her eyes filled with tears. I’m sorry, she whispered. So sorry. She felt as though she would never forget the last time she saw him. He looked gaunt, his eyes huge and dark in his pale face. She had felt such a desire to get away from him, felt as though she was suffocating under the weight of his grief. And that feeling made her reel with guilt. Since then, she had kept her head down, focused on building a career, time with family and friends. The idea of dating anyone had filled her with a deep unease. For the first time, she wondered if she was afraid of becoming so consumed in someone else’s needs again. Sitting down on her bed, pulling the covers over her legs, she thought about that. She tentatively probed her feelings about Daniel: did she worry that he would be the kind of man who would be too needy? That she’d risk losing herself? No. The answer felt sure, despite the short time she had known him. One thing that drew her to him, she realized, was his sense of inner strength. He seemed sure and steady, some place deep inside, despite how much he had going on in his life. In just the short time they had known each other, he seemed considerate of her. Even just last week, when he had texted her a link to an article about interior design. The article described a house with a tree growing right through it. “This made me think of you,” he had written. “You and your garden and your succulents and your colors and your knowing just what a room wants to be. You and your drawings of leaves and stars.” She took a deep breath. She would try, she decided, to just see how things unfolded. To be mature. She didn’t need to rush ahead of herself and worry if he would call or not call, if things would work out or not work out. She would try to enjoy getting to know Daniel… one day at a time. Another thought came to her mind, and she shifted restlessly, trying to resist thinking it through. Was it possible, she wondered, that she had gotten a crush on Ben in part because she really did want a boyfriend, but just wasn’t ready, wasn’t courageous, to start something with someone available? Could Ben have been a place- holder of sorts? Could her deep feelings of friendship and respect have morphed into attraction because it had been too long since she had been open to the idea of being in a relationship? She blinked, trying to face this. It felt true. There were some ideas that once you opened your mind to, settled in with an intuitive truth. Because, really, what did she want? She wanted a boyfriend, she realized. It wasn’t so unusual. She smiled, thinking that. It was just that she had been so closed off to it. Had she even felt, just maybe, that she didn’t deserve a new boyfriend, having hurt Andres so deeply? Or was it just that the thought of having a boyfriend was colored with feelings of pain and remorse? She wasn’t sure, but it all seemed connected, all seemed part of something that had made her hold back. She wanted a boyfriend. She nodded, accepting this. Not only that, she wanted to get married one day, and have children. I can have that, she told herself. I can. She got up and paced the floor in her room.
Then she sat down with her laptop a
nd wrote in her blog: Love. Did you ever feel as though you got this crush because there was a place open in your heart? In your soul? In your life? And that maybe, just maybe, if you took the time to address that, maybe that place in your life would open up, and you could connect with someone who was available to love you and be loved? Can you look in your heart, your past, your life and see what factors have been holding you back? And if so, can you start to release them, healing them, so that you are open to being okay just on your own or finding your way to a relationship with someone who is free? I don’t think I’ll ever have all the answers as to why I got the crush, why it got so strong, so fast. I don’t think I’ll ever be perfect, free of fears about relationships. We all get hurt, from childhood on, and that informs the adults we are. But even with baggage, I think…. No, I know, that I’m ready to be someone’s girlfriend. And eventually? Wife. I want to say, “I do.” Someday. I admit it. Because I have a lot of love to give the right person. And Mr. Off -Limits? He’s not the right person. I mean, I have known that all along. I’ve been telling and telling myself this for what feels like so long, but it is only recently that I’m starting to feel it. It’s sinking in. It’s a kind of feeling of truth.
The next morning, she was working on her laptop at a café called Rosita. Since she had no phone calls to make, she could work surrounded by others. She missed the company of her co-workers, she discovered, not that that was a surprise. It felt good to get out of the apartment and go to work. She had been working for about two hours when she got a text. Her heart leaped. It was from Daniel. She had thought it might be from her mother, who had left a voicemail earlier. She had heard that Alma had been at Edmundo’s with a man. Who was he? And when was she going to bring him home for Sunday dinner?
Daniel texted, “Hi, how are you? I wanted to thank you for Sunday. I had a great time. Elijah is going to have his first official play date with Jasmine soon. Thanks for introducing me to Scott and Patrick and their kids.”
“You are welcome! I’m so glad!” Alma couldn’t think of what else to write, her thumbs frozen over the keys. He sounded kind of formal. She blinked quickly, trying to think of something to write.
“You busy at work?” Daniel wrote.
“I’m working from home, well, from a café. I’m at Rosita’s. How about you?”
“I showed up to a site hoping for work but no luck. Will try again tomorrow. I’m doing laundry at Oasis.”
Alma took a quick breath, summoning some courage, then wrote more. “Want me to bring you a coffee?”
“YES.”
Alma smiled, ducking her head. “Large coffee with four sugars, right?”
“What?” Daniel asked.
“It’s a Mexican thing. Okay, what? A latte? Or iced tea? I don’t know what you like.”
“I want the Mexican thing, please. The thing you said. It sounds like a hot, liquid dessert and how can that be a bad thing?”
“See you in ten.” Alma wrote, grinning. She quickly shut her laptop and got the coffee.
Within minutes, she was walking into the laundromat, looking around for Daniel. He stood up from where he was sitting by a window, and their eyes met. Her breath caught in her chest and she realized she was smiling. She walked toward him.
“I got you a café de olla.”
He took it from her, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Thanks, Alma. I never had one before.”
“It has a special kind of brown sugar and cinnamon mixed with the coffee,” she said nervously, hardly knowing what she was saying. “Some families add cloves or orange peel, too. It used to be made in clay pots.”
He took a sip. “That is crazy good. You didn’t get one for yourself?”
“I already had coffee at home and at the café. I’m surprised my feet are touching the floor at this point. Any more caffeine and I’ll be hovering over everything. Like a hummingbird.”
He laughed out loud at that, waiting for her to sit down, and then sitting next to her instead of across from her. “So, let’s call this a third date, Hummingbird, how about that?”
She blushed, looking down at her hands, out the window. “What?”
“Yeah. I mean, you’ll get to see my underwear.” He smiled innocently at her.
“What?” She laughed.
He inclined his head at the dryer closest to them. “Watch long enough and you’ll see some go by. There! Ah, you missed it.”
“Okay,” she laughed. “Third date it is.”
“We’ve got to keep on going with our pattern of atypical dates. I mean, sure, the first one was pretty normal, but since then.” He nodded seriously, taking a sip of coffee, a glint in his eyes.
“So, you’ve got plans, it seems,” she said shyly, trying to sound flirtatious. “Plans for dates.”
“When it comes to you, I do.” He was suddenly serious. “Do you know that every time I see you, I want to kiss you so much? It’s like, it takes over. This sense of pulling you close into me and kissing you, right on the mouth.”
Just like that, Alma could barely breath. She couldn’t look away from him. She thought it was the most romantic, the most thrilling thing anyone could ever say. “I… no. I didn’t know that,” she said breathlessly.
He nodded, taking another sip, his eyes lowering to her mouth.
“Did you… did you think that? When I came in just now?” Her voice still sounded breathless.
He set the cup down on the table next to him and turned to her. He took her hand and kissed the back of it, then slid his hand up her arm, her shoulder, resting on her neck. His eyes asked a question, and she leaned forward, closer to him. At that his mouth closed quickly on hers. His other hand reached up to hold the back of her head. Alma forgot about the couple across the room who were folding clothes and bickering quietly. She forgot that anyone could come and go. She forgot everything for a pure moment of sensation and growing desire. His lips pressed and teased and coaxed and licked and she… she just responded. She responded to everything. It was the best kiss. The best kiss ever. He tasted like coffee and cinnamon. The sound of the dryers lulled her with their white noise and the scent of laundry detergent was all around her. When he pulled back, just slightly, she had the vague thought that she would always associate the scent of fresh, clean laundry with feeling this wild sense of excitement. He leaned his forehead against hers and his breath came quickly.
“Alma,” he said.
“Yes?” Her voice sounded shaky.
“Nothing, just saying your name.”
“Oh.”
“Say mine,” he whispered.
“Every letter?” She whispered back.
He laughed, one breath of laughter against her face.
“Daniel,” she said slowly as a smile stretched her lips.
He made a slight sound. “You have the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard in my whole life, Hummingbird,” he said.
Alma was shocked, thrilled, pleased. She had never thought that there was anything special about her voice. She pressed her cheek against his and rubbed softly, loving the feel of his stubble.
“Sorry I didn’t shave. I didn’t expect to see you.” He pressed back with his cheek, his hands stroking her shoulders, pulling her a little closer.
“I love it,” she whispered. He made a small groaning sound in his throat.
The couple who had been quietly arguing began to do so more loudly. The woman began to throw clothes down on the floor.
“Uh, I’d, well… I think I’ll get back to work now,” said Alma awkwardly, sitting back and pulling her bag over her shoulder.
“What? Why on earth would you leave this laundromat?” Daniel put on an exaggeratedly clueless expression as he shook his head.
She laughed, flustered, and waved goodbye. The couple’s angry words grew louder as she passed through the door. She glanced back through the windows and saw Daniel looking at her. He raised his cup and took a drink. She waved again, half angry at herself for fleeing, for feeling overco
me, and half just feeling thrilled. She could still feel his lips against hers.
That night, she was folding her own laundry. Her apartment complex provided a washer and dryer unit in each apartment. Daniel called. “You’ll never guess what I’m doing,” she said, her heart beating crazily ever since she saw it was him calling.
“Taming succulents. Creating a succulent human hybrid. Baking crazy good sugary cookies. Drawing hummingbirds. What?”
She laughed. “Folding laundry.”
He whistled. “Stop trying to turn me on.”
“What?” She clutched a pile of clothes to her chest with one arm, holding the phone tightly to her ear with her other hand. Then, she saw she was holding a pile of underwear, and flung them from herself. Her entire body felt hot.
“Sorry, but you have to realize that kissing you in the laundromat today has kind of re-wired me.” He sounded so close, right there in her ear. His voice was low, and intimate. He sounded self assured, and full of laughter and intensity. She couldn’t get enough.
“Re-wired you? How?”
“Laundry plus the hottest kiss of my life equals this association with laundry and extreme arousal from that point on.”
“Oh my.” The hottest kiss? The hottest kiss of his life? Had he really said that?
“When I know you better I’ll tell you about this dream I had later on when I got home. It involved you and a pile of laundry. Clean laundry! Clean!” Some bravado left his voice and Daniel sounded younger, less sure of himself.
