by Inda Herwood
“I don’t care if you really are a ninja, I didn’t appreciate him putting your safety at risk just to prove a point. He knows better.”
I ask, curious what this ‘point’ is, “And that would be?”
He slowly moves to a standing position, towering over me in the low sitting car, hanging off the edge of the seat. The crickets chirp their song as he uses his arms to steady himself against the hood of the Camaro, his head dipping down to be level with mine. “That I have a past and present that I’ll never be proud of.”
With that, he leans off the car, gently puts my feet back into the seat, and shuts the door. Walking back around to his side, he slips in, shuts the door, and turns to me, eyes serious again. “Cyvil?”
His eyes are so pretty hiding under that messy hair, watching me like he has the biggest, most important question in the world to ask me. All I can say is, “Hmm?” After that long storytelling, I don’t feel like saying much more.
“Can we be friends?”
The corner of my lips lift in a shadow of a smile. “I already thought we were?”
For the first time since I saw him in the cafeteria last week, his smile reaches his eyes, turning them to a shade of stardust, and my planet goes crashing into the sun because of it.
On the way home, I call Moon to see if he and Ellie managed to escape, and then Hanna and Rosy. All seemed to have fled with success, though I’m not really sure how Ra’Sean and Kat faired.
“I’ll call ‘em later and see,” Jagger says when I voice my concern.
“How do you know them?” I ask, knowing we have a bit of a drive, and I don’t really want to go on radio silence again. Well, on his part. I’m actually pretty tired. Maybe hearing his soothing voice will help put me to sleep.
“I don’t know if I should tell you.” He actually sounds kind of worried.
I shift to face him, smiling. This should be interesting. “I think you should.”
He gives me a wary glance out of the corner of his eye. “Fine. They…they tried to steal my car.”
“What?”
“I said I shouldn’t tell you, didn’t I?”
“How in the world did you become friends after that?” I can’t see how that would even be a possible outcome.
“Well, I caught Kat and Ra’Sean trying to stick a modified coat hanger down the side of my window to unstick the lock. When I came up behind them and said that was dangerous, they jumped about ten feet in the air and dropped the thing.” He laughs, remembering. “They were both super skinny, and said that they were homeless. They were going to take a few bucks to get something substantial to eat,” he says. “The year before they had been kicked out of foster care for aging out of the system.”
Jeez. “What did you do then?”
“I told them to hop in the car and we went to McDonald’s,” he answers, like that’s the natural course of action after a couple of kids try to break into your car. “I knew though that that wouldn’t be a long-term solution, and they seemed like good kids. So I called Moon’s dad and explained their situation. He was kind enough to get them a job at one of his restaurants, and after that, they were able to afford a small studio apartment. We’ve been friends ever since.”
Okay, that may be the kindest story I’ve ever heard. I don’t know many people that would think of the situation as a way to help someone, rather than condemn them.
“And you think I’m amazing?” I guffaw, unconvinced. Before he can rebuttal, I say, “And how did you meet Ellie?”
This question seems to make him just as uncomfortable as the last. Hands flexing on the steering wheel, biting the side of his cheek. But still, he answers it. “Her brother runs the races – where they’re held, the exchange of bets, managing the setup. I’ve known her since I was seventeen.”
I process that, coming to the conclusion, “You’ve been racing since you were a teenager?”
“No – well, technically, yes. I only used to go and watch with Moon and Rosy. I started to race when I was nineteen.”
With that hesitant hitch in his voice: “I have a feeling that I shouldn’t ask why.”
He shifts in his seat, which is losing filling in its right side. “Probably not.”
I nod, making myself accept it, but also keeping a tab of it in my mind for later. “Can you tell me more about Rosy and Moon? Mainly how Moon talked my kin into fessing up where I lived, and how Rosy is suddenly less of a douche?”
This makes him laugh. It’s a nice sound. “By now you should know Moon has his charms, and Rosy is head over heels for your friend, though he refuses to admit it. She seems to have sucked the player right out of him.” His voice almost sounds awed by this.
And now that I think about it, “Actually, I think he’s done the same for her. I’ve never known Hanna to stick with a guy for more than two weeks.” And every time we’re at work she refuses to shut up about him. It’s like she turns into some googly eyed, lovesick teenager when he’s mentioned.
“Same for Rosy.” He chuckles.
Going back to my first question, he talks about how Moon’s dad was a pretty successful golfer in his day, but now he’s an entrepreneur, neither him or his mom ever really haven given Moon a great push to choose a career. “But I suspect it’s mostly because he knew it would be a losing battle.”
“I honestly can’t see him having a nine to five job,” I admit. “But then what does he do for money?”
“His trust opened up for him a year ago, so that’s been helping him float comfortably. But before that, he used to be the ring leader of bet taking at the races.”
I huff a laugh, picturing it. “Now that is the kind of job I can see him holding down.” Jagger grins. “Okay, how about Rosy?” I let my chin rest in my hands, feeling my eyes droop while he answers.
“Well, Ambrosio is the only guy in his family at the moment. He has one sister who’s four years younger than him, his mom, four aunts, three female cousins, and one grandmother. His dad died shortly after he turned fifteen.”
Immediately my heart goes out to him. It can’t be easy to lose a parent at such a young age. “What about his mom? What does she do?”
His smile turns dazzling, and before he says anything, I know she must be someone special to him. “Mrs. Nunez is basically Moon and I’s surrogate mother. She has us over every Sunday for family dinner. Otherwise, she’s got her own fashion empire, specializing in custom wedding dresses, I think.”
My eyes widen, staring at him as it slowly clicks. Now I know why that name sounded so familiar. “Wait. Rosy’s mom is the Lotta Nunez? She made my sister’s wedding dress. I even met her at a fitting once.” She was super nice, very upbeat and always smiling.
“Seriously?” He shakes his head, looking just as surprised. “Small world, isn’t it?”
“It really is,” I say quietly, wondering if there’s another way I would have known Jagger had these set of circumstances not brought us together.
Before I know it, we’re back on my driveway, and he’s pulling up to the guest house. Unlike last time, I hope I don’t say something to mess up the nice hour we just had together.
Stepping out of the car, I wince when my feet hit the pavement. I totally forgot my shoes got lost in the spontaneous run. When Jagger rounds the car and sees this, he doesn’t hesitate to bend down, scoop me up in his arms like it’s nothing, and walk me to the door.
Swaying with his steps, I stare at him like he’s a complete stranger, making him ask, “What?”
I find my voice after a stunned second, or five. “Do you do this often? Pick up girls without asking first?”
He shrugs, a smile leaking through.
I slap his shoulder, making him laugh silently against my side.
Finding the house key in my pocket while still gawking at his actions, I unlock the door, and he steps into the dark foyer. I expect him to put me down, but instead, he walks over to the light switch and lets me turn it on, still in his arms. How is he not even straining right now?
“Uh, I think I’m good here,” I say, feeling slightly awkward now, but at the same time enjoying the warmth his embrace offers. Have I mentioned yet that he smells good? Like, really good. All manly and clean and –
Shut up, my brain grumbles at me, and I let the thought disintegrate.
“Not yet,” he murmurs, walking over to the kitchen counter and placing me down. Grim is at our feet now, her baaahhhhs of happiness mingling with ones of disagreement from seeing Jagger again. He ignores the goat, his body standing in-between my legs now.
Wait, when did that happen?
He turns his face to look at me, eyes guilty again, and I wonder what the heck it’s about this time.
I don’t have to wait long to find out. “I’m sorry about your feet.” His eyes dip down to look at them, creasing in the corners.
And just like that, I had totally forgotten the reason for his carrying me in here in the first place. I blame his cologne, which is still way too close to me, by the way. But my butt doesn’t seem to want to move back from him, too tired from tonight’s earlier exercise. “Don’t be,” I tell him honestly. “If we hadn’t run, we’d be behind bars right now.”
He huffs. “Yeah, it’s not exactly a fun experience.” And now he’s grimacing, as though remembering the last time he was there.
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot your file said you had a record.” I slap a hand over my mouth. I can’t believe I just let that slip. My face falls in humiliation.
He chuckles, his fingertips forcing me to look up at him. His eyes are sparkling again. “I don’t know why that makes you embarrassed. We both confirmed a while ago that we knew things about the other before we met. Mine just has more black marks on it than yours does.” His eyes lower from mine and fall to my scar, and then my lips. But almost as fast, they jump back up again. A breath gets caught in my lungs.
“Uh, yeah, I guess you’re right.” Massaging a hand against my chest, over my heart, I try to find something to say to fill the silence, or just to get him to look away from me for a few seconds. And then I remember, “Oh! I meant to text you yesterday and forgot.” Because I was still mad at you. “Wednesday night is the Summer Blitz party down at the beach. I didn’t know if you wanted to go together or meet up. I suspect we’ll only have to be there an hour or so to make a small showing and then we can just go–”
His finger falls against my lips, silencing me with an odd sort of smile. “Did you know you have this tendency to ramble when you’re stressed?” he asks me, expression looking lighter than it has all night, much to my opposite. His finger disappears from my mouth, along with its heat. “Don’t worry, I’ll pick you up here around seven. Sound okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” I say too quickly, my mind jumbled, and I’m not even really sure why. Perhaps he’s right and I’m just stressed. That, or the idea of having to wear something beach appropriate has me wanting to vomit in the sink. Let’s settle for both. Both are making me sick.
“Hey, it’s going to be fine. Don’t worry so much. In fact,” he pauses, looking a little insecure when he says, “Why don’t you come to Sunday dinner tomorrow with me and the guys at Lotta’s? I know she’d love to meet you. Well, again.”
“Really?” I say, my voice pitching like a frog got stuck in my throat, and another wave of humiliation washes over me.
He tries not to smile. “Yeah. And if it makes you feel more comfortable, I think Rosy asked Hanna to come along too.”
I blink a few times after he says this, more than a little shocked. “You mean Hanna actually agreed to meet a boyfriend’s mother?” Wow. I kind of have to see this now. Plus, I’d like to check on Moon and see how his nose is doing.
And…spending a little time with my new friend doesn’t sound like such an awful thing, either.
“You know what?” I say, feeling more confident in my answer. “That sounds really nice. What’s the address?”
-15-
Meet the Parent
I wasn’t kidding when I told Cyvil that Lotta Nunez is like a second mother to us all. She calls us once a week to make sure we still have our limbs and that we’re eating enough. And every Sunday after dinner she sends us home with leftovers, making sure we say hello to our parents for her. She’s the best, and I don’t know what I’d do without her.
And that is why having my new ‘friend’ meet her feels like a second round of meet the parent. But at least this time it won’t be so awkward. I hope.
I wait outside the Nunez home on the upper east side, waiting to see Cyvil pull up in her blue, VW Bug. I told her that dinner usually starts around five, and it’s five on the dot when I see her pull up to the curb, a worried smile looking back at me through the window.
I open the door for her, and she thanks me, her eyes going to the three-story brownstone behind me. “Wow, it’s beautiful,” she says, giving it a good once-over as I shut the door behind her.
“So are you,” I nod at her loose fitting, dark green shirt and black leggings, looking relaxed and comfortable. Again, not a stitch of makeup on.
She blushes, her expression almost stunned by the compliment. “T-thanks. You look…nice yourself.”
I smile at her embarrassment, knowing I don’t look anything special in a dark gray Henley and Levi’s. “Why thank you. I made sure to put a little more effort in today.”
“Really?” she asks, brows tilted in surprise.
“No,” I smile, and she rolls her eyes.
“So, is anyone else here yet?” she asks as we walk up the concrete stairs and I open the door for us, letting her go in first.
“You know, not everyone is as punctual as yourself.”
She turns around, giving me a crooked smile. “And you, it would seem.”
I shrug, shutting the door and motioning for her to take a right, into the dining room. “Lotta is anxious to meet you,” I say, already feeling my palms getting clammy in my pockets. When Moon let it slip that I have a fiancée, she was thrilled. And when I called her today and asked if I could bring her, she didn’t hesitate to give me an emphatic, “YES!”
Rounding the corner of the dining room, we step into the large, open kitchen, finding Lotta standing at the six burner stove, each one filled with a steaming pot or pan; the smell of enchiladas cooking in the oven bringing back good memories of when I first came here after meeting Rosy. It had felt like I’d found home.
Hearing us come in, Mrs. Nunez turns around and spots us, her smile nearly breaking her face in two. Wiping her hands on the towel at her shoulder, she throws her arms in the air and barrels towards Cyvil like a wrecking ball, choking her in one of her famous bear hugs. “Oh, it’s so nice to meet you!” she says excitedly, pulling away from Cyvil, only to place her hands on either side of her face and give her a good look. “Aren’t you just precious! And look at that hair! Al igual que el fuego.”
“Gracias. No es para conocerte también.” Cyvil smiles, and I know enough Spanish from Rosy to know that she said something along the lines of “It’s wonderful to meet you as well.”
I think Lotta is on the verge of fainting. She looks at me, beaming. “Goodness, if my second son here didn’t already have you, I’d be bugging my first to steal you instead.” She hugs her again.
Cyvil looks at me over Lotta’s shoulder, eyes almost glassy. Without her needing to explain, I know the fact that Mrs. Nunez looked right past her scars and into her eyes meant the world to her. And finally getting one of us to know Spanish fluently is like the jackpot for Lotta. It’s probably the best impression Cyvil could have made.
As though she has been with us since the beginning, Lotta drags Cyvil over to the stove and explains all that we’re having, wondering if she can cook. And like the good sport that she is, Cyvil dives right in wherever she can help, getting absorbed into Lotta’s instructions and occasional story about the recipes. Becoming lost in watching the two work, I almost don’t hear the d
oorbell ring.
“Jag, be a dear and get that for me?” Mrs. Nunez says over her shoulder, taking her dishes out of the oven.
“Sure.” Heading out of the kitchen and through the dining room, I just reach the front door as it begins to open, Rosy on the other side, the spare key still in his hand.
“Not very quick today, are ya?” he complains, putting the key back where it belongs under the rug.
“Oh, give him a break. This house looks more than big enough to get lost in. I’m surprised he found the front door at all,” Hanna says, eyes looking around wondrously.
“Hello to you too,” I say dryly, Hanna giving me a kiss on the cheek in apology.
Afterwards I turn to wiggle my eyebrows at her boyfriend.
“I don’t feel bad enough to kiss you. Not by a long shot.” Rosy smirks and walks past, his hand guiding Hanna’s through the house, beginning the tour for her.
After them comes all of Rosy’s family – the cousins, aunts, and Grammy Reyes. She pinches my cheek with a smile when I offer to take her bag for her. “Such a sweet boy. If only my grandson was that kind of gentleman.”
“Thanks, Gram,” Rosy calls out from somewhere in the house.
“You’re welcome, sweetie!” she calls back, giving me a wink as she proceeds into the kitchen.
I love this family.
Last to arrive is Moon, and when he shows his face in the doorway, I almost feel sorry for the hand-sized bruise coloring the middle of his face – the dark blue and purple shadows under his eyes. He has a bouquet of bright pink peonies in his hands, Lotta’s favorite. He brings them to her every week. I suspect he only does it to get extra leftovers.
“You alright, man?” I ask, and he gives me a flat look.
“Yep, right spiffy. Can’t feel my mouth, smell a damn thing, or open one eye completely, but other than that, I’m freaking fantastic, asshole.”
I grumble to myself, rubbing a hand over my tired eyes. I can’t remember the last time I slept more than three hours. “I’m sorry, okay? Hitting you didn’t solve anything. But I – I saw Cyvil, and my mind immediately went to what could have happened to her, and –”
