by Laura Ward
My positivity diminished the more I looked around. Ricky had warned me that our social classes were different. He was clear that he had to work in order to take care of his family, and that he had given up his chance at IU, but until I saw his neighborhood, his situation didn’t click.
Trash littered the sidewalks, no attempt at throwing in a receptacle could be seen. Children played basketball on a court with no netted basket and ran around a playground with only one working swing. Taking the entirety of the space in, there was no grass. Concrete covered every surface. Teenagers loitered near the buildings, puffs of smoke rising above their heads. A public bus pulled up and a crowd exited, wearing the uniforms of waitresses, janitorial staff, and other maintenance professions.
Opening the door, I swung my legs out, grabbed my purse, got out and closed the door. I locked my car with the key fob and trudged slowly toward building three.
Passing by a group of boys, dressed in dark muted colors, with beanie caps covering their heads, I heard a low whistle. I bristled, uneasy from the attention and not exactly sure why that was.
At that exact moment, the front door opened, and Ricky jogged out. My breath caught in my throat. His hair was down, blowing behind him as he jogged to me. Otherwise, he looked the same, wearing his usual jeans, t-shirt, and boots. But his hair. He looked carefree, and sexy as hell. My hands itched to run through those long locks and wrap them around my fingers. All nervousness fled from my body and a smile spread across my face.
He slowed his steps as he got closer, reading my expression, his creasing with confusion.
“What’s the smile for, mariposa? This neighborhood usually causes a scowl.” His lips curving up at the ends betrayed his sarcasm.
My head tilted back to look up at him, and I pressed my glasses farther up my nose. “Your hair,” I breathed out, my words coming in a puff of steam. “It’s down and it’s beautiful.”
Ricky’s eyebrows drew together, but his smile remained. He watched me as I ran a hand down the length of his long black locks.
“Aveline,” he whispered, pulling me closer to him.
“Is that your tutor, hombre?” One of the teenagers hanging by the entrance called out to Ricky.
Ricky straightened, pulling away from me with a look that I was sure was embarrassment on his face.
“Fuck off, Andre.” Ricky’s words came out in a snarl, and he grasped my elbow, leading me into the building.
We rode the claustrophobic, dirty elevator in silence to the third floor.
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and I willed myself to be stronger. Of course he would be embarrassed to be seen with me. He was gorgeous, and I was… odd. Too small, too pale, too quiet, too shy, too plain.
But that kiss. Kisses, plural. I thought that might have meant something.
Buck up, Aveline. Just because he kissed you a few times, doesn’t mean anything has changed. He already told you he couldn’t be with you. Nothing has changed except that you want him even more.
Mortification grew inside my stomach, twisting and turning until I was sick, a light sweat forming on my skin.
The elevator came to a stop and the door opened. I exited first, dragging in large gulps of fresh air.
If Ricky picked up on my despair, he said nothing. I followed him down the hall and waited as he placed his hand on the doorknob.
“Aveline.” He took a deep breath and blew it out. “This is hard for me. Almost no one but family walks through this door. Our life is different from yours. I know that’s the reason for this project, but… please don’t make my sisters feel bad. No sympathy, okay. We know what our situation is, but I don’t want them to see any pity in your eyes.”
My face fell at his words. “I would never—”
He cut me off. “You are right now. What I’m asking you is tough. Just try, okay?”
I nodded. He opened the door, gesturing for me to go in first. I walked into a tiny entry way, an open kitchen to my left. Immediately my senses went on overload. Spanish music played in the background, and as I glanced in, two gorgeous girls danced around the kitchen, bumping hips and laughing as they moved to the beat. My eyes settled on a worn and well used kitchen, but one that was colorful and filled with the presence of these two lovely girls. And my nose? My nose was filled with the single most delicious scent it had ever encountered.
“Marcela, Teresa,” Ricky called out, placing his hand on the small of my back and guiding me into his kitchen. The girls stopped dancing, turning to me with warm smiles on their faces. “This is my partner in Psychology class, Aveline Gerard.”
“I’m Teresa.” The younger of the two girls held out her hand and we shook. Her hair was the same as Ricky’s, pulled back in a high ponytail. Her jeans hugged her curvy body and a plaid shirt was knotted at her stomach showing off a trim waist. She wore no makeup, but she didn’t need any. Her skin was the same rich, warm brown as Ricky’s, her eyes the same chocolate shade.
“I’m Marcela,” his other sister said, also shaking my hand. “May I get you something to drink?”
I shook my head, at a loss for what to say. Marcela, like her sister, was stunning. She also wore skin tight jeans and a fitted sweater, her hair braided down her back. She turned toward a refrigerator that looked like it was on its last leg. But what caught my attention were the pictures, notes, and cards that covered it. Colorful, and fun. Vastly different than the solid white behemoth that stood in my kitchen at home.
“What smells so delicious?” I asked, breathing deeply and trying to inhale all of the goodness in this room.
Marcela smiled, pulling a bowl of vegetables from the fridge. “Ah, arroz con pollo. It’s Ricardo’s favorite.”
Looking over my shoulder, Ricky’s face was tender as he watched his sisters cook. “We cook all of our meals in. My sisters do most of the cooking because Mama and I work.” He gestured to the paper in my hand, and I uncapped my pen to take notes.
Ricky opened a cabinet that housed various cans of applesauce, rice, beans, a single box of cereal, and some spices. “This is our pantry. Pretty meager, but our food budget isn’t much.”
I swallowed hard, giving Ricky a nod. Not much was an understatement. How did they feed a family with a pantry so bare?
“Come on, let me show you the rest of the place.” Ricky guided me out of the kitchen and to the right down a short hallway. “One bathroom.” I peeked in to see a single sink, toilet and bathtub shower combination. “My parents’ room.” He opened the door revealing a queen-sized bed with a simple comforter, a low dresser across from it. Nightstands flanked the bed and on one sat vials and tubes of many medications.
Was one of his parents’ sick? My stomach roiled at the thought. This family didn’t need more struggles.
“And our room.” Ricky opened the last door and I strode inside.
Our room?
Against one wall was a wooden bunk bed set and on the other a twin bed. Paper posters decorated the walls and a tall dresser stood along another wall. On top were inexpensive lotions and body sprays, along with framed pictures.
“The girls sleep on the bunk. I take the twin.” Ricky hooked his thumb over to the twin bed with the lumpy, pilled green comforter.
I sat down on the edge, suddenly weak, taking it all in. I lived in a giant house with fancy furniture and a bedroom all to myself that was three times the size of this room. A room he shared with his sisters. Growing up as teenagers without privacy in their own room? Our lives were more different than I understood.
What must he have thought when he saw where I lived? Sure, my parents were successful professors, but even I wondered how they got so wealthy. Money was never discussed in my home. It was never an issue or a concern. Here, in this home, there wasn’t enough to fill the pantry with essentials. How was any of this fair? Shaking my head, I brought myself back to reality.
Tacked to the wall next to his bed were pictures of Ricky. Some from dances and proms, all showing different dates.
Many from football games, where Ricky stood in full uniform. But in almost all of the pictures, Ricky was with the same three guys.
“Who are they?” I asked, pointing to one of the pictures with Ricky and the other three had their arms slung around one another.
“My best friends. That’s Landon. He goes to USC in California. Studying to be a special education teacher.” Ricky’s voice was laced with pride.
“Tall one is Dean. He graduated early from IU and was drafted by the Chicago Bears. He’s engaged to a single mom with the cutest fucking son, Finn.” I could hear the smile in Ricky’s words at his description.
“The one with the shaved head? That’s my closest boy, Jon. He’s going to law school next year. And I’ll let you in on a secret. I’m pretty sure he’s in love with Dean’s much younger sister. Shit will hit the fan when Dean figures that one out.” Ricky chuckled, the sound so foreign to me that my heart beat faster.
“They look like great guys,” I whispered, not looking at the pictures at all, but focusing on the joy on Ricky’s face as he studied the photos.
Ricky turned to me, his smile fading. “You can see why I don’t even have these guys over much. Sharing a room with my sisters…” His voice trailed off and he shrugged, standing up and rubbing the back of his head.
I watched as his bicep bulged with the movement. Simply amazing. Like a perfectly cut statue to me, a Greek God from long ago that people would idolize and worship.
Standing too, I moved to him so that we were toe to toe. “Is brave and generous. You are giving and loving to your family. I’m humbled by it.” I said the words strong and true, meeting his gaze and sure there wasn’t a hint of pity in it. Not because I didn’t wish for more for Ricky, but because his situation was what it was. It was how he handled it that impressed me so much.
Ricky studied my face and when it seemed like he believed my words, he nodded.
“But now is the hardest part. I need you to meet my Papa.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ricky
“PAPA, THIS IS a friend from school. Her name is Aveline.” My father sat upright, his head strapped back and stabilized against the headrest on his wheelchair. His chest was similarly strapped to the chair, forcing his body to be straight and not fall or slump. A trach tube was attached to his throat, allowing the ventilator to provide oxygen to his lungs.
“Hello, Mr. Martinez,” Aveline greeted him in her whisper soft voice. She smiled, sitting in the chair across from him.
Papa’s eyes moved back and forth, taking her in. The television played in front of him, showing a Peruvian soccer game.
I had to imagine what he must think as he saw her. Aveline wore dark, flared jeans, pointy toed boots peeking out from the hems. Her hair was up in a twist, making her neck look long and graceful. Good sized diamonds winked from her earlobes, and her watch and bracelet clinked against each other on her wrist. She wore a close-fitting velvet jacket, the kind that you kept on inside. She looked regal, rich, and impossibly elegant, especially in contrast with her environment.
“This is the only other room in our apartment.” I trailed my hand in front of me as Aveline looked around the shabby area. I concentrated on her face, shocked to see no horror or disgust at our faded furniture and outdated everything. If anything, she took it in with a sense of peace, and the only change I noticed was that as she looked at me, she seemed… proud. I wasn’t sure what there was for her to feel pride in, but nevertheless that was the instinct I had.
I leaned down, placing my hand on her shoulder. “He doesn’t understand English.”
She nodded again, smiling at my Papa.
“Ricardo!” My mom’s voice called from the doorway.
“I’ll be right back,” I told Aveline and jogged into the kitchen.
Teresa and Marcela had set the table for five. “Can Aveline stay and eat with us?” Marcela asked, filling water glasses.
“Ah, Aveline!” Mama’s eyes sparkled, her smile warm. “Your friend from class? I can’t wait to meet her.”
I took the coat from Mama’s shoulders, hanging it on a hook on the wall. “I’ll ask her.” I kissed her cheek, wrinkled from age and lack of time to do the sorts of things I heard women did to keep their skin supple.
She slipped her arm in mine and we stepped into the family room. Stopping short, Mama’s hand gripped my forearm tightly.
“Dios mio,” Marcela whispered behind us, and I heard Teresa gasp.
The four of us stood in silence, watching Aveline read to Papa in Spanish. She held a newspaper on her lap, holding it up to show him pictures.
“Can you blink once for yes? Twice for no?” she asked in his native language.
We knew Papa could blink commands to us. Three blinks were for thirsty and four were for hungry. But Aveline didn’t know that. I didn’t even know she spoke our language.
“Excellente! That was one blink,” she praised. “Let me read more to you about this corruption in the Mayor’s office. Horrible. A real travesty,” she continued reading, stopping to ask my father yes or no questions and waiting for his blink in response.
I watched his face looking for any signs of recognition, but there were none. Eighteen years later and out of the context of the tragedy, I didn’t expect anyone to appear familiar.
Yet with her ease, she acted as if she had always known him. Like this was second nature to her, to converse with someone who couldn’t talk back. Aveline treated Papa with such respect, I had to reach out and rub my chest. It ached, and my heart beat harder. Did I hurt more from guilt? Knowing I had created this situation, where a kind, beautiful girl spent time in my home while I was extorting money from her parents?
Fuck, yes.
But I also hurt from the simple beauty of what I witnessed. And that was the part I would carry with me.
My face was hot, and I wanted nothing more than to kiss the hell out of this tiny, sweet, loving, butterfly of a girl.
But first, I was going to let her treat my father like the man he was. And then we would feed her and make her feel special, just like she made Papa feel.
* * *
“THAT WAS THE best chicken and rice I’ve ever eaten. Gracias, Mama Ana.” Aveline wiped her mouth with the cheap paper napkin that was sitting by her chipped porcelain plate. She placed it back in her lap and adjusted her glasses. “Thank you for sharing that meal with me. I have to get going and finish some homework.” Aveline met the eyes of each of the women in my family, smiling affectionately at each of them.
“The pleasure was ours.” My mother took Aveline’s hand in hers, giving her a squeeze. Please come over again. We would all like that. Papa too.”
The legs of my chair scraped against the floor as I pushed it back, standing. “Let me walk you to your car.”
Aveline nodded, clearing her plate. She hugged Marcela, Teresa, and Mama. She held up one finger and walked into the family room, bending over to speak to my father, looking him right in the eye.
My gut clenched as if I had been sucker-punched. Damn, this girl was something else. Mama hummed, and I turned to her, her eyes soothing and a small but telling smile on her face. I read her eyes and she nodded, once, a sign of her approval.
Fuck, if only she knew. If she had any inkling that Aveline was the girl that had almost drowned. If she thought that this sweet thing was the reason my Dad was in a wheelchair, incapacitated for the rest of his life, she would have thrown her out on her ass.
She might think she approved, but she didn’t know the truth. And she couldn’t, not ever. Because Mama and my sisters rarely welcomed strangers into our home and certainly not as openly as they did tonight. For all of us, seeing Aveline with Papa had been special. I could tell by looking at my sisters.
Now that they had that, I wouldn’t take it away. No, I’d still find a way to get through to Aveline’s parents without my family knowing the connection. I had to. And I had to protect Aveline. None of this could fall back on her, either.
> The weight of responsibility settled heavily on my shoulders as the elevator doors closed in front of us. “Thank you for the respect and care you showed Papa. It meant the world to my family.”
Aveline turned to face me, stepping close enough that her chest brushed against my stomach. “Of course. Your father is injured, but he’s still a man, and I saw in his eyes that he’s very aware of everything going on around him.”
I nodded. I couldn’t have agreed with her more.
“Also, thank you for the way you treated our kitchen table and meal. I watched you. You never hesitated when you got a chipped plate and a paper napkin. You acted like it was a five-star restaurant.” My fingers ran down the side of her face. “You were kind. Gracias.”
Bending closer, my lips hovered close to hers. Her scent, roses and honey, surrounded me. My mind heady and resolve weak. Stop, Ricardo. Back up. Give her space.
She smiled, her eyes shiny behind her glasses. “Never thank me for that. My house is fancier, but your house is a home. I soaked up every second of the music, the laughter, the chatter, the food, the warmth, the love of you all. I was the lucky one tonight.”
The elevator doors opened before I got any closer. We broke away, exiting as a couple entered the small space. I guided her to the front of the lobby, my hand on her back. She turned to me, the look on her face was one of desperation. I knew she wanted me to kiss her. That she would drink my kiss up like water on a scorching hot day.
God, I wanted to kiss her badly, too. But I also knew that what happened in her bedroom couldn’t happen again. It wasn’t fair to her. I wasn’t right for her. In the history of the world, was any man ever more wrong for a girl?
Right now, I couldn’t think of one.
The main door opened and with it came a gust of cold air. A group of women bustled in, chattering loudly, jolting us out of our intimate moment.
