Spring Into Love

by Chantel Rhondeau

  Another excuse to take a walking break. I turn on the iPod and scroll through her playlists. One is marked Romeo García. Incredible. My sister has every one of his singles. Admittedly, some are too sappy for my taste. Cheesy love songs for preteen girls. Now that Genie is eighteen, she should be outgrowing this teenybopper stuff. Come on. Even when I was secretly dating Romeo, I never listened to this sugary, empty calorie fluff. Give me Three Days Grace or Breaking Benjamin any day.

  Nevertheless, I select her Romeo playlist and crank it up. His voice back then was too boyish, cute. I’m sure as all-get-out he doesn’t sound so sugary now. Maybe it’s me, but there’s something really sexy about a strong, booming voice shouting with the blasts of an electric guitar. I’m working up a sweat, gawking at the mansions and elaborate landscapes, energized at the thought of the new powerful Romeo. That shit-eating grin alone could topple a row of pretty boys like dominos at a nursing home. Okay, I’m here doing the my-dog’s-better-than-your-dog thing with Romeo. Must be lack of oxygen to my brain. How much time have I been jogging, er running? Thirteen minutes.

  A sharp pain spears my right side. Yeoch. And here I thought I’d get a runner’s high by now. The pain rips through my rib cage and has me gasping for air. I’m about to slow down when I hear the roar of a motor behind me. What if it’s one of the rich boys in my neighborhood? Didn’t my parents mention Olympic snowboarder Shaun White used to have a house here? Fake it until you make it. I swing my arms harder and lengthen my stride, taking deep, gasping breaths. Run through the pain. No pain, no gain. But my calf muscle has other ideas. It seizes and when I grab it, the roar rushes by me too close and I fall into a ditch.

  Some asshole on a motorcycle zooms by. Jerkowitz.

  My medical school self assesses the damage. Scraped knee, second-degree abrasion, slight bleeding, not deep, probably won’t scar. First-degree abrasion on palm and strained calf muscle. Hands on my knees, I blow out my carbon-dioxide laden breath and check my phone. Nineteen glorious minutes of running translates into how many calories?

  The motorcycle whirrs toward me from the opposite side of the street.

  Romeo. What art thou doing?

  He circles around and stops in front of me. “Hop on.”

  “Excuse me?” I yell to be heard above the sputtering motor.

  He does that tilt of his head, and like the silly teenaged girl I used to be, I place one hand on his shoulder, step on the foot peg and swing myself onto the long banana seat. Romeo removed the sissy handle long ago, for obvious reasons. I gather he doesn’t let anyone ride unless he wants to make a move on them. Well, I’m twenty-three going on twenty-four. I’m not the quivering teen groupie wannabe. I’m not holding onto his waist, because dangit, if I got my hands under his tight t-shirt, oh yeah, I can see the dips and planes of his laterals and obliques, there’s no telling where my fingers might wander.

  The engine revs and whoosh, Romeo kicks off, throwing me backward. My baseball cap is history. No sissy bar. My inner thighs clench and I throw my arms around his waist, my face pressed to his broad back. He leans and corners around the hairpin turns, almost scraping my knees, but I hang tight, quivering and shuddering.

  There’s nothing quite like the feel of a vibrating bike between my legs and the chill of the wind slapping my thighs. But most of all, I feel young and free again, melding to the rippling warm man I once knew and wondering if things might be different this time around.

  Chapter 5

  Romeo takes the roundabout way back to my parents’ house. After all, my almost twenty minutes of running would have been but a split second on his bike. He loops around the Rancho Santa Fe golf course and navigates the twists and turns through eucalyptus-lined lanes before depositing me on my slanted driveway.

  “Thanks for the ride.” I’m more breathless than I was while in the throes of running uphill. And my heart? It has left the realm of normal EKG results somewhere back on La Granada. I wave and walk backward toward my front door.

  He removes his helmet and hangs it on the handlebar, then cuts the engine.

  “Come closer.” He jiggles his finger. “I told you I’m not done with you.”

  I punch my hands onto my hips and glare. “You haven’t even apologized for sending me into the ditch.”

  He cocks a lopsided grin. “As I recall, you were grabbing your calf and falling before I passed you.”

  “Well, I have to irrigate my wound and dress it.”

  He gives me that look, a halfway wink, a single brow lift, and a tilt of his jaw.

  The prepubescent teenybopper in me melts; the adult narrows her eyes and purses her lips, adding a hostile nostril flaring for good measure. I turn my back and my teen self whimpers, he wants a kiss, can’t you tell? He’s into you.

  “Evangeline María Apostol Sánchez. Are you dating anyone?”

  I whip around so fast my hair slaps my face and I advance two steps. “What business is that of yours?”

  He crosses his arms, his biceps flexing and raises his eyebrows. “Are you seeing anyone?”

  “Well, no.” I’m in his face now. “But you don’t get to—”

  He ropes me in and crushes my lips against his. My teeth clack on his and I let out a cross between a grunt and a moan. Oh, shit. Teenage me already has her arms around his neck, running her hands through his hair. I let out a sigh, an involuntary one caused by fight and flight hormones and momentary hypoxia, and the rascal takes the opportunity to slip his hot, wet, luscious tongue between my lips. Iridescent butterflies and shaved ice and fairy dust jelly and sugary shivers render my resistance futile.

  While my mind’s reeling, Romeo draws back ever so slightly, his lips tenderly caressing mine. The ball on his lip ring jiggles my lower lip, and his tongue dips and darts, barely slivering into my mouth.

  Hungrily, I press into him with whimpering, mewing kisses, like a woman on a deserted island presented with a coconut shell full of halo-halo. This is how it should have been. Romeo and I. His kisses are forever seared in my soul, ruining me for every man who came after. Especially Eric. Scratch the thought.

  What am I doing kissing Romeo? I’m passing out. Temporary insanity. Someone resuscitate me, shock me with the defibrillator. Nine-one-one what seems to be the emergency? Oxygen saturation below eighty percent. Change in mental status. Oh, what a wonderful, soul-sucking kiss. I pass my tongue between his lips, slurping, drinking him in, making up for all the missing years. My fingers fist the back of his shirt and he tugs me closer, still seated on his motorcycle.

  He whispers against my mouth. “You’ve always been mine.”

  My eyes pop open and I’m sucked into the dark inky pools of his. He looks at me so sincerely, both hands cupping my face, his thumbs stroking my cheeks. If I could stop time… It. Would. Be. Now.

  Bang! The garden gate slaps and we jolt apart.

  Genie claps her hands to her face and screams, “How dare you kiss Romeo?”

  Behind her, my parents advance like armed guards, one on each side of Genie. How much did they see?

  My father’s jowls are shaking and my mother wrings her hands.

  What did I do? I glance at Romeo, but his expression is stony. He lowers his forehead and peers from under his eyebrows. “Tito, Tita.”

  They don’t extend their hands for the traditional mano-po blessing. Oops. Something is seriously wrong and I feel like I walked onto the set of a soap opera.

  “Heya, thanks for the lift.” I give Romeo a tiny wave. “I have to fix my boo-boos, owies, abrasions, lacerations, whatever.”

  “Sure, get a helmet, okay?” A silent message passes between us. “Tito Rey, Tita Anna, I’ll see you later.”

  My cheeks are hot as I brush past them and storm to my room. I’m a consenting adult. I lived with a man for two whole years, although my parents pretended he didn’t exist. What is the problem with one little kiss?

  Don’t lie to yourself, Evangeline María Apostol Sánchez, that one little kiss is attached to one
big badass man, and guess what? You didn’t ask if he was seeing someone before plunging your kissy bits onto his.

  Chapter 6

  You’d think I declared World War III at my house. After I showered, exfoliated, shaved, and bandaged, I emerge from the steamy bathroom and walk right into a posse of inquisitors, otherwise known as the Sánchez gang.

  They drag me into the kitchen and sit me in front of a plate of tapsilog, marinated beef strips, spicy, garlic rice and two eggs over easy. Not an auspicious start for the new vegan me. I pick at the rice and mumble about making a fruit salad.

  My family sits around the dining table, each waiting for the other to speak. Mama’s hands shake as she sips a cup of tea, while Choco looks nervously between me and Genie who is sitting at the far end of the table, her face marred with a huge pout. Even my youngest brother, Brian, the one with the normal name, has torn himself away from his video games to watch the amusement.

  Papa, of course, clears his throat. “Evie, it is disappointing to come across you consorting with a man on our own driveway.”

  “Oh, please. Don’t use such stiff language.” I plop my foot onto the chair. “Would you rather I took him to my bedroom?”

  “Evie!” Mama snaps. “Your brother’s listening. Brian, get ready for school.”

  “Brian’s sixteen, I’m sure he knows the score.” I’m unrepentant. If they want to rag on me for kissing a guy, they should know I’m not going to listen.

  Papa seems to stall, but Genie gives him a wide-eyed appeal, as if there’s more to say. Fine. I get that she’s jealous of me for having gone to the senior prom with Carlos while she isn’t allowed to attend any event unchaperoned due to my bad example. But this doesn’t call for a public flogging.

  Mama gamely takes the baton. “We know you’re distressed from your broken relationship, although we tried to tell you about the milk.”

  “Yeah, yeah, why buy the milk.” I roll my hands, then scoop a mouthful of rice. I lived with Eric. I played wife. Despite my busy schedule, I cooked his meals and kept our apartment clean, and yes, I slept with him. Shocking for the twenty-first century.

  Genie glares at me, her nostrils flaring as if she smells a stench. Maybe it’s her body odor, because I’m fresh from the shower.

  Papa sighs and taps the table for my attention. “It’s not your fault. Nobody told you.”

  He looks at Choco as if she should step in.

  She mimes, “Oh, no,” shaking her head, then puts her arm around Genie who acts like the hurt party.

  “Told me what? About the benefit concert he’s putting on at the restaurant?”

  They gape at me with their mouths open. Uh, guess that wasn’t the big news.

  “Then what?” I appeal to Choco. She knows everything.

  Genie lets out a small yelp, a stricken look on her face. “How could you, Evie?”

  Oh, I get it now! I slap my forehead. Brian’s smirk confirms it. Genie has a crush on Romeo and somehow, my family thinks he’s her intended. How wrong could they be? Had nobody peeked into the parking lot and seen him with Blondie? Vegan Blondie, to be exact.

  Mama comes to the rescue and pulls her chair close to me. She takes my hand and does the smoothing of my knuckles thing she does to comfort me. “Tita Elena has asked our permission for Romeo to court Genie and we granted it.”

  My first thought slams my brain out of the partially eaten tapsilog fog: Romeo is courting Genie? That’s impossible. He always thought her a brat.

  Second one rolls over the first: They’re accusing me of stealing my sister’s boyfriend.

  Third: Only Choco knows the truth, and she’s not coming to my defense.

  Indeed Choco avoids my gaze, but I’m not letting her off. “Choco, tell them Romeo’s my friend first.”

  Genie wipes a tear, or a fake one, and gives me the woe-is-me, you-hurt-me look before pawing Choco like a kitty wanting to be picked up.

  “I’m not taking sides between you two.” Choco scrambles from the table, all five-feet of her tiny self. “Come on, Brian, show’s over.”

  I gape at my parents. “Honestly, this is a big misunderstanding. I was out jogging and fell into a ditch. Look, my knee’s scraped, and see here, my palm is too. Romeo happened to drive by and gave me a ride. My side was already hurting and I caught a cramp in my calf. So, being the good guy he is, he naturally brought me home and when I got off the bike, I wanted to say thank you and…”

  No one’s listening. Like a summer thunderstorm, the family intervention blew in and blew away.

  Mama pushes from the table. “Eat, Evie. Romeo invited us to the movie set to watch a shoot.”

  “I’m not hungry, and actually I can’t eat meat and eggs anymore.” I bring the plate to the garbage disposal, but Papa stops me.

  “What do you mean, no meat and eggs?”

  “No milk, either.” Oh, this is going to be such a sacrifice. “I’m turning vegan as of today.”

  Mama’s quick to palm my forehead, her second favorite mother gesture. “Is there something you’re not telling us? Are you sick? Are you pregnant?”

  “No, Mama, I’m not pregnant. Sheesh.” Thankfully, my period started the day after Eric announced things weren’t working, which didn’t stop him from having goodbye sex, but I used protection and there are things they don’t need to know about. “Can I go now? When is this film shoot and where?”

  “UC San Diego Main Library. Four o’clock,” Papa says. “He specifically invited Genie, but I forbade her to ride on his motorcycle and he doesn’t have a car, so he got us all passes.”

  “Great.” I pick up my keys. “I still have time to go shopping for my vegan diet.”

  “I need the car. Mama and I are going to a gown fitting.” Genie sniffs, her nose in the air, and glides off in her virginal splendor. I can’t believe my parents are letting her cut school, but she did get into Berkeley and all they have left is the prom and grad night.

  “Choco?” I call. “Can I borrow yours?”

  “Wait ten minutes. I’m coming with you.”

  Oh, yeah, Choco, you double agent. About time you tell me what’s really going on.

  # # #

  “Romeo’s a twerp.” Choco pulls her Toyota to a parking spot in front of a biker supply shop. “Motorcycle gear?”

  “He asked me to buy a helmet. And to me, he’s not a twerp.”

  “He is from where I’m standing.” Choco locks the car. “I remember when he was five years old. He’d walk around pumping his puny muscles and ram me with body blows. He had this wrestler doll, I forget which one. Razor Ramon or the Rock. Anyways, he’d hit me with the doll. Annoying.”

  We step through the store’s entrance. A friendly salesman greets us and Choco says, “Oh, no, not me. Her. I’m just her big sister.”

  He directs us to the women’s section and hands me off to a tall redhead who looks like she stepped out of one of those motorcycle calendars, the ones with women draped over the bikes in suggestive poses.

  While the saleslady takes my measurements, Choco is trying her best to look disapproving, predicting doom and gloom with her eyebrow gestures and her index finger across her throat. As soon as the saleslady leaves to gather sample supplies, Choco begins her sisterly harangue.

  “I don’t see why you want to restart this relationship.”

  “I’m not restarting anything. Romeo told me to get a helmet and I’m getting one. Leather pants, jacket, boots, and gloves might come in handy.”

  “You don’t have that kind of money. Just because Papa’s helping with med school doesn’t mean you should spend like there’s no tomorrow.”

  “The way things are now, I don’t know if I’ll ever go back. Besides, there might not be a tomorrow.” I thumb through a cycling magazine.

  “Ugh. You put me in such a tough position. You know what it’s like keeping your secret all these years?”

  “Apparently, you kept it so well, they think Romeo’s available. Or at least available to on
e of the Sánchez sisters.” I shove the magazine back on the counter and wander to the clothes rack.

  The saleslady returns with three full-faced helmets. “These are more expensive, but believe me, you don’t want to get hit in the eye by a pebble at sixty miles per hour.”

  Five hundred bucks. Maybe Choco’s right. But what’s more expensive, a head injury or a helmet?

  “Oh, look, these jackets are kind of cute. Fire resistant with steel. But ouch.” Choco picks up the price tag.

  I wish she’d stop harping on the price. Mama pays me for waitressing and lets me keep the tips. True, the retirement crowd are not usually big tippers, but Mr. Dee always slips me an extra twenty as long as I tell his buddies I’m his girl.

  After deciding on my helmet, jacket, pants, and gloves, I follow the saleslady to the boot section.

  “You’re really going all out for this guy,” Choco says. “Doesn’t it bother you what we told you? That he’s courting Genie.”

  “Actually, it does.” I fix my narrowed eyes at her. “You should have said something. When did this come up and does Romeo even know he’s supposed to be courting our baby sister?”

  And I do put the emphasis on ‘baby.’

  Choco does this thing with her hands. “You and Romeo ever? You know.” She implies sex.

  I whistle in the breeze. The truth is we came close, but no, loose lips sink ships.

  “What if I told you we have? Would you tell Papa to call off this courting business?”

  “You didn’t.” Her eyes bug out. “I would have known if you did. Did you?”

  “Can we not talk about this?”

  The saleslady thankfully interrupts, “I brought one in size six and the other six and a half.”

  “Thanks.” I loosen the laces and remove the tucked tissue papers from the boots, then renew my interrogation of my disloyal elderly sister. “Whose idea? I’m sure it’s not Romeo’s because he would have told me.”