by Dee Garcia
Oh. Fuck.
Right as the taxi drove away, I took a deep breath and rapped my knuckles on the front door of my aunt’s home, firmly grasping the strap of Eden’s duffle slung over my shoulder. I knew she was going to be surprised to see me so unexpectedly, especially without my mom. It’d been years since I’d been here—about a decade, to be exact—and as I looked around the front porch I could vividly remember playing on as a kid, I realized everything still looked the same. Granted, a little more worn now, but everything from the peachy-pink stucco to the white security bars on the windows were exactly the same. Even the terra-cotta planters by the door were identical.
Eden reached for my hand at the sound of my aunt’s voice belting out “Ya voy, ya voy,” in time with her footsteps approaching.
“Relax,” I whispered to her, setting a kiss to the top of her head as the locks swiftly came undone.
Then the door flew open, revealing my auntie in her frilly pink nightgown, a broom trapped in her hand, as always. She froze in place, staring at me in disbelief, mouth popping slightly ajar. And then, she caught sight of Eden. Her brown eyes widened all the more before swinging back on my disheveled form. I puffed up my chest and held my head high under her scrutiny, tightening my hold on Eden’s hand.
“Xander?” she asked incredulously, my name uttered in Spanish.
I flashed her a crooked smile. “Hola, Titi.”
Pronounced tee-tee, it was a nickname most Caribbean Hispanics used for auntie, and like most Hispanic women, the simple term always lit her up. She threw the broom to the floor in haste and crushed me in a hug so similar to one of Mama’s, my chest ached a little when she eased back to take a good look at me. A good, long look at me. With a curious eye, she clocked me in, all of me; the state of my clothing, the cut on my face, the bandages on my arms too. And much to my surprise, she didn’t say a word about any of it. Instead, she motioned toward Eden expectantly.
“¿Es tuya?”
“Yeah, she’s mine,” I answered with pride, beaming down at my girl.
“She’s very beautiful,” she added, her English still retaining those Hispanic notes. “¿Entiende Español?”
“Un poquito,” Eden murmured pretty damn flawlessly before I could answer, outstretching her hand to my aunt who was now regarding her with an impressed smile.
“I’m Eden, it’s very nice to meet you.”
They shook briefly, my auntie’s smile growing in tenfold. “I’m Cristina. It’s nice to meet you too. Let me guess—you are Cuban?”
“No, Italiana,” I said first, waggling my eyebrows when my aunt’s gaze snapped back to where I stood.
She laughed and shook her head like this was something she should’ve known. “Well, that explains it; Italian and Spanish are very similar.”
“They are,” Eden agreed, tucking a golden strand behind her ear.
Brown eyes so akin to my mom’s—crinkly lines at the corners and all—poured over us, a dozen different emotions swirling within their fiery depths. I knew I’d have quite a bit to explain at some point, and I was one-hundred percent certain she wasn’t going to be happy when I mentioned I hadn’t yet spoken to Mama. Hopefully, she wouldn’t kick us to the curb—after kicking my ass—when I laid out the details before her, because although I’d told Eden I was only going to relay the essentials, essentials just weren’t going to cut it with my aunt.
She wasn’t a foolish woman.
Bringing a hand up, she squeezed my shoulder and motioned for us to come inside with a tip of her graying head. “Ven, dime. Que hacen ustedes por aqui?”
See? Not foolish at all.
She wanted to know what we were doing here. Eden, apparently, understood what she said too, her tensing form a dead giveaway as I ushered her inside and shut the deep walnut door behind us. I was gonna have to lie. No way in hell we were jumping into this conversation right now.
“Just doing a little traveling.” I didn’t sound as confident as I’d have liked to.
Probably because somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew she’d spoken to Mama, which meant she, more than likely, knew about Eden. And that meant she’d absolutely have at least fifteen different questions running through her mind.
“Traveling, huh?” She hummed as Eden and I joined her in the kitchen, and just like the exterior of the house, I immediately noted it was exactly the same as I remembered; burnt orange walls, chestnut cabinets, creamy linoleum counters, appliances as ancient as the ones in Mama’s kitchen.
What was it with these women and outdated gadgets?
Pulling out a stool for Eden at the breakfast counter, I dropped the duffle at my feet and watched my auntie whip out the espresso maker from the drying rack beside the sink. Customary Hispanic thing. You have company? You make coffee. Espresso only though.
She eyed me for a split-second with that I know you’re lying look before going on to fill the bottom chamber with water. “So, where else are you traveling to,” was her next question, prompting Eden to glance up at me in alarm.
“Relax,” I mouthed to her again, leaning over the counter onto my elbows. “Uh, we’ll be here in Ponce for a few days. Then I’m thinking about taking Eden to San Sebastian, San Juan, and maybe Aguadilla.”
“Ahhh”—my auntie nodded—“a tour around la isla, how romantic.”
“That’s what I was hoping for.”
After packing the funnel filter with espresso, she screwed the top chamber in place and set the entire thing on the old-fashioned electric stove top, popping the according burner knob on high. A quick spin had her facing us once more as she scooped a few spoonfuls of sugar into a bell creamer for the famous foam and waited for the coffee to brew, keeping the lid up on the espresso maker to watch it closely.
“And your bags? Did the airport lose them?” She held my stare.
Fuck. How could I have forgotten our lack of suitcases?
I mean, really, how could I have forgotten that tiny little detail? Who travels without luggage? On to lie number three, I guess…
You’re on a roll, Royce.
“Yeah, uh, they told us they’d call if they found them,” I went on, earning me another dubious glare as she tipped her chin to the small bag on the floor.
“And only one carry-on?”
She knew I was bullshitting, and I should’ve known better than to lie in the first place. Like I said earlier—not foolish at all.
“Titi, please,” I beseeched her, widening my eyes in a silent promise to divulge the truth later.
Regarding me thoughtfully, lips thinned and all, she eventually held up her hands in surrender and turned back toward the stove. “Okay, okay, ya. I won’t ask anything else for right now. Pero mañana me lo vas a contar todo. Entiendes, nene?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, breathing a sigh of relief at the fact she was letting me off the hook until tomorrow.
And thankfully, she really didn’t ask any more questions. After serving us each a shot of espresso, she set a plushy kiss to my cheek, and ordered we make ourselves at home before disappearing to the front of the house, presumably to finish her cleaning.
Eden passed out on the bed of the guest room not long after I gave her a quick tour of my auntie’s home. Can’t say I blame her. That bed was like some fluffy cloud that wrapped you up in all the right places. I would’ve fallen asleep too, the pain from my gunshot wound wearing me down a little more with each passing hour, but there was something I needed to do before I could even think about resting.
I had to call Mama.
Unfortunately for me, calling her wasn’t as easy as it seemed. Neither Eden nor I had a cell after yesterday’s wreck and I hadn’t thought to buy a cheap one at the airport, given we were more focused on making it here undetected, than having some form of communication with the very world we were trying to escape. Initially, I’d sought out to use my auntie’s landline but evidently, she disconnected it years ago. Something about my cousin Jadiel convincing her to cut back on the
expense after he told her no one used them these days. So now she only had her cell, leaving me no choice but to ask if I could borrow it, which of course, arose whatever suspicions she already in tenfold.
I know, totally fucked, and I was most definitely not looking forward to our impending discussion that was likely to happen sooner rather than later.
Stepping out onto the front porch, I posted up against the dingy stone railing and punched in the number I could dial with my eyes closed. Mama’s name popped up on the screen as a saved contact, throwing my heartrate into overdrive. Through each ring, it thrashed harder and faster, my mouth growing dry as my nerves started getting the best of me.
God, she’s gonna be fucking pissed…
“Buenos dias,” she finally answered in a sing-song voice, obviously expecting the caller to be my aunt.
I hesitated for a beat or two, white-knuckling the stone keeping me upright for support. “Hi, Ma.”
She gasped, a hiccup of silence following her shock. “Xander?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“What in God’s green earth is going on? Why are you at your aunt’s house? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Mama, I’m fine…but you’re not gonna to like what I’m about to say,” I admitted, bracing myself for the royal shit show that was about to unfold.
“What?” she hedged.
“I fled the country…”
Had a pin dropped in that moment, you would’ve heard it. Not a sound filtered through the line. It was excruciatingly quiet and the longer it stretched, the larger the knot in my throat swelled.
I barely forced it down and pushed off the railing, hustling down the steps to the driveway to suck in some fresh air. It was too cramped on the porch.
“Mama?”
“Xander, what did you do?” she queried, in that growling way that used to make me run for the hills as a kid.
“Nothing, I didn’t do anything, I swear! But it’s not safe for Eden and I there. We had to leave, at least for a few weeks.”
“Why wouldn’t it be safe for you?”
“Her family,” was all I could answer.
“What in the world? What does her family have to do with it?”
“I can’t… I can’t tell you. We just have to be far away for a little while—let things cool down.”
“I don’t understand. You’re not making any sense. What needs to cool down?”
“I told you, Ma, I can’t tell you…” I said again, running a frustrated hand through my hair.
“Xander Royce, I am your mother! You’re calling me to tell me you’ve fled the country with a woman I haven’t met, then mention her family has something to do with it, and you expect me not to ask questions after everything that’s happened in the last month? Tell me, now,” she demanded, her tone completely no-nonsense.
Under any other circumstances, I would’ve been letting it all out of the bag by now, because Lord knows I hate upsetting my mom, but she couldn’t know about this. She couldn’t know about any of it. I’d already limited what she knew about Eden and had embellished certain details for the very same reason. Mama was far too pure and good-hearted to get caught up in this obscurity.
“I can’t. It’s better off you don’t know anyway,” I murmured honestly, feeling like shit for hiding and lying so much to her lately.
“Why?” She pressed.
“Because, the less you know, the better.”
“But you brought your auntie into this mess? How is it fair for her to know but not me? I’m. Your. Mother!”
“She knows less than you do, Ma, and I don’t plan to tell any more.” Another lie. “We just needed somewhere to go, and this was the furthest point I could think of that didn’t require a passport under pressure.”
“And what exactly is your plan,” she countered. “To stay with her until whatever you won’t tell me blows over?”
“No.” I paused, kicking a few rocks into the street, “We’ll only be here a few days, a week or two at most. After that, I’m not sure where we’re going yet.”
“Good Lord, Xander…” She trailed off, her breath hitching.
Through the lull, I could all but see her tears. Broke my fucking heart to know I was hurting her, but what was I supposed to do? Had we stayed in New York, I’d be dead.
“Mama, please don’t cry,” I supplicated her, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“Don’t cry? You want me not to cry?” Her voice cracked. “First, you two leave the Bronx and go on some excursion in search of her mother, though now I’m not sure how much of that I believe, considering you’ve had to flee the country for reasons you claim you can’t tell me. This girl has brought you nothing but trouble!”
“Trouble or not, I love her,” I retorted indignantly, despite knowing better.
“I gathered that.”
“And she loves me too.”
Mama hummed but the sound wasn’t one of approval. “I’m sure she does.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, it means nothing. All I’m going to say is, be smart, Xander. Take a look at what your life has become since meeting her and ask yourself if she’s worth it.”
“I don’t have to think about it, Ma. I know how this looks and how bad it all sounds, but we’re in love. And I know once you get to meet her, you’re going to love her too.”
Her silence said otherwise, though, speaking volumes I refused to believe to be true. I hated to think Eden had been right all along. This wasn’t like my mom, not at all, but then again, could I really expect anything else? She was sick, held captive by a poisonous monster that could take her from me at any moment, and I’d left her without warning. Twice. What wrecked me more was knowing I’d do it all over again. I loved my mom and I always would, but Eden was my everything. I’d run all over the world for the rest of my life to be with her.
“You’re going to miss Thanksgiving. Christmas…” she went on, her tone hushed, thoughtful.
At first, her concession threw me out into left field, until I retraced my steps and started counting back the days.
Damn it.
The last month had gone by in such a blur, I hardly recognized we were just weeks away from starting the holiday season. I scrunched my eyes tightly, my head hanging low. Mama loved the holidays.
“I’m sorry.” It was all I could think to say despite how much more needed to be said.
But whether or not it was genuine, I’m not sure…
I hadn’t meant to fall asleep. I was just so tired after the last twenty-four hours, and almost the very second my head hit the pillow, my eyes refused to stay open for much longer. Didn’t help that Xander kept sifting his fingers through my hair, the even rise and fall of his chest making it nearly impossible to fight the urge to give in for a little while. In the end, I’d passed out cold. A few hours or just a couple minutes, I’m not sure, but all I remember is jolting awake at the sound of the bedroom door shutting softly.
Canary yellow walls with a floral wallpaper trim were the first things that greeted me, followed by a fresh burst of Pine-Sol that tickled my nose. Then I noted the sheer white curtains covering the window by the bed, the chunky maple bedframe, and all the according pieces of furniture that barely fit in the small room, the deep walnut closet doors, and the floral comforter bunched around my body. All the unfamiliar sights and smells of my surroundings instantly filled me with the most unsettling feeling, especially when the space beside me where Xander had laid was now empty.
My heart raced anew, faster than it had in the back of the taxi or when Cristina first answered the door. My stomach churned distastefully too, and while I didn’t care for any of these feelings, I couldn’t find it in me to be brave and simply brush them off either. I needed to find Xander. Really, I just needed Xander, period. Needed him to keep me grounded and at ease. He was the only person who had the ability to subdue my fears. Fears that up until I’d met him—much like paranoia—were never present. Who
was this skittish person I was becoming?
Throwing off the comforter in a rush, I padded to the door and pressed my ear flat against its cool surface. Faint music could be heard from somewhere in the house and I assumed, given how far it was, Cristina was likely cleaning up her room, thus granting me the perfect opportunity to slip out of here and find Xander undetected. Don’t get me wrong, she was very sweet and I wanted to like her, but I could see the way she looked at me, how she really looked at me. Like she had dozens of questions and assumptions based off everything Xander’s mom had undoubtedly told her about me over the last several weeks.
And now here we were, showing up on her doorstep out of the blue. Had to be obvious we were in deep shit, right? Surely our surprise visit wasn’t helping my case any either, which is why I wasn’t so sure I could stand her interrogation alone. At least not now. Xander and I were going to have to get on the same page about every detail in order for our story to remain consistent with anyone who fell in our path. All I needed to was to go spouting off something he had no intention of sharing and then everything would be ruined.
God, what a mess.
Blowing out a flustered breath, I curled a hand around the brass knob and turned it ever so slowly, poking only a sliver of my head out into the hallway. As suspected, Cristina was nowhere in sight. My shoulders sagged in relief and the wild galloping of my heart rate dwindled down to a mere trot in her absence.
Safe, for the time being anyway. I’d have to talk to her eventually.
Certain she wasn’t about to come bounding around the corner, I peeked my head out a ways more and scanned the other end of the corridor, noticing almost immediately the front door was wide open.
Xander had to be out there. He just had to be.
I tiptoed out of the bedroom and skittered through the living room to the door, the distant sound of my man's voice melting away the rest of my nerves the second I heard it. Through the storm door, I could see him pacing the driveway with a phone to his ear, his frustration not only apparent but palpable too, even from all the way over here. I didn’t want to intrude or stand there and eavesdrop on his conversation—as I’d been caught doing back in Jersey—but I didn’t want to go back to the room either and sit there in the silence. Being alone gave me far too much time to think, and too much time to think often led me to conjuring all these ridiculous ideas and scenarios that would only make everything a million times worse.
