by Amber Hart
“Chill. Breathe,” I say.
Her breaths are raw, ragged.
“Everything will be all right,” I assure her. “Yes, he may get upset. So what? If I need to leave, I’ll leave. You and I have seen each other through some serious stuff. This is nothin’.”
“You’re right,” she says. Exhales deeply. “Okay. I can do this.”
My hand slips silently into Faith’s, desperate to soothe her.
“You can do this. And I’m not lettin’ you back out.”
“All right.” She grins. “Hate it when you’re right.”
We walk to the door. I don’t take my eyes off Faith, knowing that she needs someone to hold her accountable, someone to make sure she follows through.
“Ready?” I ask.
She nods. Nothing about her seems ready: restless, eyes too wide, hands clammy like she applied too much lotion. I know it’s nerves. When we pull up to Faith’s house, the street is lined with cars. We end up parking at Melissa’s instead. The walk only takes a minute, but when we get there, Faith pauses on the lawn.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Mmm-hmm,” she says. “Just give me a sec.”
I’m nervous, too. But I won’t tell Faith.
What guy ever looks forward to meeting his girl’s father for the first time?
Though I met Mr. Watters at the hospital, I doubt he’ll remember. I’m hoping he doesn’t. That’s easier than explaining Melissa’s lie, that I was with her. Part, or maybe all, of this visit is bound to be uncomfortable.
“If he tells you to leave, I’m coming with you,” Faith says.
“Okay,” I agree. Javier is on backup in case I need a ride.
“And I want you to be yourself. You will hear a lot of ‘yes, sir,’ ‘no, sir’ from other people when they talk to my dad, but I don’t want you acting like someone you’re not. To them it’s respect, but coming from you, it would be wrong,” Faith says.
I don’t have any problem with saying “sir,” but I get what she’s implying. Respect comes in different forms. She wants me to wear the one that fits me.
“Let’s do this,” I say, pulling her forward. I have a feeling we’ll be standing here all day if I don’t rush this along.
Inside Faith’s house, I take a second to look around. It’s not big, but it’s not small, either. Squared pictures form a patchwork on the walls. Decorative pillows the color of lemonade and tangerines accent a beige couch and love seat.
At least she doesn’t have to buy a new chair so I’ll have a place to sit.
Balloons and streamers scream with brightness. A clown crouches in the corner, painting kids’ faces. Grace’s guests include twenty children under the age of seven. I grew up with Javier’s family, so I’m used to niños being around all the time.
“Do the kids make you nervous?” Faith asks, noticing my stare.
“No,” I answer with a smile. “If anything, they ease my worries.”
Faith’s dad is another story.
An older woman approaches, a hello jumping off her lips ten feet before she reaches us. When Faith introduces me as her boyfriend, the woman’s face suddenly looks as though she’s sucking on a lime. Faith takes it as our cue to leave.
“Sorry about that,” she says, as we walk to the backyard.
I stop walking. “Faith, mírame.” When she looks at me, I continue. “I don’t care what they think. Don’t apologize for other people. This is about you and me. ¿Entiendes?”
She gives my hand a squeeze and nods—just as her father approaches. His features remind me a little of Faith’s. He has the same green eyes, but pinched at the corners. He is wearing jeans and a black polo shirt with a dark brown apron. I’m guessing he’s the one manning the grill.
Faith’s palm is still in mine. Her father’s gaze drops from my face to our entwined hands.
“I believe we’ve met,” he says, sticking out his hand.
He does remember.
“Yes. Diego,” I say.
Faith looks confused.
“Carl Watters,” he says, shaking my hand firmly.
Faith taps her foot nervously.
“So, you’re Faith’s new boyfriend?” her dad asks. Have to love a dude who gets straight to the point.
“Yes,” I answer.
He eyes me for a second before speaking again. “Well, Diego, are you good on the grill?”
“Yeah.”
I hope he doesn’t intend to pull me aside and interrogate me, or order me to stay away from his daughter, because I really don’t want to get into it with Faith’s father.
Faith’s brows furrow. “I’ll help, too,” she says.
“Not necessary,” her dad replies, holding up his hand. I’m guessing that’s his way of telling Faith to give him a moment with me.
She does. I walk off with her father to the other side of the yard, where the grill stands, while Faith takes a seat near the door. She’s not even close to being within earshot. That could be good or bad. Depends on what direction her old man wants to steer the conversation.
Mr. Watters hands me a spatula to flip the burgers. “Why didn’t you tell me at the hospital that you were her boyfriend?” he asks.
“Honestly? I thought that was up to Faith, not me,” I answer.
There are a lot of people around us, but no one pays attention to our conversation.
“How long have you been seeing each other?” he asks.
That depends on what he considers “seeing each other.” “A few months.”
Mr. Watters squirts some oil on the burgers to keep them from drying out.
“What’s your story?” he asks.
Great, so this is going to be an interrogation.
“I moved from Cuba at the beginning of senior year. Faith was my peer helper—” I pause, smile, think about how Faith has helped me in more ways than one. Mr. Watters is staring at me. I clear my throat. “I live with my dad. I have other familia in the area, too.”
“Why did you move from Cuba?” he asks.
I grit my teeth and try to aim for calm when I answer. “Things didn’t go so well for me back there. Let’s leave it at that.”
He eyes the scar on my neck. “Listen, I don’t know what kind of trouble you got into back home, and it’s really none of my business, but when it comes to my daughter, I want to know that no harm will come to her. I’m not naïve enough to think that I can control her anymore. She’s her own person, an adult, I know that. But I still want her to make good decisions. I’m not sure about you yet, but my personal feelings are irrelevant. All I need to know is that she’s safe and happy. Do you plan on keeping her safe and happy, Diego?”
I don’t hesitate. “With all that I am.”
“Good,” he says, flipping burgers over. I do the same. “Do you love her?” he asks.
Of course, but Faith’s father shouldn’t be the first one I admit that to.
“That’s something I’d like to tell her first, if you don’t mind.”
He nods. “Be careful with my daughter, Diego. She’s been through a lot.”
Grease splatters on my shirt, leaving a stain. “I know,” I reply.
He asks questions, but doesn’t fret over the notion of Faith and me together.
“She thinks I don’t understand her, that I can’t see what’s happening. But I do. You make her happy, happier than she’s been in a long time. And I think she loves you.”
My breath catches when he says the last part.
“I see the way you look at her,” he continues. “I’m not going to pretend I like the tattoos. Don’t take it personally. I don’t like hers, either. But I also don’t believe that a person should be judged by their appearance.”
“Thank you,” I say. I could never see me and this man being best friends, but we don’t need to be best friends in order for me to make it work with Faith. As long as we have a mutual understanding that Faith’s happiness is our main concern, I think we’ll be good.
The burgers are done. I set the spatula down and wipe my hands on a towel.
“She may think I don’t care about her feelings,” Mr. Watters says, “but she’s wrong. I know she worries about what the church will think. I wish she’d let me deal with the church and just enjoy being young. Do you think you could help her let go, Diego?”
“I wish she would,” I say. “I’ve been tryin’ to tell her that for a while.”
Mr. Watters chuckles. “She’s a stubborn one. She means well, though. It’s tough for me to get used to the new clothes and a new boyfriend, but I think you might be good for her. Acting like the majority of the people at church isn’t Faith. I’d rather take the true version of Faith over the fake one she’s tried to be.”
I am awed. “Have you told her this?”
“No,” he replies. “Faith and I don’t talk much. Plus, do you honestly think I’d make a difference?”
He’s probably right. Still, all this time Faith thought she was doing right by her father when all her father really wants is for Faith to do right by herself. I have respect for him. He knows who, and what, Faith is.
And more importantly, what she isn’t.
47
faith
“What did he say?”
The question does a somersault, tumbling out of my mouth as Diego makes his way across the backyard to me.
“That he loves you and he wants you safe,” Diego says.
Come on. He’s going to have to do better than that.
“What did he say about us?” I ask.
Diego shrugs. “He’s not thrilled about me, but he’s not mad, either. As long as I make you happy, he’s okay with it.”
Too good to be true. “Really?” I ask.
“Really.” Diego smiles.
I throw my arms around his shoulders and hug him tightly.
He rubs my back. “See, what did I tell you? Piece of cake,” he jokes.
I’m a little surprised it wasn’t worse. They must’ve talked about more than me being happy and safe, but I’m not going to question Diego further.
“He’s not as bad as you think,” Diego says. “He wants you to leave the church issues and opinions to him. You should let it go, Faith. It’s about time you lived for you.”
When Diego leans in for a kiss, I forget everything but him. His lips are soft and full, his mouth warm. His tongue never snakes out, much to my disappointment, but the kiss is intense all the same.
I feel a tug at my leg, breaking the two of us apart. I look down. Grace is smiling at me like a shiny penny that I must pick up.
“Hi, Gracie!” I say, swooping her into my arms.
“Hi, Faith,” she sings sweetly. She turns to Diego. “Hey, D,” she says nonchalantly.
It cracks me up.
Diego grins. “Hi,” he says as he reaches for her. He sets my little sister on his hip and wraps an arm around her back.
I almost tear up at the sight of him holding Grace so gently, cradling the treasure that she is.
“Happy birthday,” he says.
She giggles and reaches for his hand. I hope the tattoos don’t scare her.
“I like your paintings,” Grace comments.
“Thanks,” Diego says. “I like yours, too.”
He’s referring to the star and cake painted on Grace’s cheek.
“Want to meet my friends?” Grace asks.
Diego couldn’t possibly be interested in the crowd of children. But surprisingly, he says yes and sits on the grass with the kids. They flock to him like a new toy. He’s a natural. They love him, too. For the first time in a while, I feel a kind of giddy happiness that I thought abandoned me long ago. I am wishing on a star and watching it come true.
I’m about to join him when Mrs. Magg comes to my side.
“Hello, Faith,” she says cordially.
“Hi, Mrs. Magg,” I reply.
“Is this for my son’s benefit?” she asks, gesturing at Diego.
I laugh. Is she kidding me?
“Jason has apologized many times. What does he have to do for you to take him back?” she asks, completely serious.
I stop laughing, but for the life of me I cannot wipe the grin off my face. It lingers like the bittersweet aftertaste of cranberries.
I honestly don’t think her question deserves an answer. So I walk away instead, leaving a slack-jawed Mrs. Magg standing alone. Some people will never change.
“Hey,” I say into Diego’s ear. I sit on the ground beside him. Grass pricks and tickles my thighs.
He’s laughing at one of the little boys, who is making funny faces. “Hey, preciosa,” Diego replies.
Dad and Susan are bringing out Grace’s princess castle birthday cake.
“Want some?” I ask, motioning to the gigantic pink-and-purple cake. They set it next to a leaning tower of gifts.
“Sure.” Diego stands and extends a hand to help me up.
I love the way he looks in that moment: hair mussed from kids climbing on him, grass stuck to his clothes, completely and utterly happy.
After cake, Grace opens gifts. She tears into them with such excitement. I’ve never seen so many presents in one place in my life. Grace’s face is lit like a firework. When the festivities die down and it’s time to go, I give Dad a hug and say good-bye. My little sister gives Diego a kiss on the cheek, awakening a flutter in my heart.
I don’t say anything on the way to Diego’s apartment, mostly because I’m replaying the evening in my mind. When Diego invites me in, I follow him to his room. I sink into the beanbag chair and imagine that’s what it feels like to fall into a puff of clouds.
“It’s good to see you happy,” Diego says.
“It’s your doing,” I confess. “All of it. Everything.”
Diego challenged my whole life. From the first moment in the office, he dared me to drop the mask. Thanks to him, I have.
“I’m lucky to have you,” I say.
“Come to me,” Diego commands.
I kneel on the carpet and lean over Diego.
He presses his mouth to mine. His kiss is a flame, sparking my insides. His passion is embers catching fire. Before I know it, I have abandoned the carpet and taken position on Diego’s lap.
Diego says how good I feel in English and Spanish.
“Que bonita. Te quiero. Te necesito,” he says.
Diego is closer than my skin. Love forged into being. There is something about his touch, his fingers driving slowly over my ribs, that makes my heart thud as though it wants to break free of me and live in Diego’s hands, where it belongs.
The air around us is two thousand degrees. His breath, my breath, becoming one. His body, my body, sharing space until there is no difference between where he starts and where I end.
More.
I need more.
His touch moves, wanders, discovers new places: my hip, my thigh, the spot behind my left ear. My fingers tickle the back of his neck. Make their way over the topographical map that is his body.
What lies underneath?
I want my hands on bare skin, but I’m afraid. What will happen? Will we be the same? Closer? I can’t help the thoughts that enter my mind like a haunting whisper. Now is not the time for nerves.
Three, four, five fingers on my stomach. Six, seven, eight seconds until the thunder of pleasure allows me to move again. His breathing has climbed to new heights. I take the risk. My palm slides under his shirt. Muscles make his skin protrude in spots. Scars form craters in the unknown terrain I explore.
When Diego pulls away from me suddenly, I’m surprised.
“What’s wrong?” I pant.
His look is that of pain.
“Dios mío, this is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do,” he says.
Diego eases me off of him.
“Did I do something wrong?” I ask.
“No, definitely not. You’re doin’ everythin’ right,” he answers. “That’s the problem. Eres especial. You have changed my life.
I want our first time to be something you’ll never forget, something that lasts all night.”
My curfew is soon. Diego doesn’t want to rush things. I smile at him. It must have taken a lot to pull away from me. I reach for his hand. Bring him to me, careful not to touch him the way he likes. I ease into his arms and let him hold me.
There are moments in life set apart from the rest. The before this moment, and the after this moment.
Diego is one of those moments for me.
48
diego
“Do you think she has a clue?”
Javier’s excitement is met by my own. I’m jittery, as though I’ve gulped gallons of caffeine.
“No,” I answer.
“Have to admit, it’s a good plan,” Javier says. “Never knew you were romantic.”
“Cállate,” I say, grinning.
“So you goin’ to be down on one knee tellin’ her how much you love her, or what?” Javier jokes.
“No,” I answer. “I’m just goin’ to be there, waiting for her. She won’t expect it. Now, leave me alone so I can finish gettin’ ready.”
While Javier waits for me in the living room, I check the clock. Hands tick like a reminder of the time I almost didn’t have. I throw on jeans and my only white button-down shirt.
“Come on,” I say to my cousin.
Javier drives me to a giant fountain at the entrance of La Plazita: a stretch of about three blocks with Latino cuisine, culture, markets, dancing, and more. This is my world, without the danger.
People drift everywhere. My throat constricts slightly. I’m suddenly flashing back to Cuba. A hundred memories cram together like pages in a book. I am aware of my scar, pulsing almost. I’m scared to remember that life.
Javier laughs and slaps me on the back as I’m getting out of the car. “¡Buena suerte!” he hollers.
I spend the next thirty minutes roaming the streets. For many, this is more than a fun getaway. This is a way of life. I wonder if any of them have escaped like me. Do they have dangerous secrets, too?
My phone chirps. It’s Melissa, in on the surprise. Her text tells me that they are approaching the fountain. I stand to the side where Faith can’t see me.
Faith wears a white spaghetti-strap dress that shimmers like an opal. When I walk around the corner, her eyes widen.
