by Mia Garcia
“Oh, like a surprise!” Nora bounced up and down.
“I’ve already got one.” Ryan’s smirk was way too wicked as he jotted down a resolution.
“Cool, who for?” Jess asked.
“You.”
Jess’s stomach did a little worry dance, but she willed it to stop. This is what she’d wanted.
“CAN I SEE?” Lee said, smushing against Ryan. Nora looked over their shoulders. They conferred for several minutes.
Jess tried to hide her smile, but it was hard to. She scrolled through Instagram to give them time to finish.
“Can we have the official notebook?” Nora walked over, tapping Jess on the shoulder. “We want to make a clean page for everyone. Ours are full of scratches.”
Jess tore out the page she was working on and handed the notebook over to Nora, who passed it to Lee. “You have the best handwriting.”
When Lee was finished writing, she closed it up and handed the notebook to Ryan, then it was time for Jess, Nora, and him to confer.
“Can we get this over with?” Lee said. “This is far more intense than I was anticipating.”
Jess couldn’t help but agree a little bit—even though it was her idea, she couldn’t help but squirm a bit in anticipation of what her friends had in mind for her. But this was the point, she reminded herself, and you can’t escape this either.
“Who’s first?” Ryan said, just as Lee shouted, “NOT IT.” Then Nora, and Jess, until Ryan was the only one left. “I hate all of you.” Nora tossed him the notebook, and he stared at it for a good hard minute before opening it. “You are all a bunch of heartless jerks. Is it cool to throw the notebook across the room?”
Jess tried to look encouraging. This couldn’t fall apart after just one resolution.
“Read it out loud!” Lee shouted from the couch with a grin.
“Karma,” he mouthed then read from the page aloud. “Number one—”
“Just one thing”—Jess raised her hand—“numbers aren’t meant to show importance.”
“NUMBER ONE.” He eyed Lee, who had clearly contributed the first one. “Kiss someone wrong for you.” He frowned. “Not sure I appreciate my friends trying to pimp me out. It’s only been—”
“Three months,” Lee said.
“No, it’s been—”
“A month if we count from Thanksgiving.”
“Well, I really loved him,” Ryan said. “So it’s going to take however long it takes.”
Nora stood to wrap her arm around his waist. Jess and Lee joined her on his other side.
“We know it still hurts. We’re not asking you to fall in love with someone! It’s just a kiss. Nothing more,” Jess said. A kiss might just be another push out of his funk, one more step toward getting Ryan back.
“Yeah! Get out there and get out of your head!” Lee added, squeezing his shoulder.
“Keep going,” Nora said.
Ryan took a deep breath, glancing up at Jess. “Show your work and don’t apologize for it.” He rolled his eyes. “What work?”
“That’s the point.”
Ryan sank down into the pillows. “Maybe I don’t want to paint.”
Jess knew it was a lie even now as his finger traced shapes on the ratty couch cushion. Jess’s hand reached for his, and he curled his around it.
“Okay, that one isn’t so bad, I guess,” Ryan said. “Don’t they say you do your best work when you’re miserable?”
“I’ll go next,” Nora said, and Ryan passed the notebook.
Lee curled deeper into the couch now that only she and Nora were on it. She pulled the fuzzy blanket tighter around herself. “Why is it always freezing down here?”
“Heater problems,” Jess said, nudging closer to Ryan. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder.
Nora cleared her throat. “Okay—here we go! Number one: put your feet in the ocean. Uh, not sure if that’s possible, guys. The closest beach is fourteen hours from here.”
“The fact that you know how long it takes to drive to the nearest beach,” Lee said, “is why it’s on the list.”
“And,” Ryan added, “it’s your recurring dream for a reason.” For years—since she was eleven or so—Nora had a recurring dream about walking along the beaches of Puerto Rico. She swore it was tucked-away memories from her childhood trips, but Jess wondered if it was something more, a way of her telling herself there was something else out there.
“True . . .” Jess could already see Nora trying to figure out how her schedule at La Islita would ever allow her to take such a trip.
“Keep going,” Lee said. “It gets better.”
“Number two.” Nora scanned, her face scrunching up. “Choose your own adventure?”
“That was a group effort, by the way,” Ryan chimed in.
“What does it even mean, though?”
“It means,” Jess started, “think about what you really want and need this year.”
“But I thought the point was—”
“I know.” Jess smiled, hoping that Nora would understand. She wondered if Nora didn’t understand how the world held more options than she allowed herself to see. “Choose your own adventure, Nora.”
“Okay, but when you say it like that it feels like I’m going on some quest or something.”
Lee laughed, and Jess nodded. “You kind of are.”
Lee was next, and she took a deep breath before asking Nora to toss her a few meringues for courage.
“Number one: relearn Spanish.”
Jess knew deep down Lee had been expecting that one. Out of the four of them, Lee rarely spoke more than a word of Spanish here or there, claiming it never felt right or she was tired of the old ladies at the Latino Community Center telling her the pronunciation was off.
“Lee?” Jess put a hand on her shoulder. Lee hadn’t seen her move to her side and jumped. “I figure I can help you after school.”
“You have track.”
“After track,” Jess said, already calculating how to balance practice with a new lesson plan. Jess had tutored before so that wasn’t a big deal, except classes were getting harder, and she did need to keep her spot as valedictorian (if Nora’s girlfriend, Beth, didn’t knock her down to salutatorian) . . . but that shouldn’t matter, she reminded herself. This was for Lee.
“We’ll all help,” Nora added, “even though my Spanish is not that great.”
“Best Spanglish in all of Denver, though!” Ryan said.
“I’ll take that.” Nora smiled and nudged Lee.
Lee nodded, going over it one more time. “Yeah, it actually feels like I wrote this one myself.”
“So you’ll have no one but yourself to blame,” Jess said. Lee rolled her eyes. “So . . . good?”
“Yes. I like this one.”
Jess hugged Lee, toppling them both over.
“Okay! Okay! Stop attacking, you’re like a giant Puerto Rican puppy or something.”
“Right.” Jess hovered nearby, bouncing on the tips of her toes, just a hint of worry on her face. Because, really, if anything could piss off Lee it would be this next resolution. “One more.”
“Number two: decide.” Lee looked up at her friends. “Decide what?”
Nora cringed, and Lee understood. “Wait, really?”
Jess jumped in. “You can be pissed.”
“Oh good, because I am pissed.”
Jess had to get this out as quickly as possible. “We know it’s a big one, but we thought we had to. We aren’t trying to be insensitive or anything. We love you.”
“So you say.” Lee held up the notebook. “But do you have any idea?”
“No,” Jess jumped in again. “No, we don’t, not even a little.” Her heart was beating faster now, and she swore she saw tears at the corners of Lee’s eyes. Shit, what had she done?
“It’s just you talk about it sometimes like you don’t care, but we know you do. And I can’t imagine how scary it is to know, or not know, so we thought that if you need
ed or wanted a push to get tested, we could be that for you. Do you . . . do you want a push? So the decision isn’t hanging over your head?”
Lee was quiet, and Jess held her breath. Had she gone too far? It felt like an eternity passed before Lee answered with just the slightest nod.
“I don’t know,” she said, then, “Maybe.”
“Maybe is a start.” Jess wrapped her arm around Lee.
Lee nodded, and though she didn’t look up to meet any eyes, she didn’t pull away from Jess. Jess tore off the notebook page and tentatively handed it over. She worried Lee might not take it at all, but she did.
Finally it was Jess’s turn.
“Too late to back out?” she joked. Her fingers itched to turn to her page, to read what her friends wanted for her.
“Too late now.” Ryan shrugged. “Box opened. Worms out.”
“Now you have to lie in it,” Nora added.
“No, honey.” Ryan patted her shoulder. “No. That’s not the saying.” Nora rolled her eyes.
Jess held the notebook, thoughts swirling in her head. With a breath she cracked it open and turned to her page, and there she found the same sentence written out twice:
Say YES to everything.
Huh?
She read it again.
“Everything?” she said.
“Everything,” her friends responded in unison.
“Within reason,’” Nora added. “Like don’t kill anyone or have an orgy or something, unless you want to.”
“Just like—” Ryan started.
“Loosen up!” Lee finished with a flourish. “Go on dates. Cut class. Um . . . go skinny-dipping. Be spontaneous!”
“Jess?” Nora pressed.
Everything was silent, which was weird because Jess could swear her heart was kicking it up a notch. Why did it feel like an insult? Jess didn’t think she was so uptight. In fact, she made a constant effort to be outgoing and engaging. She did like to schedule and organize, but she didn’t think she was excessive about it.
She read the sentences. Don’t shake, don’t shake, she thought. She was fine. This was fine. She would handle this like she did everything else.
With a flip of a switch, sound rushed in.
“You okay?” Lee reached over and touched Jess on the nose.
Jess shook off the worry and put on a quick mask. “I’m good. Sounds like a piece of cake.”
“You sure?” Lee asked, her expression soft. “You didn’t look so sure a moment ago.”
“Oh, you know,” she tuned her voice, adjusting the strings until it reflected none of her worry, her fear. “Just total regret,” she said with a laugh.
“I mean, if you want to back out . . . ,” said Lee.
“No,” she added quickly—this was just the initial flash of panic before the start of a project. She could do this.
She always did.
“Okay then, this is going to be great. Just you wait!”
They each tucked the resolutions into their bags or pockets. There was an awkward pause as Jess pressed play and the sounds of a galactic universe invaded the basement. She worried that the awkwardness would not fade and she’d ruined their night, but it wasn’t long before she saw Lee relax into the couch and Nora munch down on some double peanut butter brownies.
Jess released a breath, letting a smile fall on her face.
She felt Lee nudge her from behind. “Sheesh, stop smiling so much,” Lee said, but she hid her own smile behind her blanket hoodie. Jess joined her on the couch, turning up the volume, the movie’s soundtrack mixing with the thoughts inside her until her own little movie played in her mind. It starred Jess, Lee, Ryan, and Nora. And it featured the amazing year they were sure to have.
Spring Semester
Nora
DOS CAFÉS CON leche y una tostada para Carmen. Un café negro for the guy with the Broncos cap, but only one quesito for Doña Iris, who usually had two; she’s starting a diet today so it’s best if she only has one . . . and on and on Nora went. Pouring café into cups and buttering the delicious pan de agua, covering it in foil and setting it on la plancha until the bread was warm and the butter melted. Taking order after order, every day different but every day the same.
When and if there was a lull she would crouch down, moving her muscles in different ways, tricking the ache in her calves and feet even for just minutes at a time. She tried to wake up early every morning to do a few minutes of yoga, preparing her body for the long day ahead. It wasn’t much, but it kept her back from killing her later in the day. Nora worked most mornings or afternoons (depending on the day) at La Islita and all day Saturday. Blessedly, they closed on Sundays.
Lulls were also filled with homework and finishing whatever reading she needed to do for the week. She hid her books and notebooks behind the pastry display, pulling them out whenever there was a free moment.
She was a chapter away from finishing The Grapes of Wrath when one of La Islita’s regulars, Doña Rodríguez, walked in. Nora slipped the book back behind the display and started working on Doña Rodríguez’s usual order. By the time she’d arranged her giant purse on the ground, Nora was already pressing down the pancito until it was warm and buttery.
Doña Rodríguez cooed when Nora came around the counter and placed her order down. “Mil gracias. Como lo necesitaba hoy.”
Nora smiled. Doña Rodríguez said that every day. Nora helped her tuck her giant purse under the table before someone tripped on it and returned to her place behind the counter and the awaiting chapter.
Ednita Nazario hit her note and sang about heartache. She was one of her mother’s favorite singers, so her music was usually blasting through the speakers. The music welcomed one customer after the other. Nora’s hips swayed as she turned pages.
When Nora picked the music, La Islita’s rhythm shifted from Latin ballads and merengue to a fusion of beats: rhythms that made you hop up and down, and songs that made you struggle to sing along if your lips didn’t move fast enough.
La Islita might not look like much from the outside—just a small storefront with a bright yellow awning crammed into a busy street in downtown Denver, but on the inside La Islita was always dancing. Along the yellow walls hung photos and local articles written about La Islita, praising its signature café made from Puerto Rican beans, or its work in the Latino community raising funds for hurricane relief. There were three stools by the window and one wisp of a table that was usually occupied by Doña Rodríguez until around two in the afternoon. When they got busy the store was a mess of elbows and awkward shimmies, but still, people endured it for a taste of medianoches, quesitos, and cups of piping hot asopao.
She leaned against the counter, removing some of the pressure from her feet as she waited for Ryan, Lee, and Jess—they’d texted earlier that they’d stop by to hang for a bit, as Nora would be working at least until six.
As she waited she reread through their endless group chat all the way back to Ryan’s step-by-step recap of TAA’s Lunar New Year celebration and how all his grandmother’s friends seemed to be updated on his love life.
It felt so good to roll her foot a bit; she really needed to get new shoe insoles. She went through them so fast now that the catering side was really taking off. Nora would have to talk to her mom about setting limits on orders and widening the overlap time between them. She couldn’t keep convincing Beth that boiling giant calderos of rice was a super-sexy-date activity. And as much as La Islita was a part of Nora’s life, she was starting to worry about how much of her life it required of her.
“Nora!” her mother yelled from the back.
Nora sighed. “¿Qué?” She popped her head through the door separating the kitchen from the front. The customers didn’t need to hear whatever back-and-forth this would be.
Her mother came forward with a metal baking pan. “Mira.” She turned the pan toward Nora. “¡Mira este desastre!”
No wonder her mother was yelling. It was the tres leches they’d asked
Rosio to make. They’d hired her two weeks ago. Half the cake was sunken, not spongy and light like it needed to be so it could soak up the cream. Then there was the meringue on top. Usually a small amount of weeping in a meringue is passable, but the cake looked like it was caught in an egg white downpour. Rosio hadn’t cooked it long enough.
“Well . . .” Nora tried to find something good to say, but it was pretty hard.
“No trates. There’s nothing good to say about it.” Her mother threw the contents of the pan into the garbage can. “This is why I only trust you with the desserts. Rosio is lucky she only made one batch—can you imagine if all of the tres leches were ruined?”
She could. It would involve Nora staying late again and making up the work.
“She’ll get better.” Nora had hoped Rosio would be able to take some of Nora’s responsibilities, allowing her to concentrate more on schoolwork and leave La Islita at a decent time.
“Ay, nena, I hope so.” Her mother handed her the pan, placing a hand on her cheek. “But for now, just handle it yourself, okay?” She tucked several strands of Nora’s hair behind her ear. “Y arréglate el pelo, we always have to look professional.”
Her mother turned, leaving Nora with the empty tres leches pan. Astrid and Hector, who’d worked with her mother for years, offered her sympathetic smiles before getting back to work.
Nora dumped the pan in the sink and headed for the bathroom. She took a moment before turning on the light, standing in the pitch-black listening to the whirr of the AC and rhythmic clanging of pan against pan.
One breath.
Two.
Three.
On four she closed her eyes and flipped on the light, squinting until her eyes adjusted. Her flushed reflection stared back at her. She ran a napkin under the faucet and washed her face. Still pink, but less shiny. She gathered the messy tendrils of her hair and tied them back into a neat ponytail.
There was a lull in the music, and then the upbeat tempo of her mom’s favorite Marc Anthony album started up. The familiar jingle of the front door followed.
