The Resolutions

by Mia Garcia

  5:30 a.m.

  She left her room and settled on the couch, wrapping a blanket around her body. She watched commercials for magical knives that cut through bricks and food vacuum sealers that saved you thousands until her father came down the stairs, a little less of a zombie than his daughter.

  “Up early.” He yawned, heading to the kitchen and filling up his travel cup with coffee made the night before. He took a sip, making a face before sealing the lid.

  “Couldn’t sleep?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wish I had your stamina.”

  “On call?”

  “Yep. I know, I know, how did I get so lucky?” He grabbed his house keys and gave Jess a peck on the head. “See you later. Te amo, Mija.”

  “Love you.”

  Jess pulled the blanket closer, returning to the vacuums and knives until her mind stopped yelling and her body gave up.

  Her eyes were closing when she heard the alarm in her room go off, alerting her that it was time to run.

  Nora

  NORA WAS ON a beach in Puerto Rico at sunset. Palm trees dotted the shoreline and the wind tangled in her hair. She knew it was a dream, since moments ago she’d been kissing Beth in her bed and now they were both walking along the shore of a beach with sky-blue waters.

  She’d been to Puerto Rico twice, both times before La Islita demanded so much more of their time. Nora could barely remember the visits, though when her mother spoke about them she did so with a certainty that those memories should last Nora a lifetime.

  Nora could almost taste the salt in the air as she opened her eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to move, which was usually the case when she was in Beth’s bed, but her parents would be home soon.

  “Do you have to put your clothes back on?” she asked Beth, who was walking around her room, picking up everything Nora had just moments ago taken off.

  “As much as it pains me, yes.” Beth grinned as she tossed Nora her clothes and watched as she pulled them on. “Do you have any idea how unbelievably sexy your hips are in those jeans?”

  “What, these old things?” Nora motioned to her thighs that wiggled as she pulled up her jeans. “You are the only person on earth who loves this muffin top.”

  Beth smiled, tugging the loop in Nora’s jeans until they were close enough to kiss. “I love everything about you.” With a quick kiss Beth pulled away. “Now get dressed before my parents get home—I really don’t want the talk again.”

  “But the last one was so awkward, how could you not want it again?”

  Beth giggled as Nora’s phone buzzed. Beth reached over to check it. “Your mom.”

  She tossed it over. Nora read the message and frowned.

  “What’s up?” Beth asked.

  “I’m needed back. So much for some time off. It was a beautiful thought while it lasted.”

  Her hands shook just a bit as she shoved her phone in her bag and quickly put on the rest of her clothes. She felt the gentle brush of fingers on her waist and turned to Beth.

  “You want me to come with you?” she asked. “I could help.”

  Yes—a hundred times yes. Just looking at Beth made her feel better sometimes, but if she was needed back so soon it meant the shop was swamped and Nora needed to go into overdrive to get through the day. The less she had to think about, the better.

  “No. It’s okay. I’ll text you later.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yeah, promise.”

  Beth kissed her like she could give her whatever strength she needed, and Nora soaked it all up, grateful for every ounce.

  LA ISLITA WAS packed, with a line running out the door.

  “¡Finalmente!” her mother said when she came through the mass of people. She tossed Nora an apron and shifted out of the way so she could run the front of the house.

  “What’s going on?”

  Her mother was all energy and high spirits. “Apparently this website said we were hot shit and well . . .” She motioned to the line.

  “Which website?”

  But her mother had already disappeared, leaving Nora to deal with the line. She boxed order after order of quesitos, masa real, and meringues; ladled cup after cup of asopao until her wrists hurt. It wasn’t long till they were out of a few items and customers had to wait or pick something else if they wanted to leave with anything. Nora, Hector, and her mother traded off front of house duty as each was needed back in the kitchen. Pastries were flying off the shelf so fast Nora was serving them hot out of the oven. By the late afternoon she’d added one more guayaba paste burn to her arm as she tried to arrange them neatly on the tray.

  It was still three hours to closing when someone gently tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Excuse me.”

  “Yes? What would you like to order?” Nora asked. Pen, paper, and smile at the ready.

  “I already ordered.”

  “Oh.” Nora’s mind was usually a steel vault and could remember each customer’s order, but as she stared at the guy’s face she completely blanked. “I’m sorry. We are just a bit slow right now with the rush. What did you order?”

  “I ordered the flan de coco, latte, and the medianoche, but I’m fine waiting. I actually wanted to ask you something else,” he said with a smile. “I write for the local newspaper and was doing a piece on local restaurants and particularly the people behind them. Wondering if the owner was here and had a moment for a quick chat? Or we can set something up for another time.”

  “Can you wait just one moment?”

  “Of course!”

  Nora dashed to the back to find her mother who then ran to the bathroom to fix her hair, change her apron, and meet the reporter. They stepped outside to talk, and Nora pulled a batch of baby flans from the oven.

  The crowds slowed down to a manageable pace, and Nora no longer had to hand out pastry boxes with a “careful, it’s hot” warning at the end. She put a fresh batch of besitos de coco on the display shelf when her mother returned.

  “Nora, fix your hair,” her mother said. Which was not an unusual thing for her to say. “They want to take our picture and interview you.”

  “Me? Why me?”

  “Because you are part of La Islita.”

  “So is Hector. Why isn’t he fixing his hair?”

  “Ay, no seas chistosa.” Her mother started to pull the tie off her hair and fix Nora’s curls. “Go and change your apron, answer a few questions, then they’ll take our picture.”

  Once she was presentable Nora stepped out to meet the reporter on the bench just outside the shop.

  “My name is Cristian, by the way.” He stood, extending a hand as Nora sat next to him. “I should’ve introduced myself earlier.”

  “Nora,” she replied.

  “Thank you so much for taking the time to speak with me.” Cristian took out his phone, turning on the recording app as he spoke. “I’ll be super quick, so I don’t take more of your time, and just dive into my questions. Is that okay?”

  “Sounds fine.”

  “How long have you been working here?”

  “La Islita has been open for ten years, so . . . ten years.”

  “So you grew up working here?”

  “Pretty much.” She smiled. “I do my homework behind the counter when it gets quiet.”

  “Doesn’t look like it ever gets quiet.” Cristian eyed the line.

  “This is a bit unusual for us, but it’s great.” It wasn’t. She wanted the old pace back even though it meant less customers, less money for La Islita. But that was wrong, right? She should want more days like this . . . shouldn’t she?

  “Your mom told me you handle the desserts here. That’s kind of a big job for someone so young, does it ever get daunting?”

  “Sometimes,” she said with a smile. “Depends on school, but I love to bake. It’s what keeps me calm.”

  “Where do you pull your inspiration from?”

  “Well, we are all about classic Puerto Rican flavors,�
�� Nora said, channeling her mother. “We want you to feel like you are eating at your abuela’s house when you come here, so we stick to desserts that remind us of home, like flan and tres leches.”

  “Have you ever wanted to try something new?”

  A million times.

  “Sometimes,” she said with a smile that would hopefully brush away any further questions, “but those experiments only make it to my friends.”

  “Well, I’m totally jealous.” He tapped something into his phone. Nora shifted in her seat, looking behind her to where her mother stood behind the counter. Maybe she should’ve skipped that question altogether. “So, you grew up working here, and it seems like you also have your postgraduation plans figured out with college and La Islita.” Nora nodded, of course her mother would’ve said something. “It might be safe to say that this shop is your whole life?”

  “Um . . .” Every part of Nora wanted to say no just then. No, this was not her whole life.

  “Sorry, that was a leap, of course you have school and friends, so it’s not your whole life. I’m just a little amazed by your dedication and your love for this place and want to make sure I capture it correctly.” When Nora nodded again, he continued, picking his next words better. “Have you ever thought of doing anything different?”

  No, she was about to say, but instead what came was: “Yes.”

  Wait, don’t say that out loud.

  “I mean, no.” She tried to laugh it off, to find something funny to defuse the moment with. “Depends on how tired I am.”

  When Cristian laughed she exhaled. “Right.”

  “But no, not really,” she continued. “Couldn’t even imagine what that would be like.”

  You could try.

  “Final question, if you could recommend one dessert from La Islita that people should simply not miss which would it be?”

  “My mom would say it’s our budin, but it’s actually our flan. People forget how good flan can be, and ours reminds you.”

  AFTER NORA WENT back to work, the interview was still on her mind. Had she ever thought of a future outside La Islita? What would that even be like? No matter how hard she tried her thoughts came back to these walls, to her mother, to that damn counter.

  Maná serenaded her through the speakers.

  Her mother’s favorite music to think to; she found it inspiring. Maybe it would inspire Nora now. As the beat picked up she pictured herself on the beach again with Beth. That could be a future, couldn’t it?

  No. As much as she loved the image, it was not a future. She could travel, just like Cassie. She closed her eyes, imagining herself in Paris or New York, learning new techniques and discovering new ingredients. The image lasted only seconds until Paris became Denver and the walls around her became La Islita again.

  Cristian was right. It was her life. It was all she knew.

  She felt her mother’s arms around her, as her head rested on Nora’s shoulder.

  “Hoy fue un buen día,” her mother said.

  Nora nodded. Her mother tugged at Nora’s hair, pulling at a particularly annoying tangle, then ran her fingers through and sighed.

  “You didn’t tell me how the interview went?”

  “It was good.”

  I have no life, but yeah, good.

  “Bueno, I can’t wait to see what it will bring. Can you imagine?”

  Yes, she could. Days at La Islita, that she could imagine, that her mind needed no help with, but anything else? Apparently that was too much to ask.

  THAT NIGHT, WHEN Nora closed her eyes and pictured herself back on the beach, she wondered if she even knew what the Puerto Rican sun actually felt like. Would she ever? Did she want to go to culinary school? Would they even accept her? She tried to imagine herself in an apron in a classroom, but it simply wouldn’t stick. Nothing stuck. Nothing stuck but the damn bell from the front door, and an oven that took two tries to turn on. Did she truly want a life outside La Islita if she couldn’t even think of what she wanted to do?

  In the other room her mother yelled.

  “We got another wedding!”

  And they would have another and another and another. Her future was written, but did it have to be? NO, her mind screamed, but what? What would that future be if not La Islita?

  Frustrated, she headed to the bathroom to splash some water on her face, fixating on her reflection.

  Where are you going? Where do you want to go?

  Blank. Nothing. It was like reaching into the darkness and finding nothing there. She pulled her hair down, letting the curls cascade around her face.

  What do you want? Is there anything you want? ANYTHING?

  She wanted Beth. She had Beth. She wanted her friends. She had her friends. She skipped over the La Islita question, as it wouldn’t be helpful. What else?

  She ran her hands through her hair and stopped, examining a strand.

  I could have this. Her mother would be angry, but . . .

  Sí. I can have this.

  THE NEXT DAY they gathered in Ryan’s room, huddled around Nora like they were about to commit a crime.

  “Are you sure?” Ryan asked, mixing the bowl of hair bleach.

  Beth hovered behind her, offering a thumbs-up while Jess and Lee watched from outside the bathroom.

  After she’d made the decision she thought she would wake up and change her mind; backing out like she’d done so many times before this. But she hadn’t. Though the morning brought no solution to her thoughts on La Islita, it was resolute about this decision.

  She’d always wanted this, so why not? It was the clearest image in her head, and she wouldn’t let it go again.

  Maybe, just maybe, this new pink-haired Nora would bring with her a new future.

  “Do it,” she said, her voice firm.

  Lee

  LEE LIKED SPENDING time with David. She liked how easy it was to talk to him. She liked the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. That he leaned forward whenever she talked, and he texted her nerdy things at night just because. That he lent her his favorite book even though she guarded her editions like a bank.

  After the first kiss, and the second, and the third, they’d gone from meeting twice a week to three times a week. For the lessons of course. And they were going well. Lee remembered more than she’d given herself credit for, and even though her brain would sometimes blank on a word only to find it minutes later, it bothered her less and less. And then there was David . . .

  Each session started out well as they dutifully went over vocabulary and whatever book they were reading, but soon they devolved into long conversations about comic book storylines and anything that came to mind until her knees bumped against his or his gaze focused on her and her breath caught. Then their tongues practiced different things, and her skin flushed, her hands slipping through his hair until a text or the sounds of keys on a lock shocked them apart.

  It was so easy with David. When they were together nothing else got through, her body was so busy pulling and touching and reaching that she had no time to think about resolutions or test results. It was too busy living.

  Lee felt flushed when she thought of the time her father almost caught them: she’d lunged for her shirt all the way across the room, while David reached for the nearest pillow and opened the book they were supposed to be reading. She couldn’t even remember the name of it, but Lee remembered the way her legs twined with his and how he’d lifted her on her desk, her legs straddling his waist.

  “Oh my God!” she said to herself. She really needed to get a grip—she could barely read a sentence without thinking about David. She closed the book she was reading (Cien Años de Soledad) and tossed it on her nightstand. “Something bad happen?” Her father popped into her room, his presence like an ice-cold bath compared to the thoughts she was having before.

  “Huh?”

  “Heard you say, ‘Oh my God.’” He pointed toward the book.

  “Oh—no, it’s dragging. I wa
s just . . .” Remembering the boy I was making out with just days ago . . . in my bed. “Spacing out, I guess.”

  “Hmm.” When he sat on her bed all thoughts of David evaporated. “How are the lessons going?”

  “Bien.” Lee tried to keep her mind clean, but her mind felt wicked, flashing images of David’s hands traveling up her thighs until she could feel them again. Later, she told herself. “I think the book thing is working, instead of going over syntax and stuff. Feels less . . .”

  “Boring?”

  “Academic, I guess? Like I’m not trying to pass a test or anything, just remember what my brain forgot, or shut out . . .”

  Her mind quieted, following instructions. She leaned her head against his shoulder.

  “Did I say I was proud of you already?” he said.

  “Yes.” She groaned. “Don’t make it worse.”

  “I can get mushy if I want to.” He squeezed her hand. “Hey, you know what?”

  “What?”

  “It’s been a while since you and I had some hangout time together. How about I order us some pizza and we watch one of those movies you like?”

  Lee perked up. Her dad hated her taste in movies, which revolved mostly around horror, science fiction, and fantasy. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You going to make it through a whole movie?”

  He laughed, nodding. “Just keep the blood to a minimum, please. I’ll handle the grub—meet you on the couch in ten minutes?”

  Lee sifted through her movies, looking for the ones with the least gore in them, until she found one her father just might be able to watch. Prepping the film, she plopped down on the couch and waited for her dad, a smile creeping on her face. It had been so long since they’d done this, she’d almost forgotten how good it felt to spend time with her dad with no expectations. Back when her mom was still alive, they’d have movie nights like this, just the three of them.