The Resolutions

by Mia Garcia

  But still, something had clicked into place with the change, and no silent treatment would deter it.

  “Where are we going again?” she tried one more time, but Beth had been very good about keeping the secret.

  “I’m not going to slip up,” Beth said. She had picked Nora up just ten minutes before for their anniversary date, blindfolded her, and refused to tell Nora where they were going.

  “Come on,” she lowered the timbre of her voice. “I can keep a secret.”

  “Cute. But we are actually here. Stay in the car for a second.” She heard the slam of the door before she could reply. Almost a minute ticked by before her own door opened. “Sorry, had to make sure the valet didn’t give it all away.”

  Beth held her hand and helped her out of the car so she didn’t bump her head as she exited.

  “I keep thinking I’m going to hit someone.” Nora kept one hand out even though she trusted Beth to guide her forward.

  “I’ll keep you safe,” Beth said. Nora heard a door open and the hum of many voices just out of reach. “Here we are.”

  “And where would that be?”

  Beth untied the blindfold. Her gorgeous smile was the first thing Nora saw before following Beth’s finger, which pointed to the sign right above them.

  “Holy shit.”

  How on earth had she managed this?

  “EL CALDERO? Oh my God. You—” Nora squealed, immediately placing her hands over her mouth. “Are you serious?”

  Beth nodded. “Happy anniversary!”

  “How did you even?”

  El Caldero was the hottest new restaurant in Denver, and it was notoriously hard to get a table, not to mention pricey.

  “I have my ways,” Beth said.

  “Which are?” If anyone would have restaurant connections it would be Nora, so how did Beth even manage this?

  “Constantly checking, calling, emailing for a table until there was a cancelation and voilà!” Beth bounded up to the door, holding it open for Nora. “Our evening awaits.”

  NORA WAS IN awe. The tablecloths, the fancy wooden chandeliers, the damn forks—everything was amazing. And the food hadn’t even arrived yet.

  “You are hopping out of your seat,” Beth said across their table.

  “This is just—” She couldn’t contain her smile. “So amazing. You are amazing. I can’t believe you did this. I love you, you know that?”

  Beth reached across the table and kissed her. “I love you too.”

  Their meals arrived, and she shimmied in her seat with each new bite of food. Fresh avocados drizzled with sweet balsamic glaze, garlic roasted chicken with a side of mushrooms Nora had never seen in her life—everything melted in her mouth.

  “Saved room for dessert?” the waiter asked.

  They ordered three: crème caramel, Eton mess (which Beth insisted they try after seeing it on a British TV show), and a scoop of their homemade chocolate ice cream.

  The crème caramel melted in her mouth, and she stopped herself before she pulled the plate away from Beth to snag the silky dessert for herself. The play on textures from the Eton mess had Nora bubbling with new ideas for how to re-create it for La Islita with different flavors and fruit. She ignored the little voice reminding her it wasn’t a traditional dessert and dove into the ice cream’s chocolate bliss.

  “This is heaven,” Nora said, certain of it. “I have three plates of dessert in front of me and the most beautiful girl in the world.”

  She felt Beth’s foot under the table, firm against hers.

  “Ditto,” Beth replied.

  “This night is perfect. Thank you,” Nora said.

  “There’s more,” Beth said with a wicked grin, her eyes traveling somewhere behind Nora.

  When Nora turned the waiter stood right behind her with an arm outstretched.

  “Come with me, the chef is ready for you.”

  The chef is what? Nora swung back to face Beth. “What?”

  Beth was already up and waiting for Nora, a little dance in her step. “Part two of your gift. And I have to say, I kind of outdid myself with this one.”

  The waiter led them past the tables and through the double doors that led to the kitchen, all the while Nora’s heart kicked up in speed. Stepping through the double doors was like entering a new world. She’d been in a kitchen for most of her life, but this was a KITCHEN. It was more than twice the size of La Islita—front and back of store—and packed with busy cooks putting out dish after dish in this beautiful synchronized choreography of sharp knives and fresh herbs.

  They stuck close to the walls as they were led through to the back, the scent of caramelized sugar awaiting them.

  “Beth?”

  Beth squeezed her arm. “Just wait.”

  They approached a woman placing the final touches on a giant chocolate cake that looked like each slice would weigh at least a pound. When she saw them she smiled and rushed forward.

  “Which one of you is Nora?” the woman said.

  “Me?” Nora said.

  Before she knew it she was hugged by a woman twice her size. “I’m Yan. That must mean you are Beth!”

  Then Yan and Beth hugged. “Do you have any idea how many times this one emailed me about you?”

  “No.” Knowing Beth, a lot.

  “She even sent over that article they did on your restaurant recently.”

  Nora’s eyes widened even as Beth smiled. “Oh God.”

  Yan laughed, motioning them forward. “Let me give you a tour.”

  As they walked in, Beth leaned close to Nora. “I thought it would be cool for you to meet her—she’s the head baker here.”

  Though she was slightly embarrassed that Yan had seen the article, the fact that Beth had put all this together made Nora’s heart swell with love. “You are amazing.”

  “’Tis true.”

  Yan walked them through the kitchen, showing Nora how she and her team whipped up dessert after dessert. “I mean, I don’t have to tell you. You know what it is to be covered in sugar all day.”

  Nora could fly out of El Caldero right now with how happy she was. Yan continued to prepare each dessert as orders came in, but still made time to commiserate with Nora about the daily grind of restaurant life and small tips and shortcuts that Nora could try. Eventually Nora talked about the notebooks filled with recipes where she jotted down ideas and experiments.

  Yan approved, revealing she had her own notebooks. When Yan asked what they’d thought about their desserts, Nora raved, going on about the textures and how well the flavors played together.

  “I even thought of doing it a little different,” Nora confessed. “Particularly the Eton mess. Try some Caribbean flavors.”

  Delighted, Yan listened to Nora’s ideas. “That sounds delicious. I’ll make sure and stop by La Islita to try it out.”

  Nora’s heart skipped a beat. Yan wouldn’t be able to stop by La Islita to give it a try, as that dessert would never make the menu . . . but maybe Nora could bring it by one day and see what she thought?

  Not as good, her heart replied. If she was truly the head of La Islita’s dessert menu, shouldn’t she have a say in what went on it and how it changed?

  “How did you—” Nora asked. “End up here?”

  “Oh”—Yan leaned against the counter—“that’s a long journey, but the short version is I was a banker, hated my job, but loved baking, so I decided to switch careers. I moved to California to study at the Culinary Institute and haven’t looked back since.”

  Culinary school. That’s the second time Nora had met someone who went to culinary school.

  “Did you like culinary school?”

  “It’s like love and hate together.” Yan laughed. “It was tough, but I learned so much. I absolutely became a better pastry chef because of it.”

  The thought wormed its way into her mind—maybe that was something she should look into? An entire place dedicated to learning and experimenting and discovering new things.<
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  That is what I need. Her heart wrapped itself around the idea, holding firm.

  At the end Yan gave both Nora and Beth a giant hug goodbye, a fourth dessert, Yan’s personal email address, and a promise she would visit La Islita soon.

  Nora left with her arm wrapped around Beth, still walking on air and with a new idea to look into.

  Lee

  THE SUMMER FELT breathless. Time flew by in a flurry of tangled limbs and heated moments. Of hands brushing back hair and late-night messaging. Of small moments that filled out the rest of the day, though they lasted only minutes.

  It felt good. She felt strong.

  Like she’d forgotten there was more to her body than the possibility of a future betrayal.

  But she still hadn’t told Jess about David. She told David they would do it at some point, but it never felt like Jess had any time—which was true, Jess seemed to have more to do in the summer than she did during the school year, but that wasn’t the whole truth.

  If Lee thought hard enough, she would see it was all connected: whenever she was with David she forgot about the possible future, the way her body could be weak and vulnerable, and what might lie beneath the surface. It made her forget about the test. If Jess knew about the relationship, she would see that. She would see that Lee was hiding, because she was right, Lee did need a push. It was so easy to slip back into the shadows, to ignore, to walk back down the path rather than move through the fork in the road.

  And David . . . would he see it too?

  DAVID HAD FOUND Lee some graphic novels in Spanish, and she was finishing the final one when her dad sat across from her.

  He cleared his throat. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  She sat up, putting the novel on the floor. Her mind was already cataloging the many horrible things that could be wrong; she started with the least likely one.

  “You break up with Denise or something?”

  “What? No, no, everything is fine. She’s a lovely lady.”

  Lee smirked at her father’s wording.

  “Too old-fashioned?” he said.

  “Very.”

  “Well, there’s nothing much to report. We have a nice time together and—”

  “Please don’t say anything gross.”

  “Francheska Lee.” His tone became more amused, which was good; it meant whatever he had to say was not truly that bad. He must be being cautious.

  “I’m just saying, there’s such a thing as too many details.”

  “I wasn’t planning on it.” He pulled something from his pocket—a DVD disc in a plastic cover. “Don’t know if you remember that old camera I lugged around everywhere we went.”

  “Oh God.” How could she forget; it was like a third arm. She’d hated it, she was pretty sure it had captured some of her worst moments. “It lives?”

  “Barely, but, well, you know me, had to take a look. I found some old memories and had them transferred to a DVD. I thought it might help.” He handed it to Lee, who turned it over in her hand.

  “Help?”

  “I was dropping some laundry off and I noticed your notebook on your desk. It had a pro and con list. I didn’t mean to pry, I swear. . . .” His shrug was apologetic, even though it was Lee’s fault for not hiding the notebook again.

  “Dad . . .”

  “Let me just, let me just get it out.” He took a breath. “Your mother and I never really discussed you being tested. She would start the conversation, but I—I couldn’t handle it, I couldn’t handle thinking what was taking her away from me could take you too, but . . .”

  Lee didn’t know if she wanted to hear this, but her mind was working too slowly to stop it.

  “We argued about it a lot—when we could still argue, that is.

  “We shouldn’t have wasted so much energy fighting, but your mom wouldn’t let it go. Whenever I thought we’d swept it under the rug she’d bring it back up again, until she couldn’t anymore. I never wanted to listen. I regret that.” He squeezed her hand, thankful she still sat by his side. “I really do.”

  “Okay.”

  “I don’t know if you remember when she was diagnosed.”

  She didn’t, she was just three when it happened. But the diagnosis had echoed for many years after that, to the hollow of her mother’s eyes, to the quiet times she’d shut herself away in her room for days. To the moments everything seemed fine, but for a pause, a quick jerk of an arm, or a tumble down the stairs, and her mom’s eyes would well up and she would leave the room. Lee never told her she could hear her crying through the door.

  “Not specifically, a lot of it is a jumble.”

  “Time will do that.”

  Time. She wished she could go back and tell herself to remember everything. Not to get frustrated when her mom knocked something over or angry at friends and family who didn’t know what to say when they visited. Not to waste time on jealousy over a different life, because she loved her mother more than anything in the world.

  “The time leading up to the diagnosis was stressful. You were a fussy child,” he said, giving Lee a soft smile, “and our first, so we made up a lot of excuses in our minds. If we thought about it long enough we could find a logical reason behind everything. Her irritability was just a bad day, dropping things was just clumsiness from being overtired. . . .” Lee squeezed her dad’s hand and shifted closer. “There was no history we could point to—we didn’t know your mom’s estranged father had died from HD as well. We wasted time, we wasted time, but we didn’t know until there was just the truth and the truth had no solution.”

  She stared at her father’s hands, remembering how they helped her mom out of bed and pulled her up on the sofa after she’d slid down. How her own mother’s hands danced through the air as if to a song only she could hear. It was called chorea, and her mother had no control over it.

  But they were a team. Lee and her father would trade meal duty, Lee feeding her mom breakfast while her father handled lunch and dinner, until they could no longer do it alone and hired a nurse.

  Paula Maria Perez-Carter died of pneumonia after ten years with the disease. Her immune system was so compromised, that’s all it took.

  “We caught it so late,” he said.

  Caught was the wrong word; catching it early wouldn’t have done shit. “What would that matter?”

  “I, well, we’d have had more time to prepare, maybe.”

  “I don’t think you can prepare for something like that. I think knowing would’ve just made it sadder sooner.”

  He looked up at her, eyes sad. “Is that what you think?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded. Lee knew it wasn’t the answer he’d wanted, but it was all she had. “So that’s on your con list?”

  She nodded.

  “It’s a big one,” he said. “Knowing and the burden that comes with it.”

  Her body felt so tired, her throat ached with unshed sobs. She waited for more from her father, but when he didn’t speak she asked, “Do you want me to take it?”

  “Would you believe me if I said I have no idea?”

  “Yes.” She closed her eyes, leaning into him. “Because that’s how I feel all the time. I’m both all the time. I want to know, and I don’t. I want to forget, but my mind flicks back to it like an itch.”

  Every time she felt irritated or she dropped a glass or she stubbed her toe, she had a moment of panic. Every teenage mood swing was a symptom, a clumsy moment a confirmation of the life that awaited her. Maybe she should just get tested and finally get an answer, but who really wanted an end date?

  “I don’t want to know how little time I have. I don’t want an expiration date just yet.” Tears finally rolled down her cheeks, and when she met her father’s eyes they echoed hers.

  “I wish I could make the decision for you. I really do.” He pulled her close, wrapping his giant arms around her. Lee disappeared into her father’s hug. “But I know Paula would want me to tell you this.
Even in her saddest moments your mother always found a way to hold on to the positive. Do you remember the way she used to laugh about, well, nearly everything?”

  Yes. Her laughter would echo all over the house, casting away any gloom.

  “It astounded me,” her father continued. “And don’t get me wrong, she struggled. You know she struggled, but she fought for every ounce of her happiness, no matter how hard that disease tried to rip it from her.”

  It’s why we celebrate her birthday, Lee reminded herself. Each year of her life was a blessing, and after her death they would continue to celebrate it.

  “And because she’s not here to tell you, I’m going to.” He held her closer as Lee took a shuddering breath. “Find the light, baby. It’s hard, I know, but you already know the darkness—you’ve researched it and, more important, you’ve seen it firsthand. Now look at the other side of taking that test. You can’t let this thing take over—you can’t let it have every damn bit of you.”

  He released her with reluctance, wiping the tears off his eyes as he made his way out the door.

  “What if I do have it?” she said. He stopped and turned.

  “I’m going to spend the rest of my life taking care of my daughter, no matter what.”

  When he left, Lee couldn’t stand the echo of sadness in the room—the silence heightened the slow desperation that grew with each heartbeat. Find the happiness. She didn’t know how to find that in the test, not yet, but she knew where to find it now. Grabbing her jacket and phone, she headed out of the apartment.

  LEE HEARD THE thunder off in the distance, looking up at clouds that had blanketed the sky, eliminating the sun. Of course she hadn’t brought an umbrella. It was too late to go back now, plus she needed to burn the uncertainty out of her mind for the moment. She turned as the first drops of rain fell, and pulling out her phone, she sent a quick text and kept walking, her feet onboard with her desired destination.

  The sloppy drops soaked into her shirt, dripping down her back and cooling the heat in her skin. She concentrated on the sound of her shoes slapping on the sidewalk as she turned down the familiar road.