His voice makes me feel happy and safe, and I let myself slip with him into a make-believe world.
“The servant boy lived for any chance to see the lady. At first he was shy, but he got braver and talked to her more. So even though he didn’t have any money, when she laughed it made him feel rich.
“After a while, the servant boy figured out that the lady liked him too. Sometimes she called for a fire, and after he brought the wood in and arranged it, she changed her mind just so that she had an excuse to call him back later. In the stable, she asked for his help to climb up onto her horse even though she’d done it on her own for years. The way they looked at each other said what their jokes couldn’t.
“One day the lady snuck out to the boy’s cottage even though that was so taboo that he could have gotten killed. The lady begged the servant boy for a story that would make her laugh. So they walked out to a grassy hill where there was a nice summer breeze.
“The boy told her stories about forest animals, fairies, and stupid peasants. And then he started telling the lady about some lovers from a distant country and a distant time, hundreds of years beyond them. But the lady started to cry. She didn’t like how the lovers’ lives made them suffer.
“The boy kissed her and said, ‘My lady, everything has another side. Their troubles draw them together.’
“Now the lady was really bawling, because she knew that she and the servant boy could never be so lucky. He got scared and tried to dry her tears with handfuls of wildflowers.
“But she kept crying until the tears flooded the ground around them, creating a river that swept them down the hill. They slid and slid until they had traveled out of the kingdom, and then suddenly they slipped right into the future. And that’s where they woke up, damp with the lady’s tears, clinging to each other in a small bedroom very much like this one.”
When he finishes, there’s a long stretch of quiet between us. A good kind of quiet. Safe and warm, the sweetness of his words tucked around me. If I didn’t have to go to work, I think I could stay here forever.
“Alan Peralta,” I say, “you are full of surprises.”
chapter 12
A week later, Alan waits in his truck while I walk up the cracked sidewalk to Mrs. Salinas’s apartment to get Anita. It’s been forever since she’s been to the park, and today’s clear and warm, more like March than January. The highschool baseball season starts in two weeks, and I think Alan must be skipping practice to take us, but he swears Jimmy cancelled it.
“Door’s open, mija,” Mrs. Salinas shouts when I knock.
It’s the usual scene. Mrs. Salinas is propped up on the sofa, her big stomach resting on her legs like a lump of dough somebody forgot to make into tortillas. Univision blasts from the TV.
There’s a patter of footsteps in the back bedroom, and Anita runs out with her shoes already on and her toy bag slung across her back.
“Everything OK today?” I ask Mrs. Salinas.
“No more of that problem, gracias a Dios.” She doesn’t take her eyes off the TV, not even when Anita says good-bye.
“See you tomorrow, then.” I reach for Anita’s hand and smile at her. Because if I didn’t keep my face busy I’d probably be sticking my tongue out at Mrs. Salinas.
I kick off one shoe, then the other, and slide my feet down into the playground pebbles. Anita’s so happy on her swing that she’s forgotten not to smile, and her silver teeth flash in the sun. Everybody is out today, kids playing soccer on the balding field, older ladies walking their loops on the little concrete trail that rings the park, people just off from work bringing their dogs to the park to crap in the weeds.
I wave at Anita, then go back to bitching about Ms. Ford’s class. I can’t just skip it, but I wait until the last possible moment to go into her room so she can’t corner me and stuff me full of another lecture.
Alan plays with a handful of stones. “So you’re having a rough time. You like Ms. Ford; that just makes it worse.”
“She expects too much. I used to like that, but now it’s making me feel like crap, like I’ll never meet her standards. Maybe I should just let it go.”
“Exactly, don’t let it eat at you. Just go see her and smooth things over.”
“No, I mean let the class go.”
Alan drops his handful of rocks. “You’re joking.” He stares at me like I just said it’s stupid to be Mexican or something.
“It’s just an elective. I don’t need it to graduate.”
“Marisa, you love that class.”
“Used to love it. Not no more, not with Ms. Ford judging me.”
“You don’t know that. She just wants to help you. You told her what’s going on with Cecilia and everything?”
“She knows my family is a mess, but not the details. It’s ...”
“Embarrassing.”
“Yeah.”
“I know,” he says. “I don’t want to be the guy whose kid sister got knocked up any more than you want to be the kid sister of the girl who got knocked up, married the jerk, and now has to work at a gas station to support him.”
“Ouch,” I say. I tip my head back and stare up at the sky. Mami used to say that my guardian angel was hiding in the clouds and watching over me. That was fine most of the time, but then I would get scared on days like this when there weren’t any clouds.
But now I know nobody gets a special angel. The sky sees everybody’s problems and doesn’t care about any of them.
“Do you ever just think, ‘This is my life, and it sucks?’ Like when your mom and dad are arguing about Jessica, or she’s saying she wants to move in with Carlos? Crap like that?”
“Sure.” He scoops up more rocks and starts sorting them by shades of gray. “But it’s not my life that sucks. It’s my sister’s life. Or maybe my parents’ life. Me, I’m not trapped.”
“See, I can’t break myself away like that. Jose is Cecilia’s problem, but when it comes to Anita, I can’t just say she’s somebody else’s problem, you know?”
Alan tosses the rocks back and dusts off his hands. “You don’t have to rescue everybody. Nobody can do that. Don’t forget about your stuff, your goals and shit.”
I roll my eyes. “Now you sound like Ms. Ford. It’s like you’re saying, ‘Don’t worry about your niece, just do math.’ That’s not something I can do. Anita deserves to be taken care of right.”
I look over to check on her. She’s still pumping away on the swing. I wouldn’t mind joining her.
Alan traps my leg with his big bare feet, then releases it. “You’re making things too black and white. I mean, you can help your family without quitting on your dreams.”
“I have dreams?” I snort in this unattractive piggy way I immediately wish I could take back.
“I’m not joking, Mari. We can stick together; it can be different for us.”
He sounds serious in a way that turns on those bright lights in my heart and at the same time makes me feel like I’m about to pee my pants. My hands get damp, and I don’t know what to say.
Just then the kids in the swings by Anita jump down and run off.
“Come on,” I shout. “This is our chance!”
I scoop up my shoes and grab Alan’s hand. Together we stumble barefoot and laughing toward the swing set.
“Anita bonita!” I call.
“Underdog, Alan! Underdog!” Anita squeals.
Alan grabs onto the rubber seat of her swing and then runs under her, pushing her high into the air. He gives me an underdog, too, and the rush of air around me and the blue of the sky and the sound of Anita laughing all make it seem like I don’t need a guardian angel anyway.
February
chapter 13
The first varsity baseball game of the season lands on Valentine’s Day. I tell Alan ahead of time that I have to work, which is true, but I don’t tell him that I’ve got things worked out to leave a little early so that I can make the last part of the game. Brenda drops me off at the field be
fore she goes off with Greg for the night, but she doesn’t let me out of the car until I change out of my Kroger uniform and into a pink-and-gray sweater she brought for me.
I guess Brenda’s not the only one whose priority is her hot date, because attendance at the game is seriously weak. It’s easy for me to spot Alan’s family right on the front row of bleachers. It doesn’t hurt that his dad is standing with his arms crossed, shaking his head. “Let’s go, Lobos,” he shouts. “This is your last shot!”
Alan’s mom tugs him back down onto the seat, and Jessica rolls her eyes and scoots a little farther away from them both like she wishes she could be anywhere except at a baseball game with her parents.
I glance up at the scoreboard. The score is five to three, and we’re losing. But it’s only the seventh inning, so I figure we’ve got time. I slide onto the bleachers between Jessica and her mom.
“Marisa, hi,” Alan’s mom says. “I didn’t know you were coming.” She gives me a little squeeze after I kiss her cheek. Alan’s dad takes my hand and greets me, but his eyes are glued to the field. Our first batter is just coming up to the plate.
“How’s it going, Jess?” I ask.
She shrugs and plays with the little sapphire-studded ring on her pinky finger.
“You look really cute; I love that shirt,” I tell Jess a minute later, which is all the time it takes for our first two batters to strike out. Jess is wearing a baby-doll top that’s loose and full, so if you didn’t know she was pregnant, you wouldn’t be able to tell yet.
“Thanks,” she says. “It’s weird, you know, trying to figure out what to wear now that I’m . . . fat.”
I see Alan’s mom flinch a little, but she doesn’t say anything to Jess. “If this kid doesn’t strike out, Alan’ll be up next, mija,” she tells me, nodding at the on-deck circle. Alan’s practicing his swing, and I try to beam him hardcore kick-ass thoughts so that he can knock the ball out of the park when he goes up to bat.
But he doesn’t get the chance because four pitches later, the last batter hits a high ball out to right field, and the right fielder catches it.
“Dang it all,” Alan’s dad says. Both teams start streaming out of their dugouts, and at first I think they’re just switching sides, but then they line up to shake hands.
“Mr. Peralta? Why’d they quit early?” I ask. I point to the scoreboard. “I thought there’d be two more innings.”
He shakes his head. “I wish. Just seven innings in high school baseball.”
Damn. I didn’t think about that. So much for my sports knowledge—or for getting to see Alan play.
“Well, how’d Alan do?” I ask.
“We didn’t win,” his dad says. He wipes a hand on the spirit T-shirt that Alan designed and rolls up the last of his sunflower seeds in their plastic bag. “He did fine, though, no errors. Jimmy’ll be giving them all what for now, but you can cheer Alan up afterward.” He gives me a wink.
I blush and am trying to figure out what I can say to that when Alan walks over to us and throws his bag down on the bleachers. “So here’s my fan club.”
“Good game, son,” his dad says, slapping him on the back. “Just got to get the batting worked out.”
His mom gives him a little sideways hug. “You’ve got your truck? We’ll see you at the house later?”
He nods and wipes off his forehead. His hair is sticking up in these crazy little peaks around the edges, and I can see a faint line of salt down one cheek where his sweat dried. “Thanks for coming, you guys. Sorry it wasn’t a better show.”
Alan plops down and starts pulling off his cleats. “You still want to be my girl? Even though I’m a loser?”
“Shut up,” I say. I kiss him right on his sweaty forehead, and the heat of him makes me feel a little crazy. “Anyway, I barely got here, so I didn’t witness you doing any losing. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. Hey, I’ve got something for you.”
“No way, it’s my turn to give something to you.” I sit down next to him and unzip my backpack. Alan already sent me four carnations and bought me one of the teddy bears Brenda’s nursing club was selling for their latest fund-raiser. All I gave him was a card, plus a Valentine from Anita that said, “ALN beall mInE!” so I got a heart-shaped pack of X and O donuts from Krispy Kreme to sort of balance things out. XOXO— hugs and kisses. Pretty cheesy, I know, but he is crazy over Krispy Kreme. I pull them out of my bag and hand them to him.
“Sweet, this is just what I need!” The three O’s disappear, and all that’s left in the box is XXX. “Hey, that’s a little more serious than hugs and kisses, verdad?” He grins and offers me one of his donuts. “OK, can I give you my thing now?”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer, and he pulls out a big red envelope. Inside is a giant card with pink and red butterflies inked on a white background. Each one has these crazy intricate designs inside its wings. Like everything Alan draws, it’s beautiful. Inside there’s a simple message in block letters: “Marisa, be my mariposa.”
“I love it,” I say, and I do. “Every inch of it’s beautiful.”
“Like you,” he says.
“Right, I think the sugar’s going to your head. Or else seeing that triple X just pushed you over the edge.” We kiss, though—a long, sweet-and-salty kiss that has my thoughts going all X-rated.
“I got to take you home, huh?” he says soft into my ear.
“Yeah, sorry. Thirty more minutes and I turn into a pumpkin.”
“I’ll take you out on Saturday for Valentine’s, OK? If you can?”
When Saturday rolls around, not even a double shift at Kroger can touch my good mood. I walk home from the bus stop, seriously starving and worn out from the constant rush at the store, but the sun’s out, and for once the air is cool and crisp. Half an hour of rain this morning washed all of the pollution out of the air, I guess, because it seems like you can see for miles. All the way down the block, at least. And best of all, I’m in the clear to have a night out with Alan. Ceci’s off today for once, so she’s got Anita. And Mami was already making pozole this morning, which means I don’t have to cook.
The first thing I see when I turn onto our street is the butt crack of some old guy in a wife-beater. He’s bent down scrubbing the rims on his Ford, which is why I get the unwelcome view. The second thing I see is Alan’s truck, parked in our driveway.
This is weird. We don’t have plans until later, like hours from now. As far as I know, he’s supposed to be working for his brother at the restaurant. I’m thinking, shit, not another crisis, please. I dig my phone out of my bag and check for messages. Nothing. He would have called me if something was up. And it’s really not like Alan to be hanging out at my house when I’m not there, no matter how great my mom thinks he is.
I feel a twist in my stomach as I walk up into the carport. I pause just outside the back door and hear Alan and Mami speaking in Spanish.
“. . . needs a chance to be a parent,” Alan is saying.
“Of course, mijo, our families will come together through this. Así debe ser, everyone united.”
“Sí, señora. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”
“Let me call your mother to see how we can arrange everything,” Mami says back, her voice sunny and excited.
I freeze with my hand on the doorknob. Our mothers hardly know each other. What could they possibly need to arrange? I seriously don’t like things going on behind my back. I narrow my eyes and push open the door.
“¿Qué pasó?” I ask, locking the door behind me.
Alan and Mami are sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, a plate of day-old pan dulce between them. They both just stare at me. Alan looks guilty and proud of himself at the same time. I can’t read my mom’s face. Right off she makes some excuse and hurries off to the back of the house.
“So,” I say, “making plans with my mom or what?” Even though I try to keep my voice light, I’m pretty sure my words come out sounding like an a
ccusation.
“We saved you the pineapple empanada,” he says.
“Thanks,” I say. “I’m not really hungry.” A total lie, but I’m not ready to take what seems way too much like a peace offering. I attack the pile of dishes in the sink.
Alan comes over to the counter to help me dry, and after a few torturous moments, he starts to explain. By the time he goes through his whole idea very carefully, I’ve cooled off a little. Maybe I overreacted.
I lean over and give him a peck on the cheek. “That’s great, Alan; that’s really sweet. It’s just . . .”
“Just what?” He toys with the dish towel, snapping it a little between his hands. A little shower of water droplets lands on my arm, and I wipe them off on my shirt.
I rinse the soapsuds from the last dish and hand it to him. “I just wish you would’ve talked to me first. Sometimes you don’t get the whole picture.”
“I wanted to surprise you with something that would help you. I had this crazy idea that you’d be excited.” Alan dries the dish and sets it on the counter. “It’s like you only go for a plan if you came up with it. You ask for help, but then you don’t really want it.”
“Anita gets watched all day long. She needs real attention and care. She needs to be with someone who will talk to her, read to her, play with her.” I pull the plug, and murky dishwater swirls down the drain.
“Jessica can do all that.”
“So can Ceci, but she doesn’t,” I shoot back.
He sits down at the table. “You’ve already made up your mind, I guess. But don’t come complaining to me about how you don’t have time to study.”
“I just want the best for Anita. Nobody else is looking out for her right now. If I don’t . . .”
“Listen to yourself, Marisa,” he interrupts. “You’re not the only one in the world who can take care of her. Jess really does need the practice. In a couple of months, she’s going to be a mom for real. She can learn how to work with a kid, and you can catch up in Ms. Ford’s class. Win-win. What’s the problem?”
What Can't Wait Page 6
