What Can't Wait

by Ashley Hope Pérez

  Anita’s smile vanishes. “I can get you another one.”

  “No, that’s OK. Just walk next time, for Christ’s sake.”

  “I put you some pudding on the tray, Daddy.”

  “It looks good, baby.” His face softens. “Dame otro beso aquí.” He touches his stubbly cheek. She climbs back up on the box and kisses him.

  “Now go find something to do so me and your tía can talk for a minute.”

  “Listen,” he tells me a second later. “Sometimes I have a visitor or two in the afternoon.”

  “OK.”

  “I got that physical therapy thing today, so if anybody comes for me, all you got to do is open the door. And don’t say nothing to Cecilia.”

  I lean down and pick up some empty beer cans from under the bed. “I don’t think your bad habits are that big of a secret, Jose.”

  chapter 22

  By the time we finish with lunch and get Jose packed off in the physical therapy van, I’m exhausted. There’s not much good aunt left in me.

  “How about a nap?” I ask Anita.

  Her whole face wrinkles up. “I hate naps.”

  “Not for you, just for me. How about you keep me company so I can fall asleep? After that, you can do what you want.”

  Like always, Anita takes her job of putting Tía to sleep so seriously that she’s out cold in minutes. I’m sinking into my own dark cloud of no-thinking when a knock at the apartment door pulls me back. I ease out of the bed and smooth the covers over Anita.

  I look through the peephole and see Pedro Jimenez, Jose’s cousin, the same one I crashed into in the hall. He jiggles the doorknob like he expects the door to be open, then knocks again.

  “Hang on,” I say. I flip the lock and open the door. He’s standing there with his hands in his back pockets. He wears ordinary jeans and a button-down shirt, but they fit like they were designed just for him.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Marisa? Didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “No school?” we ask at the same time.

  “Jinx,” Pedro says, laughing. “I guess we don’t need to make excuses to each other. And I thought you were Ms. Model Student.”

  “I guess not.” My neck feels warm, and I realize that I’m blocking the doorway. I step back. “Coming to see Jose?”

  Pedro walks into the living room. “Yeah, I’ve got something for him. He should have something for me, too.”

  “Maybe he left it for you in his room. You can go check, see if you find it. He won’t be back from physical therapy until later.”

  While Pedro is in the other room, I fiddle with the edge of my shirt and sit on the couch with my knees pulled up next to me. I dig around in my backpack, ignore my cell with its five messages, and pull out the novel I’m supposed to be reading for English.

  A minute later, I look up and see Pedro watching me.

  He leans against the doorway to the hall. “You look cute when you’re reading.”

  I blush. “Find what you were looking for?”

  He sticks his hands back in his pockets. “Nope. Needed it, too. I guess I can talk to him later.”

  “I’ll tell him you came by,” I say. I get up to open the door for him.

  He doesn’t move. “Or I could just wait till he gets back. I’ve got nowhere to be.”

  I hesitate. Part of me finds it hard to believe that he has nothing else to do. But another part of me thinks anything is better than an empty living room where I’ll be alone with my thoughts.

  “You want to hang out? They don’t have cable,” I warn him.

  “I don’t feel like TV anyway,” he says.

  “OK. Make yourself at home.” I sit back down. I’m still holding the book.

  He steps closer and leans over my shoulder. “So what you reading?”

  I close the book and tilt it so he can see the cover. “Things Fall Apart, it’s for Mrs. Garza’s class.”

  “Damn, girl. You do homework even when you’re skipping? That’s messed up.”

  “Like I said, no cable.”

  Pedro sits down on the couch and reaches for the book. “Chin-u-a A-che-e-bee,” he sounds out the author’s name. “Somebody’s mama didn’t like him very much. Does old Chee Bee put things back together?”

  “What?”

  “You know, Things Fall Apart. Maybe he should go to technical school so he can put them back together.”

  I surprise myself by laughing. “Maybe you should go to technical school so you can repair your sense of humor.”

  “Hey, you laughed,” he says.

  “I guess I did.”

  “So what’s falling apart in the book?”

  “I don’t know; I barely started it. But I’m guessing it’s the kind of stuff nobody can fix.”

  “Like Hyundai SUVs?”

  I roll my eyes, but I can also feel a little bit of tension easing out of me. “Probably like family problems.”

  “You like it? I mean, would you read it even if you weren’t trying to get a good grade in Mrs. Garza’s class?” He tosses the book back to me.

  “Probably not. I’ve got plenty of problems of my own, don’t really want to read about more.”

  “Yeah? What problems have you got?”

  I don’t say anything at first because I think he might still be teasing. But Pedro watches me, waiting, until I feel like I’ve got to say something.

  “It’s just—I’ve got a lot I’m supposed to take care of.” I shift the book from one hand to the other. “A lot on my mind.”

  “I’m a good listener,” he says. He pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them like a little boy pretending to behave.

  “Now you’re making fun of me.”

  “I’m not shitting you. Try me out.” He rests his chin on his knees and smiles at me.

  Something in the gesture turns a key inside me, opening me up to him. I set down the book.

  “My dad and I had a big fight. Over grades.”

  “You got bad grades?”

  “Nah, I’m trying to get good ones. That’s what’s got him mad, sort of.” It sounds even crazier out loud, and I laugh. I mean to stop right there.

  “Go ahead, tell me about it. You might feel better.”

  I bite my lip and feel my hand drift up to hide my birthmark. It’s either start talking or start crying. So I babble about my mom and Cecilia and Anita and Ms. Ford and UT and the tiny Kroger paychecks and my dad and how even my boyfriend thinks he knows what’s best for me.

  Through it all, Pedro nods and watches me with solemn eyes. And when I do start crying again, he’s no longer this serious little boy listening on the other side of the couch. He’s right next to me.

  “Don’t cry all by yourself,” he says. “Come here.” He offers me his arms.

  I let him hold me, and he smoothes my hair almost like Alan does. I pretend that I’m where I belong, that I’m safe and wanted. I know that this is all wrong, but it’s like that feeling you get when you’re standing at the top of a staircase, looking down, and all of a sudden, you just know you’re going to fall. And, more than anything, you want to fall. The only thing that stops it from happening is that you look away for a second, and when you look back down again, the spell is broken.

  But when Pedro pulls my face toward his, I don’t look away. I see what he wants, and I want it, too. I think for half a second about how long it’s taken me to climb to the top of the stairs, how hard it was. And in the other half of the second, I decide to see how fast I can fall.

  He slides his lips over mine and opens my mouth with his tongue. The first thing that I notice when he starts kissing me is that his mouth tastes like cigarettes, but also like tortillas and oranges. The second thing I notice is how different it feels from Alan’s kisses.

  I push the thought away and kiss Pedro, sliding my hands up his arms and around his shoulders. He pulls me in tighter. I can feel his whole body wanting me. His hands drift down to my waist and then up und
er my shirt, unhooking my bra.

  Pedro’s hands are cool and strong and fast. My body’s right there with him, throbbing under his touch. That bad-girl damp heat is between my legs. But there’s something else, too, a feeling like a sob gathering in my chest. When Pedro starts kissing me again, it feels all wrong. No matter how hard I pretend, he isn’t Alan.

  “Hey, hang on,” I say, trying to slip out of his arms.

  “Shhh, you’re just nervous.” Pedro’s hands are on my thighs, and he presses his face toward mine. I twist away.

  “No, no—I really don’t . . .”

  “Come on.” He turns my face back toward his. “Just relax. This is what you want, you know it is.”

  His tongue is back inside my mouth, and his hand closes around one of my wrists. My heart is pounding out a distress signal. Stop it Stop it Stop it Stop it. My eyes close. In the dark of my mind, I can still hear Alan whispering, “It’s not right.” But there’s no way back to Alan as Pedro presses his face into the hollow of my neck. No way back now that it’s Pedro’s breath hot and damp against my skin. Then I know the truth: I’m getting exactly what I deserve. This is what I wanted.

  But it’s not what I want anymore. I almost cry out, but then I think of Anita in the next room.

  “Stop, Pedro. I don’t want to do this,” I say as loud as I dare.

  “You don’t mean that. Just let yourself go.”

  “I do mean it, I . . .”

  “Just shut the fuck up, you started this.” He squeezes the inside of my thigh so tight that I can still feel where his fingers were even when they slip away and start yanking down the zipper of my jeans.

  Right then I shove Pedro in the chest with one elbow and yank myself over to the other side of the couch.

  “What the hell?” he says, glaring at me.

  And then he’s right on top of me, undoing his belt and pants. He’s pinning me down with his hips, and the feel of him against me is too real, everything is too real. I keep thinking of Anita, of Alan, of everything that makes this so wrong, and how it can’t be happening but it is. I’m crying now because I don’t know what else I can do.

  “Don’t, please don’t. Stop!” I beg. I push him again, but I know that I’m not strong enough, that if he wants to he’ll . . .

  And then, all of a sudden he’s off of me. I open my eyes and see his hard cock inches from my face, but he’s already pulling his pants and boxers back up. Like he’s not going to do it, like I’m safe. The tears come harder.

  “Stop crying, you little bitch. Save yourself if that’s what you want.” He zips his fly and fixes his belt, shaking his head. “You’re a fucking cock-tease, you know it?”

  I scramble to fix my jeans and pull my shirt down as far as it will go, but I don’t say anything. I don’t trust myself to even try. I just cross to the door and open it. I can hear laughter from the parking lot, then a car door slamming. I stare at the apartment opposite Cecilia’s.

  Pedro walks over to me. I can feel him inches from my face, his breath on my skin. The heavy scent of his cologne makes me want to gag. I glance up and then wish I hadn’t. His face is flushed and his mouth is twisted into a sneer.

  “You think you’re different, but you’re not. In the end, you’re still a slut on the inside,” he says. He grabs my breast and squeezes it hard. And then he’s gone.

  I lock the door behind him and curl up on the floor, hugging myself and crying. When I finally get up and go to the bathroom, I don’t look in the mirror; I just drop my head straight over the toilet and throw up until there’s nothing left.

  I turn on the shower, dying to scrub every inch of my body, but then I hear Anita moving around in the next room.

  “Tía?” she calls from the hallway.

  “Coming!” I shout through the door. I shut off the water and yank my clothes back on.

  “What’s wrong, chiquita?” I ask, opening the door and kneeling down by Anita. I try to sew up all the darkness I feel inside a smooth face and steady voice.

  “I had a bad dream,” Anita whispers, twining her fingers into my hair. “Somebody was hurting you. I thought it was real.” Her cheeks are splotchy and damp from crying.

  “Oh, mi corazón, sounds awful. But it was just a dream. Come on, let’s chase that dream away.” I guide her back into the bedroom.

  I grab a Disney CD from a pile on the floor and shove it into the yellow CD player I bought her for Christmas.

  “Aladdin,” Anita says, already humming along with the music.

  “That’s right. OK, I need you to be a really big girl for me. I need you to stay right here and listen to Aladdin while I take a bath, OK? Your Tía Marisa is still feeling a little sick. Can you do that for me?”

  Back in the bathroom, I turn the water on as hot as I can stand it, and then a little hotter. If I can just wash everything away, maybe no one will ever know. But it doesn’t matter. Because I know what I wanted to do, what I almost did.

  When the hot water runs out fifteen minutes later, I don’t even realize it until my teeth start to chatter.

  “Marisa!”

  Cecilia shakes me awake, and my first thought is of Anita. But I open my eyes and see that she’s lying on the floor next to me, perfectly safe. We’re watching The Little Mermaid.

  I sit up. “How was your day?”

  “Shitty, but not as bad as yours, looks like. You’re going to ruin your skin crying all day. Let’s talk.”

  She pulls me into the bathroom and sits me down on the toilet. “OK, what’s going on? Out with it.”

  “The fight with Papi,” I say. I blink the sleep out of my eyes and pull my fingers through my damp, tangled hair.

  “How’d it start?”

  I tell her what happened, up to when I walked out. My voice sounds far away to me, like I’m reading to her from a newspaper. Yesterday feels like forever ago.

  “Why do you let Papi get to you? I mean, I know he always does, but, you know.” She stops and leans closer to me. “That can’t be all.”

  “I . . . Well, when I left the house, I went to Alan’s. I thought he would make me feel better, but he didn’t.”

  “Hombres,” Cecilia says, shaking her head. “They’re never as good as they seem at first. Nunca.” She pulls a brush out of a drawer under the sink and hands it to me.

  I thank her and start working through the knots in my hair.

  “So did you guys have a fight?”

  “Sort of.” I shrug. I should tell the truth right now so that Cecilia doesn’t get the wrong idea about Alan, but then I’d have to go back and explain everything I did. So I just drag the brush back through my hair and avoid my sister’s eyes.

  “That just proves it for sure,” Ceci says.

  “Proves what?”

  “That you’re better off without a guy, at least for now. Shit, the last thing I want you to do is end up like me.”

  “You’re doing OK. Anita’s pretty awesome.”

  “Yeah, sure, but my life’s a mess. You’re going to be the one who really does something, you know? So don’t let Papi or Alan or nobody slow you down. What’s it you want to be, an electrician?”

  “An engineer. I mean, I think I do.”

  “Right. You’re going to college y todo, and that’s that. No back talk.”

  “OK, Ceci. Thanks.” It comes out shaky, but I look at her and smile. Inside, though, I’m thinking of Alan, and how I wished I’d listened when he tried to slow me down.

  Cecilia pulls me up from the toilet and spins me around. Half a minute later she’s got my hair in a perfect, sleek ponytail.

  “How about I go pick up some ice cream for us?” she asks.

  Back in the living room, my sister paws through her purse, pulling out wadded papers and discount cards. “Nothing,” she says. “You got a ten, maybe?”

  “Nope, I threw it all at Papi.”

  “Right.” Cecilia looks around the room like the money might sprout from the stained carpet. “I’ll look in J
ose’s room,” she says finally.

  When she comes back from the bedroom, Jose’s shouting after her, “That’s my cash!” But the edge of his voice is softened by the pot he must be smoking.

  “Just be glad I didn’t take your stash, too!” she shouts back. She turns to me. “Idiot doesn’t even bother to hide that shit.”

  “Cash . . . stash . . . That rhymes!” Jose laughs like crazy. Then he remembers that he’s angry. “Bring my money back, puta! Bring it back!”

  “Yeah? Get up and make me, asshole!” Cecilia kicks the door to his bedroom shut.

  “It never ends,” she says. “Look, you hang out with Anita, and I’ll be back with the ice cream.” She kisses Anita on the top of the head and grabs her purse.

  I close the door behind her. When I turn back around, Anita is still staring straight ahead at the TV. She looks stiff, and I realize now that she didn’t move once during the shouting match between Cecilia and Jose. She’s watching that movie like it’s the only thing in the world.

  “Baby,” I say softly, squatting down beside her.

  She stares at the TV.

  “Did you have an accident?”

  She droops a little. “Lo siento, Tía. I didn’t mean to.”

  “It’s been a tough day for everybody, baby. Let’s get you changed, then I want you to pick out a book.”

  We curl up in Anita’s bed to read, both of us trying to ignore the dark things at the edges of our minds.

  chapter 23

  “You OK?” Brenda reaches over from the driver’s side to hug me. “How come you haven’t been answering your phone?” she says. “I’ve been worried as shit, chica. Alan, too.”

  She’s got this look like she’s not going to drive us to school until she gets an answer.

  “I was sick,” I say. It’s sort of true. The thought of answering my phone, reading my texts . . . it made me feel like puking. I just couldn’t face what anybody had to say.

  And I still can’t. Here I am sitting next to my best friend, and there’s no way I can tell her what happened, what I did. At least not any part that matters.

  Brenda squeezes my hand. “Did you call your mom or anything? About the fight?”