Historically Inaccurate

by Shay Bravo

  I sigh, turning to look at my alarm clock. It’s 2:17 a.m. and I can’t fall asleep. Michi is purring away on the side of my bed, my perfect little angel.

  Getting up, I take my phone from the nightstand and look through my contacts.

  Me: U up?

  Not more than two seconds pass.

  Carlos: maybe . . . why?

  Me: Can you take me to IHOP?

  Carlos: Be there in five

  After we’re given our menus and order coffee, our waitress, a girl not too much older than us, leaves us to ourselves. We hadn’t exchanged many words on the drive over to the restaurant. As usual, Carlos had pulled up to my apartment with the lights of his car off.

  “So, ¿qué pasó?” He pushes his menu to the side; we order the same thing every time.

  “I kissed Ethan.”

  Carlos laughs. “Wait, you’re serious?”

  “You think I’d pull this if I wasn’t?”

  “Maybe you were hungry.” He messes with his hair. “Okay, fine, I believe you. What happened?”

  I bring him up to speed up on what happened before I sent him a message, including all my mulling over the past summer. He listens carefully, only interrupting every now and then to ask why I hadn’t invited him over for carne asada and asking if our friendship meant nothing to me anymore.

  “Are you guys ready to order?” asks the waitress, appearing from what seems like thin air.

  “Can we have the appetizer sampler, the New York cheesecake pancakes for me, and some chocolate chip for her?”

  “Of course. I’ll be right back with your iced coffees, my bad.” She walks off, giving Carlos a quick once-over.

  “She’s into you.” I kick him under the table.

  “A lot of people are into me.” He leans back against his seat and kicks my shin. I hit back again. “I’m good looking, I can’t help it.”

  “Whatever.”

  The waitress returns with two vanilla iced coffees before disappearing again. I take the paper off the straw and dip it in so I can stir the thick syrup pooled at the bottom. “I promised myself I was going to focus on school and not let anything derail me.”

  “I don’t think its Ethan that derailed you. It was the club.”

  “But you got me in the club, and I met Ethan because of the club.”

  “I didn’t say it was a bad thing. In a way, it’s kept you distracted from other things.”

  “But what if I mess it up?”

  “How could you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then why are you worried?”

  “Because being with someone means accepting that you’re going to be vulnerable. It means that at one point you’ll have to open up. What if he just wants a fling? Maybe it’d be better for the both of us if it was a temporary thing.”

  “Here is your food.” The waitress arrives with a large tray and a small table to place it on. She places our pancakes and the rest of our food down, asks if we need anything, and disappears with a quick “Enjoy!”

  Carlos reaches for one of the chicken tenders and I for a mozzarella stick. We eat in silence for a few seconds.

  “Look, dating someone isn’t going to change the fact they deported your mom and your dad works all day to take his mind off things. In fact, it might give you more stress, because relationships work like that. But you like the guy and the guy likes you, and you’ve never been one to only have a fling.” A small tip of his cup toward me. “You lose nothing by going on a date, you might actually lose more by doing nothing.”

  “Life,” I mumble through a mouthful of cheese.

  “As long as you keep living it it’ll go forward. You know why I invited you to all those parties, even though it wasn’t your thing?”

  “Because I was holed up in my room.”

  “Even if you do nothing the world will keep moving around you, Sol. I know you don’t need me to tell you that.” He sighs. His hair is messy and wavy. It’s always odd to see him without gel and his sunglasses—Carlos is always ready to impress, and whenever we’re alone at IHOP, it feels nice to see him with his walls down.

  “Are you good, Carlos?”

  “I’m good, I always am.” He rakes his fingers through his hair. “The thing is that I feel like whenever I try to bring you out of your comfort zone I end up doing more harm than good.”

  “Don’t say that—”

  “I mean it.”

  “I know, but it’s not your job to try to bring me out of it. You have helped me out so much throughout these months, and the people at the club are really nice.” I look down at the food in front of me. “I can’t change what happened, you’re right, and I should take the lead for myself. It’s hard sometimes to face the truth.”

  “Hey, if you found someone because of the club, I’m happy for you, even if it meant breaking into his house.” He takes another drink from his cup, finishing it up as our waitress is passing by. She smiles and quietly takes the glass from him.

  “Thank you,” Carlos says to her, then turns to me. “You’ve talked with lawyers, you’ve got years ahead of you, and your dad is safe. Live your life, Soledad. I’m sure Ethan’s last worry is his key at this point.”

  “And what would be his main worry then?”

  “To get you to date him.”

  The ’60s playlist IHOP forces upon its customers fills the air. Outside, the dark night looks to be brewing up a storm. It’s nice to see it from inside. We hadn’t done a witching-hour breakfast run in a while. After all my tumultuous emotions have been laid out on the table and carefully examined, Carlos gives me an idea of what to do next.

  It’s nearly five in the morning when I get back home. I’m going to skip morning class because there is no way in hell I’m going to be awake enough to be functional, so I set my alarm for noon before opening my messages app.

  Me: Good morning, do you want to go to a park or maybe get some coffee . . .

  I feel a bit giddy as I press the Send button. To my surprise, my phone vibrates and I nearly scream.

  Ethan: Morning and yeah that works sushi

  Ethan: Sunshine* half asleep

  What a dork.

  Me: That’s okay, sorry for waking you up

  Ethan: No you’re fine, I’m glad you didn’t ghost me

  Me: I wouldn’t

  Ethan: Really?

  Me: Yup, I like you

  There is a solid minute of me wondering whether he fell asleep or if I jumped the gun by telling him I like him this early in the morning.

  Ethan: I like you too Soledad, I’ve liked you for a while

  I can’t contain the giddiness inside me, and turn to my side to scoop Michi up in my arms. She does not appreciate me interrupting her sleeping only so I can lay her down on my chest and pet her head, but she quickly comes to prefer this over the other. There is no way to predict how tomorrow might go, but here’s hoping it doesn’t go as disastrously as the first time we met.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Ten minutes prior to the time settled for a date is the ideal time to show up. If he comes in earlier than you and you make him wait, you’re a bitch. If he shows up early and you’re already waiting, you’re desperate. In the possible case he shows up late and you have already been waiting, he’s right on time. Ten minutes is enough of a sweet spot that shows you care but not too much.

  No, the world will not give women a break, thank you very much.

  The coffee shop we always come to is quiet for a Monday morning. At this point, I’ve begun to learn the baristas’ names and which one of them makes my drink with the most love and care.

  I take a sip of my coffee, allowing the caffeine to wash over my sleep deprived body.

  “Hey, sunshine.”

  Because of the tall barstool-like chairs cafés like to keep, when Ethan
wraps his arms around me we’re nearly the same height. The warmth of his body contrasts with the rough material of his jacket, and when his cheek touches mine I can feel he has recently shaved, and carries the scent of aftershave on his skin.

  Holy crap, he smells so good.

  I have to clear my throat when he moves away. “You look really good.”

  He’s wearing his jean jacket over a mustard-colored button up even though it’s seventy-three degrees outside in February.

  “Did you bike here?”

  “Yes, I was here at seven for . . . work.” A lie. I called Miranda and asked if I could take the whole day off. Karim covered my shift. Aside from my encounter with Ethan at the library a couple of weeks ago, I don’t think I’ve given Miranda or anyone else at the library a hard time, so they didn’t ask many questions when I called.

  It takes him a minute to order his drink and come sit with me. “So we’re both early,” he says.

  “We’re a pair of nerds.”

  “You’re a nerd?”

  “I’ll have you know I passed all my classes last semester with As.”

  “Were they all beginner courses?” Ethan ducks when I toss a rolled up piece of napkin at him. “I didn’t say they were easy.”

  “You were preparing to be rude.”

  “I was, but to be fair, you’re cute when you’re a bit angry.”

  “Just a bit?” Placing my chin on the back of my hands feels a tiny bit goofy, but it’s hard not to get lost in his features. The sharpness of his jaw, the way his eyes shine behind his glasses, the curve on his lips as he takes me in as well, fingers intertwined in front of himself.

  “Just a bit, otherwise you’re deadly.”

  “Ethan!” the barista calls, and that little pocket of infinite universe closes shut.

  “What are our plans for today?” he asks when he gets back to the table.

  “Aside from coffee I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

  “Same. Do you have anything else planned?”

  “No.”

  Ethan taps his fingers on the table. “How do you feel about mini golf?”

  “That’s an idea . . . or we could watch a movie.”

  “Or go to a museum.”

  “I’d like to keep my distance from museums, bro.”

  He laughs. “What if we take these to go and think on the way?”

  “Sure, that works too.”

  The passenger seat in his car is perfectly set to how I like it. As we pull out of the café parking lot, I lower the window to let some of the cool air inside. I straightened my hair this morning because my bird’s nest was not cooperating, and I decided that damaging it with a hot flatiron was the best idea.

  “You look really pretty.” Ethan lowers the volume on the radio, which was connected to his phone and playing “Best Part” by Daniel Caesar.

  “Thanks. Oh hey, we’re matching.” I was wearing this mustardy color, off-shoulder shirt with a pair of mom jeans that were literally from my mom’s closet.

  “Now people will know we dating.”

  “Are we?”

  “I mean, we are on a date.” Ethan stops at a light and gives me a quick glance.

  “I mean, yeah.”

  “And we kind of match.” Outside, Westray blurs in a mixture of greens and yellows, the buildings around the school shining in the late-winter sun that is warming up the town.

  “True.”

  “I’m not saying we’re in a relationship. Dating and being in a relationship aren’t the same thing.”

  I slap his arm. There’s no real meaning behind going out on dates aside from the fact that we like each other, and in a way I like that, but there’s no denying that knowing whether or not we’ll get into a relationship would be an added bonus.

  “Woah, what?” he laughs, jokingly rubbing his arm where I hit it.

  “Smartass.”

  “I’m the smartass?”

  “Yes, very much so.” I rest my head against the half rolled–down window, feeling excited about this new opening. For the first time in a long time I don’t feel stressed about what happened in the past, and I don’t find the future frightening—the focus is on the present and what’s happening today. There’ll be enough time to worry about what I’m going to do, and what I’ve done before, but now the present is brimming with opportunity, and it feels good.

  “Well, I learned from the best.”

  I flip him off. “That means I’m a good teacher.”

  Suddenly he jerks the car to the right and enters the parking lot for a grocery store, and I hit my head against the glass.

  “Ethan, what the hell?”

  “Sorry, I got an idea.”

  “What kind?”

  For some reason he seems eager. “A picnic.”

  Shopping with Ethan is somewhat of an exhilarating ordeal. As we grab sandwiches, cake, and the like, he makes random jokes, we dance to the background music in the middle of the coffee aisle, and we laugh too loud and get disapproving glares from other customers.

  I have never seen him this relaxed.

  We end up at a lake on the outskirts of town. From the shore you can see the mountains, and they have little benches for picnics and BBQs. I’ve been here many times when I was younger, with my parents on the weekends. Dad would make carne asada and Mom and I would play volleyball. In the summer you can rent little paddleboats from a shop nearby, and sometimes Dad would take me out on the weekends Mom was working on schoolwork and we’d try to fish the afternoon away. We never came back after Mom was deported.

  “You chose a good spot,” Ethan says, after taking a bite out of one of the sandwiches we bought.

  “I know what I’m about, son.” The moment he suggested a picnic I knew exactly where I wanted to go. There was a probability that coming here would make me sad, but as soon as we drove through the entrance to the park, the one with the large wood carving of a bear by the gate, I nearly felt right at home. It was comforting. “I haven’t been here in too long.”

  “Why?”

  “Life.”

  We sit in silence for a moment, listening to the waves crash against the rocks. A few ducks quack over the sound of water and the wind picks up around our table, rustling the bags we brought with us, which are weighted down by our food.

  “You look, upset,” Ethan says.

  “I’m not, why do you say that?”

  He shrugs, picking a piece of red pepper from his sandwich and tossing it to the side. “I don’t know, the way you said ‘life,’ and turned away, it felt sad. It’s a beautiful place here—I’ve lived in Westray the majority of my life and I don’t think I’ve ever been here.”

  “I used to come here with my parents, before my mom . . . moved to Mexico.”

  “Work related?” I wonder if he knows what I’m alluding to or if he genuinely believes Mom moved because of work. I’m not ready to tell him the truth.

  “Something like that.” I pause. “It’s weird how things happen in life and you are in a completely different place from where you pictured yourself years ago.”

  “Life hasn’t been fair to you has it, Sol?”

  I hold in a laugh. “Ethan, life isn’t always fair to everyone is it?”

  Ethan sips from his bottle of iced tea, which he bought to make up for the coffee he drank in the morning. “I think some people are given a better hand when they’re born. Then life takes over and that’s when you really realize whether those first cards matter or not.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  He straightens up.

  “Now I’m not saying I’m the most privileged guy, but both of my parents are lawyers—they met in law school. Despite the divorce, my childhood was pretty damn good, being the only child and all. You’ve seen my grandparents’ house, we’re not in a b
ad position. My parents are paying for the majority of my college fees, so I could’ve gone anywhere, but I decided to stay here.” He reaches over and takes a grape out of the bag before chucking it on the ground. A duck quickly waddles over to our table. “Moneywise, life has been fair to me.”

  “But that doesn’t mean it’s been fair,” I say. “I’m sure your parents’ divorce and the constant fighting has affected you.”

  “It has—”

  “And I don’t mean to assume, but I don’t think your parents have a house in the Bahamas and a private jet, do they?”

  “No.”

  “Simply because you live comfortably doesn’t mean you live in luxury. I mean, there’s people out there who have everything in the world who still think life is not worth living. If you’re trying to tell me I have somehow had a less fair experience because my mom isn’t with me, you’re wrong.

  “Is it shitty? Yes. But guess what? There’s people who have it way worse. People who don’t have both of their parents, or have terrible parents, and don’t have any money to get by. But that shouldn’t erase your struggles or make you feel like yours don’t matter. I know you have more struggles than money—you said it yourself that you can’t put it into a way that I can easily understand, what it’s like to grow up as a black boy, and that’s okay. You shouldn’t feel guilty simply because of money.”

  Dad and I have a savings account to save up for future lawyer fees for Mom’s citizenship process. It does not have much money in it, but it’s something to look forward to. In terms of money, we’re not in the worst of spots, and in fact, aside from missing my old house and the things we used to have, I think we can figure out a sort of happiness one day.

  A few ducks have gathered around our table, waiting for a meal, so I grab the entire bag and start giving out grapes as I continue talking.

  “I had a very happy childhood, I really did, even if I grew up with no siblings or cousins to play with. I was happy with what I was given, and even now I wish I had cherished it even more than I did. Just because I never had the money to splurge doesn’t mean I’m jealous that you might have. And whether you were the governor’s son or dirt poor, I honestly wouldn’t give a shit as long as you’re a decent person—which you are.