Down to the Bone (27 page)

I have to put on my more serious face and tell him, “Of course I do.”

We’re both sad Mami is taking so long to take me back, but happy to see each other so much.

My mom came back from her vacation and London has joined us for dinners every night at her house. She’s started telling people the ill woman I was taking care of moved to Miami and she allowed me to continue working for her. Jaime is a friendly and good man. He’s never asked me a single personal question. He couldn’t give a rolling tomato about what I do for a living, or where I live. He just talks incessantly about his boring businesses, or he’ll tell a few work jokes that make Pedri and me yawn. Then, he laughs at business one-liners I find online to make him happy, like, “A backscratcher will always find new itch; a brown-noser will always find new sense.” I guess as long as we’re joking, we get along.

Mami adores London but no matter how hard I try to make her believe I’m in love with him, she tells me, “I
know
you’re not.” I think she’s waiting till London gives me a promise ring and I accept him as the guy I’m committed to until we’re older and I become his fiancée. Either that, or, she wants to further test me for another one hundred years, to make sure I’m completely straight. I guess she smells something still isn’t quite right, and she hasn’t forgiven me for humiliating her. And it’s true. My head is somewhere else, lost in the flowering bushes, thinking about Gisela. No matter how hard I try, I can’t shake her out of my mind. If I keep daydreaming about her, I may never pass my mother’s sniff test.

Marlena is still texting, e-mailing and calling me, trying to get ahold of me from Puerto Rico. Her texts say things like,
I’m back home. I can’t believe you wouldn’t see me when I was there
. Her e-mails read,
My uncle Marco asked me not to visit you at work because you needed to focus. I wondered if he’d caught on and so I stayed far away. Do you think he figured it out? I hope not.
Her calls on my cell say,
Why won’t you talk to me? Call me back.

I’ve never responded. She got ahold of Soli and Soli said she shouldn’t go to her house to find me because “that’s disrespectful. If Shai wants to talk to you, let
her
call
you
.” Soli was friendly until Marlena tried to give her a guilt trip about getting together to talk about what happened with me. Soli told her she didn’t want to meet with her. “I love you too but after what you put Shai through, I must pick sides. It’s nothing personal.”

I don’t want to hear how sorry Marlena is about having dumped me in such an insensitive way. I’d like her as far away from me as possible.

I’m still sleeping at Soli’s. I spend weekend mornings with Pedri and Viva at museums or at the beach, and weekend nights with London, Soli and Diego. Sometimes, I spend time with Tazer at his house alone or with Elicia. We tend to the organic garden, cook, play computer games, listen to blasting music and dance, and goof off on Facebook. We’ve become close. He gets I can’t be seen with him out in public right now. If my mom finds out, she’ll
never
let me move back in.

Around London, my emotions are like April: never too hot, too humid, or too cold. Physically, though, I’ve recently been like June: hot, hot, hot! He’s always like July: scorching! I told him to chill, to be cool like this month, November, and he promised he would.

London and I made a dinner date. We finished eating a meal of lentils and rice, tomato and onion salad, and
yuca con mojo
. I thank his sweet, frumpy mother as I finish helping her clean the table. “
Gracias
, Fina. It was delicious.”

“Anytime,
mijita
.” She wraps her mushy arms around me.

I love London’s mom. She’s so mellow for being Cuban. She hangs out at home in housedresses, painting neighbors’ nails. She takes care of her kids, and she doesn’t miss a Cuban soap opera on TV. Their little apartment is impeccable, and she’s always doting on London and his brothers, who are great guys.

London takes me to the backyard shack he just turned into his bedroom; it’s an all-cement room with tall ceilings and hanging black light retro lava lamps. The walls are painted deep purple. The only furniture is a velvet black armchair in front of a stereo system next to his bed, a little fridge where he keeps sodas and beer and a desk for his laptop and CD. There’s a guitar in its case standing up along a wall, a bunch of
claves, timbales
,
tumbadoras
and congas are littered all over the room. He’s serious about music. I love that.

I see his favorite photograph of his
Santero
dad on the wall next to friends in Cuba, wearing a white
guayabera
, white baggy pants, and many beads around his neck. Next to him, are pictures of London and me.

I smile. “That’s miraculous the way you made this old crumbling place into your amazing new room.”

“It’s coming along.” He grabs a beer from the fridge and slides on a CD. Soft
son
music comes on.

It started getting hot and heavy last month. Recently, my body’s had an urge to go all the way. I almost lost my head yesterday, but a voice inside me snapped me into reality: “Wait until you’re sure he’s the one.” I can’t help but know my mom wouldn’t have acted the same way if the texts had been from London. I’m sure she would’ve been upset, but I can’t imagine she’d have kicked me out of the house. I’m positive my teachers would never have reacted so maliciously, either. There wasn’t a single girl in my class who hadn’t slept with her boyfriend.

I must admit I have a great time exploring his body, but it’s frustrating I can’t feel emotionally close to him. Just knowing we can’t be tight in that deep, intense way, leaves me feeling empty and deeply alone. But maybe that’s normal for girls who’ve been with girls. Maybe it’s more emotional with girls because that’s our nature.

I lean against the open window and look outside toward the cages filled with colorful cockatoos—the birds his older brother sells for a living. He holds me by my shoulders and peers into my eyes. “Listen to what I’ve got to say.”

My heart thumps fast. “What?”

He’s got a glow in his eye that speaks loud and clear. “I want you to be my girl and only mine.”

I zip up my jean jacket, clear my throat, and look deeply into his eyes. “But I’m not seeing anybody else.”

He takes a swig of beer. “Why can’t you answer about being only mine?”

“Isn’t my answer enough?”

“No. I want you to tell me you’re madly into me like you were with Mario. I need to hear you’re
all
mine. Haven’t you forgotten him yet? Is that it?”

I told him about “Mario” when he asked about my ex. I couldn’t bring myself to explain the truth. A Cuban guy doesn’t want someone who can fall in love with other girls. He’d like a girl all to himself, and he wants to feel secure that another female isn’t lurking in the corner somewhere, ready to get my attention. I also keep thinking it’ll get back to Mami since they talk about everything.

“It’s not Mario. I just think I can never fall in love again.” I remember how it used to be with Marlena before everything slid down the edge. Even though I’m intensely attracted to him, nothing with London comes remotely close to what I felt for her.

He bites his thick bottom lip. “That’s crazy. Why can’t you feel for me the way you did for that fucking Mario guy? What, did he have a bigger
chorizo
?”

My heart pounds in my chest at his unexpected anger and disgusting response.

“Maybe you should be dating other girls. If you want, we can be just friends.” I can’t force my heart anymore. I’ve been trying hard for too long, and all I feel is an intense physical attraction and a great deal of care. Emotionally and intellectually there’s very little there.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He sucks on his beer. “I hate this Mario guy. He’s ruined you.”

I wish he didn’t have to bring this up; it just reminds me of the truth I’ve been keeping from him.

He takes my face, brings it closer to his, and kisses me. His nubs chafe my skin. He’s a great kisser when we’re rolling around in bed, but way too harsh when I want to feel intimate and not sexual.

Suddenly, making out with him is making me feel lonelier than ever. There’s a dark hole, deep, deep in my heart. I can’t help my eyes becoming watery.

He takes his lips off mine. “Hey, what happened?”

“I’m trying to fall in love again, London, and it’s just not happening.” I’m as honest as I can be. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings.” I can’t tell him I miss the closeness of being with, and kissing, a girl.

“You’ll fall for me. It takes time. You’ll see.” He kisses me deeper and harder.

Maybe I will. Maybe feeling so alone the more time I spend with him is all worth it. I finally have my family back.

I stop kissing him and grab the beer from his hand. “Why do you always have to be drinking? It’s dis
gus
ting.”

He snatches the bottle from me, guzzles it up, and throws it in the trash bin. “A few beers is no big deal.” He drops his husky voice to a whisper. “Maybe when we go all the way you’ll fall hard for me. But I’m glad you don’t ever want to go there.”

“Why?” I’m confused.

He tilts his head to the right and his long black hair falls over his left eye. “I want the girl I marry to be a virgin, to be all mine. If we’d have done it, I might not be so crazy about you.”

“You’re so weird. You speak like an old man.” He’s talking like the type of Cuban grandpas you hear grandmas speak about who wanted to possess them, for them to be virginal and virgins. But look who’s talking. I used to feel that way about Marlena. I loved that I had been her first. We felt like one, as if we belonged to each other. And for sure, I despised that she had sex with Rick the Dick.

I recall the times she told me, “Promise me you’ll never be with anyone else.” What we lived was a dream that turned into a nightmare because Rick could encroach at any given moment on our lives. Having wanted her all to myself seems so hypocritical now.

He presses his chunky mouth against mine, goes into his pocket, plucks out a small velvet black box, and hands it to me.

I open it slowly. It’s a little Cuban coin hanging on a leather string matching the one I gave him. “Beautiful!” I’m glad the conversation is going in a different direction. I place it on my neck, securely clasp it, and feel the coin with my fingers. I love everything Cuban.

London knows my grandfather was a tortured political prisoner over fifty years ago because he was in Batista’s army and one of the men who tried to kill Fidel Castro. My grandmother took him out of prison by paying the guard all the money she’d saved. Since my grandfather was a pilot, the guard took him dressed as a priest straight to a plane. He flew the three of them to Miami. The following morning in Cuba there was a street protest with gunfire. Fidel gave a speech about how anyone interested in stealing a plane to leave would be executed in cold blood.

My grandparents are heroes here. Everyone knows I was the granddaughter of Ignacio and Edilia Amores. That’s made my life difficult because of expectations most Miamians have of me. I’m required to be an outstanding citizen, like my grandfather (may he rest in peace). Eyes seem to be on me. That’s probably why my mom is so paranoid and always hyperaware of “what will people think.” Being me carries a big responsibility. I want to do the right thing for everyone involved.

London throws the gift box in the trash, and rubs his hands together. “I have secret ways of making you fall for me and be with me in the near future. A guy can’t wait
that
long.” He licks his pretty lips and brushes his hair away from his forehead. It falls back over his eyes.

I give up trying to break up with him. I must continue forcing myself to feel emotionally connected. I never want to lose my family again.

I throw myself on the cushiony armchair and sink into it.

The slow dance music is still on in the background. He tears off his leather jacket, throws it on the bed, walks to me, and pulls me to him. I allow myself to be taken into his arms and rest my face on his chest. He smells salty. He’s a good dancer, a soft mover.

From the half-opened windows come soft sounds of bamboo chimes and wind-bells. I feel his heartbeat on my body stronger and stronger. Before I know it, he’s whispering into my ear, “I want you.” His lips come close to mine, and he finally gives me a soft, passionate kiss.

I feel my body craving more. I squeeze him to me and get into the rhythm of kissing. Our lips are locked in a smooth dance, but then he kisses me extremely hard and I fall, fall, fall out of desire.

I stare out the window at blazing stars, wondering if I’ll ever feel close to him, or if it’ll always be
just
physical.

I’m dizzy with thoughts crowding my brain. Maybe I should tell him about Marlena now, and get it over and done with. No. He’ll tell my mom.

I slam on the brakes and separate myself from him. “I’ve got to tell you something.” I feel shaky inside.

“What?”

My hands get sweaty and I wipe them on my jeans. “Uh . . . nothing. I need to leave.”

“No, tell me. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. It was ridiculous anyways.”

He gently grabs my hands. “I’m not letting you go till you tell me.”

“Hey. I told you it’s no big deal.” I pinch his rock-hard stomach. “It’s just that I wanted to thank you again for the gift. That’s all. Really. I must go and finish my studies.”

“What’s
wrong
with you? Stay a little longer. Come on. We can go dancing at a club or see a movie. Don’t be that way,” he pleads. “You don’t have anyone hovering over your shoulder. You can do anything you want. You don’t even have a professor waiting for you to hand him your work.”

“Just because I won’t go to school again doesn’t mean I can’t educate myself online or buy books used in university courses I’m interested in or that I haven’t got ambitions. Besides, I want to stay home tonight. I need to feed Neruda and walk her, then I’ve got to finish work I started from Yale U School of the Art.”