Seeds of Hate (24 page)

"It's cake. She's going to love it," Gio said.

"I know—"
Wait.

I turned around and saw him sitting on his knees, frosting the cake. I looked around from side to side. I peeked into the living room, empty. I took a seat at the table and frowned.

"What'd you say?" I asked.

Gio smoothed the knife over the top of the cake and added more frosting. He licked his finger and smiled again.

"It's cake, Javi. Who doesn't love cake?" he replied.

"Yeah, yeah. She'll like the cake. Why are you talking?" I asked.

He shrugged.

"Gio, you haven't used words with me since ... well, since forever."

"I thought you needed a supportive answer. Therefore, I replied."

"Are you going to talk from now on?" I asked.

"I talk when it's necessary."

"And Selah's birthday cake was necessary?"

"Yes," he replied. Gio finished frosting and set the final product on the countertop before grabbing a spoon from the kitchen and sitting back down. "I've never had a cake before. Cakes are important. She'll love it."

"What's more important," I asked. "Love or cake?"

Gio paused, tapped his chin and then pinched his eyebrows. "Same difference," he replied.

"How so?" I asked. I wanted to keep him talking. I always felt he understood way more than he let on.

"If you love someone you make them cake. Simple as that." Gio continued eating the leftover frosting from the bowl—spoonful by spoonful.

"So I love Selah?" I asked.

Gio got up and tossed the bowl and spoon in the sink. He came back to the table and placed both hands face down at the edge. Then he turned and looked me straight in the eyes. "You must."

"Well, at least you've confirmed she'll like the cake."

He grabbed his bag from the couch and put on his shoes. Then he walked to the door and stopped.

"Not like. Love. She'll love the cake."

"What makes you so sure? We don't even know if it's her favorite flavor. I never asked," I replied.

With his hand on the doorknob he turned and faced me, a wide smile pushing at his cheeks. "Because ... she loves you," he said.

And then he left.

I sat still at the table for an hour, only my eyes blinking. That word wasn't something I said or thought of often. If ever. My mother had been at the receiving end of it, and when I was growing up, I believed I cared enough about Nathan to love him. We were friends and then we weren't.

Friends didn't destroy the things they loved.

***

The cake sat on the floor of my closet. My mother was getting ready for work and a frosted vanilla concoction would give her reason for questions. Or she would eat it.

"Hijo, any plans for tonight?" she asked as she packed up her purse. I stood in the kitchen washing our dinner dishes. The fluorescent light bulb above my head flickered. Any moment it would pop and there would be darkness.

"No. No plans, Mama," I replied.

"It's New Year’s Eve. Izzy can't possibly be working," she said.

"He has plans with his family. I'll be fine."

She eyed me from a distance and dropped her purse on the couch. Her heels clinked on the tile floor as she walked toward me. Grabbing my hands, she pulled them up and placed them against her chest—clenching them tight.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Sorry for what?"

"That you don't have a family. That you don't have a father. That I'm not around."

I've never really looked at my mother. In passing and during conversations, but right then I was actually looking, not just seeing what I thought was there. She was older than I realized. Light wrinkles had formed at the corner of her eyes, and her skin, darker than mine, had lost its vibrancy.

"It's not your fault. You don't have to be sorry."

"Hijo, it is my fault. I was young. I was selfish. You're so much better than me. Do you know that?"

No, I didn't. I stood there as she moved her hand to my face and caressed my cheek. She was much shorter than me. Tiny and delicate, but full of strength. She had done it all on her own. I wasn't perfect, but I was loved. She loved me and that was more important than food and electricity, but she had given me that too.

"I love you," I replied. "I know I don't say it enough, but I do."

My mother lifted her lips and the years of hard work and stress vanished.

"I love you, too." She kissed my cheek, wiped it with her thumb and then went to work.

I looked at the clock—the day was growing heavier with each passing minute.

***

I brought the cake back out, set it on the coffee table and turned on some music. Running through the apartment one last time, I made sure everything was in its place. And then two short knocks hit the door.

I sniffed my armpits and pushed myself forward.

"Sey? That you?" I asked.

"Mmhmm," she replied.

I unlocked the deadbolt and pulled back. My eyes trailed her from head to toe. She had on a skirt, but this one was shorter than all the rest. It sat above her knee and held tight to her legs. Her shirt was the same one she had on the first day I met her. Almost four months ago.

Her hair fell down to her shoulders but remained unruly. Some things couldn't be changed. Some things shouldn't. It made me happy.

She entered the apartment with long, shaky steps and set her bag on the floor.

"Is that for me?" she asked.

I closed the door and turned around. Her arm pointed to the cake and her feet bounced up and down.

"Gio and I made it. Do you like cake?"

"Like? I love it! What girl doesn't want a boy to bake her a cake on her birthday?" she replied and began spinning in circles. Only this time the circles were quick, small and full of excitement. After three rotations, she stopped and found my eyes. "Thank you," she whispered. Walking to me, she stood on her tiptoes and gave me a kiss. A short taste. A tease.

I wanted more.

She took off her jacket and threw it over a chair. Then she turned back to me and stared. Her arms were crossed against her chest, and she played with her bottom lip.

"What now?" she asked. "Cake, TV, kissing?"

"It's your day. Which do you want first?" I asked.

Selah went to the front door and clicked the lock into place. Then she walked into the kitchen, grabbed a fork and searched for the remote. When she found the remote, she turned on the TV and kneeled down next to her cake. Without cutting it, she jabbed her fork into the center and took a large bite.

She chewed for a couple seconds before swallowing, standing up and turning off the TV. Without asking, she grabbed my hand and headed straight for my bedroom.

"Now what?" I asked.

She stood inside and stared at her surroundings. There wasn't much to take in—a bed, a desk, a couple important pieces and me. Her eyes fell back on my bed and her hand started to swing back and forth as she held onto mine.

"Sey—" As I opened my mouth, she squeezed my hand and pushed me toward the bed. When we reached the edge, she stared.

"What are you doing?" I whispered.

Selah turned around and closed the door, leaving only a crack open so we could have some light. She came back and placed her hands on my face and her lips on my mouth. Her movements were eager and her breathing rushed. I pulled back and looked into her eyes, "What are you doing?" I repeated.

"Celebrating," she replied. "Just lie down with me and relax."

We both moved to the bed, laying side by side. Only the backs of our hands brushing and our knuckles kissing. Selah rolled over and placed her hand on my leg. She trailed her fingertips up from my thigh and toward my stomach. Her hand stopped at the top of my jeans and rested.

"Sey, what are you doing?" I asked again.

Her hand pushed up on my shirt and her palm grazed my chest. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do. I wasn't expecting this or her or anything ... but the simplest movement, the continued touch, it felt—I swallowed hard—it felt good.

"Will you touch me?" she asked. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

I placed my fist in my mouth and bit down. I didn't need the encouragement, but the approval, the permission ... that helped.

She closed her eyes and laid her head next to mine. Her breathing, slow and controlled, grazed the side of my ear. She lifted her hand off my chest and placed a finger on my temple. Pulling it down, she trailed it over my cheek, across my lips and down the base of my throat. Only stopping once she hit my scars.

"I want to," I replied. "I just ... what if ... are you sure?"

Her hand rested across my throat and then ran back down over my chest.

"Yes," she replied. "I want to know what it feels like. I trust you."

She kicked off her shoes and leaned against my pillows. I pulled off my own and rolled over to her side of the bed.

"Can I just kiss you first?" I asked.

Selah smiled and reached out for me. My lips found hers with no direction, and I kissed her until my hands got curious. And my body agreed.

I lifted myself over her and rested my hips on hers. She didn't protest or scream, so I continued. My lips grazed her cheek, and as I pushed her hair to the side with my hand, they found her neck. I trailed the neckline of her shirt, dipping low and then lower and then lower. She whimpered against me. I watched as her breathing increased, and my arms began to shake.

Selah's hands trailed my back and moved underneath my shirt. Her fingers grazed the skin across my ribs and then pulled me down, forcing my weight on top of her. I reacted. The proximity of her body felt good. Too good. Like we were meant to do more.

I started kissing her again, and as we became less guarded, our hands were set free. We both moved over each other, not realizing where and not asking permission. The pillows fell to the floor, and we became entangled as we felt things for each other for the first time.

And then I tasted tears.

I pulled away and looked at her face. She was crying. The distance gave me room to breathe and everything about my mother's past sat under a spotlight, right next to the bed.

"Sey, what's wrong? What happened?" I asked.

The silent tears became gasps as she gave herself the freedom to respond.

"I thought, I thought this is what you'd want. This is what I'd want," she replied.

"What? What do you mean?" I asked.

I lay next to her, stroking the hair out of her face and pulling down her shirt. She rolled into me, her face nuzzling my neck and her hands clasped at her chest.

"I miss being loved, Javi. I just wanted to be loved. Be touched."

I rubbed Selah's back as she cried and wiped away her tears. She continued for several minutes before her breathing evened out. The room was quiet, and all I could hear was my heart pumping.

"I'm sorry," she replied.

Her voice startled me, and I leaned back to pull up her chin. "For what?" I asked.

"For everything," she said.

Her eyes were rimmed with mascara, and her cheeks were still red from crying.

"Don't be. We both got caught up," I replied and then I had the sudden urge to pee. "I'll be right back."

I went to the restroom and turned off the lights in the house. I placed her cake on the dining room table and covered it with plastic. When I came back, she was asleep.

I set my alarm and pressed play on my music. I just wanted to hold her.

A soft tapping echoed from the hallway and I left. Looking through the peephole, it was Gio.

I unlocked the door and let him in. "It was good and bad, buddy. She loved the cake, though."

Gio smiled and headed to my room.

"She's still here, so be quiet," I said.

Gio looked up at me with his head tilted to the left.

"She's sleeping. It will be okay. She needs to rest."

I pulled out his mattress and threw him a blanket. Then I picked up my pillows from the floor and got in bed. I rolled over and brought Selah to my chest. Her back facing me. I nuzzled her close and shut my eyes.

When my heart had calmed and the music peaked, I whispered into her ear, "I love you, Happy Birthday," and fell asleep.

Chapter 31

Daddy

(Selah)

Javier's violin music played in the background as I stepped out of bed and searched for my shoes. I grabbed my jacket and adjusted my shirt. The mirror caught my reflection and I froze. My face was a tangled mess of curls and dark smudges. I licked my finger and dragged it under my eyes. Not great, but better.

The background shifted and I turned around to see Gio propped up on an elbow, rubbing the sleep away. He had on one of Javier's black shirts with his own Superman pants. I looked to the bed, where Javi lay sleeping, and I blushed. There was an indentation from my body and his arm held the air as if I was still there. I didn't know Gio had come over.