by Shay Savage
Mayra busted out laughing.
“That was sincere.” She snorted.
“I might have been coached a bit.”
Mayra laughed again, and Travis narrowed his eyes at her. I looked back and forth between them, not really understanding what was transpiring in front of me.
“Regardless,” Travis added, “I was an ass. Matthew is my nephew, and I worry about him, okay?”
“He’s my boyfriend,” Mayra said. “I worry about him, too.”
Travis glanced up and met my eyes. I looked down to Mayra’s shoulder and stared at a little curled strand of hair lying across her pale skin.
“Just so there is no confusion,” Bethany said as she came back to the entrance of the kitchen and held up a little grocery sack, “there is no cake in here, and you aren’t getting any for a long time!”
“Cake?” Mayra looked up at me, confused.
I just shrugged, but Travis laughed out loud.
“Betty makes awesome cakes.”
“Don’t call me Betty!” my aunt yelled from the kitchen, which made Travis cringe a bit.
“It makes her think of Betty Rubble,” Travis told Mayra. “Anyway, Bethany has used cake as an incentive to get Matthew to do shit because he will do anything for a piece of her chocolate cake.”
“He will, huh?” Mayra said. She had an odd look in her eye when I glanced at her.
“Her cakes are the best,” I said quietly.
“Hmm,” Mayra responded with her lips smashed together. “Are they now?”
Bethany started making me something to eat, telling me I was taking one of the Valium the doctor gave me, and prohibiting me from doing that on an empty stomach. Mayra said she had to go, reminding me that it was almost daybreak, and her dad was waiting up for her.
“I’ll call you later today,” Mayra said.
I nodded and gave her a small smile. She stood up on her toes and briefly touched her lips to mine. Before I could react and remember to kiss her back, she was gone.
Bethany made me a sandwich with a side of potato salad. Though I thought it would have been more appropriate for breakfast food at the given hour, I didn’t notice after I took the first bite. I was ravenous, and the whole plateful was gone within a couple of minutes.
Bethany created a list of things I would need to do before I went to bed. She knew how Valium could affect me, and I’d worry if I didn’t have a list. There wasn’t much to be done, which was good. My aunt then placed a glass of milk and one of the Valium in front of me, made sure I took it, and then she and Travis left as well.
I checked the list, washed the dishes, and cleaned up the kitchen. I put the pen away in the junk drawer and noticed a Ziploc bag with a piece of paper inside—the lottery ticket.
I swallowed hard as my head began to swim. I knew I should check the numbers, but I was in no condition to think about doing something like that right now. Besides, it wasn’t on my list of things to do.
I closed the drawer and went upstairs, beginning to feel the effects of the Valium, and forgetting the ticket entirely. I managed to get myself into pajamas and bed before the drug really took hold. I might have liked to think about Mayra a little longer or maybe do a little more than just think about her. My head got all fuzzy, though, and as the sun started peeking through my bedroom window, I let go of consciousness and slept.
It was afternoon when I finally crawled out of bed. My head was throbbing a bit, so I ate some breakfast and took some generic pain pills I found in the medicine cabinet. I still felt like I was in a bit of a fog. I didn’t like the way tranquilizers affected me, and I ended up just sitting on the couch and watching television until the phone rang.
It was Mayra, and she was going to come over to see how I was doing. I would have been tempted to tell anyone else that I was fine, and there was no need to check on me, but I wanted to see her. About twenty minutes later, Mayra was walking up my front walkway with a large, round Tupperware container in her hands. I opened the door, and she smiled as she took the big round container into the kitchen and placed it on the table.
I tilted my head and watched as Mayra put enough pressure on the bottom of the container to break the seal, and she then lifted the dome off the top of the plastic plate below. Once it was out of the way, a tall, round cake with butter-colored frosting was revealed.
For a long moment, I just stared at the thing in silence.
Mayra finally spoke up.
“I made you a cake,” she said quietly. Her voice sounded strange—not her normal tone at all. I looked at her and saw her neck and cheeks were tinged with red.
“What kind?” I asked.
“Chocolate,” she replied.
I swallowed hard and closed my eyes for a moment, fighting the urge to drop to my knees and confess my undying love for her and asking her to bear my children and bake me cakes forever. I was fairly certain it wasn’t the right time for that, and such an act would certainly fall into the “inappropriate behavior” category.
“The frosting is butter-cream,” Mayra said. “Homemade.”
“Can I have some?” I whispered. My mouth was watering, and I was incredibly relieved when Mayra nodded. She found a knife to cut a wedge and a plate to put it on. A moment later, I was sitting in front of a slice of a three-tiered chocolate cake with butter-cream frosting and what looked like chocolate pudding between the layers. I scooped a bite of it onto my fork and placed it slowly and carefully in my mouth.
It was the most wonderful thing I had ever had in my life.
I got hard just from the taste.
Aunt Bethany’s cakes never made me hard.
I swallowed and looked up at Mayra in awe, my eyes wide and, for once, unable to look away from her. I was glad I was across the table from her and sitting down as well, because the only way to stop the erection growing in my pants was to stop eating this cake, and there was no fucking way I was going to do that. I took another bite, still watching Mayra as I did, then another bite and another quickly thereafter.
“This is incredible,” I told her between additional, rapid bites.
Mayra’s smile grew wide, and her eyes sparkled as I devoured the rest of the piece.
“I’m glad you like it,” she said quietly before biting her lower lip. “Would you like more?”
“Yes, please.”
Mayra smiled again, but the look in her eyes was strange. I looked on in confusion as Mayra took the plastic dome, covered up the cake, and sealed the container again. Then she picked it up and headed toward the front door.
“The next piece will be waiting for you in my driveway,” she said. She kissed me lightly and headed out the door to her car and down the street, taking the cake with her.
Shit, shit, shit.
I couldn’t just let that cake get away, so I jumped into my car and followed her.
Do it for the cake, I told myself.
It would probably have been better overall if I could have convinced myself to do it for Mayra or even just to do it for myself, but I wasn’t there yet. I wasn’t sure if I would ever be. Doing it for the cake was getting me as close as possible, at least.
As close as possible seemed to be driving around in circles about two blocks away from Mayra’s house.
The good news was, I didn’t seem to be panicking. I didn’t seem to be getting any closer, either, but at least I was still able to signal right turn after right turn and burn up gas as I went around and around the neighborhood in the vicinity of my girlfriend’s house.
My girlfriend.
I smiled and tried turning left. Somehow, the turn indicator ended up pointing me right again, so I followed it. The next couple of attempts had similar results.
I sighed.
The biggest problem wasn’t Mayra’s house or her driveway but the possibility that her father’s truck with the shotgun rack in the back would be there as well. That was the main thing keeping me at a distance. I tried to ease my mind by replaying the short conversation
from very early this morning when her dad said I had Lords beat.
That made me frown, though, not because of what he had said but because of the reminder that Mayra had once dated Justin Lords, and it wasn’t even that long ago. I knew they had been together, of course, but I had never really given it much thought before. Now that she was my girlfriend, I didn’t like the idea at all.
She kissed me because I was her boyfriend. I could only assume she had kissed Justin Lords as well. The thought of kissing Mayra made me think of my alone time in the shower and how that activity had a tendency to lead to another specific activity—one that definitely featured Mayra—and took place in my head as much as in my hand. While the thought usually made me feel pretty good, now I couldn’t help but wonder what Mayra and Justin had done in addition to kissing.
It was none of my business, really.
I wanted to know.
I didn’t want to know.
I felt like I should be pulling petals off a daisy.
Taking a deep breath, I made another right.
The thought of Mr. Trevino’s hunting truck parked in the driveway didn’t seem nearly as bad as the conversation I felt compelled to have with Mayra over the second slice of cake. Actually, if Mr. Trevino were there, it would be easier because there was no way I would broach the subject in his presence.
Did he know?
Would he tell me?
I put all thoughts of asking Mayra’s father about her previous relationship out of my head. That was just too much. It was another one that I was quite sure fell into the “inappropriate conversations” category.
I turned left without thinking about it because that was the only way the conversation was going to happen. I tried to decide if it would be better to see Mr. Trevino’s vehicle in the driveway or not. I slowed down as I approached, and even through the thick trees around the neighborhood, I could see the driveway quite clearly. Mayra’s car was parked to one side, and the other side was empty.
I could see Mayra, too. With a small plate in her lap and a bent-over book in her hand, she was sitting on the steps leading to the front door. I wondered how long she had been sitting there waiting for me and figured I had probably been driving around for at least forty minutes.
With a deep, shuddering breath, I pulled into the driveway at about a quarter of a mile an hour.
I was not going to ask her anything about Justin Lords. I was not. Not at all. Her former relationship wasn’t going to drive me crazy because the cake was going to be all I would care about.
Just to prove the point, an imaginary bell rang in my head, and my mouth started to water.
I turned off the car and sat there, looking at my hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough to make my knuckles white. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Mayra had not moved, other than to place her book onto the cement step next to her feet.
I glanced up, and I could see Mayra’s smiling face as she waited patiently on the porch steps. My hands refused to let go of the steering wheel, but at least my mind was relatively calm. I kept breathing. It was about all I could do, other than salivate, at the thought of another slice of that cake.
“Let go,” I whispered to my fingers. Remarkably they listened, at least temporarily. As I tried to wipe the clamminess off my palms, my fingers gripped my thighs instead. I sighed at myself, forced my fingers to uncurl, and gripped the handle to the door.
It opened, and I managed to get my legs turned sideways so my feet were on the ground. I stood up and stared down at my feet.
“I was starting to wonder if you really liked my baking or if you were just being polite.”
“I’m not very good at ‘just being polite,’” I admitted. “I usually say whatever is in my head, if anything.”
“What’s in your head now?”
“Justin Lords,” I replied instantly.
Shit, shit, shit.
I didn’t mean to say that.
Mayra narrowed her eyes and her brows smashed together right above the bridge of her nose.
“Justin Lords?” she repeated. “Why would you be thinking about him?”
I shrugged, wishing I could get back in the car and speed away, but my feet were pretty much frozen to the ground. There was also the visual of a piece of delectable chocolate cake not fifteen feet away from me. Mayra set the plateful of cake next to her book and stood up, coming around the still-open car door and taking my hand in hers.
“Did that little shit say something to you?” she asked. I was surprised by the amount of venom in her tone. “Because if he’s still harassing you, I’m going to—”
“He hasn’t said anything,” I said quickly. “Really, he hasn’t. Not since that day when you were there at school.”
Mayra’s expression turned quizzical.
“Well, why are you thinking about him, then?”
“Because he used to be your boyfriend,” I said quietly.
Mayra just stared at me for a moment while I kept my eyes trained on her shoulder.
“May I have the cake now?” I asked her.
Mayra pursed her lips and closed one eye as she looked at me.
“All right,” she said. “You do seem to have earned it.”
I couldn’t wait any longer, so I darted around Mayra and grabbed the plate. I was usually a stickler for silverware when eating, but cake was a definite exception. I ate the first piece standing up and then sat on the porch steps for the second piece.
By the time I made it to Mayra’s kitchen table, I had eaten half the cake and was a little sick to my stomach. It was all worth it though. As I polished off the last piece I could manage to stuff into my face, Mayra handed me a glass of cold milk to wash it down.
“I don’t think I have ever seen anyone eat that much cake in one afternoon,” she said with a laugh.
“It was good,” I replied. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
Mayra took my hand and led me to the living room. The focal point for practically the whole house was Mr. Trevino’s flat screen television. It dominated the room with both the couch and reclining chair angled toward it. Mayra and I sat on the couch, which was a little worn but still quite comfortable, and I looked around the room.
The living room was the majority of the house, really. A modest place that seemed quite suited for just Mayra and her father. It was comfortable…lived in.
I liked it.
“You okay?” Mayra asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Do you want to watch TV?”
“Okay.” It was about the same time in the afternoon when Mayra and I would usually be watching television at my house after homework. Watching at her house instead wasn’t too far off. I glanced at her and smiled, and she flipped through channels. “I like the TV.”
“It’s Dad’s pride and joy,” Mayra snickered. “He talks about the TV like it’s my little brother or something. He and Brad will spend hours and hours watching baseball on it.”
“Brad?”
“My uncle,” Mayra said. “Brad Conner, my mother’s brother. He’s my dad’s best friend. They got close after my mom ran off, and they both tried to hunt her down, for whatever good it did. Brad’s the chief of police in Oxford.”
“Oh, yeah.” I didn’t think I had ever met the man, but I had heard his name before. “What happened to your mom?”
“She got fed up with being an adult and left.” Mayra shrugged. “I was just a baby, and I don’t really remember her at all. They found her in Mexico or something. Dad’s convinced she’s involved with some drug cartel, but he doesn’t know I heard him talking about it.”
“I’m sorry.” I was pretty sure that was the appropriate response. It was all I could think of to say.
“Not a big deal.” She shrugged again. “You can’t really miss someone you don’t remember, and my dad is awesome.”
I looked around the room a bit more. There was a Cincinnati Reds pennant on the wall and another one for the Kansas City Ro
yals. There was a signed baseball under glass on the mantle of an inoperable fireplace, but it was too far to see the signature.
“Your dad likes baseball,” I said, a statement more than a question.
“Almost as much as fishing,” Mayra confirmed. “I can’t believe you like both of those things, too.”
“Baseball is okay,” I said. “I have a hard time watching it on television, but I liked going to the games with my father. There was a lot to watch. I think the game doesn’t really move fast enough to hold my attention when it’s not live, but when we were at the stadium, there was a lot of other stuff to focus on as well.”
“Well, you impressed Dad, that’s for sure.”
“I did?”
“Oh yeah,” she said. “I don’t think I ever dated anyone who wasn’t dragged on a fishing trip with him. They all hated it.”
“Oh,” I said, and I frowned. I was reminded of Justin Lords and didn’t want to be. Thankfully, Mayra found one of our favorite shows, and I settled down with my head in her lap.
She wound her fingers in my hair, and though I felt myself immediately relax in a way I couldn’t recall feeling outside of either my own or Travis’s house, I couldn’t stop my mind from thinking about everyone Mayra had ever dated.
“How many boyfriends have you had?” I heard myself ask. I cringed at the same time, and Mayra’s hand stopped moving across my scalp.
“Three, I guess,” Mayra answered, her voice low.
“Who were they?” Sometimes my mouth just kind of went off on its own without actually consulting my head to see if I wanted to know the answer to my question.
“I went out with Sean Michaels freshman year,” she told me. Her voice had a bit of a sharp tone to it. “We went out maybe two months—nothing serious at all. Then I went out with Ian Pennington for a little bit at the beginning of last year and then Justin, which you already know.”
For a while, I didn’t ask anything else, and Mayra went on playing with my hair while I thought about the three guys she had dated before me. I didn’t really know much about Pennington—he was kind of quiet and played trombone in the marching band. Sean Michaels and Justin Lords though—they both fell into the category of people to count on to be generally nasty when given the chance.