How Moon Fuentez Fell in Love with the Universe

by Raquel Vasquez Gilliland

Okay. We’re both laughing now. And when we stop, he says, “When I touch you, you get loud.” He reaches toward me and proceeds to prove his point enthusiastically. “But it wasn’t like that… when I was inside you.”

  “Sex is weird,” I respond. “It’s always just nice.”

  And he nods and I can tell he’s thinking hard about this. And so he pulls me on top of him and says, “You ever tried it this way?” I shake my head, and he rests his hand on my hip. “I want to try. Is that okay?”

  It feels… deep at first. I’m a little embarrassed because I can’t hide my jiggly bits from up here. But then I watch Santiago’s eyes, and it hits me. He likes my jiggly bits. He loves them. He almost can’t stop watching them. If I jiggle extra hard, he groans a little and tenses up like it’s all almost too much. And that gives me the confidence to forget about what I look like and focus on how I feel.

  I try a lot of different things—angles, speed—and then something clicks. It’s warm, and warmer, and then hot. Santiago makes me stop three times so he can collect himself. But eventually, and suddenly, I’m a fireweed burst into bloom, all pink and peaked in some ancient Alaskan field where wildflowers have bloomed every summer for eons. And now I get it. I know why everyone is so obsessed with sex.

  And so Santiago and I do little else for the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. He puts me on the desk, on the edge of the bed. I make him hold me against the wall, and then I get on top of him again, because that’s now my favorite.

  And I know Mom would say I’m disgusting, and a whore, and a heathen for doing this. For loving it.

  But you know what’s kinda funny? After the third or fourth time, Santiago turns off all the lamps and opens the curtains so we can see the light pouring through like milk. And then he’s on top of me, everything gold about him even golder, and he puts his hand on my belly and says he can’t believe how soft I am, and then he stares at me with this expression of awe, and then he kisses just above my left breast over and over again, because that’s where my heart is.

  And this I know, as he’s next to me in bed, arm thrown over my hips: today might be the holiest day of my life. Because of this, of him. Because of me.

  * * *

  I’m exhausted in the best way. My bones are weeds. My hair is sea grass. My limbs are tender leaves of butter lettuce. I don’t even move when I hear Tía and Star return.

  “Should I lock the door?” Santiago asks.

  At first, I don’t care, but then I realize I don’t want anyone to see his glorious body but me. I’m completely greedy for him to be mine, all mine. So I say, “Yeah.”

  After the lock clicks, he starts dressing, and I whine, “What are you doing that for?”

  He grins but says, “Your aunt will probably want to talk, right? I want to be dressed for that, if you don’t mind.”

  “Whatever.” But when Tía starts knocking, I don’t want to be naked either. So I put on my bra and underwear, squeaking when Santiago pinches my love handles. “Stop pinching the jiggly parts.”

  “I like all your jiggly parts.”

  I knew he’d say that, but it doesn’t make it less thrilling to hear.

  He kisses my hand. “I think this has been the best day of my life.”

  I laugh. “Because of all the sex, right?”

  “No.” But he smiles. “Well, yeah. But it’s because of you. Being with you.”

  I blink. “How are you so sweet? When I first met you, I thought you were the grumpiest piece of—”

  He squeezes my hip again. “I’m still the grumpiest. Don’t forget that.”

  And then he holds his arm out and we walk out my door.

  “You’re back,” Tía says to Santiago. She’s on the sofa with a cup of café con leche. “That didn’t take long.”

  I feel a prickle of shame. Even though I know Tía didn’t mean it that way, I feel like it’s something Mom would tell me. My hair mussed and lips swollen and the taste of Santiago’s skin still in my mouth. That didn’t take long.

  Tía reads me instantly. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she says warmly. “I’m glad it didn’t take long. Now maybe you’ll stop moping all the time, huh?”

  “Tía!” But I’m smiling.

  “I’d like to cook dinner for you,” Santiago announces. “And your family.” He looks up at Tía shyly.

  Tía smiles. “Why not? The way these girls eat, I could use the break.”

  Santiago smiles so big, my stomach does this wild flip-flop. I know I’ve thought this a zillion times by now, but dang it, he’s so flipping handsome. How does a guy like him want anything to do with a girl like me?

  “I need to get groceries,” Santiago says. He turns to me. “Wanna come?”

  “Uh, yeah.” I grin. “Just like the old days, huh?”

  “Yeah. A whole three weeks ago.”

  I start to slide my shoes on but stop when I see Star sitting in the kitchen. “You wanna come?” I ask her.

  “Hmm?” She’s looking intently at her phone, but I can see even from here that it’s not on.

  “Come. With me and Santiago. To the store.”

  “No way. You guys need your alone time. I’m not going to disrupt that.”

  “Don’t be like that.” I grab her hand. “Come on.”

  “Moon.” But she follows me and sits in the back of Santiago’s Mercedes, quiet. In the store, she opens up when Santiago asks her opinion on things like scallops and mollusks, and then she and I laugh as we debate on who is worse in the kitchen.

  “I’ve never burned grilled cheese before,” I say.

  And Star says, “Well, I don’t put honey on pizza like a barbarian.”

  And even though she’s smiling, her eyes are still sad as we joke and talk. So when we get home, Santiago asks me, “What’s up?”

  “I just want to talk to Star for a minute.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I’ll go after we put the groceries away.”

  “You know I’ll get the prep done way faster without you.”

  “Oh, shut it,” I say. “Like—”

  But then he kisses me, and then I’m the one shutting it. Well, not literally, because my mouth has to open to let his tongue in, and then his hand is back on my hip, mine are on his shoulders, but when I dig my nails into his firm flesh, he breaks away. His lips, cheeks, and ears are all flushed.

  “You should go talk to her,” he says. “Before we contaminate the kitchen.”

  “Fine,” I respond, but I’m smiling the whole time.

  Star’s in Tía’s bed, covers pulled to her chin. I’m surprised she’s not click-click-clicking through her phone. But then again, she hasn’t been on her phone much lately at all.

  “Hey,” I say, in front of the screen curtain. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.” She smiles, but again, it doesn’t reach the rest of her face.

  I sit on the edge of the bed. “You haven’t been yourself lately.”

  Star shrugs. “Myself. I don’t even know who that is lately.”

  “What do you mean? You’re still you. Except. You moved here.”

  Star shrugs, but when I raise my eyebrows, she relents. “I haven’t heard from Chamomila or Oak or even… Belle since I got kicked off the tour. Andro thinks I’m an immature jerk. Which, okay, I was. But then Mom…” Star closes her eyes really tight, like she’s trying as hard as she can to not cry.

  “She hurt you,” I finish. I slide into bed and her hand finds mine.

  “I don’t know why, all these years, I tried to convince myself she wasn’t as bad as she was. But all these memories keep coming back. Times when she’d be so cruel. To you, mostly. And I’d brush it off, every time.”

  “We did what we had to do, to survive.”

  The tears are coming now. “I’m not the good Christian I thought I was. It’s a lot.”

  “Star, don’t—”

  “I was selfish, Moon. And it’s a lot to take in. To admit. Whatever. But I want to be differe
nt.” She shifts and looks me right in the face. “I’m going to be different.”

  “Okay,” I say. “That sounds like a good start.”

  Star nods and then smiles. “You and Santiago had sex this morning, right?”

  My skin prickles instantly, like it’s growing thorns. “That’s none of your business.”

  She reaches for the hand I’ve pulled back. “I’m not judging, Moon.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “I’m trying to be better, remember?” I sit up in the bed, and so does she.

  “What does it feel like?” She won’t look me in the eyes as she asks.

  “Are you serious? Is that really what the Virgin Mary would do?”

  She sets her mouth in a firm, straight line. “You know what? Forget it.”

  “Oh, stop.” I say. “Fine.” And I look around for inspiration. Because it really does feel like the Virgin Mary just asked about sex.

  “If the guy is careless, it could hurt or feel like nothing,” I say. “Even if he does care, it could feel not great, because he doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

  Star looks a little disappointed. What I’ve said is basically a nicer version of Mom’s warnings. Minus all the blood-eating STIs and mortal-sin details.

  “But,” I add quickly, “if he’s slow and thoughtful and receptive”—I pause, thinking about how my morning with Santiago went—“it’s the best feeling ever.”

  “Is that all?” Star still sounds disappointed.

  “Sorry. It’s hard to explain. It’s not just the orgasm. Which feels like… I mean, it feels like you’re dying in the best possible way.”

  “That doesn’t sound all that great.”

  “Trust me. You pretty much never want it to stop. Anyway, besides that physical part, there’s also feeling like you’re, I don’t know. Completely alive. The most alive you could ever feel, all with someone you really care about. Or love.”

  Star has kind of a small, distant smile on her face. “Well, that does sound nice.” She takes a long breath. “Have you ever been… with a girl?”

  I shake my head. “No. I’ve never wanted to with a girl before.”

  Star’s voice is so quiet, I have to lean my ear really close to hear. “I’ve never wanted to with a boy ever.”

  “But you have wanted to… with a girl?”

  “One girl.” She’s crying. “I’m scared, Moon. If anyone found out, they’d be so disappointed in me. The church, my followers. But at the same time…” She takes in a shuddering breath. “I’m in love with Belle Brix.”

  “Wow.” I didn’t realize she loved Belle back. Holy crap.

  “I thought I knew about everything… thanks to Mom and the church.” She gasps a little and covers her face with her hands. “I don’t know if I want to wait for marriage anymore. If I’m being honest, that’s a thought I’ve had for a while.”

  “Wow.”

  “And then… at some point I realized that I didn’t know if I ever wanted to wait to begin with. I realized that choice was made for me, you know? It was made for me hundreds of years ago by some European dude who hated women.”

  “Wow.” I never, not in one zillion years, thought I’d hear Star get this real. My brain is stuck on wow.

  “And I’m mad and I want to be different than that. But then again, I’m scared of being disgusting and loose.” She’s full-on sobbing now, and I can barely understand her.

  So I wrap my arms around her and smooth a hand over her hair until her breaths are a little calmer, and I say, “We’ve been brainwashed, Star.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And it’s going to take time—a lot of time—to figure out what we believe is real and what’s been decided for us nine hundred years ago by some white dude who hated women.”

  She sniffles. “Yeah.” She pauses. “I’m also kind of freaked out about La Raíz.” She turns to me. “Does it hurt? When the weird, bad miracles happen?”

  I shake my head. “Star… no. It’s never hurt. In fact…” I stop because I’m realizing how true what I’m saying is. “When it happens, I’ve never felt closer to God.”

  And that’s exactly what it is. I think about all of it—from fireflies to ladybugs, red feathers to butterflies. When they surround me, fluttering, soft and tickly. How somehow I become the center of the universe. Somehow, I fall in love with it a little bit more.

  We sit in silence for a few minutes, and then I clear my throat. “So what’s going on with Belle?”

  Star shakes her head. “She won’t respond to my texts, comments, DMs. She said she knows I’m never going to be with her for real.”

  “Is that the truth?”

  “I don’t want it to be.”

  “Did you tell her you love her?”

  “No.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  Star shrugs.

  “Be honest with her. She’s really cool. And whether or not it works out, Star, remember that I’m so proud of you, okay? No matter what happens, I’m proud to be your sister.”

  She hugs me tight. “You’re the best sister I could’ve asked for.” Star has told me nice things before, but it never really felt like she meant them until now.

  “Thank you, sis,” I say. I’m choked up, so we hug in silence. But I’m also practicing. What it means to accept a compliment and not deflect. To bloom into who I really am—soft and squishy, dark and smooth, warm, warm, warm like the fireweed all over my bedroom.

  55. The Best Dinner in All the Universes, Even Those Still Unknown

  WHEN I GET into the kitchen, it smells like vanilla and honey, and Santiago is huddled over a cutting board, trimming some blooms off a fireweed stalk.

  “Excuse me,” I say. “But those are my flowers you’re mutilating.”

  He narrows his eyes. “It’s for a good cause.”

  “Oh? What cause is that? Because, if you didn’t know, some guy totally brought those for me all the way from Alaska. They’re worth a fortune. So what’s this cause that’s worth destroying what’s basically pure gold to me?”

  “Cake.” He looks at me and grins.

  “Well, then. Carry on.”

  “Not so fast.” He stops me as I turn to leave, grabbing me by the waist and pulling me in, lifting and plopping me on the counter while I screech like an owl. And then he steps between my legs and kisses me like it’s our first kiss all over again. He’s shy and then more confident, and pretty soon all I can think about is how quickly I can rush him to my bed.

  I have no coherent thoughts when he pulls back, so I start chanting “Bedroom” like I’m in some weird sex cult.

  His eyes get really dark, almost like a forest at night, but then he shakes his head. “Help me candy the fireweed.”

  “Bedroom,” I say in response.

  “Later. I want this dinner to be perfect.”

  And I can see how important this is to him, so I groan and say, “Fine.” And smile when he helps me off the counter and his arms are trembling a little. You’d think we didn’t just spend the whole morning doing it. The way we’re acting, it feels like it’s been years.

  But somehow we focus on the tasks of slicing onions, mincing garlic, browning the beef and the pork. I layer the lasagna until Santiago can’t help but take over. But he lets me frost the cake.

  “What kind of cake is this?” I ask.

  “Hummingbird.”

  I turn to him. “Are you serious? This is a hummingbird cake?”

  “It’s not as bad as it sounds, or so I’ve heard.”

  I run and jump on him, not even caring that he’s got a spoon of Bolognese sauce in his hand. We kiss and kiss and then he says, “I will make you hummingbird cake every day, I think.” And I love that he says that stuff all the time, and he never, ever thinks about the amount of carbs anyone’s eating.

  I slide the cream cheese frosting over the round cake as smoothly as I can, and then Santiago places the sugared flowers on top. I’m completely mesmerized by this process: giant,
muscly, beautiful guy bending low over a cake so he can arrange the pink-petaled blooms perfectly. I have to grab my camera to photograph him, and the cake, too, when he’s done. It’s too pretty to neglect documentation, the petals flitting all over like butterflies. I want my wedding cake to look just like it. One day.

  Finally everything is ready and we all sit down to eat. Tía is head over heels for Santiago already. “When are you moving in?” she keeps asking.

  Even Star seems more like herself in the presence of delicious food. “This is the best lasagna I’ve ever had,” she declares, and though Santiago won’t change the unexpression on his face, I can tell he’s happy. He slides his hand up my thigh under the table to prove it.

  “So,” Tía asks after a while. “What’s the occasion?”

  Santiago wipes his face with a napkin, then stands.

  I furrow my brow. “What are you doing?”

  “I intend to court your niece,” he tells Tía.

  Star almost spits out her food. “Like, what? Court for marriage?”

  “No,” Santiago says. “Well, maybe someday. But right now I’m announcing my intentions to date her.”

  Tía looks so amused. “Okay, son, I hear you. You can sit.”

  Santiago sits. I think he’s finally realizing how extra this whole thing is, because his ears and neck are pink.

  “What about your family?” Star says. “Are you going to live with them and have a long-distance relationship? Or are you going to that culinary school downtown?”

  I frown. Like. Should Santiago and I be having this conversation in private? I guess not, because he says, “Culinary school downtown.”

  “What?” I say. “You decided to go for sure? You’re serious?”

  “I start next week.” He can’t help the smile in his eyes. He’s proud, and Lord, so am I. So I leap into his lap and put my arms around him.

  “What made you change your mind?” I ask.

  He shrugs and smiles, this time with his whole face. “Somebody.” And then he says, “Ow.” Because I’m hitting his arm.

  “You’re so freaking arrogant. You said yes to the institute knowing we’d get back together? You were that confident?”