After Us

by Amber Hart

  Don’t talk about that, please.

  He strokes my hip underneath the water. Kids splash down the way, farther in. Endless ocean and rafts and other people all around us, but here, in this little speck of the monstrous sea, it’s only Javier and me.

  “It’s okay,” he says. “You can tell me things.”

  He kisses me slowly, torturously. Sucking on my bottom lip. Pressing so very, very gently.

  “Tell me,” he says.

  I’m drifting with the sea. I’m wrapped around this guy who’s prying open my life. With his lips, with his touch. I let him in just the tiniest bit.

  “Yes, Javier,” I say, staring at his lips. “They’re related. I wore this suit because you know about the scars.”

  I’m completely vulnerable. He could eat me alive right now. He could tell me to show him what they look like. He could ask why, where, how? I’m begging him with my eyes to please not say anything more because I just might tell him if he asks and I’m not, not, not ready.

  “One more question,” he says.

  I begin to clamp shut. But Javier, once again, calms me.

  “You can trust me,” he says.

  I feel his lips again. He moves them along my jaw. My fingernails dig into his back. He’s so close, too close to be kissing me like this. I want to shove him underwater where no one can see, and do things to the body that he presses against mine.

  “You play dirty,” I say in little whimpers.

  Javier’s sly grin says that he knows exactly what he does to me. It says I will ravish you, and you’re beautiful, and I have the power to destroy you, but I won’t.

  He delivers the blow.

  “How long have you had scars?”

  I’ve been trying to hold on for nearly six months. I’ve been tossing my cancer diagnosis around in my mind, trying to find a way to make it fit in my life, but it just doesn’t belong. It’s a sore spot. It’s a stain on a beautiful painting. It’s wrong, wrong, never right.

  “Five months,” I say, voice hoarse.

  Javier closes the distance.

  “No more questions ’bout scars,” he says.

  Good, wonderful, thank you.

  “Do you have any idea what you do to me, Melissa?” he asks.

  Is it the same thing you do to me? Is it sweaty palms and heart bashing and please, please, please kiss me? Is it you’re amazing and give me more and never, never, never go?

  “No,” I whisper.

  I study his face thoroughly. I see small pores where he’s shaved recently. I see a spot below his bottom lip, his labret, where he lets a small patch of hair grow.

  Javier looks at me like I’m the sun and the moon and the stars.

  “You make me—” he pauses. Tightens his fingers around my ribs. “You somehow make me—”

  Yes?

  “More,” he says.

  I make him more? More alive, more happy, more anything, everything, what?

  He doesn’t elaborate. But his look seems to tell me that whatever I make him, it’s something good.

  So I kiss him this time. Javier is breaking into my soul. How dare he? I never gave him permission.

  Please don’t stop.

  “I want you all to myself,” he says.

  “I already belong to you,” I reply.

  Because it’s true. Because I’ve belonged to him since the moment he earned my trust.

  “You know what that means though, right?” I say with a smile. “You’re mine, too.”

  He chuckles. “That a promise?”

  24

  javier

  I ache from the wounds inflicted by MS-13. I’m bruised from chest to feet, but I don’t care. It’s done. I’m a part of their gang. Falsely.

  Maybe to them I’m a member. Maybe in their eyes I’ve earned my place. I’m someone that they will call on soon to start discussing my job amongst so many criminals. Believe it or not, I’m lucky. Some members have to carry out horrific acts, like murdering innocent people, to show that they have what it takes to be a part of the MS-13 family.

  I got off easy. A beating that could have killed me, but didn’t. Loco says he respects the members who get jumped in more than the ones who commit a crime because the ones who are jumped in put their own lives at risk, while the ones who commit crimes only put other people at risk.

  I’ve accepted that I’ll have to be a part of this to get close to the inner workings of MS-13. I haven’t decided what to do when I find Wink. But I will find him, that’s for sure.

  Mi mamá doesn’t notice the bruises that splotch my torso and thighs. I’ve covered them with a brown shirt that comes up to my neck and jeans that fall to my ankles. A couple fading yellow marks on my forearm don’t suggest foul play.

  Mi mamá will never know.

  “Javier!” she yells from the front door. “You did it, mi hijo!”

  She’s gone to get the mail. Come back with a white sheet of paper and a manila envelope. She holds up the paper with letters too small for me to read from this far away.

  Mi mamá stops in front of the couch where Eduardo, Pedro, and mi papá are sitting with me, watching a game.

  “I’m so proud of you. Stand up.”

  I do what she asks, trying to get a closer look at the paper.

  “What’d he do, mamá?” Antonio asks, momentarily forgetting about his play trucks on the floor.

  “Your brother graduated high school, just like you will one day,” mi mamá says.

  Mi papá smiles. “Good job, mi hijo.”

  Mi mamá wraps me in a tight hug that crushes my injuries. I try not to grunt in pain.

  “I knew you could,” mi mamá says. “Come on, let’s celebrate.”

  She goes to the phone and dials mi tío’s number. Invites him to dinner. She and the girls are going to cook something big. She sends Eduardo to the store to get beer. I’ve made her proud. She worried that I wouldn’t make it. That I wouldn’t graduate and fulfill the plans she has for me to be something better than she ever was. To go to nice American schools and have a sheet of paper that says I’m worth something, if you buy into that sort of thing. She wants me to be able to apply to good colleges, graduate from there, too. Get a wonderful job that pays enough so that my kids never have to share a room. I don’t tell her that I like sharing a room. I don’t mind it like some people do. I don’t see what the big deal is with large houses and so much space. None of that can fit into a grave. You can’t take it with you when you’re gone. All that work for something that’s left standing long after you.

  It’s not what matters to me.

  Mi mamá is thrilled that I’ve checked one thing off of my life to-do list. I’ll go places with this graduation, she believes. I’ll have a nice life now, she promises. I don’t have to worry, she says.

  And I wonder, will I ever make her this proud again? Will she look at me like this, so happy, if I tell her I’m hunting Wink, if I tell her that I’m falling for a girl who isn’t Latina?

  Not likely.

  Love should be unconditional. Is it, though, really?

  Tío Adolfo makes it to the house in twenty minutes.

  “Congrats,” he says to me.

  His English is getting better. I’m dying inside, listening to him and looking at him, because everything about him reminds me of Diego.

  Does he miss Diego to the point of thinking about him daily?

  Does he ever wonder what his son’s murderer looks like?

  Can he tell me how he’s not a mess when Diego is gone?

  What’s your secret to being okay, is what I want to ask him.

  “Thanks,” I say instead.

  He grabs a beer. Plops down next to me on the couch.

  “She’s right, you know,” he says, nodding toward mi mamá.

  She’s in the kitchen, talking about my accomplishment.

  “About what?” I ask.

  “About you graduatin’,” he replies. “It’s a good thing. You should be proud.”

&
nbsp; I don’t feel proud.

  Mi tío hands me a beer. I glance to the kitchen where mi mamá is cooking, a smile on her face. She doesn’t see the beer in my hand.

  “I can’t drink this with her here, she’ll flip,” I say.

  He laughs. “Nah, she’s too proud of you right now. Just don’t take it too far, you know? One or two and she won’t mind.”

  I look at him like he’s handing me a bundle of lies that I’d like to believe.

  “I’ll take the fall, if she asks,” he offers.

  Good enough for me. I twist off the top. Down half the beer. It’s bubbly and cold on its way down my throat. Maybe if I have a few, it can dull the throb of healing wounds inflicted by MS-13.

  “How have things been?” mi tío asks.

  Not great. Horrible. Miserable. Except for Melissa.

  “Fine,” I reply.

  Mi tío sips his beer. Looks at me like he doesn’t buy my lies.

  “Fine?” he asks. “You sure?”

  I finish off the beer and reach for another. Mi tío’s eyes narrow.

  “What? You said I could have it,” I say.

  “And you can,” he replies. He keeps staring at me. “Anything you want to tell me?”

  Nope. Smile. “I have another construction job lined up in a few days. I’ll be gone on the other coast for a week. Should bring in good money.”

  It’s true. I’m not sure what he’s hinting at, but that’s pretty much all I can tell him. Well, maybe besides Melissa.

  I glance back to the kitchen. Mi mamá is busy at the stove.

  “Let’s go outside,” I say to mi tío.

  That way we’re not around other people. That way I can mention Melissa without mi mamá freaking out.

  Mi tío closes the sliding glass door, blocking out prying ears.

  “There’s this girl,” I say, once we’re outside.

  Mi tío smiles. “A lot of stories have started with those same words, Javier. And most of them mean trouble.”

  I laugh. “She’s not Latina.”

  Might as well say it. Get it out there.

  “And Ria doesn’t like that?”

  No, Ria, mi mamá, doesn’t like it.

  “Not at all,” I reply.

  He knows how mi mamá is.

  “Is the girl worth the trouble she will cause you, that’s the first thing to ask yourself,” he says.

  I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  “Is she strong enough to handle an angry Latina?”

  Is she? “Maybe.”

  Mi tío’s eyes lock on mine. “Here’s the thing, Javier. One day you will leave home. One day you will have to be happy on your own and you need to consider what that really means. Is happiness what your mamá says it is? Maybe it is for her. But what is happiness to you?”

  Happiness is Melissa’s laugh. Finding Wink. Knowing that Diego is in a better place, though I miss him. Happiness is Melissa’s touch and soccer and Cuban food.

  “Thanks,” I say, because I think I understand what he means.

  “Your mamá means well, she really does, but being Latina doesn’t decide whether a woman is worthy or not. Look at that girl Diego loves. Faith, she’s not Latina but she’s somethin’ else. She changed my boy for the better. That’s what you need, Javier. A girl who’ll make you a better person than the day she met you.”

  He said loves. Not loved. Loves. He still thinks of Diego present tense, which tells me that he hasn’t completely let go either.

  This is comforting in a torturous way.

  “She’s worth it, I think.” I imagine Melissa’s scars, what she must have been through. I imagine her lips and smiles and laugh. She’s worth it, definitely.

  “Are you gonna tell me about the bruises?” mi tío says, taking me by surprise.

  Silence.

  “Be careful when you lean to grab things like, say, a beer.” He eyes my covered torso. “Your shirt stretched. I saw the marks on your side. What happened?”

  He’s not happy about the bruises says his tone.

  “Nothing.” Can’t get him involved.

  “Whatever it is, Javier, walk away.”

  Not that easy.

  “Are you in trouble?”

  Maybe. “No.”

  “Do you need money?” he asks.

  “What? No, nothin’ like that.”

  He sips his beer, eyes cast away at the watery blue sky. “Is it about Diego?”

  I work to stay calm. “Diego’s gone. Nothing I can do now.”

  Well, that’s not true, now is it?

  That’s the thing about lies.

  I tell them well.

  25

  melissa

  One, two, five rings.

  My best friend is calling. Across states and borders and thousands of miles, she reaches out.

  Six, seven, ten seconds that I still don’t have an answer because it hurts too much.

  This isn’t how I wanted to tell Faith about my cancer. I didn’t want to say it over the phone, angry, as I hang up on her. I wanted to act more mature, reasonable, calm. But Faith has a part of my heart. Faith is twisted so deeply into my emotions that she’s no longer removable.

  She will always have a part of me.

  I wasn’t collected enough to hold my emotions together the last time we talked. I spilled my secret like a toppled glass. I’m not ready to clean up my mess.

  I’m not ready for all of Faith’s questions.

  “You gonna answer that?” Javier asks.

  I’ve been trying not to.

  “Probably not,” I say, glancing down at the phone.

  His eyes narrow. “Who is it?”

  “No one,” I say.

  Javier is at my house again. Everyone is gone. No interruptions. Except for my phone.

  Javier is sitting at my kitchen table because I’ve attempted to make Cuban food again from an on-line recipe. I’m not sure if he really likes it, or if he’s just being nice by not complaining. I’m not sure if it matters either way because he’s eating it and we’re together and I’m the luckiest girl because I can call Javier mine.

  He asked me to be his. He wants me to be his. Well, he didn’t actually ask. But the result is the same. He’s mine.

  Mine.

  The phone stops ringing. I turn it to silent and set it facedown on the table.

  Javier doesn’t like that I haven’t answered him.

  “Is it a guy?” he asks.

  I’m not expecting this. I laugh. Take another bite of food.

  “Why? Jealous?” I tease.

  I would be jealous if a girl called him and he didn’t want me to know about it, so I get where he’s coming from.

  Before he can answer I say, “It was a girl, actually. So, no.”

  I don’t want him getting the wrong idea.

  “Good,” he says, and pulls my chair close for a kiss.

  I’m absolutely ready to give him one, but my phone starts vibrating on the table. She’s calling again, I bet.

  Javier pulls back. Flips my phone over.

  My mouth drops open. I’m surprised he has the nerve. I’m also stuck in a bad place because he sees the name on the screen. Emotions flare in his stare.

  Pain.

  Wonder.

  Pain again.

  “It’s Faith,” he breathes. “Answer it.”

  He needs to talk to her, I see in his look. He needs to know, I see in his tense position.

  “I’m mad at her,” I say.

  Ring, ring, ring.

  I’m also very selfish because if I cared about Javier, I would answer and let him speak to Faith. I would let him have his closure. I wouldn’t keep that from him.

  I can’t keep that from him.

  “Hello?” I say, picking up.

  Javier watches me.

  “Melissa,” Faith says. “Is what you told me true?”

  Do you have cancer?

  “Yes,” I reply.

  “God,” she says. Silence. “Meli
ssa, I’m so sorry.”

  “I can’t deal with this,” I say. “I only answered because someone is here who wants to talk to you. Just answer his questions, and I’ll talk to you later.”

  It’s the best I can do.

  “You’ll answer again sometime? You promise?” she asks.

  “Yes.” Anything to get her to talk to Javier. “Will you talk to him?”

  She doesn’t ask who. She doesn’t press me for more.

  “Okay,” she agrees.

  I see then that even though Faith’s ignored me for whatever reason, she’s still partially the same friend I knew.

  I extend the phone to Javier. He looks at me like I’ve saved his life. Thank you, he mouths. The phone goes to his ear.

  “Hi, Faith. It’s Javier.” Pause. “Yeah, Melissa and I are hanging out now.”

  I can’t hear what Faith is saying. I don’t like not knowing what’s going on. It’s not really any of my business. I push the chair out to walk away, but Javier grabs my hand. He wants me to stay. He wants me to be a part of this moment. My heart constricts.

  “Yeah, we’re together,” he says. “Funny how that happened, right?”

  He winks at me. Then his face goes serious. His attention is Faith’s.

  “Listen, I know this might be hard for you,” he says. “But I really need to know what happened to Diego that night.” He clears his throat. “You know, his last night.”

  A battle takes place in Javier’s eyes.

  “I need to know everything. I can’t stop thinking about him.”

  Ten seconds.

  “Please, Faith,” he whispers.

  She must agree because Javier goes silent. His eyes find the ceiling and his throat swallows one, two, three times. Javier’s face falls. Twenty seconds. His muscles clench. One minute. His grits his teeth.

  “Fuck!” he yells, startling me. He bangs a hand on the table. Gets up and paces the kitchen with the phone to his ear.

  “I’ll kill them,” he says.

  I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to comfort him. I don’t know if there is ever really a way to comfort someone who has lost something so important.

  Javier stops in front of the window. Turns his back to me.

  “Can you describe their faces?” he asks Faith.

  His knuckles are white from clenching the phone.