There was only one man to pick, so she picked him, and they skated around slowly with their hands shyly clasped. Her laughs had subsided to giggles now as the parade of new wavers and hip-hoppers serenaded them from the screen.
Eventually, Jessica’s ankles began to wobble, so they rolled over to the snack bar to rest on one of the benches. Jonathan went to the freezer and brought them each a tiny cup of ice cream and a tiny wooden paddle for a spoon, just like the ones she remembered.
Annie Lennox sang in the background. Jonathan leaned over to wipe ice cream from her chin. Then he leaned over a little farther to kiss her. Setting down her little wooden spoon, she kissed him back.
43
Before she knew it, Dean was back to lock up and it was time for them to go.
“Want to go to my place?” he asked quietly, as if he were unsure of her answer. Still, after all this time . . .
“Yes,” she said. “Oh, but . . .” She remembered the condoms. They were back at her apartment. “I need to get some things from my place first. Can we stop by there? It won’t take long.”
“Of course,” he said.
In the car, on the way to her apartment, she knew neither of them could hear what the other was saying. She wasn’t saying much anyway, just random comments about the scenery or the songs on the radio. The air between them was filled with a sort of humming, like the sound of dragonflies. It was the hum of expectation.
When they finally got to her apartment complex, when he led her to the foot of the stairs, all the expectation crashed to a screeching halt. Someone else was already upstairs, at her door.
She studied the man’s silhouette. It was Papi. He was there with his toolbox and something big and flat leaning against the rail next to him.
No, she realized as they got closer, it wasn’t her father.
It was Guillermo. He was up there with the painting. Waiting.
Jessica felt a sudden, violent urge to throw up.
Jonathan hadn’t yet noticed Guillermo when he launched into, “I had a really good time tonight. Thanks for helping me test out the place.” Then he noticed. “Who’s that?”
“It’s . . . it’s . . . um . . .”
No answer came to mind. She had no idea what to say. Just as she didn’t know what she would say when they got to the top and Guillermo asked who Jonathan was. And here they were, going up the stairs to that moment, rising up just like the bile in her throat.
What in the world was she going to do?
Guillermo watched them steadily, his expression unreadable. It looked as if he’d been waiting there a while. He stood against the railing, his arms and legs crossed.
She cringed inside herself, trying to keep a completely normal face on the outside. This was going to be, she already knew, the most awkward thing that had ever happened in her life. If she survived it, they’d put it in The Guinness Book of World Records. If she didn’t survive it, her tombstone would read, “Jessica Luna, beloved daughter and almost girlfriend. Died of awkwardness.”
After what felt like a million years, each one filled with Jessica trying desperately to think of what to say or do, she and Jonathan reached the top of the stairs. Guillermo’s eyes were like bullets. He said nothing.
Maybe if I faint, Jessica thought. If she could make herself pass out right there and now, that would solve everything. She could feel the faintness starting up. She started to close her eyes.
“Wow,” said Jonathan. “Look at that painting. Is that you?”
Jessica looked down at the painting, then up at Jonathan, then over at Guillermo, who was looking at Jonathan and still saying nothing.
“Yes. That’s me. I mean, it’s a picture of me. It’s supposed to be, yes.”
“It’s beautiful. Did you do it?” He was asking Jessica, for some reason. As if she would paint herself in that way.
“No,” she said.
Still, Guillermo said nothing. And Jonathan hadn’t appeared to notice.
“Who, then? A friend of yours?”
Jessica looked over to Guillermo again. Weirdly, a very slight smile was starting at the corner of his mouth.
“I did it,” he said softly.
Jonathan turned around and looked at Guillermo for the first time. “Sorry?”
“I painted it. Over many months, while she was sleeping at my house,” Guillermo said. Jessica rolled her eyes upward but couldn’t faint. Maybe she could take a step backward and fall off the balcony.
Guillermo had spoken loudly and clearly this time, but Jonathan made a face as if he hadn’t heard. Maybe, Jessica realized, he hadn’t understood because of Guillermo’s strong north Mexican accent. She fervently hoped that was the case and decided to interrupt and get Guillermo out of there before he said anything else.
Jonathan obviously hadn’t understood, because instead of acknowledging Guillermo’s statement, he turned to Jessica and asked politely, “Is this your maintenance man?”
A loud, loud silence filled the air then. Jessica blinked once, then again. Over Jonathan’s shoulder, she saw Guillermo’s face. Finally, he looked angry.
“I’m her boyfriend. Who the hell are you?”
Jonathan turned slowly to look at Guillermo, then back to Jessica. “Your boyfriend? Is that what he said?”
“That’s right. Who are you?” Guillermo looked so angry now, Jessica became afraid. His hands had balled into fists at his sides.
Jonathan laughed, looking from Guillermo to Jessica and back again. “I’m her boyfriend. I’m the one with her, see?”
Jessica put out her hand, as if to physically keep Jonathan from saying anything else. “Jonathan, stop. Please.” She turned to Guillermo. She had to get him out of there. “Guillermo, you need to leave.”
“Why?” said Guillermo. “Is he your boyfriend, too? Do you want to be alone with him?” Jessica didn’t immediately answer, and Guillermo continued. “At least tell him, then, that you’re seeing me, too. So everybody knows what’s going on, corazón.”
Both men looked at her expectantly.
“Guillermo, you aren’t my boyfriend anymore. I’m not seeing you anymore. So, I want you to leave. Now.”
Jonathan’s face was incredulous, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Wait — you were dating your maintenance man?”
His tone was so shocked — almost disgusted. Now it was Jessica’s turn to look incredulous. After everything that had just happened, that’s what Jonathan had to say?
Guillermo smirked bitterly. “That’s right, mister. And she loved it. Right, chiquitita?” He picked up his toolbox and, leaving the painting, shoved past them and down the stairs.
As Jessica watched him go, the familiar heat filled her face and burned her eyes. She was torn between embarrassment and anger. She felt Jonathan’s stare and knew they’d have to talk this out, but at the moment, she didn’t think she could open her mouth again without screaming. Guillermo was such a jerk, showing up like that and acting as if she were his property — claiming her as his girlfriend, after everything he’d put her through.
“I guess . . . ,” said Jonathan. “I guess we never said we were dating exclusively, did we?” He sounded shell-shocked.
Jessica turned to him. “Are you surprised that I was seeing someone else, or just surprised that he looked like a maintenance man?” Her voice was like steel.
“Both,” he said. Then, immediately, he amended this with, “I mean — you can date whoever you want. I’m not saying that. I’m just . . . surprised. Because . . . I didn’t know. But I never asked, so . . .”
Jessica nodded curtly. “Right. Well, I’m sorry I never told you I was seeing someone else. Like I said, that relationship is over. But, just so you know, Guillermo’s not a maintenance man. But even if he was, I don’t see why that should be a concern of yours.” She didn’t know why she felt compelled to say this. Guillermo was a jerk, and he deserved what he’d gotten just now. But still, she felt the need to point out Jonathan’s inappr
opriate attitude.
“It’s not,” said Jonathan. “You can date whoever you want, I know that. Jessica, don’t think . . . I’m not trying to . . . I was just surprised, that’s all.”
“Because he looked poor? Because he was a Mexican, maybe?” Jessica asked loudly. She knew she sounded irrational now, but she couldn’t stop herself. She had to say this, to confirm whether her worst fears were true.
“No!” he said. “Not because he was Mexican! I’m not like that. I’m just saying . . . I never would have pictured you with someone like that.”
Someone like that . . . Jessica felt the hot tears fill her eyes. “Jonathan, I need to be alone now. Would you please go home?”
Before he could say anything else, she went into her apartment and closed the door, just as she felt the first tear run down her cheek.
44
The next morning, Jessica lay in bed, recovering and recounting the events of the night.
“Oh, my God,” said Marisol through the phone. “I can’t believe you went through that.”
“I know! Right? It’s like, in one night, I lost two men, just like that.” Jessica shifted Ricky from her pillow to the top of the comforter and switched the phone to her other ear.
“Wait. Wait a minute. What do you mean, you lost two men? Are you saying you’re going to dump Jonathan over this?”
“Well, yeah,” said Jessica. “I think I have to.” Once again, she felt her eyes misting up. She’d spent half the night before crying already — after she’d gone outside and gotten Guillermo’s painting from her balcony, of course. “I mean, it was so horrible, the way he said it. A maintenance man! Like it was so gross to him, you know? And, I just didn’t think he was like that, but apparently he is.” She reached over to the roll of toilet paper on the nightstand, tore off a piece of it, and used it to dab her nose. “God — why did stupid Guillermo have to be there in the first place?”
Marisol made a sympathetic noise. “To bring you the painting, I guess. I can’t believe he said all that stuff, about you being his girlfriend and loving it.”
“Oh, I know,” Jessica said. “It’s like, he has six months to tell me how he feels about me, but he doesn’t say a damn thing until now — when he’s feeling threatened by some other man. And then he says it like that.” She thought again of how he’d behaved last night. “It was so gross, the way he was suddenly Mr. Possessive and sexist and everything. I swear, he said more to Jonathan about our relationship than he’s ever said to me in his life.”
“Well, at least all that’s over now, right?” Marisol said. “Good riddance, right?”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“So, are you going to call Jonathan? Tell him why you’re upset?”
“No. I think he gets it already.” Jessica pulled the covers up to her neck. She wished that she could just go back to sleep instead of having to think about that. Or else go back in a time machine and avoid last night’s situation altogether. She petted Ricky and just held the phone to her ear, letting her friend’s presence comfort her from the other end of the line. “Why,” she finally said, “did Jonathan have to turn out to be the typical rich white guy?”
“What do you mean?” Marisol sounded exasperated. “Jessica, come on. What does his being white have to do with this?”
“I’m not saying it’s because he’s white. It’s . . . everything. He’s a white guy who grew up having everything handed to him, and he just sees the world in a way that I don’t see it. No, he’s not racist, but he did see Guillermo and assume he had to be a maintenance man —”
“But,” Marisol interrupted, “didn’t you say Guillermo had his toolbox, and he was wearing his painting clothes? Why wouldn’t Jonathan think that?”
“It’s not even that,” Jessica countered. “It’s the attitude — his total shock that I would date someone like Guillermo. ‘Someone like that,’ as he put it. Marisol, what if it had been my dad standing there, wearing his coveralls? And Jonathan had said, ‘Oh, I never pictured your dad like that’?”
“Well, you would tell him that was your dad, and if he didn’t like it, you’d dump him. But do you really think he’d be that way about your father, or anyone in your family?”
“Not intentionally,” said Jessica. “But that’s the problem, see? He said that stuff about Guillermo without even thinking about it. Because that’s the way he thinks. Sure, he’d probably eventually accept the fact that my ex-boyfriend is blue-collar, or that my dad is. . . . But I shouldn’t have to explain it to him, and to ask him to accept it. And to wait for him to get over the surprise. I just don’t want to deal with that. You know?”
“No, I see what you’re saying.” Marisol sighed.
Jessica sighed in turn. It was good to be understood. Too bad that understanding had to come at the expense of losing what had seemed like a really good boyfriend. “I knew I shouldn’t have tried to go out with someone like him.”
Marisol didn’t say anything. Jessica replayed her last comment in her mind. Someone like him.
“I mean . . . not someone like him, as in someone white,” she amended. “I just meant . . . you know.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s not because he’s white. It’s just because he didn’t know any better.”
“Right,” said Jessica. “You’re exactly right. It was just him.”
“Listen, try not to take it so hard, chica,” Marisol said in a halfhearted attempt to lighten the mood. “This was a good learning experience for you. You tried something new, and it didn’t work out. But now you can move on and try more new things.”
Jessica laughed. “Like restaurants, you mean? I tried a Thai restaurant, and the curry gave me food poisoning, but at least now I can eat other kinds of Thai food?”
Marisol laughed, too. “Yeah, something like that.”
After they’d hung up, Jessica thought over everything again. She did need to call Jonathan and talk this out. It was only fair. And she would call him, but not right this minute.
Instead, she settled back among her pillows, pulled her kitten to her chest, and let a few more tears flow. Making these kinds of decisions was emotionally exhausting, she thought. But she would get better at it. She had to.
45
Later, when she finally got out of bed, Jessica had a headache. She fed Ricky and cleaned his litter box, then turned on her computer out of force of habit, even though she didn’t really have anything to work on. In her mailbox, she had one forwarded prayer from her mom, and another forwarded e-mail about sisters, and a question from Xavier about ALMA’s site, presumably because he wanted to plan the database coding she’d asked him to do. She replied with the answer to his question but told him not to worry about it anymore, since their funding had dried up for the moment.
While she served herself a bowl of cereal for breakfast and lunch, last night’s fiasco replayed itself in her mind. Guiltily, she looked over at Guillermo’s painting, which she had turned against the wall, in the corner by the TV, in hopes that seeing it wouldn’t make her feel guilty.
She was going to have to call him, too, she realized. Not because she owed him any explanation regarding Jonathan, but because she owed him an apology. Whether or not he had any right to wait at her door like a stalker, he did have the right to take credit for his art and to be treated with as much respect as everyone else. She should’ve said who he was right from the beginning.
Why hadn’t she? Obviously, she hadn’t wanted Jonathan to know she’d been seeing someone else. But she and Jonathan weren’t serious yet, so there really was no reason to hide another relationship — especially one coming to an end. Jessica thought this over and came up with a troubling answer she couldn’t shake. Could it have been that she herself had issues with dating “someone like” Guillermo? Had she been ashamed to admit to Jonathan that she was?
Her phone rang. It was Sabrina. Jessica took a deep breath and prepared for possible bad news about her parents.
“Hi, Sabrina.”
>
“Okay, so I forgive you for what you said the other day at the restaurant, Jessi, if you tell me everything that’s going on with you and Jonathan.” Her voice was completely glib. “Did you two go out last night? Where’d he take you?”
Jessica couldn’t believe it. Here she was, all ready to have a big, sisterly heart-to-heart about their family’s problems, and all Sabrina cared about was meddling in her love life again. And this was the exact wrong moment for it. Jessica was not in the mood. She got up to dump her cereal in the sink. “Yes, we went out. And no, we probably aren’t going out anymore, so you can stop asking, okay?”
“What? Why? What happened?” From Sabrina’s tone, it was unclear whether she was concerned for her sister or upset that her matchmaking plans had gone astray.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Come on. Tell me. Did he do something, or did he just wear a shirt you didn’t like?”
Jessica rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, I’m not going to end up marrying this guy, and the sooner you realize that and get over it, the better.”
“Man,” said Sabrina. “What’s up your butt?”
Sabrina’s remark made Jessica even more upset. “You know what’s up my butt?” she told her sister. “You and Mami. I’m sick of you two bugging me about this guy — about any guy — all the time. You don’t even know if he’s right for me, but you want me to hurry up and marry him just because he has money. And now you have Mami saying the same thing, when for all she knows he’s an ax murderer. You know what? I can make my own decisions! And I’m tired of you two whispering together all the time about me and Papi — how I’m not dating anyone good enough and how Papi’s not good enough for Mami anymore.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
Jessica went on, getting louder by the minute. “Maybe I don’t want to marry some rich white guy who’ll make me into a white suburban housewife who forgets her own people. If that’s what you and Mami want so bad, hook her up with Jonathan, and then they can live happily ever after and make Papi mow their lawn!”
Houston, We Have a Problema Page 25