“That kid’s not yours,” he says. “According to Spence, she was fucking around with that guy.”
CHAPTER 39
ZINA
I lie in bed half-conscious, listening to Natalia on her way out the door. Most importantly, I listen to Tony stall when she tells him she loves him. I hear them kiss for a long time. Amazing how I can hear their lips and tongues maneuvering in each other’s mouths. Gross. She asks him to walk her to her car, but I don’t know if he does or not. Moments later, I hear him walking down the hallway toward the guest room. Toward me. I lie still beneath my covers as he peers in for a few seconds and then shuts the door.
At 11:45 a.m., I wake up alone. The guest bedroom’s door is still closed. I wonder where Antonio went, if he’s left me alone. I fall out of bed and stumble over to the door. Pressing my ear against it, I listen for movement or a woman’s voice. I crack the door and peek out. The silence rattles my nerves. I step into the hallway and make my way toward the dining room. The marble is cold beneath my bare feet, so I tiptoe into the dining area.
Tony’s in the kitchen, pulling dishes from his cupboard. He’s calmer than I’ve seen him, but I’ve never seen him like this in his own home. I’ve never been here with him. I realize I don’t really know who he is outside of being Uncle Tony, distant caretaker, and roundabout uncle.
He’s not wearing shoes or a shirt, and his hair is stringy and damp, like he just stepped from the shower. I glance toward the front door and see it’s locked. When Tony senses me standing behind him, he whips around nervously, staring at me.
“I didn’t hear you get up,” he says with a casual smile.
My cheeks flush; I’m flustered.
“Can you put a shirt on?” The smile on his lips fades. His face drops, as if I’ve hurt him, which I don’t want. I try to apologize for being insensitive. “It’s not that your body sucks or anything. It’s just…I don’t know.”
“No, I get it.” He sets the stack of plates down. “It makes you…you’re not comfortable with it.” He fumbles around in the kitchen for a few seconds. Finally he looks at me. “I’ll do that. A shirt. I should know better.”
He hurries past me, mumbling something about his niece, and cuts through the living room to his master suite. Seconds later, he’s standing in the living room wearing a dorky-looking black-and-white soccer shirt. I laugh.
“That shirt is a pretty tight fit.”
“What?” He looks down at himself. “Uh…oh. I’m…I just grabbed what was clean.” With no shoes or socks on, standing on the cold marble, my teeth chatter as I pull my arms inside his shirt sleeves that I’m wearing.
“I don’t care, Unc. It’s your house. Wear what you want, really. Don’t listen to me.”
He gestures to the dining room table, for me to sit, and I do. I smack my lips together because my mouth tastes stale. I ask for a glass of water. He goes to the kitchen and comes back with a bottle of water and a pink-and-purple pastry box. I slouch down, fatigued from the last couple of months.
“What’s in the box?” I ask as he hands me the bottle.
I twist the blue cap from the water bottle and chug. My hair is still pulled into the makeshift corsage ponytail holder. I tug at it until the wristlet gives way. The rhinestones and beads fall into my hand, and my hair falls loosely down my back. Tony sits the pastry box down in front of me and takes the chair next to mine. Tony nods at the box and tells me to open it. I peek into it and gasp as the lid falls close. It’s an ice-cream cake in the shape of a purple designer purse, with a blown-up picture of Blanca and me standing in front of the auditorium stage during our fifth-grade graduation. I remember the picture. Leidys had taken it and had given my mama a copy. I’d tried to steal it out of her room at least twice a year since then, but she’d always noticed it was gone and made me return it. In the pic my arm is wrapped around Bee’s shoulder, the two of us wearing our white caps and gowns. Goofy and ugly, blushing into the camera.
“Wow, this is very cool.”
“You like it? I thought it might embarrass you a little.”
I shake my head. “Best thing ever. I love it. Really.”
My eyes sting. My birthday cake from Tony sends me spiraling. After such an unbearable week, this is something for me to hold on to. This memory of me and Blanca, my sister. I look at him as a tear escapes me. I catch it with my thumb.
“There’s nothing more important than me and Blanca, is there?”
Tony stares at me. “There hasn’t been,” he says. “Ultimately, it’s up to you and Blanca.” He leaves the table and comes back with a knife and two plates. He lifts the cake from the box and hands me the knife.
“Take a picture of it,” I say as he sits the cake on his dark cherrywood table.
“Yeah, sure.” He takes his phone from his pocket and snaps a pic.
“Send it to me. I wanna post it.” He nods as I stare at the cake, trying to figure out how to cut the picture of me and Blanca. “Thank you so much.”
“I got you something else,” he says. Our eyes meet. I lean on the table, palms down.
“Wait, what time is it?” I ask.
“Almost noon. Why?”
“Aww shit, I need to call my mama. I haven’t talked to her since I left last night.” I run to the guest room for my phone. Five missed calls from my ma and three texts, each demanding that I call her. I scroll down the Missed Alerts menu and find that both Andrew and Alex also have texted.
You better call Mama.
You in trouble.
I get off the phone with my mama after telling her about the party my friends had thrown for me after prom. She asks about Shannon and his reaction to it all.
“Mama, Shannon was the best. Like…I’m lucky he was there.” And I was. He was the one who was strong enough to let me feel what I had to feel and capable of seeing me at my worst. I never would’ve made it through the night without him.
I don’t tell her much else. I tell her I am still at the hotel and that I’d be home around two o’clock. I hang up and go to the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth. While I brush and clean the crusty spackle from my eyes, Tony knocks at the bedroom door.
“Come in,” I say. I kill the light in the bathroom and crawl back into bed, hoping for a few more hours of sleep.
“Still tired?” He peeks in before he pushes the door open and walks in, carrying a little baby blue bag. He sets the bag on the bed. “One more.”
“What is it?”
“It’s pretty fuckin’ awesome, is what it is.” He pushes it toward me. “Open it.”
I stare at the bag and push it back. “Did you kiss me before I fell asleep last night?” I need to ask. The memory is foggy, and he hasn’t said anything or acted differently about it. He sits on the bed and leans backward until he’s staring at the wall. I don’t want to push the issue, but as I look at the gift, I realize I don’t want it. I don’t want to be anybody’s charity baby doll. I hop off the bed and head for the closet where I left my prom dress.
“I gotta go. I’ll call a cab,” I yell from the closet. I notice him moving from the bed and peek out from the closet. He closes the guest room door and locks it. “What are you doing?”
“Come back and sit down,” he says.
“Don’t lock that door. Unlock it.”
My hands trembling, I unbutton my shirt as he walks into the closet behind me. I push him out, grab the door handle, and slam it in his face. I stumble backward as he jerks the door open again.
“Come out of the closet,” he says calmly. I stand my ground. “Zina.”
He reaches in from the doorway and grabs my arm, yanking me toward him. I fall against his chest and instinctively try to scurry away, but he lifts me from the ground and carries me to the bed. He stands me in front of it. Looking at me, he pauses for a second before pushing me so hard that I lose my balance and fall b
ackward on the bed. I climb to my knees, trying to catch myself on the springy mattress. He pulls me down and climbs on top of me. His weight crushes me.
“Can you breathe?” he asks.
“Please get off me. Please…I don’t want to.”
He lowers his face until our noses touch. I think he’ll roll off or lift up, but he doesn’t. Instead, he kisses the brim of my nose.
“Listen.” He cradles my head in his arms and shifts his weight to relieve some of the pressure. I’m trapped underneath him. “I’m afraid of you,” he says, his eyes narrowing into sleepy slits.
“No, you’re not.”
“I am,” he says. He kisses me on the forehead and sits up on top of me, pulling me up to face him.
“Don’t ever do that again,” I blurt out as I slap him across the side of his face. He doesn’t flinch; his head barely moves from the impact. He looks at me, his poise and desire holding solid. I push him. He backs away, allowing me to get away. I walk to the closet, bothered and ready to leave for real. I shut the closet door while I unbutton my makeshift nightgown, shaking, trying to contain myself. I’m moving too slow to be afraid. I’d checked out of reality as soon as I’d gotten out of the bed.
I look out from the closet and see Tony sitting on the bed, staring in my direction. When he sees me peek out, he holds out a little gift box and gestures for me to come. I don’t. I step back into the closet and sit down in the middle of the floor. I muffle my sobs as I reach out to pull the closet door shut. But as I do, he steps inside and sits down in front of me. I scoot back, making room as he folds his legs. I wipe my face with the sleeve of my shirt as I stare at the blue gift box in his hand.
“Why are you crying?” I shrug. “You don’t know?” I shrug again. “Did I scare you?” I shake my head. “Are you telling me the truth?” He pauses, his eyebrows raised. “Be honest. Did I scare you?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
I don’t answer.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “Please forgive me. Okay?”
I nod.
“Listen, I’m not sure how to be around you anymore. I’m confused,” he says.
“About what?”
“I feel things that I shouldn’t.”
“Whaddya mean?” I wipe my nose with the back of my hand.
“I’ve been frustrated with you—the way you’ve been acting out, the stuff you took, the things you’ve demanded.” I look away. “That’s why I put you on the bed the way I did. But I never want to scare you off, ever.”
“I haven’t asked you for anything in a while. I’m over the stuff with Corey and Bryan. I forgot to tell you. Alex and Andrew are better.” It’s still hard to talk about Corey and Bryan.
“Good.” He sets the gift box beside him. “There are parts of me you’ve never seen, because I handle you and Blanca with kid gloves.”
“You can take the kid gloves off. I don’t need ’em anymore.” I look at him calmly, glad we can talk openly about stuff.
“Really?”
He gazes at me for what seems like forever. Then he grabs my face and kisses me full on the mouth. He hoists me up from the closet floor. I wrap my legs around him and latch on like a small child clinging to her parent.
“No, wait.” I pull my mouth away from his. He looks at me and lowers me to the floor immediately. “I’m no good at this. It’s wrong,” I say. He looks at me as if he broke me and holds his hands out as if he’s scared to touch me. “Isn’t it wrong?” I ask, my eyes teary.
“Is what wrong?”
“You know.” I sniff to hold back tears. “Sex. It’s wrong sometimes, right?”
“Well, yeah. With the wrong person.” He frowns, confused.
“I’m no good at this. It’s always wrong.”
“It’s not wrong,” he says, standing in the middle of the room as it spins around me. “Zina, you’re with me. It’s not wrong with me. Nothing is ever wrong when you’re with me. Do you believe that?”
“I did.”
“No, you do. I’m the one who protects you. I’d never hurt you.” He steps toward me but keeps his distance. “Nothing will happen if you say no. I’ll leave right now. It’s your decision. I’ll always respect what you want. You know that.”
He’s right. I go to him and wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my face into his chest, wetting it with my tears.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“What do you want me to do, Zina?” he whispers.
“Help me. Make it stop.”
“Make what stop?”
I kiss him. He takes my hand and walks me over to the bed, laying me down and unbuttoning my shirt. He kisses me on my neck as he pulls down my strapless bra, freeing one of my breasts, touching me gently. Then he covers me again with my shirt.
“I want this,” I say.
He snatches my bra down over my stomach and tugs at my panties until they’re no longer in the way. Staring at me, he takes off his belt and then his pants. Tony hovers over me, disrobing, staring at me, ready to pounce. He gazes at my body as if it’s a feast spread out on the dinner table. I sit up, catching my breath, waiting for him to continue. He touches me, massaging the hidden parts of me before slowly sliding himself inside me. I gasp as he fills me and arch my back as my body concedes to his.
A flood of turbulent vibrations takes me, rendering me vulnerable and incoherent to anything besides what is happening inside me. My body convulses as tiny tremors vibrate through my legs and insides. For a second, I can’t breathe. As I gasp for air, Tony bites down on one of my nipples. I grab his head and push it away. It’s embarrassing, but it makes him grin. So this is what it’s like when you don’t have to fight back. When this love thing happens. When you want it too. When it’s safe. When it’s right. Crazy.
The next morning when Tony takes me to school, I beg him to let me out—against his wishes—at the beignet shop across the street.
“You hungry? I would’ve made you something to eat,” he says as if he’d forgotten something.
“Nah. Well, maybe. I don’t know,” I say. “I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“I don’t want Blanca to see, to know.”
“I don’t want you to hide,” he says.
“I’m not.”
“Zina, you can make your own decisions. You don’t need approval—not mine, not Blanca’s, not your mother’s.”
“You have to know, though, that it’s gonna be weird.”
Tony pulls into the parking lot of City Streets Beignets and backs into a parking spot close to the street.
“No.” He puts the car in park. “I don’t know that.”
“Bee’s my best friend. I can’t—”
“You can’t what?”
“I can’t do this stuff if…if she—”
“If she what, Zina?”
“She has to approve.”
He stares out his window and then looks at me.
“She won’t.”
I’m not pretending to know what my relationship is with Tony. Oddly enough, I’m not confused by us either. I know he cares about me. I know I’m safe with him. I know I’m eighteen, and in three weeks, Blanca, Rachel, Shannon, and I will graduate from Albert Chesney High School together. Our finals start next week. So instead of spending time wondering about what my life will be like after graduation, I’m studying and selling the rest of my crop.
In class, all I can do is stare at Shannon until he passes me the first letter of the day. Our letters are longer than ever—six or seven pages front and back, folded over a dozen times and stuffed into each other’s locker, binder, or notebook.
The first one comes the Monday after prom. It falls out when I open my locker, and bounces off my foot before hitting the floor. My name is scratched across the top page in bl
ue ink.
It is an apology, one that makes me sad for all the stupid stuff we’ve put each other through. In the letter he has spent a lot of pages talking about Beatrice and apologizing for his failure to control her.
It’s my fault. I shoulda told her to stop it…shoulda made her back off. It went on too long. I didn’t understand what I felt about you. I love Blanca for getting in my shit the way she did. I hope y’all stay friends forever. She’s good for you and me.
But the letter doesn’t mention Beatrice’s prom meltdown. I wish it did. I want to talk about it. I am worried for us, mostly me. His letter talks in embarrassing description about the first time we kissed. He writes that it was the best kiss he’s ever had, and he doesn’t ever want to kiss anyone else. That’s what it’s supposed to be like. You’re supposed to never want to stop…and I didn’t, the letter said. I couldn’t believe it, could you?
He’s kept his promise not to tell my secret. And I go by my locker after every class to check for his notes. When we’re not at school, he calls, texts, and tags me constantly across our social media accounts. He’s available to me whenever I need to cry or talk. His affection and respect is amazing. I grow stronger every day because of him. Essentially sticking to me like glue, he finds me at school no matter where I am. I don’t ask him how he finds me or who tells him where I am. I accept that this is what he does. He watches.
Two weeks after prom, on a Wednesday morning, Shannon is waiting for me in the hall when I get to first period.
“Let’s walk together,” he says. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah. C’mon.”
He reaches for my hand but hesitates and pulls it back. I look at him.
“It’s cool,” I say. “I’m not gonna freak.”
The fugazis have avoided me for the most part. And I haven’t seen Beatrice around. No one’s talking about her, me, or Shannon anymore. So the week closes out with no movement from Beatrice or her clique.
So I ain’t saying I’m avoiding Tony; I’d say I’m giving him his space. He hasn’t tried to call me, text me, or none of that. And that’s okay.
Of Hustle and Heart Page 21