Swimming for Sunlight

by Allie Larkin

  “We’ll keep him entertained,” Bitsie said.

  I made myself a cup of peppermint tea and sat with them while they drank their martoonis. Bitsie asked Luca a million questions about the film he’d made and the one he’d been helping with in Savannah. I struggled to find things to say, and did a lot of smiling and nodding instead. In my mind, I was rewriting our history, imagining where Luca and I would be if I hadn’t ended up with Eric. Would I be traveling with him on his whirlwind of filmmaking, or would he never have made his documentary? Would I have held him back?

  In a small, dark crevice in my brain, there was a sweet little alternate world where, after college, Luca and I moved to a tiny studio in a prewar walk-up in New York City, while I worked my way from intern to assistant to designer at the Metropolitan Opera costume shop, and Luca ran the cameras at the local news like he’d planned. We ate ramen noodles for dinner and had a favorite rock to picnic on in Central Park, and stayed best friends, on top of being in love. Luca would have felt like a family of my own no matter what.

  “I am not too proud to say that Robert Redford is still a very handsome man,” Luca said, answering a question I hadn’t even heard Nan ask.

  Luca was sitting so close that I could feel the vibrations of his voice in my chest. His hand was right there in his lap. I wanted to grab it, hook my fingers into his, feel his skin against mine.

  “Well,” Nan said, “I am not a single woman anymore. So I guess I shouldn’t even be asking.” She smiled and then launched into the story of her romance with Isaac, something that under any other circumstances I’d be interested in hearing. Instead, I was lost in thoughts of that other world where Luca and I never parted. I didn’t want to find my way back.

  * * *

  Nan made vegan sushi for dinner. She and Bitsie rolled rice and seaweed around strips of cucumber and roasted red pepper.

  Luca and I sat in the living room on the couch, side by side, looking at my sketches. Bark eyed Luca suspiciously across my lap.

  “These are great, Kay.” Luca’s arm brushed against mine every time he turned a page. “I love the retro, but new, feeling.” He laughed. “And that even looks like Bitsie.”

  “Thank you. The fabrics they used to use—those costumes were dangerous, I think.”

  “Nan said Bitsie’s tail looks amazing in the water.”

  “I haven’t gotten to see it in action yet. I was busy . . . working with Isaac.”

  Luca looked at me. I thought maybe he’d picked up on the lie, but then he said, “It’s great to see your face again.”

  I smiled. “It’s great to see yours.”

  There was a quiet moment, staring. I thought we might kiss, even though it would be totally inappropriate. It had been too long. Too much had happened. I didn’t know anything about him now, beyond his documentary work. He never had relationship information on his Facebook page. But that look seemed like proof that I meant the same to him that he did to me. Or maybe the moment was only in my head.

  He moved closer. Bark yawned. I laughed.

  “He’s not sure if we’re going to be friends,” Luca said.

  “He’s sitting closer to you than he does to most strangers.”

  “Is that a sign he likes me, or he thinks you might need protection?”

  “Here,” I said, digging into my pocket. I handed him a few pieces of dog jerky bits.

  He held his hand flat, offering the treats to Bark.

  Bark leaned across me to sniff Luca’s hand, then stepped over me, smelling Luca’s cheek with authority.

  Luca smiled and said, “This is kinda weird,” trying not to move his face too much.

  Bark licked Luca’s cheek and then swooped in and took the treats from his hand in a quick dip of his head. He flopped down between us, his weight pushing us farther apart.

  Luca scratched Bark behind his ears.

  “That was a quick warm up,” I said.

  “We did have a pretty good greeting before you got here. He barked like he was reading me a rundown of house rules.”

  I laughed.

  “He’s quite smart, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s hard to be smart,” Luca said. “To notice everything. Isn’t it?”

  My memory flashed to that college party, the two of us, sharing pretzels in a red Solo cup, people-watching together.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Nan served the veggie rolls piled high on a platter, carrying it to the coffee table in the living room. When Bark jumped off the couch to sniff out the food situation, Nan blocked him with her knee. Normal dog behavior. So un-Bark.

  Bitsie came in carrying a stack of plates and a fistful of chopsticks.

  “That’s a lot of food,” I said, and felt the same sinking feeling I got as a kid. I knew what was happening.

  The doorbell rang. Bark yelped and ran to the foyer, ready to read the riot act to the new visitor, but it was Isaac, so Bark jumped up and tried to lick his face instead. I was surprised by Bark’s exuberance, but Isaac didn’t seem to mind. “I had a dog years ago,” Isaac said, stooping to scratch Bark’s chin.

  Marta and Ruth arrived soon after. Nan had convinced Luca to screen New Durango for them.

  “Althea has Bikram,” Ruth announced to no one in particular, and I hated that I felt relieved. The apology I owed sat heavy in my mind. I worried maybe Althea hadn’t come because she didn’t like me anymore.

  “I told her hot yoga is bad news,” Marta said, shaking her head. “I read an article. She’ll ruin her knees.”

  Isaac and Luca got Luca’s laptop hooked up to the television. Nan brought extra chairs from the kitchen. Ruth dimmed the lights and closed the curtains, which made it hard to see the sushi. We all ended up eating with our fingers.

  Ruth and Marta applauded when they saw Luca’s name appear on the screen. Bitsie whistled with her fingers in her mouth. Next to me, I knew Luca was blushing. I couldn’t see it, but I knew. He still felt like an extension of me. I was his annex, he was mine, and our link wasn’t broken.

  * * *

  In the documentary, Luca’s foster mom, Carla, calls to ask him to film, recording herself making the call with her camcorder, to get him started. She has a new boy coming. He’s twelve, only slightly older than Luca had been. “I’m tired,” she says. “I’m tired of our children hurting so much. I’m tired of watching families disintegrating. They have the love—that’s the hardest part. You’re supposed to want what’s best for your kids. That’s what these parents are doing. We are failing them.”

  Luca brings his camera to the police station when they pick up Marco, who’s wide-eyed and full of fear. While he follows Marco’s story, Luca tells his own, saying the things Marco doesn’t know how to say yet.

  Carla fights so hard. Phone calls. Legal aid. A mountain of immigration law books piled on her kitchen table.

  “She’s a superhero,” Luca says with tearful awe, turning the camera on himself to talk about her.

  There are stacks of little-kid clothes in the closet in Luca’s old room. “This used to be my shirt,” he says, handing a green turtleneck to Marco. “I liked to pretend I was a Ninja Turtle when I wore it.” Marco flashes a smile that disappears quickly.

  In the next scene, Carla has the camera. Luca and Marco are asleep in the beat-up red race car bed, a copy of Harry Potter open on Luca’s chest, Marco snug in the crook of his arm. You can hear Carla crying.

  * * *

  Luca goes to visit his mother. “Cariño.” She holds his face in her hands. “No deberías estar aquí. You shouldn’t be here,” she says through sobs, and she hugs him. It’s a death grip hug.

  “Mamá, I can come see you,” Luca says. “It’s allowed. I’m allowed.”

  But her fear is not laws. It’s the violence in Durango. She wants him safe. Away.

  * * *

  They don’t get Marco’s mother back. Luca brings a cameraman with him to Texas to visit her.

  The detention center l
ooks like a city of dome tents. Beds stacked on beds, people stacked on people. If Marco’s mother says she wants to return to Mexico, they’ll send her there, but she wants to fight to stay with her son, so she’s stuck in detention with fewer rights than an actual prisoner. Everyone is looking for a loophole. There isn’t one.

  When Luca interviews her, you can see the yellow ghost of a bruise across her cheek. She won’t talk about how it got there.

  As they leave the detention facility, the cameraman catches Luca turning his head away to wipe tears from his eyes.

  “Are you okay, man?” a voice says softly from behind the camera.

  “I wanted to take her with me,” Luca whispers. He slips sunglasses on his face and walks out of the shot.

  * * *

  I tried not to watch Luca watching himself, but I couldn’t help sneaking glances. He didn’t look at the screen much. He stroked the downy fur behind Bark’s ears. Bark seemed happy to let him.

  * * *

  In the last scene of the film, Marco and Luca are on the patio at Carla’s house, pulling weeds from Marco’s container gardens. Vegetables growing strong and tall.

  “Here,” Marco says, handing Luca a tomato. “Taste it.” He’s so proud that it almost eclipses the constant sadness in his eyes.

  Luca takes a bite, juice spurting everywhere.

  Marco laughs. “It’s good, right?”

  “Amazing,” Luca says.

  “Yeah.” Marco twists his body away and then back. “You’re my brother, right?” he asks. “You’ll be my brother, okay?”

  “If you’ll be mine,” Luca says.

  “Yeah.” Marco nods. “Yeah, I will.” He picks a tomato for himself and takes a bite.

  The credits roll.

  * * *

  Luca shifted his weight on the couch cushion next to me. It must have been awkward to show people all your pain in Technicolor. He’d done it so many times now. I wondered if it got easier, or if the awkwardness was something that ebbed and flowed. I wondered if he could predict it. Was it harder with people he knew? Easier with strangers?

  Bitsie started clapping, and everyone joined her. Nan raised the lights. Ruth’s eyes were red. Marta was still crying. Isaac fussed with the cuff of his shirt.

  “It was even better seeing it a second time,” Nan said, coming over to give Luca a hug. She’d seen it in the theatre when it first came out. “I’m so proud of you.”

  He soaked up her words. I knew what that kind of needy felt like, and I was glad Nan could give him some nurturing.

  “My mother lives in San Miguel de Allende now,” Luca told her. “I bought her a house in Valle del Maiz. She runs a bed and breakfast.”

  Nan kissed him on the forehead. “You’re a good son,” she said.

  “You should visit her sometime. She knows all about you. All the times you let me stay here. She would love to have you. It’s a beautiful city. Very safe.”

  “I would love that,” Nan said.

  Luca beamed.

  * * *

  Eventually, everyone left and Nan went to bed. Luca and I brushed our teeth in the bathroom, making silly faces at each other in the mirror, the way we used to in my dorm. I still hadn’t come close to figuring out the right things to say to him. I’d never been my best with words. He nudged me with his elbow. I nudged him back. He hugged me, toothbrush still in his mouth. A long, tight embrace. I couldn’t breathe well through my nose, and my mouth was full of toothpaste, but I didn’t want it to end. I felt like I’d rather suffocate than have him let go.

  Finally, he broke away and spit in the sink. I did too. We cupped our hands under the running water to rinse our mouths.

  “I missed you so much,” he said, making eye contact in the mirror. It was easier that way. When we looked at each other for real, it was too much.

  “Me too,” I said. I wanted him to climb into bed with me, to sleep the way we used to. And for a moment, I thought that’s what would happen. He kissed my cheek. I watched him in the mirror as he did. He was thinner, a new sharpness to his jawline.

  “Goodnight,” he said. And then he left.

  I heard him walk down the hallway to the guest room, where he always used to stay when he came home with me. When I went out to the hall, I noticed he hadn’t closed the door all the way. Before I could decide if that was a sign, he turned out the light.

  In my room, Bark was sprawled across the bed. My body too lit up to sleep, I lay on my back in the tiny spot Bark left me, and stared at the ceiling, trying not to think about the open door.

  * * *

  I’m sure all our friends in college thought Luca and I were having sex long before it happened. For most of our friendship, I felt like we were bear cubs playing together. Rolling around. Cuddling at night for warmth. We kept a line of innocence. What I needed from Luca was bigger than sex, and I was too scared to upset the balance.

  When senior year started, the pressure of a deadline changed everything. We would not be in this bubble together by accident anymore. If we were going to stay together, we’d have to make choices, and the weight of those choices pushed at curiosities I hadn’t let myself indulge. I started noticing the trail of hair he revealed when he raised his arms to stretch, his shirt lifting away from his pants. The musky smell of his body after he played soccer on the quad. The way he looked at me. Sometimes, he would turn away from me in bed at night. With purpose. To hide.

  I remember his hands.

  It started in the Clark Theatre, in the arena bleachers, in the dark. A read-through I was supposed to be watching. He came with me, because he always did. And he threaded his fingers between mine, because he always did, but something about the friction of his hand against my palm was different. I remember my heart pounding, a lump in my throat. The panic running through my veins had an edge of excitement.

  The theatre smelled like fresh paint and the stale tang of welded metal. Luca was wearing a flannel shirt, and the arms were too long on him. His cuff felt soft on my wrist.

  I knew it was the end. I was powerless to stop it, because I wanted to feel his hip bones against mine. To know the smooth skin low on his belly. I wanted to push his hair from his face and kiss his lips and feel our connection in every way. I wanted to be alive for once.

  Before the first act was done, he nudged me with his elbow, tugged at my hand. We snuck from our seats, and ran through the lobby, down the steps to the basement. He pulled me into the empty black box theatre, and as soon as the door shut behind us, his mouth was on mine. We’d kissed before. Politely. Sweetly. An act of love, not lust. But this time, we were insatiable.

  I was on the pill. He knew. He saw me take it every night. Neither of us had done this before. There was no physical reason not to. No need to leave that room and risk the brisk air of early spring jolting us from this certainty.

  We fumbled in the dark, looking for the risers. Shed clothes with purpose. I took off his shirt. He slid my pants from my ankles, the boundaries between our bodies becoming less and less clear.

  I’d always heard that sex was supposed to be awkward the first time. New navigation. Learning parameters. But most of his body was as familiar as my own. We didn’t have much to learn. It felt inevitable. Necessary. We pushed away the fear of what was next. The carpet on the risers burned my back. My body was present with his.

  Even years later, even after all the hurt I held from losing him, that moment was the one I went to when I needed to remember something good. It was my touchstone for joy. The best anything could ever be. We were completely alive.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Luca was still sleeping when I left to work the wedding party at Isaac’s. I snuck down the hall to peek in on him. He was wrapped around the blankets, the way he used to wrap his body around mine. I wondered about women after me. If they shared the same closeness. Eric and I never took that kind of comfort in each other.

  At work, I struggled to push thoughts of Luca’s possible girlfriends from my mind. Wh
at were they like? Were they past or present tense?

  The sound of a sewing machine is a peaceful hum to a calm mind, and a driver of repetitive thought to a chaotic one. But once the bridal party came in, their noisy bluster and relentless demands forced me into the moment.

  * * *

  When I got home, Luca and Nan were in the living room playing music and looking through records. They didn’t notice Bark slip away to greet me. I whispered my hello to him, and watched from the hallway.

  “I love this one,” Luca said, smiling in recognition at a record with a white cover and a picture of a woman in a striped shirt. “My mother has a thing for Eydie Gormé. She had this one.”

  “Play it,” Nan said, so eager to make him happy.

  He placed the record on the turntable, careful to put the needle down exactly right. The cowbell started and Luca bopped his head in time with the music, wide smile on his face. “I haven’t heard this in forever!”

  “May I?” Nan offered her hand.

  Luca bowed, slipped his hand into hers, and they twirled around the room as Eydie sang “Blame It on the Bossa Nova.”

  In college, Luca taught me how to waltz on the gravel roof of his dorm, after he confessed that his mother made him take ballroom dancing as a child. I watched the way he held his neck long and straight as he moved through the steps with Nan, and the wanting collected in my chest until it hurt. I snuck to my room so they wouldn’t see me.

  I was scared of so many things, but I’d never been more terrified than this. I always ruined everything, and Luca was too special to ruin.

  * * *

  A few songs later, Luca knocked on my open door. “I didn’t know you were home.”

  “Just got in,” I said, avoiding his gaze.

  “I’m going to head out early tomorrow.”

  “You’re leaving? Already?” I said, showing too many cards. I didn’t know how to be around him, but I couldn’t stand the idea of him leaving.