by Shay Bravo
“I’m dead.”
“You’re not dead.”
“Yes, I am.” I look away from my food and glare at Diane. “You don’t seem to be concerned about my death.”
It’s been a day since the festival and when I messaged her as soon as I could about what Ethan had said, she agreed to a consoling session in exchange for food. Her dark eyes are judgmental underneath perfectly shaped, raised brows. “Girl, homeboy said he liked you. He didn’t propose marriage. You don’t need to die over that.”
When it comes to Mexican families, everyone thinks they know the best Mexican place because of the vibes it gives off. A menu written in Spanish is a good sign, as well as some quality music; it’s always a plus if there is no elaborate fresco on the wall of some sort of event or ancestral place the owners want you to connect to, but that’s not necessarily a deterrent. My general rule of thumb is to try at least two things on the menu before shooting down a restaurant.
We’re at my favorite Mexican restaurant, forty-five minutes away from town, but it’s worth the drive. Casuelas can be described as a hole in the wall, but it has a lot of things I like when it comes to Mexican cuisine. Instead of focusing on a specific gastronomical inspiration, the menu rotates with the day of the week, and the owners take you through an experience that goes deeper than the free chips and salsa you get at most taquerias.
It’s not my mamá’s cooking, but I’ll settle for something that’s better than my crafty concoctions. Banda music is playing through the loudspeaker and Diane moves her shoulders to the beat, even though all of the Spanish she knows can be boiled down to three phrases: me llamo Diane, tengo hambre, and chinga tu madre.
Translation: My name is Diane. I’m hungry. And, last but not least, fuck your mom.
I sigh, scooping some of the refried beans from my plate and into my mouth. My platter consists of a tamale, a tostada, and a chile relleno, which comes with rice and beans. While that is a lot of food, I’ve never been one to curb my eating habits. When my mom told me that at my age she weighed thirty pounds less than what I currently weigh, I nearly had a heart attack, but I bike a lot and sometimes sometimes go to the gym with Carlos. Besides, I haven’t hated my body since sophomore year of high school.
Average-sized bodies are still being introduced in regular media, and it took me a while to realize that I’m built like my father. Where he is stocky and full of muscle, my mother is lankier, and seeing her high school pictures compared to mine used to get to me. Tyler was around my same size when we started dating, so we never had any problems with body image. As time went on, I began to understand there was nothing wrong with how I looked, somewhat, anyway—everyone has their bad days.
Ethan is pretty fit—not that I want him to be able to scoop me up, just press me against the wall while we make out.
“What are you thinking about?” Diane asks as she takes a bite from her tostada platter, minus chicken or meat or cream, or queso fresco, so it’s basically a salad on top of a tostada, because veganism.
“Oh nothing. I like the guy a lot, but sometimes I overreact, and I’m scared I’ll mess it up and he’ll stop liking me.”
“If he did then he wouldn’t be worth it.”
I’m about to tell her that she’s probably right, but my phone vibrates. It’s Dad. My dad is more of a call person. He was the last person in our family of three to get a smartphone, and even though he does text me every now and then, he generally sounds superserious because of his rare use of emojis.
“Papa bear, got to take this.” I get up, clicking the Answer key. It’s slightly rude to talk in front of other people in a language they don’t know, or discuss topics they’re not too comfortable with. “Bueno?”
“Oye mija, do you think you could pass by the store when you come home?
I can hear the roaring AC from his old truck in the background. He’s probably heading home from the job site and is too tired to go shop.
“Sure, Dad, what do you need?”
“I was thinking of grilling some agujas or rib eye. If you want some T-bones, that’s okay too. I’ll pay you back once you get home. Oh and . . . that’s right, you can’t buy beer yet.” He laughs. It’s good to know he’s in a good mood. “Just bring some sodas and stuff to make pico de gallo and salsa.”
“Okay, Pa. After I finish eating I’ll pass by the store but it’ll be, like, an hour before I come home.”
“It’s okay, I’ll drive by a gas station and get some beer, and we’ll make a carnita asada later.”
“Okay, then I’ll see you later, papi. Bye.”
“Ándale, bye.”
I pocket my phone and am walking back to Diane when an older lady waves at me.
“Hi, I don’t know if you’re on break but can we have some refills?”
It takes me a moment to process what is going on. I’m wearing dark jeans and a military-green shirt, and my hair is not in a bun. Does she think I work here because I was talking Spanish?
“I don’t work here.”
The woman squints and laughs.
“I’m sorry, you looked like our waitress for a second. You Mexicans look so much alike sometimes.”
My chest feels tight. I walk briskly away.
“What the hell?” Diane says after I tell her.
“Yeah.”
“That’s messed up. Who was it?”
“Some lady, it’s fine.”
“No, that’s like her stopping me at a fried chicken place because I ‘look like all the other staff.’” She leans back, crossing her arms. “Just because she didn’t think it was racist doesn’t mean it’s not. It’s insensitive and you shouldn’t be afraid to call her out on it.”
“I completely get where you’re coming from but she’s older. Older people tend to say more insensitive things than younger people. I’m not going to let it bother me too much.”
“Well, it bothers me.”
That’s Diane. If something happens to her it’s not a big deal, but if it’s her friends, she’s ready to throw some rounds.
“I’m sorry for telling you about it.”
“Sol, don’t start with me.”
“I’m not starting with you.”
“Then take it back. If some old ho told you some shit I want to know, okay?”
I stick out my tongue at her. “Okay, mom.”
She throws a piece of lettuce at me. “Don’t be rude!”
Leaning back against my seat, I look in the direction where the couple is sitting. Diane is right, being older doesn’t make it okay to say that type of thing. I know I don’t go through the same hardships that Diane and Ethan go through being black, but that little encounter feels like a slap across the face. Even if this will fade and we’ll all continue our day like nothing happened, the sting is still there.
Diane drops me off at the store a couple of blocks away from my apartment. She wanted to give me a ride all the way back home, but I declined, assuring her I’d be okay and not get hit by a car while biking back. After getting my bike from the back of her car (where she had put the seats down so it could fit), and promising to send her a text once I was home, she leaned out the window of the driver side and said, “I know it’s been a while since your ex, but don’t let that make you anxious about making a move. If Ethan is good, good things will happen. And if he isn’t, call me and I’ll help you fuck him over.”
I grin. “We’re not fucking him over.”
Diane winks. “No matter what happens, the offer stands.”
When I enter the store, my eyes immediately go to the cashiers, but none are Ethan.
The meat section is pretty small at the market, but I find a pack of T-bone steaks and throw it in my cart before heading for the spices and rubs. Once I get those, I head to the produce section to get stuff for pico and salsa, as well as corn. Grilled corn tastes so good when an unhealthy amount o
f butter is slapped over it, or I can make some elotes later in the week.
I’m turning the corner of the soda aisle when I see him. Ethan is putting some boxes on the bottom shelf, nearly sitting on the floor next to a cart full of Dr Pepper, which is my favorite flavor.
As he reaches for another pack to put on the rack, he turns and my creepy cover is blown.
With one hand he removes his headphones, smiling. “Hey, sunshine.”
I’m screaming inside.
“What’s up?” I push my cart into the aisle as he gets up.
“Nothing much, finishing up here.” He looks good in the company shirt and jeans, a red lanyard hanging from his neck. “Trying to hide for the last moments.”
“I usually shelf books at the end of my shift to not deal with people.”
“Yes, exactly.” His eyes trail down to my cart. “Grocery shopping?”
“Getting some stuff for dinner.”
“Did you come with someone?”
“No. Why?”
“I was wondering if you had a ride home.”
“I brought my bike, it’s not that far away.”
I have an itch to do something with my hair to distract my hands, though instead of doing this, I simply grip the shopping cart harder to stop myself from doing anything weird.
“I get off in five minutes. I’ll give you a ride home.”
“I’m fine, but thanks. I mean, I don’t want to be a bother.”
“Sol, you live, like, three blocks away from my house. It’s not a bother.”
I want to cover my face and scream, because he makes me feel the urgent need to yell into the void.
“Really?”
“Really.”
Maybe because the talk with Diane is still in my head I say, “Do you want to come over for dinner? My dad is cooking, but he’s chill, it’s not like he’ll chase you with a machete. He’d appreciate the company because I’m fairly sure he thinks I’m a loner.”
If there was an anatomically sound way to slap myself without appearing to be a crazy person, I would do so.
“I’d love to, but I promised my grandparents I’d make dinner tonight. What about another day? If that’s okay?”
“Totally okay. It’s great, actually, so I won’t give my dad a heart attack, not that you’d scare him, I really don’t bring boys home often, aside from Carlos, but he doesn’t count. “
He smiles at my blabber, then looks at his watch. “I should be getting out right about now. Do you want to wait for me at the front of the store? I’ll meet you there in a minute.”
“Yup. I still have to pay, so take your time.”
I move my cart past him, trying to get away from the awkwardness.
“Sol, aren’t you getting soda?”
“Right.”
Ethan walks out, jean jacket hooked under his elbow. The sun has gone down quite a bit, not too dark for biking, but it’d be a dumb move to cancel on his offer.
“God, my boss is annoying,” he groans.
“What happened?”
“Scheduling issues.” Ethan shrugs. “I’ll get out of that dump someday, but in the meantime, I’d like to keep paying for classes and gas.”
“I think I got lucky.”
After we get in his car, he starts the engine and then reverses. Ethan says, “Got lucky?”
Ever since I stopped driving I’ve learned a lot by being the passenger. You can tell a lot about a person by watching them drive. Diane is the chillest driver I know, Carlos has road rage, and Ethan, well, he’s pretty great.
“I like working for the library. My boss is okay and I get along with everyone. Besides, I don’t have to pay for gas because I bike to school or carpool with friends like you.”
“Oh, I’m a friend now?” He stops in front of my apartment building.
“Yeah, you’re my friend.”
He stays silent for a second. “Just a friend?”
Cue a record scratch as Ethan looks at me and I am filled with confusion and anxiety. All I can think of doing is opening the door and running out of his car like he has the plague, but he’s clearly giving me an opening to flirt back, and I want to take it.
“I, I mean, maybe,” I say.
“Maybe?”
“Maybe.”
He inches closer. “Maybe more?”
I laugh and bop him lightly on the nose.
“Maybe more.”
He smiles. “That’s good to know.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because you’re more than a friend to me.”
And because I’m done beating around the bush, I place both of my hands on his cheeks and kiss him. We were already pretty close to begin with, it was only a push that was needed to close that gap—I’ll blame the universe later—but in that moment, I decide to take the matter into my own hands and do it. It’s nothing romantic, in fact, I think it’s over quicker than the time it took me to think of doing it.
His eyes are closed when I pull back, the light from the console casts a blue glow over his skin.
“That’s good to know,” I whisper, my hands still on his face. “Now, I’m about to run out of your car and into my house. It doesn’t mean I don’t like you, I’m about to have a panic attack.”
Ethan grabs my wrists before I can pull away. “Why?”
I swallow hard. “Because I kissed you, and told you I like you, and I don’t really do that.” It takes me a moment to breathe. “And I don’t have a plan after that.”
Ethan lets my wrists go, carefully places his fingers along my neck, leans in and places his lips to mine. This kiss is slower, sweeter, allowing me to wrap my arms around him and feel his hair, the touch of him exploring the back of my neck, and his breath against me. He pauses, his forehead against mine.
“We’ll figure it out, sunshine.”
Nodding, I take hold of the door handle, and flash him a smile as I get out of his car. Only to remember once I’m on the sidewalk that I, too, own a method of transportation.
“Wait, the bike!”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Dad and I have dinner later that night mostly in silence while watching television in the living room. He doesn’t ask any questions as I hastily wash the dishes and make a beeline for my room shortly after, with Michi following close behind. I thank him internally for this because all that happened not even an hour before is still haunting me.
On the one hand I did kiss Ethan Winston and he returned my feelings, but on the other one, I did make a split-second decision that I’m not too sure was a good idea.
While I don’t want it to be a recurring theme in my life that I profess my feelings to people I like by kissing them out of nowhere, like I did with Tyler, it is an exhilarating feeling to have. Taking control of the situation is like a drop on a roller coaster. It’s not as much of a power move as it is me being truthful to myself—opening myself up to rejection and being unafraid of it, like Scott mentioned at the festival.
I sit down on the edge of my bed, my cat following suit and pushing her head against my arm. The sudden rush of adrenaline simmers down in my body as it slowly converts into an anxious pool at the pit of my stomach.
This could be a terrible idea.
I’m not sure if I really like Ethan for who he is or because of the time we’ve been spending together, and that’s scary to think; however, is it bad to try out a relationship with someone you’ve only known a couple of weeks if you think you like them because of that? After the friction at the beginning, he’s been nice to me, and we’ve figured out a couple of things about our lives, from cat names to favorite colors. He even knows how I like my coffee. That knocks out most of the questions you ask your date when you match on any mainstream dating site.
Tyler and I started dating sophomore year of high school. The first ti
me his parents had me over for dinner, his mom made enchilada casserole to make me feel included. I didn’t like it, but it was a nice gesture. That lady was the sweetest—she drove us around and took me shopping after Mom was deported to make me feel better, even though Tyler and I had already broken up. I still send her texts on Thanksgiving and Christmas; it’d feel wrong not to.
Tyler broke up with me because I was “complicated.” Mom got deported and I fell hard into depression, plus I was anxious that more bad things would keep happening to me. I relied heavily on Carlos, and Tyler didn’t like that. Aside from his being funny, I can’t remember what I liked about Tyler. He was the first boy I slept with, too, but a year out of that relationship I can’t pinpoint why I liked him so much.
After Tyler, I went on a few dates the summer before college—those months were a blur. I met Taylor, a girl, at a party like that. The first thing I told her after she introduced herself was that she was named almost like my ex. She had laughed, said she hoped to leave a better impression. Taylor wore a floral perfume I liked a lot and had bright-green eyes. She was the first and only girl I’ve kissed. We fell apart about a week after that.
I don’t think I ever needed a boyfriend, or girlfriend for that matter. I didn’t feel compelled to go out and meet people because I felt the need to be with someone else. I suppose I did it partially to distract myself and because I thought that was what a normal person would do, go out and have fun, you know?
At parties I was the awkward girl with a glass of water in the corner, and I hated it. That wasn’t my scene. I was trying to reassure myself that I wasn’t really depressed, because I was going to parties, kissing strangers, and laughing a couple of pitches too high. That I wasn’t someone who cried herself to sleep every other night. I was fine and was going to figure life out on my own.
Even today I’m not completely fine, but I’m way better than I was at the start of that semester. I met Diane, got the job at the library, concentrated on my classes, and Carlos stopped bringing me to his parties. He said it was because they weren’t helping me, but he was still there for me. Carlos would drive to my house in the middle of the night and take me to IHOP when I felt like the walls in my room were closing in. I never told my parents I felt like that; I didn’t want to break their hearts.