Lessons in Pure Life Page 8

  The walls may have moved inward several feet. He drips over us, a cloud himself.

  “Hey, you’re soaking, watch it,” warns Genesis.

  “Lo siento,” he breathes, smelling of toothpaste.

  This is going to take a while to get used to, being near a human this grand and frightening.

  I take a deep breath. Shaky and surprisingly excited. More revved up than I expect to feel. It’s probably a reaction I’m having to the white undershirt he’s got on, stretched casually across his frame.

  “I have work for you,” says my boss to her brother, who rolls his eyes.

  “His eyeballs are going to fall out,” she remarks to me, nodding at him.

  He’s standing so damn close, a pillar ignoring me. Well, maybe that’s a bit harsh. Genesis hooked him the moment his foot made contact with the crumbly cement steps that lead into the building.

  “Talking fast” doesn’t quite capture Genesis’s staccato as she describes his task list. He’s the opposite. Cool as ice cubes melting in the shade. One-word answers arcing gracefully back to his sister’s smashes. It’s the Central American Open.

  I alternate between watching them and politely turning my gaze elsewhere, as though I can’t hear the conversation inches away from me.

  The truth is, I’ve realized I can understand Spanish reasonably well, better than I expected. They’re working out a schedule for next week, but I’ve missed plenty of details. Still, it’s an improvement.

  I haven’t told anyone, just in case it might come in handy.

  She goes on and I get restless. My face is relaxed, but I’m fucking giddy. Diego’s board shorts make his butt look like scoops of ice cream or one of those naked marble statues. I want to giggle and shriek like I’m nine.

  I take a deep breath. My nose must be getting attuned to his smell because there it is again under the mintiness, something smoky and briny. It’s pounding at the door of my brain.

  I lean against the wall to steady myself, take it all in. This family dynamic, the rain in sheets coming down off and on like someone’s playing with the tap, the day with my class, the lights flickering… it’s all fascinatingly, hilariously different than anything I would have been doing if I’d stayed in my hometown. Is this what my life can be? Taking opportunities and experiencing entirely new realities? It may as well be interplanetary travel.

  “Puedes hacerlo para el Viernes?”

  “Tal vez.”

  Bayonets in her eyes. Genesis wants something by Friday, and it looks like she’s going to get it.

  “You win, Gen,” he sighs, relenting.

  “Gracias, hermano. Eres el mejor.”

  He leans over and grazes her cheek with his lips like he’s done it so many times it’s just a dutiful motion. But it’s not an empty gesture, either. His eyes lower as they embrace, and he looks very serious. I hadn’t realized love was so close to the surface.

  Bzzz-bzzz.

  Genesis pulls her phone out of her pocket and reads. She starts tapping out a message with her clickety nails.

  I’m the only other person in the building he can talk to, now. He still isn’t acknowledging me, to the point that it’s awkward. I’m only human, I decide, so I just pretend he can’t see me and gaze unabashedly. Pure indulgence, because I know his bone structure and dermis are separate from the person he is, which is way less pleasant to deal with.

  Diego’s hands. They’re callused, strong, and wide, copper-caramel on top. I’d never noticed before, or maybe he’s never worn it, but a ring dangles from a chain around his neck. It swings at my eye level as he reaches down to fish his phone out of the backpack. He notices me looking at it and straightens up, tucking the ring into his undershirt.

  I smile, offering peace. He stares back, unmoved. It lasts a few seconds too long, and I feel my face start to burn. I don’t want my boss to notice I’m googly for her brother.

  I flick my eyes over at Genesis, but she’s got her head down, texting rapidly.

  “Hi,” he says, dragging the word out a little, taking me in.

  His accent pulls on the end of the word, curling it up at the end ever so subtly, the way Javier Bardem would say it. Deep, slow, riveting.

  “Hi,” I respond, barely audible.

  This is it, this is what I’ve been longing for all week, and I say “hi” like I’m an actual toddler. I won’t be surprised if he asks how old I am and I hold up three fingers solemnly.

  Anticipation is tricky. When the moment arrives, like in moments of crisis or chaos, it’s never what I think it will be. It’s quieter, subtler. When I walked across the stage to graduate, or even had sex for the first time, I had this same feeling. Is this it?

  What exactly do I expect to happen?

  A frisson runs through me as the wind turns wet, misting us. I go to pull the door shut, but it sticks open with the humidity. I give it a good hard pull and the fucker still sticks.

  Diego moves to help me, but I take the chance to regain some cool. I got this thing, but thanks, I imply with knowing eyes. I tug a few more times. Nothing.

  He goes to grab his bag near my feet and I finally dislodge the door.

  The extra pull I exerted shoots me backward like I’m one of those circus people gone into the cannon the wrong way. For a second that feels like thirty, I’m actually completely off the ground and horizontal, tumbling blindly.

  Poor Khal Diego doesn’t stand a chance, despite his athletic prowess. The laws of physics are too fast for even him. I hit him with the back of my body, my shoulders going into his stomach.

  “Woah!” I yell, the feeling of falling still wriggling in my guts.

  Diego quickly steadies me by the shoulders. His hands are firm and warm around each upper arm when he stands me back up like I’m a nutcracker doll the cat knocked over.

  “That was… intense,” he says, too stunned to sneer.

  I stand still, facing the doorway with my back to him. He’s holding on to me securely. For a half-second I shut my eyes and indulge in the fantasy that he wants to hold me that way, that I didn’t just dart through the air like a human javelin.

  The illusion collapses on itself as his hands pull away. I wouldn’t be surprised if there are big tell-tale marks on my skin where he made contact, giving me away. A sizzling ember burning his name.

  “Perdóname!” I exclaim, turning around to look up at him apologetically.

  “Estás bien?” he asks, genuine concern hinted at by the O shape his mouth takes.

  “Si.”

  I smile shyly. Cover my face with one hand, embarrassed.

  Diego pats my arm awkwardly, nods, and then looks at his sister like he’s trying to find something, anything else that will allow him to escape this social situation.

  Genesis has stopped texting and is looking at us both like we’d orchestrated the whole thing for her amusement.

  “Diego, venga. We don’t have time for this. She’s tired like me. She’s been working all day. Will you stay? A ayudarnos?”

  Diego’s brows go heavy and he’s looking like he's about to make an excuse when Jose bursts in through the door we’ve just shut, beaded with rain. He’s clutching a heavy paper bag that looks like take-out. As the door swings closed, I see the downpour has slowed to a trickle and a rusty blue car is parked next to Diego’s truck. Fried food smells fill the vestibule. Eggrolls. It’s got to be eggrolls.

  “Mama!”

  What?

  A little head peeps out from behind Jose’s, like he’s got a papoose on his back, and I realize there’s a small child tucked inside his Rip Curl jacket.

  “Conception dropped her off with me. She had to cover a shift at work,” he explains, looking at Genesis.

  “Mama!” the little girl calls again. She untangles herself from Jose and runs to Genesis, wrapping her little arms around her mother’s legs, then sneaks a peek at me with black eyes that tilt up at the sides like a cat’s. I smile and wink at her. She grins shyly and presses her face into Ma
ma’s red denim.

  “Cata, mi corazón!” Genesis coos, making loud kissing noises at Cata before telling her to go play with Tio Diego. “Okay, mi cielo? Can you do that for Mama?” High-pitched voice special for her daughter. I guess this is the real Gen.

  Cata looks over at Diego expectantly. He starts to walk down the hall slowly, taking a left into my empty classroom and glancing playfully over his shoulder at his niece.

  “Quieres hacer grandes saltos?” he asks, miming lifting her high into the air.

  “Si si si!” She skips toward him, and Diego’s face lights up with a wide grin as he lifts her up by the armpits and swings her into the room. She squeals as he holds her low to the ground, her little knees bending, and then lifts her up over his head as though she’s jumping high off the ground with superpowers.

  “Ella camina en la luna.”

  Diego sings the words – she’s walking on the moon – in a deep voice, over and over. Cata giggles and sings along, her impish tone chiming in with his and then breaking into tiny, sparkling fragments of laughter. It’s contagious and I realize I’m smiling like a dork, watching them.

  “Aiii! Shit!” A muffled yell.

  Genesis is shielding herself as a bunch of things come crashing around her. She’s unlocked the resource closet, and it looks like a fifteen-year-old’s bedroom. From the eighties. So much stuff everywhere: rainbow-colored chalk, jumbo rolls of stained paper, boxes filled with foam peanuts, a mop and broom, a creepy stack of broken school desks with chairs attached. She grabs a set of whiteboards roughly and pulls them out as if she’s a deep-sea fisherman taking her prize.

  “Jose! Where is Jose?” She looks around like an angry tiger.

  “Estoy aquí!” he calls from the mini-kitchen and pokes his head out, nodding at me. “Come eat with us, Lia. You like Chinese food?”

  I look back at Genesis automatically.

  “Si si si, eat. Put some more meat on your culo,” she insists.

  “Okay, I’ll stay. Thanks, guys.”

  I’m already thinking about the food in my teeth, sauce on my face, and other awkward eating situations that could happen in front of Diego, but the smell of sweet-and-sour chicken balls overtakes my apprehension. Fuck it – it’s free Chinese in Costa Rica. You only live once.

  “You stink, Diego.”

  Genesis shoves his leg with her foot, like Get out of here. He’s smoking a cigar, his feet on a plastic patio chair in front of him with his head tilted back, watching the smoke rise.

  “But you love cigarros, hermana,” he says wryly, without looking at his sister.

  Genesis laughs exaggeratedly. “Give me a break,” she replies.

  We’re sitting behind the school under a tattered umbrella at a dirty, plastic patio table that’s still wet. We’ve wiped the seats down with beach towels, but it’s damp everywhere. I lean forward to grab one more spare rib.

  Pulling the meat away from the bone, I chew thoughtfully and then lick the sauce from my fingertips. Sucking my pinky finger, I glance up. Diego’s pulling on his cigar, looking at me, but he blinks and turns away.

  “So, Lia, tell us what you think of this place now that you’ve been here for some time,” Jose asks. He smiles kindly at me.

  I feel put on the spot, and everyone is looking at me, curious.

  “Um, well, obviously I love it,” I say, half-smiling and wiping my hands with a napkin.

  “No really, tell us the truth,” Genesis says, and we all laugh. Even Diego smiles, laughing in one huh.

  “It seriously is wonderful in so many ways. I’ve realized that I don’t come from a strong culture, but you have one here. I’m lucky to learn about it because it’s changed how I feel about the world, and about my home.”

  “Like how?” Jose asks, absently rolling his napkin up and unrolling it again.

  “Like… how everything is connected. Celia runs the pottery shop and her sister owns the bakery, and you all work with the schools, but you can still stay close, like family. You share your traditions and your daily experiences with each other in a way that doesn’t happen in my hometown. There is no national dish where I’m from, and I don’t know my local baker or retailer. It’s mostly Starbucks coffee and Tommy Hilfiger stores. Here, there's a much greater sense of community and sharing. I don’t know if that makes sense to you…”

  Genesis nods. Jose is thoughtful. Diego is silent, as usual.

  Sunset throbs behind the clouds. Grenadine light beams on us like we did something good. Conversation comes and goes in small pieces. Mostly a deep quiet settles on all of us, just sharing the moment. Another day winding down. Diego’s cigar glows electric-cherry in the night that’s falling fast. In a few minutes I’ll scrape my chair back, gather my things, and go home.

  Later, as I shuffle along the dusty roadside to my complex, my thoughts wander from Diego to Carter Shipley. I can’t help but compare them. So different, but both so masculine, and with a hardness that draws me.

  8

  When I dressed the morning I’d arranged to meet Carter, I told myself it was just part of the game we’d been playing all semester. There was obviously some mutual attraction there – he was a young, handsome teacher, I was one of his top students, and frankly there wasn’t too much competition in the class. If anything, I seemed to be a hot commodity. The guy I sat next to, a tall boy with dreadlocks named Damon who had a reputation for being a player, would flirt with me during break. Damon was really smart and cute, but I wasn’t interested in seeing his eyes the morning after, disappointingly empty of emotion, like the other boys I’d been with. He made his interest in me obvious, though, and I felt Dr. Shipley picked up on that.

  Our class had an interesting cast, and I guess Carter was another character: king, leader, guide, controller. Prison guard. During our first exam, before we’d spoken much, I had to ask him if I could use the bathroom. All I could do was hope he wouldn’t picture me doing a number two as he escorted me out of the gym, nodding politely at the exam proctor as we passed, his touch barely there on my back. I liked that. When I exited the ladies’ a few minutes later, he was waiting for me down the hall, giving me plenty of space to do my business. I appreciated his professionalism. How hilarious to think of now.

  His office hours were on a Friday afternoon, and as a result, no one ever showed up. I see now how he had predicted my behavior – he’d been ready for me, in the mood. Of course, I’d poked and prodded our meeting into place, but he was supposed to be the responsible adult instead of a predator I’d massively underestimated.

  Golden beams of light filter through the afternoon windows of the dusty old building. As I pass the classrooms on the cozy fifteenth floor of Walton Tower, anticipation licks up my throat like I could spit fire. I try to use it, control it, imagine myself as khaleesi or a steely, action-flick Angelina Jolie, the world no match for my raw will and pursed lips.

  I can’t pause because my boots click along the hall and announce my approach. It’s so quiet up here, I’m sure he can hear me coming. I consider checking myself out in the bathroom mirror one more time, but no, I’ve checked twice already. My breath is minty; my hair falls past my shoulders in waves. Enough.

  With a powerful force that’s about to get me into a lot of trouble, I turn the corner into his office and knock lightly on the open door.

  He turns around in his spinny chair, staying seated. His rimless glasses are off, but he puts them on to look at me. His smile is friendly, but I wouldn’t call it kind; there’s hunger behind it.

  I’m dressed in a royal blue jersey dress, a color I think looks fantastic with every skin tone. It hugs my curves like I’m gift wrapped, accentuating the swell of my breasts, the tapering of my waist, and my fertile hips.

  He scans me up and down like he’s airport security and leans back, fingers lacing behind his head, looking more Fassbender than usual. He should be at a film festival and not tucked away in an office, and yet here he is. I have him all to myself.

 
“Nice to see you, Ms. Noble,” he says softly.

  Shipley can dress. The sleeves of his crisp, white shirt are rolled halfway up his forearms, the tails of his shirt tucked snugly in as always. Makes me want to rip them out, tear the thing open, and hear the buttons bounce around on the floor like Skittles.

  His slim-cut, pinstripe pants look like Saturday night the way they stretch across his thighs. The way he’s looking at me, it feels like he can see right inside my head and know what I feel.

  “How’s it going?” I ask automatically, my standard greeting.

  “Can’t complain. What can I do for you?” He says it slow and gentle, so I have to listen carefully.

  I think he’s got something in mind.

  “I brought my abstract.” I hold up the paper and he takes it, placing it on his desk, and pulls a regular chair up next to his wheelie one.

  “Sorry, we’ll have to crowd in here a little. I’m hoping to move offices next semester, but for now, this is my palace.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  I drop my bag by the door and move to sit down next to him, but he points to the hallway.

  “Hey, would you mind shutting the door? I don’t want to disturb Dr. Parminder.”

  It’s a bullshit excuse and I know it.

  Nervousness sloshes through me as I step across the little room and push the door shut gently. It clicks, and I know I’ve reached the point of no return. For a moment I want to run, escape while I can from this wolf in tight, expensive clothing. Turning around, I look just in time to catch his eyes stealing a glance at my backside like it’s a slice of birthday cake.

  “I remember this,” he says quickly, gesturing to my abstract. “I mean, you more or less aced it.”

  Edging around his desk, I sit down next to him; when he lets his knee lean up against mine, I don’t adjust my position.

  “Really, my only critique is that you gloss over your methods a little too quickly. I’d like to see you explore that a bit more. Add one sentence, two max.”