Six
SIX
Orlando
T ime accelerated without my permission these past two weeks. Work had been nonstop. The letter of acceptance for law school loomed on the top shelf of my bookcase with all my anime DVDs and fantasy books, luring me to check it again and ensure time hadn’t run out on my response. My brothers acted like fools the whole two weeks, worrying me if they’d do a good job of taking care of Mom while I was gone. But Camilo had dutifully showed up this afternoon with a small bag, ready to stay for the weekend. Meanwhile my social life stalled as I focused on home, work, and the mentorship program. My brain had little capacity for else.
Staring at my packed suitcase, I sifted through my mental list. Forgetting something meant I’d potentially be on the first flight tomorrow to Ofele Town without my boxers or condoms. That shit couldn’t happen, so I ran through the list one last time. The condoms might seem premature as I wasn’t going down there searching for a fling, but if a fling searched for me, I wouldn’t be opposed to a ride or two. And I don’t want to be caught lacking if something were to pop off.
The sea breeze had been calling my name for days, infiltrating my neat room, bringing an airiness I seldom felt in my home. My friends would all meet me there a couple of days later, but I’d wanted to arrive first, settle in the house rental, and start my search for my baby’s mother and my daughter.
My child. Shit! Whirling around, I found the pink paper bag lying on my desk, waiting to be noticed.
My palms grew moist as I refolded a little dress over my gray duvet. Would my daughter like it? The white-and-purple dress was big enough for a five-year-old. At least that’s what the lady said at the boutique close to my office. I didn’t want to show up empty-handed to our meeting, knowing I hadn’t been part of her life for years.
Would it be enough to erase my absence? No piece of fabric could be enough; gifts were just empty gestures when replacing true affection. My mother had taught me that every time she went overboard with birthday and Christmas presents to compensate for the free parenting she got out of me.
Would my daughter even understand what was happening? I sure as hell barely understood myself, so I couldn’t expect much from a barely grown toddler with their frontal lobe still in development. Shit, mine had only stopped developing a few years ago.
Closing the suitcase, I left all the insidious thoughts inside. Walking toward my large whiteboard with all my scribbles and plans, I picked up a marker, letting the quiet satisfaction seep into my taste buds so sweet I could taste it. There was nothing better to chase my anxiety away than checking things off my home to-do list.
Well…that was a damn lie… I could think of at least two other things that could be better. Sex and a certain mother of twins who inhabited my dreams, the wet and dry variety.
Fuck. Here I went, objectifying that woman with my dirty, filthy thoughts of bending her over her car hood, lifting one of those mom dresses she wore, the flowery ones with straps on the shoulders that flowed around her ankles. They made her ass look like Easter bun on Resurrection Sunday.
No…there was no time to jerk off, so I needed to focus on other things. Like the whiteboard in front of me.
Meds, check. I’d portioned all of them out and placed them in a daily medicine dispenser, which I handed to Celo.
Food, check. The freezer overflowed with easy-to-defrost and reheat meals for the three of them.
Security: Double check. I asked Seno B to keep an eye on the apartment. There was no one more nosy, stubborn, or careful than her. She’d hit me up in a second if things were going wrong.
I did a damn good job but I couldn’t even be proud of it. I remember my mom being well…a mom, leaving me empty. Why? This is the question I ask myself daily. Why my dad, why my mom, why me? I am twenty-five. I should be enjoying myself and living life. Why?
Nah, I wasn’t about to indulge in depressing thoughts. It was better to lean into the power of my mind. Feeling sorry for myself fit me like the huge-ass jeans my father used to wear back in the day when he thought he was fly. That’s why I preferred that slim fit and positive thinking. It was how I moved forward.
With dinner already prepared for everyone, I could, in theory, relax for the evening, but my nervous energy wouldn’t leave me be. The high-pitched groan of lasers and the vibrations of the sound system in our living room pushed me to leave my privacy and enter our apartment’s common space. Mom sat on the recliner, watching her two youngest boys play video games, her hands clutching the fabric of her pj’s at her knees. A different pang hit my insides, this one tasting like regret and sorrow as it crawled up my throat.
Age had not been kind to my mother. Deep lines marked the corners of her eyes, mouth, and between her eyebrows. Her skin, once a gorgeous deep mahogany, had turned dull the more she refused to go outside. Her hair shined prematurely gray, and her gaze was always focused on some faraway memory. I wish I didn’t believe in soul mates. But how couldn’t I when I had the consequence of two souls separated too early for their time right in front of me? The psychiatrist may be right about her medical diagnosis—bipolar disorder—but without her heart engaged in maintaining her well-being, grief was really the thing to blame for her current state.
Cabanga. That is what Seno B said my mom had when she found me sitting outside our apartment with my head bowed as my mother had one of her episodes. Sometimes, nothing helped. I was so good at calming her that it became second nature, but there were days that the memories assaulted her, and Dad’s ghost whispered in her ear until she couldn’t keep herself straight.
Seno B had pulled me up with impressive strength and brought me to her apartment for a cup of sorrel with a little rum; never mind, I wasn’t twenty-one back then. She’d sagely said there was no external cure for cabanga.
No medicine that would cure such devastating and hollowing pain.
Cabanga was a yearning beyond comprehension, a hunger for something or someone so strong, your entire being transformed, and a cloud followed you. The only cure would be my mother wanting to be better and finally allowing herself to heal.
I hated thinking that way. But in times like this when I saw her wearing her pajamas from the day before, even though she’d assured me this morning she had showered, I wondered if cabanga was truly what she had.
None of my three family members acknowledged my presence. My phone pinged in my pocket as the common emptiness threatened to take over. My mood shifted as I read the text message.
Brandon: So you gonna travel next week and miss our weekly get-together
Brian: So we were thinking you should come thru for dinner tonight
Brandon: And we can play video games after! Mom is cool with it; come thru!
Mom is cool with it. Shit, I wish I believed that. That woman barely gave me the time of day, but to see Trinidad again would be exactly what I needed to leave for Ofele in good spirits. My shower walls had been painted several times these past two weeks, evidence of how bad I had it for Ms. Velasquez. Just the thought of her and I started bricking up… .again… Damn.
“Ma, comiste? Did you like what I cooked?” I asked, a thread of guilt coursing through me as I contemplated leaving my family behind to spend time with Brandon, Brian, and Ms. Velasquez.
“Ay…well, I didn’t want that, so the boys went out and got me some McDonald’s. But you can eat the food tomorrow. That way, you don’t have to cook,” she said it so matter-of-fact. I told her several times a day for the past two weeks that I was traveling. Days. But who cared what Orlando had going on? Certainly not my mother nor my brothers.
Fuck…focus on the positive.
Focus on what you can control. My father’s voice always took over on days like this when I was at my lowest energy levels.
“I’m traveling tomorrow, Ma. It’s all good. Imma go out to Brandon and Brian’s. They invited me for dinner and video games. I leave really early tomorrow. My flight is at 6:00, so I won’t see you in the morning. Okay?”
I stared at the three people closest to me in the world, and none of them looked up. Milo acknowledged my words with a brisk nod; damn… I guess I would take that, at least. Chasing away the void forming in me, I walked toward the front door, grabbed my keys, and exited the apartment. Leaving behind the noise of running feet and laser guns and the louder indifference my family clearly felt for me.
Focus on what you can control.
* * *
“Maaaaaa, Orlando is here!” Brandon hollered into the apartment, making my ears ring. I’d been to the Velasquez humble abode before. The turquoise walls reminded me of a calm afternoon at my paternal grandparents’ home in St. Mary, Jamaica. Every little corner of the apartment had personality, from the mustard-yellow sofa to the glass jars and knickknacks on the walls; the functional way Trinidad had arranged their home made me jealous.
Our apartment, with its stark white walls, beige furniture, and nondescript art I bought in Home Goods had zero warmth compared to this place. I wish I could bottle a tenth of the vibes in here and take them home with me. Maybe then we could be a proper family.
“What’s up, man, you good?” We clasped hands, and a rush of goodness trickled through me, attempting to erase the sadness clinging from my nonconversation with my family.
“Yeah, I’m alright. Ma made bandera…shit is fire. Can’t wait to eat. Hope you brought your appetite.”
“Yo! You came through; that’s dope. I thought you were gonna flake on us, knowing you have that early flight.” Brian popped out from a corner, his locs arranged haphazardly in a bun on his head.
“Que escándalo you both have. You’d think he’s the second coming of Christ instead of Orlando. How are you?” Trinidad floated from the kitchen toward the front of the apartment to greet me. She also had her locs in a bun, black yoga pants, and a white tank top.
The back of my neck heated as I studied how fluidly she moved around her place, picking up one of the twins’ backpacks and situating it by the entrance. She picked up a cup of water, walking a ring around her wood table toward a side table with a coaster, then fluffed up the pillows on the sofa. Every time she bent, the fabric of the yoga pants caressed and highlighted that huge, juicy ass that started all the trouble during my showers and had me cleaning the walls every morning. Words tumbled in my head and, without permission, started flowing out of my mouth. This happened every time. Shit.
“What’s up, Ms. V? Looking good today. Thanks for the invite; you know how it goes. Sometimes a man don’t know where he gonna eat, then someone makes that call, and you saved.” Da fuck? I cook. Why did words that make zero sense come out of me the moment she was around?
“Oh, so you have a lot of young ladies inviting you to their apartment for dinner?” Trinidad turned around from fluffing the pillows, giving me a much-needed reprieve to my chest cavity, which valiantly fought to keep my heart in check. I had enough sense to wear the loosest basketball shorts because I already knew what would happen.
And what did she just ask?
“Uhhh…well, sometimes, yea.” I hoped that I had answered correctly, but looking at Brandon’s and Brian’s scowls, I was off.
“Nah, Ma. We’ve told you Orlando is not like that; he doesn’t have a bunch of girls, he don’t play them like that.”
Shit, there I went, talking to talk. This woman always made me forget my poise. It’s as if I reverted to my twenty-year-old self around her.
“Mm-hmm, well, Orlando, I guess I have to believe them. I have no other choice, do I?”
“I mean, you could believe me when I tell you I’m a chill dude, but I know you’re not buying that, are you?” My right eyebrow rose with a mind of its own, taunting Trinidad with a swag I seldom showcased. But that wasn’t what I wanted to showcase, damn it.
“You guessed right; I’m thankful that you try to temper your escapade stories for the sake of my boys’ innocence, though. I do see that. Come on over to the kitchen; the table is already set. Miranda is in there too.”
Trinidad granted me a mild smile and turned around, the sway of her hips and ass hypnotizing me once more, ensuring I followed. I tried my best to keep my facial expression straight because I didn’t want the twins to feel like I was violating their space or having improper thoughts of their mom, but gotdamn. It got harder and harder to keep the charade of happy-go-lucky dude going.
Besides, Trinidad needed to know nothing about my sob stories and my life hardships. She had plenty going on herself, and she kept a tight ship with her boys and was always poised. Women like her made men like me want to be better. Show up better. There were zero cracks in her armor, so who was I to come here and burden her with my stuff?
The kitchen and very small dining room sat in a different space, each with its own room. The dining room walls were a light green, and pictures of paradise surrounded the space. From previous visits, the scenes were not only art; they actually were some of Trinidad and the twins’ favorite places in San Pedro de Macorís and Bridgetown. Even though she’d divorced, her love for Barbados ran deep, and it was showcased all over her home. Trinidad left me and continued to the kitchen, the sway of her walk making my chest tight.
“Ah! Orlando! Good to see you! Sit down, sit down. Everything is hot.” Miranda, one of the teachers at Basquiat High and Trinidad’s best friend, greeted me with a kind smile. I suspected she knew I had a crush on Trinidad, but she was always very kind when I saw her, so I reciprocated in kind.
Miranda, with her ample hips and thighs, navigated the tight corners around the table, holding two bottles of wine—one red and one white—until she plopped herself on her own seat and gave me a bigger grin, her light brown skin flushing red.
“So, carnival, huh? You gon wuk up dem gyal ova there?” Miranda had a glint in her eyes that I couldn’t figure out.
“Uh, not sure about all the wuking up I’ll be doin’, but yea. Carnival calling my name.” A quiet thrill traveled through me. I hadn’t given myself time to truly think about it, but I was amped. I really was going to carnival in Ofele Town.
“Mmmm, good! I know you’re gonna have a good time! We leave on the school bus early tomorrow as well, right, twins?” Miranda smirked and poured Riesling into Trinidad’s empty glass, filling up to the brim. “She had a crappy day, she needs it. Red or white?”
“Nah, I gotta wake up very early tomorrow.” I declined Miranda’s wine offer while Brandon and Brian gave her an evil stare, which they quickly wiped away when their mother walked back into the dining room, bringing some freshly squeezed lemonade and placing it in the middle of the table. Each seat had a gold placemat, a glass full of ice, a heaping plate of white rice, pollo guisao, a couple of tostones, a small ceramic bowl with red beans, slices of avocado, and wine glasses for the adults. My stomach rumbled at the sight and the aroma of the holy trinity carrying the dish. Having home-cooked meals was one of my favorite things, especially when I hadn’t cooked the meal.
“So yeah, the bus leaves tomorrow real early. So Mom’s gonna take us, and then she’ll fly in the afternoon, right, Mom?”
Trinidad sat at the head of the table with a quizzical smile. “Well yeah, you two made sure to buy my flight and take charge of my arrangements. I’ve never seen you both be so diligent about helping me out with my travels, but I appreciate it ’cause these two weeks have been a whole mess with that damn man changing the date of the event last minute.”
“So…where is this carnival you’re going to?” Miranda turned around and stared at me, smug amusement dancing all over her face. My instincts seldom failed me. I was certain Miranda liked me as a person, so my confusion grew. I fixed myself to answer her when Brandon’s foot slammed against mine below the table.
“Eat, everyone! It’s gonna get cold,” Trinidad exclaimed, and I nodded, frowning at Brandon, who instead was focused on Miranda with the same screw face as his brother.
“Damn, Trinidad, all of this looks amazing; thanks for the invite again. I love home-cooked meals, and I can tell you put a lot of love into this one.” I gave her what I hoped was a genial smile instead of the adoring one I felt seeping out of every pore. Trinidad’s ochre hue reddened, and her gaze grew misty as we both stared at each other. For a second, I forgot we had company. My solitary soul reached out to hers, and my chest compressed at the sensation of hers touching mine.
Goddamn, I needed to stop reading those fantasy-illustrated books with romance. Trinidad had me believing we’d turn the page and skip away happy in the jungle of New York.
Two souls finally connecting.
Trinidad bit her lip, and I followed the perfectly white square of her tooth digging into her plumpness and gave a brief thanks for thinking of basketball shorts yet again. Needing a distraction, I cut the staring game first and turned to Miranda, who didn’t have the smug expression anymore. Instead, she looked pensive. Up to something.
“I’m traveling to Jacksonville.”
For some reason, I did not say Ofele Town. Trinidad already had a skewed view of my wild, nonexistent ways, and I didn’t want to fuck it up by naming the town famous for hosting the hottest, newest Caribbean carnival in the States. Stories of last year’s carnival spread all over Black social media, with videos of people wilding out in the coastal town. Maybe she’d think I’m going to like an American style carnival. Best leave things to the imagination.
“Well, that’s dope. We’re going to Florida too! Not Jacksonville, though,” Trinidad said with interest as Brandon squirmed next to her.
“Ma! Stop saying dope, please! So, I was thinking, though, maybe you should let us go with Auntie Miranda; she is chaperoning too, so she can drive us to the bus.”
“Don’t be offering your auntie. The bus drive to Florida, girl… You are braver than me going in that bus for fifteen hours…” Trinidad shuddered.
“Well, someone has to do it, and I get extra pay, so if I need to watch a bunch of horny little fifteen-year-olds to get some overtime, then I will do that.”
“Auntie!” Brian chastised her, but Brandon stopped making eye contact with everyone at the table and focused solely on his chicken. Damn, little homie probably had plans for the weekend. Not trying to blow his spot, I tried to keep the laughter from creeping up my throat, but it was a lost cause. Trinidad and Miranda soon joined me—all of us probably remembering some good times when we were teenagers with roaring hormones taking over every single logical thought.
Trinidad’s chest rose and fell, the jiggle of her hidden breasts making me dizzy. The laughter subsided as my own horniness conquered any other rational way of thinking. I attempted again to wrench my gaze away from her, but I caught her biting her lips again. Shit. I was in trouble. This woman was pure trouble.
“A’ight. A’ight, it’s not that funny. So, Ma, you’re all set for tomorrow. The confirmation number is in your notes app, so you don’t have to search a million emails in that inbox of yours.”
“Giiiiirl, you need to do better.” Miranda shook her head. “Thank God for Brian and Brandon arranging all of this for you ’cause you need it.”
Trinidad stared at me for a second until she released me from her hold, and I was able to breathe easier.
“Girl, you ain’t lying. I definitely need this trip.” Trinidad shrugged and got back to her rice. And I went back to thinking she was completely out of my league.
* * *
“So, the boys doing better at home? Helping you out?” Not knowing my limits, I offered Trinidad to help with cleanup and washing the dishes. Miranda took one look at the pile on the sink, murmured something about the dishwasher and Riesling, and left us in the kitchen. The boys went to their room, letting me know they’d be ready to beat me when I was done with helping out.
The kitchen glowed with its yellow buttery walls and appliances. Such an old-school design, but it suited Trinidad; she was such an odd mix, and I couldn’t quite crack her. For an observant person, that was enough to drive me wild with interest. She could be a little stuck-up, sometimes goofy, sexy, cool, strict—I could go on and on. Every single facet I discovered kept me hooked.
The need to make sure she was good, though? That had been growing little by little over the past few months. With all I had to take care of, you’d think I didn’t want anything else on my plate, but if it was a serving of Trinidad, I’d gobble it all up. All to make sure she was good.
“They are, and I know it is not their good-for-nothing father…so thank you. You are an amazing mentor, and the boys really look up to you.” We finished with the last dish, the scent of cinnamon and cloves boiling in the pot Trinidad set up to cleanse the house of the garlic and onion scent from before.
“Nah, you’re an amazing mom. They really look up to you, you know? They get it even at their age. They get that you are their rock. Their father…” The boys’ father was always a touchy subject. Brandon and Brian talked about him in an admiring but distant way. Trinidad had moments where she cracked and showed some of her frustration about her ex-husband, but for the most part, she kept a neutral way of handling anything related to their co-parenting.
“He’s living his best life, and I am saddened for the boys. I’m saddened they never met the real man he was when he just moved to the States. I swear that man came to this country so hungry for love and for community. And I poured myself into him; I was his family, his connection to the culture here…all, and now it’s like we are strangers. He got what he needed: two sons and that was it. He was too good for me after that. I was too… Dominican, too Black, too barrio for him. He wanted a bit of a more elevated life, you know? He moved to Manhattan, passed the Bar, and that’s it. Now he has his beautiful blonde wife and…he barely teaches the boys about his Bayan background. Thank God for his parents.”
Damn. I hadn’t expected this. She never opened up. I didn’t know what to say.
“Sorry, I don’t know what came over me…probably that large-ass glass of Riesling Miranda served me.”
“Nah, you’re good. I…honestly, I am glad you feel comfortable opening up to me. I see you,” I confessed, unable to keep the words from tumbling out.
“You see me, huh? What do you see? A tired thirty-five-year-old barely making it?”
“No, I see a beautiful, amazing woman, intelligent and capable, loving and so brave.” Might as well spill my guts here to her. I don’t know what it was about her, but damn, it felt good saying this.
“Wow, that was…lovely, made me feel things, or maybe it’s the Riesling…” she whispered into her glass, her gaze lost for a second. Staying still felt like the best approach. Staring at her mouth, on the other hand, felt like a recipe for a night of tossing and turning. It was worth it.
When she licked her lips and took another gulp of wine, I followed the liquid down her throat and wondered what it would be like to press my lips right there where her neck met her shoulder. Fucking hell, I was standing in Ms. Velasquez’s kitchen with a full chubby. Egregious behavior. Inevitable.
“Thanks, Orlando, that was… I didn’t realize I needed to hear that, but I did. I’m going to turn in for the night, but you are welcome to stay with the twins; just make sure they lock up, alright?” Her eyes roamed down my body and, for a second, paused around my crotch area; at this point, I was fully hard, and there was no hiding it. I tried standing a better way, but the shift made things worse. Ms. Velasquez licked her lips again and I’m ashamed to admit a groan almost escaped me.
“Yeah, I should go to bed…it’s getting…hot,” Trinidad said and brushed past me, her perfume lingering behind. “Good night, Orlando.”
“Good night, Ms. Velasquez. Sleep well.”
I hope she did because there was no way I would.