Chapter 10 #3
The smile on my face fell no sooner than the words left his mouth.
Here I was basking in his innocence, and this little boy was cursing like he was an adult.
I’d heard the small one earlier, but thought I’d imagined it since my nerves were coming down from his scaring me.
Now I know I wasn’t confused. With his legs slightly gapped now that he was standing, his hands were crossed at his waistband as he looked me up and down.
My little brothers were always plainly dressed when they weren’t in their school clothes.
However, this kid was wearing shorts with rips at the knee, Bottega sneakers, a Bottega T-shirt, a diamond necklace and diamonds in both ears, along with a Rolex on his wrist. This was an adult male in a child’s body.
Blinking away my concern, I scrunched up my face. “Excuse me?”
He cocked his head and squinted his eyes at me. “I said, ‘Are you my Uncle Shio’s—’”
“No!” I rushed out before he could curse again. I didn’t know if his parents were near and didn’t want him to get in trouble if they heard the vile language spewing from his mouth.
“Oh,” he replied dismissively.
“Oh?” I found myself questioning.
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I thought he’d finally found his wife.”
The kid looked me up and down again, and it was only then that I realized how much of a hot mess I must’ve looked. I had rolled out of bed and come into the kitchen like I lived here.
“If he did, it isn’t me,” I assured him, chuckling to ease the tension I was feeling in my chest.
He and I engaged in a stare-off, where it appeared that he was trying to read me while I was only trying to figure out what the hell had become of my life.
Just yesterday, I was living carefree, doing what I wanted, and moving as I pleased, following my father’s one and only rule that he had set for me.
“Nah…” He shook his head. “If it ain’t you, then he definitely hasn’t found nobody. Nigga ain’t gonna ever get solidified.”
I didn’t know what he meant by that, so I replied with, “Oh.”
I watched as he tossed the dirty paper towels and plate of floor food, washed his hands, and then grabbed another plate.
He stood gapped-legged in front of the foiled pans, and I had to place my attention elsewhere so that I didn’t go over and lift his shorts on his waist. He was too handsome to be sagging his pants.
I’d seen visitors in Mexico City wear their clothes this way, and it looked silly to me.
“Remind me what you had again. I know hot wings and fries.”
“Uh, the lemon pepper one and a barbecue.”
He grabbed the tongs and piled my plate, adding more than I originally had, which I appreciated. I was only being modest when I fixed my plate, but I was starving. When he was done with the plate, he opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and then set the plate down in front of me.
Is he wearing Baccarat? Who the hell is this kid?
“This ain’t barbecue. We don’t eat barbecue-flavored hot wings ’round here. Here. I’m sure you want some ranch.”
He slid a small sauce cup in front of me, which I frowned at. I didn’t eat ranch on my chicken wings, but I wasn’t going to tell him that, so I just let it sit while picking up a fry. He took a seat next to me and watched as I bit into a hot wing.
“You Black, but you not a nigga…”
I nearly choked on the wing and had to take a swig of water. When I was able to inhale appropriately, and the chicken made its way down my esophagus instead of down my windpipe, I wiped my fingers with the paper towel he’d given me.
“You’re a child, but you speak like an adult.”
Rubbing his hand down his hairless face, proving he was indeed a child, he looked off. “Yeah, well… life will make you grow up faster than you need to.”
I could wholeheartedly relate to his statement that held weight.
Growing up, my father allowed me to be a child until he didn’t.
The switch-up was quick, and I had to grow up and adapt to our way of life fast. Mexico was as brutal as it was beautiful.
There was no time for dolls and dance recitals once it was evident that I was no longer a young girl, but a budding young lady.
“I get it…”
His eyes widened before softening as he looked back at me and said, “I’ve seen a lot, heard a lot, and been through a lot. I’m trying to work on my cursing, though. It’s hard, but my mama been appreciating me trying.”
“Your mother…” I trailed off, not sure what I wanted to say.
I was trying to imagine what I thought the woman he’d come from looked like.
He was a handsome little boy despite his potty mouth, so I knew he had to be the product of at least one good-looking parent, if not two.
With his facial structure that was nearly perfect, I put my pesos on his mother. She was pretty—had to be.
“Yeah. She’s pregnant. I been trying not to stress her out. She’s happy these days. Got everything she ever wanted.”
“And you?” I found myself asking.
Using his teeth to scrape his bottom lip, he looked off into the distance. “After I handle this business I got when I turn eighteen, I’ll have everything I ever wanted then.”
“And how long is that?”
He held up eight fingers. “This long. I can’t fucking wait either.”
This little boy was ten years old and rushing the next eight, while I was wishing I could rewind my life back eight years.
I had Maura to deal with back then, but I hadn’t been kidnapped by my own father to prepare me to be auctioned off to save his ass.
Back then, my worries were finding excuses to skip etiquette classes and dodging our chef, who’d been tasked with teaching me the basic cooking skills. All of that seemed so far away.
“My father is Mexican, and my mother was Black,” I answered his question from earlier.
“So you half-nigga and half-wetback?” he asked with a straight face.
My hand covered my heart in fake disappointment, and before I could respond to his insult, he burst out laughing.
“I’m just messing with you. You do look Black, though. The only way I know you got some Mexican in you is from your accent. It’s thick as fuck. You sound like you straight out a telenovela.”
“What do you know about telenovelas?” I grinned. I hadn’t watched them since I was a little girl. It was comical hearing him refer to them.
“I watched a few of ’em.” He shrugged like it was no big deal. I didn’t know much about this country, but I didn’t think they watched telenovelas.
“What’s your name?”
“Neltz.”
Neltz.
To me, it was an odd name for an interesting little boy. It fit him, though.
Smiling at him, I asked, “You’re not going to ask me my name?”
He shook his head and stood. “In this family, you learn not to ask too many questions. Besides, I already got a name for you.”
“Family?”
“Yeah. We deep as fuck too.”
“Well, I would say, ‘I can’t wait to meet them,’ but I’m not sure that I will. I’m just temporary. Just passing through.”
Neltz gave me another once over. “Nah. If you’re here, you ain’t temporary. Everybody got a job to do ’round here… You’ll figure yours out soon. Eat up. Yo’ stomach keeps on growling. I’ma see you later. Mexi-mami.”
Mexi-mami?
Before I could question the child, he was gone.
I was shocked he could tell I was Mexican because most Americans tossed me into the “Latina” box, which technically wasn’t wrong.
But Latina could mean a million different things depending on where you from.
Other countries might’ve mixed in Portuguese or French over the centuries, but Mexico?
We’ve always been Espanol first. Being from Mexico made me Mexican before anything else.
Not every Latino feels connected to that, and not every Mexican fits neatly under the “Latino” label.
It’s messy, especially for Americans, who never really cared to understand the difference.
For that reason, I made it a habit to specify my Afro-Mexican ethnicity in conversation.
The fact that Neltz saw me so easily made me even more curious about the grown-acting ten-year-old.
Looking down the hall, I assumed he was going back into the area where the laughter had been.
Grabbing my plate and water, I made my way back to where I’d come from, closing the door to shut me inside.
I was going to eat, fall back into a sleep coma, and pray that my time here was kind to me, and if it was, that it crept by as slow as a snail.
I wasn’t ready to fulfill my mail-order bride duties.
America couldn’t be as bad as what the Rodríguezes had up their sleeves for me. At least, I hoped it wasn’t.
“Aye… Get up.”
My body curled up in a fetal position as the thick duvet was snatched from my lower half. Chill bumps appeared instantaneously. It wasn’t that the house was cold, because I hadn’t needed to turn the ceiling fan on. It was that I couldn’t sleep without covers. My body preferred warmth over coolness.
“Aye,” his deep voice sounded, carrying a warning that I could understand even with the sleep fog occupying my mind.
My body wanted sleep, but apparently, the person who was housing me had other plans.
I couldn’t feel the sun peeking in, even from behind my eyelids, and it felt as if I’d only been asleep for an hour, so I knew it was way too early for me to be awake.
Still, I peeled my eyes open to see what it was I was being summoned for.
Shio.
Standing over me, even at this ungodly hour, he was looking just as good as he had every other time I’d seen him.
This time, instead of him being in his suit and tie, he was in shorts that stopped high up his thighs and a matching long-sleeved shirt.
The room was dark, so I couldn't tell the color of his attire.
Whether it was black, brown, or blue, or whatever the hue, he looked asombroso (amazing).