Chapter Four Raspberry
Chapter Four Raspberry
Andrew
“This is going to be a disaster,” Andrew murmured to himself when he walked into the coffee shop and spotted her sitting by
the window. She was glowing. How the hell could she have gotten even more beautiful? She had a golden tan, and her hair was
a lot shorter.
Before the summer, her straight black hair fell to the middle of her back, and now it was right by her shoulders. She looked
younger and sweeter, which was, of course, a lie. There was nothing sweet about the woman. She wore light-colored jeans, yellow
Converse sneakers, and a black T-shirt with white lettering that read, oxford commas save lives . She could’ve passed as a college student, even though he knew she was closer to thirty than to twenty.
Their eyes met when she looked up from her phone. She waved at him and pointed to the chair in front of her. He felt a weird thing happen in his chest at that moment. It wasn’t as if she gave him a beaming, welcoming smile, but still, she waved him over. She wasn’t angry. It was a different Valerie from the last school year.
He hoped it would last.
“You want anything?” he asked, pointing to the cashier.
She shook her head and lifted some pink iced thing. He went to the counter and ordered an iced coffee before sitting down.
She had a notebook and a pen in front of her, and the notebook was full of notes and scribbles.
“Hey,” he said. “You cut your hair.”
“Hi,” she said, and touched her hair, as if she’d forgotten it was shorter. “Yeah. It was too long and it’s too hot.”
“Looks good,” he admitted. Her neck was soft and regal; her collarbone was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. He didn’t even
think he’d ever looked at any person’s collarbone in his life.
She seemed surprised by the compliment. Before they’d slept together, he wouldn’t have sent a compliment her way, so of course
she’d be surprised.
“Have a good summer?” she asked.
“It was okay. Nothing special. You?”
“It was good. Glad to be back home, though.”
“Yeah, I bet.” It was awkward. The conversation felt stilted and forced. Plus, he wasn’t a small-talk kind of person. He loathed
it, actually. “Bummer that they couldn’t save your memorabilia.”
“Don’t,” she said, holding out a hand. She swallowed. It was the most vulnerable he’d ever seen her. “One of the posters is
salvageable, but the jersey isn’t.”
“I take it, it means a lot to you?”
“Don’t,” she said again, and turned her face away while sipping her pink drink. She looked as if she was going to burst into tears. He changed the subject. “So how are we going to do this? Do you want to take certain subjects and I take others? Do you prefer I do one week and you do another? How do you envision this working?”
“Honestly? I don’t envision this working. I think this is going to be a disaster. But I’m willing to try if you are?”
She said it in a way that made it seem as if he was the one who was unwilling to try. As if he was the unreasonable one, the
one who played the loud music and threw paint around the school.
“I’m not the one who can’t play well with others, Marquez.”
She glared at him.
And with that one look, they were back to their old selves. Immediately he became more comfortable. This was the space that
worked for them. Fakeness and small talk weren’t their vibe.
She turned the pages of her notebook. In neat letters she had written a schedule, which she slid his way. “I was thinking
something like this.” She’d given him math, shapes, and writing, and she’d taken reading, science, and art.
“I get reading. Reading is important to me. It’s nonnegotiable.”
“It’s important to me too.”
“But I’ll give you all the arts. Free rein. You also give me the spelling bee.”
She looked at him through her eyelashes as she sucked on the straw. “Ugh. Fine.”
“Don’t ugh . It’s a fair compromise. We can switch it with shapes—that goes well with art.”
“Okay, but I get to get the classroom ready. I decorate.”
“No. Hell no.”
“Yes! That’s important to me. I can’t teach in monotone. Please...”
She looked cute. Damn. This was harder than he thought it would be.
“Fine.”
She extended her hand, he took it, and they shook. She held on a little longer than was necessary, and his finger grazed the
underside of her wrist. Her cheeks flamed red, and he felt a zing up his arm. He wanted to yank her to him and kiss all along
that neck and jaw and— She pulled her hand away.
“Carmichael did us dirty,” she added, looking everywhere but his eyes.
“I know. But we can’t argue. We need to try, because I really think he’s at his wits’ end with us,” he said as he cleared
his throat.
“I can be good if you can.”
“Oh, I know you can be,” he said, and, unable to control himself, he winked, which made her cheeks redden even more.
She pushed her chair back and stood. He’d frazzled her. The great and in control Valerie Marquez was flustered.
“We shall never talk about that night or make any insinuations about it, ever again.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, watching her gather her notebook and pen and stuff them into her purse.
“See you in a few days, Marquez.”
“Yeah. Yes, see ya,” she said, and practically ran out of the coffee shop.
Valerie
Since returning to Miami, Valerie had mostly slept. She was exhausted and couldn’t get enough of her comfortable bed, soft
sheets, and fluffy duvet. She’d washed her hair, luxuriating in the lavender-scented shampoo. She’d had her hair cut in Haiti
by a woman who worked in a nearby salon inside her small home. “Salon” was a very generous way of saying a swivel chair and
shears. Every day, Valerie walked past the woman’s house, and every day, the woman and her friends would speak with her and
touch her long black hair. Valerie didn’t understand the fascination with her voluminous locks; they were nothing in comparison
to the beautiful braids that Samira styled for her clients. On her last day in Haiti, Valerie walked into Samira’s home and
asked Samira to cut her hair. Samira seemed horrified, but Valerie wanted the haircut. It was hot as hell, and her hair was
long and dull. Now, back in Miami, she knew she’d made the perfect choice.
Valerie had just gotten out of the shower when there was a knock at the door. “Mija, it’s me,” the familiar voice said from
the other side. “I brought arroz con pollo and a flan, your favorite.”
Valerie smiled. She hadn’t seen her mother since she’d arrived yesterday. She opened the door with a towel wrapped around
her body. “Hi, Mom, I missed you. Let me help you with that.” Valerie grabbed a container with one hand while holding the
towel to her body with the other.
“I missed you too,” her mom said, walking in and closing the door behind her. “Give me that and go dry your hair or you’ll catch pneumonia.”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“No, mija. Go. That’s how Pipa, Magda’s granddaughter, ended up in the hospital.”
“Who’s Magda?”
“My new hairstylist.”
“And her granddaughter got pneumonia from having wet hair?” Valerie said skeptically.
“Sí. Almost died,” she said matter-of-factly. Her mother, an RN, who knew how science worked better than most, still believed
in old wives’ tales. For instance, God forbid Valerie went swimming immediately after having dinner.
Valerie ignored the request and went to her room to dress. She brushed and towel dried her hair before coming out of the room.
Her mother had already put out two plates of food and was separating Valerie’s clothes, which were still in her luggage by
the front door, into colors and whites. “Valerie Marquez! You still haven’t put away your clothes? What have you been doing?”
“Sleeping,” Valerie said, taking Anabel’s hand and leading her back into the kitchen for dinner. “Let’s eat. I’ll finish that
later.”
“You mean, start that later,” her mother said, pulling out a chair at Valerie’s kitchen counter. “Ay, dios mío! You cut your
hair? Por qué?” Anabel asked.
“Because it was hot and I wanted a change. It’ll grow back, although I like it.”
“It was so beautiful long. My hair was just like yours before I had you.”
“You should let yours grow.” Instead of projecting yourself onto me. But she kept that part to herself.
“My hair is thin. It was never the same after I had you. Pregnancy does that, you know?”
Valerie rolled her eyes. “Thank you for making dinner. I missed your cooking.”
“I’ll get used to it. It’s not that bad,” Anabel said.
“Are we still talking about the hair?”
“Obviously,” Anabel said. “Tell me about your trip.”
Valerie began to tell her mother about the trip but was interrupted before she’d even said anything of substance.
“I don’t understand how you can do that. It’s wonderful that you’re helping people, but don’t you miss”—she gestured around
the room—“all this?”
“Honestly, for the first time, I did.” More than she cared to admit. She hated confessing that to her mother.
“I mean, it’s about time. I didn’t sacrifice so much to have you sleeping in a tent.”
“I didn’t sleep in a tent,” she began, and then she changed the subject. It wasn’t worth the fight. They’d gone at it over
this same topic too many times to count. Valerie wasn’t going to change her mother’s opinion. “Oh, guess what happened?” She
told her mother about the classroom, the storm, and having to share a room with Andrew Wexler.
“Isn’t that the man who bullies you?”
“Well, I don’t know if I’d say he bullies me. He’s a pain, but he’s not a bully.” And he’s great in bed. Another thing she kept to herself.
“I don’t know how that’s going to work out. You two don’t get along.”
“That’s an understatement, Mom.”
After they finished eating, Anabel insisted that Valerie go blow-dry her hair. Now that her belly was full, Valerie relented
and went to her room to dry her hair. When she returned, there was a load of laundry already started and the kitchen looked
like no one had been there. Her mom had packed up the leftovers into the same containers and put them in Valerie’s refrigerator.
“It’s even shorter once it’s dry,” Anabel said. It was hard to tell if that was a compliment or an insult.
“It is,” Valerie said matter-of-factly. The need for her mother’s approval was long gone. The only person who needed to like
her new hair was Valerie, and Valerie loved it. Even Andrew had said it was nice. Anabel kissed Valerie on the cheek and gave
her a big bear hug. They weren’t huge huggers, but once in a while it was nice to be held by her mother.
“I’ll see you soon, mija,” Anabel said. “Good luck on your first day of school. Let me know how it goes.”
“Will do, Mom.”
It was Saturday, and school started on Monday. Valerie had one more day to relax and enjoy her solitude before the chaos of
a new school year. With her belly full, she was ready to go to bed but wanted to wait until the washing machine cycle ended
to transfer the clothes to the dryer. To keep herself from falling asleep, she texted Monique.
Valerie: Miss you, Mo. Can’t wait to see you.
Monique: Are you back?
Valerie: Yes. How was summer?
Monique: Too short. How was Haiti?
Valerie: Great!
Monique: I assume you heard about the kinder-wing?
Valerie: Yes, and it gets better. I have to share a room with Sergeant Wexler. Can you believe it?
Monique: I thought it was a rumor.
Valerie: Unfortunately, it’s not.
Monique: That’s going to end worse than Ol’ B.
Valerie: Not on my end. I’m going to be on my best behavior.
Monique: I’m bringing the popcorn.
Valerie: Ye of little faith