Chapter 17
Miriam
Never in my life have I wanted to go upside someone’s head with a taco. But Marcela isn’t worth wasting the marinated pork and fresh pineapple. I’m hungry, and I wouldn’t make it three steps before she tossed me into Lake Erie.
I still thought about it.
There are days when I dislike my sister, and tonight is no exception. Who ruins Taco Tuesday by poking fun at their sibling? Mine, apparently.
Marcela’s face is stuck between signs of a seizure and a hard fart.
She’s been like this for the last six minutes and eighteen seconds—I counted in case she needs medical attention.
Her head is tipped to the popcorn ceiling, her cornrows, which are woven up into a braided bun, touching the back of the chair as she slides down it.
Pure foolery.
I wave off the server, who’s been hovering around our table in case my sister needs carted off to a place with padded rooms.
“People are staring.” I kick her pantleg under the table. The only part of her that’s visible is her bun.
Her response is a muffled snort. After a few more snickers, she finally comes up for air.
“It’s just—” She snorts again and uses a napkin to blot the thick lashes fanning tears down her cheeks. “Only you would get asked out during a job interview while wearing that blouse.”
My forehead creases. “It’s a professional dinner, and I found this blouse in your closet.” If she plays “When Doves Cry” on her phone one more time, I’m gone.
“Be that as it may, this is your sign to put yourself out there. I get not entertaining distractions during school. Now that you have a handful of degrees, put that mechanics knowledge to use.”
“Mechanics is a branch of physics that—never mind.” I sigh at her smirk. “I should cancel.”
“To what, stay in the house and count the fake lemons in your display bowl?” Marcela raises a brow and wraps her lips around the blue rim of her margarita glass.
“That’s the last time I tell you my business.” I snatch the nearest taco from the platter between us. Everything from barbacoa to tripe is present, next to a side of rice and beans and pico de gallo. The one thing my sister and I agree on is not playing cute when it’s time to eat.
El Teke Taqueria is a small box. The floors are sticky and the heater sputters, but the food is amazing. The best meals come from holes in the wall.
“All I’m saying is it’s okay for you to get the business.” She winks, grabbing a tortilla chip. “Work dinners aren’t uncommon. If you’re comfortable, shit, go for it.”
A work dinner.
At a boathouse, which happens to have a live jazz band that evening.
“I saw the photo on the company website. He’s attractive. You know he has a good job. If there’s no policy against dating your coworker, give him a test drive.”
“Marcela,” I hiss.
The restaurant is too crowded for anyone to hear us. I still wouldn’t like talking about sex in public, and I definitely don’t like having sex in public, though the risk of getting caught has made me curious on occasion.
“Look at that brain, hard at work.” She grins. “Get out your head.”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
My sister’s nonchalance is nothing new. Neither of us grew up imagining our wedding day or waiting for a man to gallop up on a horse and rescue us from the single life.
She surprised us by getting married to her high school sweetheart, but then she course corrected to stay away from any hint of forever.
Her divorce took two years to finalize. Raheem couldn’t keep a job to pay a bill but found a way to drag out the proceedings like the leech he is. My sister learned a costly lesson, and now she refuses to entertain a man beyond casual sex.
Unlike her, I want a commitment with the right partner. My lack of experience with love is neither evidence of missing self-confidence nor immaturity. Many people roam the earth who lack a basic aptitude for decency and pass around STIs like Tic Tacs.
Coital chaos demons.
I might be awkward at times, and I might get in my own head, but I have boundaries. I won’t waste my time seeking validation through an unnecessary relationship.
While I’m open to love, any man I choose will complement me, not complete me. I’m inexperienced, but I’m whole.
“It’s okay if you don’t think Macaulay is cute,” my sister says.
“Kieran,” I snort. “His name is Kieran.”
She shrugs. “I said a Culkin. No one expects you to go on a dick binge. But”—her head cants, and she purses her lips like Robert De Niro—“I won’t say anything.”
“Good to know.” I roll my eyes and tap the rim of my margarita glass.
“I’ve thought about dating. I’m not fully sold on algorithms being equitable on apps, which leaves finding someone in person.
” Where it gets weird fast, and I usually end up wanting to run back to the house to organize my lemons.
“Kieran is cute. I just don’t feel the spark. ”
“Spark?” Marcela crunches into a birria taco.
“You know, that electric charge. A zing. Our father had it with our mother.”
“And look what happened to that,” she scoffs.
Okay, not the best example since they ended up divorced.
But the love was there. Remnants still linger in the way they try to brush off asking about each other.
My mother is loud and outspoken. My father is reserved and quiet.
Put together, their differences are what made their relationship, until his career got in the way.
“My point is that I don’t feel anything for Kieran, other than nervous that I fumbled my interview. I’m also not actively searching for anybody right now. If it happens, it happens.”
More people are having babies in their forties.
The taboo of being single later in life is losing its stronghold, taking the pressure off of procreating within the time frame that society dictates is “reasonable.” I’m not rushing or stressing myself out with what anyone else assumes is best for me.
I’ll know when it’s the right time, just like I’ll know who my person is.
Maybe.
“Would a certain rugby player have anything to do with you swiping left on Culkin?”
I frown. “Did you hear me say I’m not actively searching for anyone?” What’s the proof in this tequila?
Marcela purses her lips again. “I did. That doesn’t answer my question. Nice try.”
God, why did you make her so annoying?
“Antonio has nothing to do with this.” I poke at a taco with my knife to keep from poking the person across from me, who’s a second away from demonstrating what a “blood” relative is.
“So you haven’t felt the zing with him?”
“Yes—no!” Please give me strength with her.
Every hair on my neck stood up when Antonio walked into that Adams Morgan bar. My heart always skipped a beat when I’d see him on the rugby field. It made zero sense, because I once babysat him! It was only a handful of times before he went to high school, but still.
My attraction is more of an anomaly, an unexplained scientific occurrence. I like him, and I won’t sour our friendship over an orgasm I can give myself. Plus, he’s a player. The only reason he showed interest in me three years ago was because I was a consenting vagina.
I push my glasses up my nose and sigh. “For the last time, he is a friend who, last I checked, is doing your friend.”
“Miriam.” Marcela chuckles.
I lift my hands. “I’m fine. We don’t need to talk about it again. They’re free to see each other. It doesn’t involve me.”
My sister raises a brow. “Sex for some people is just that—sex. No emotional attachments or feelings involved. I do it all the time.”
“I know you do.” I giggle into my glass.
“Don’t brush this off.”
“What do you want me to say, that I don’t like the idea of him with Lisa?” I push my plate away and fold my arms over a million and one ruffles. “He comes from money, and I’ll kick her wig off if she tries him like the elders she uses for paid vacations.”
“Not kick a wig!” Marcela hollers, earning the attention of our server.
Chucha madre.
“Estamos bien,” I tell his narrowed brows. “La cuenta, por fa.” He bumps a table on his escape route. I don’t blame him one bit. Now I’m laughing.
“Her wigs do look like mops,” Marcela says.
“Don’t talk about your friend like that.”
“She’s not my friend!” My sister whines, which activates my wheeze. “I don’t invite her anywhere. She just shows up. Her humping got her cut off anyway.”
“You don’t have to do that for me.”
“And did.” She straightens to adjust her blazer. “I caught the smirk Lisa thought she was hiding. She can play games with her mama before she plays with my sister. The fuck?”
“I love you, Cela.”
“Love you too, girl.”
My phone buzzes.
Antonio
Hey! Did they roll out the red carpet for you? I meant to text earlier, but we started at six this morning.
Sounds rough. The interview was okay. Not sure I’m completely sold, the more I think about it. They’re making a position for me.
Antonio
That’s what’s up! Don’t settle for less. You deserve it all. I’m beat. Showering, eating, and going to bed. We still on for your friendly school bus event?
It’s not a school bus! Change of plans. Kieran, the guy I might work with, asked me to dinner to discuss the position. You’re off the hook being my wingman. Get some rest!
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask Marcela and her smile.
She picks up a chip. “You and Antonio are both in denial, but y’all will figure it out one day.”
“We aren’t. We’re—”
“Friends,” she mocks in a kid voice and winks.
“Antonio looks at you like he’d hang the sun, the moon, and every star for you.
Got him calling me ‘ma’am,’ being all polite and grabbing sushi because you said you ate it on Fridays back in grad school.
If you don’t get out your own way and get your fairy tale… ”
“He’s being nice,” I say quietly.
“He’s in love. Probably waiting for you to give a sign that you feel the same way.”
Never once have I heard of Antonio wanting to give up his bachelor life. We don’t talk about who he sees or what they do.
I won’t say things haven’t been a little weird since he texted me on Sunday to apologize. His poor mother. It would be wrong for me to ask about Lisa, especially now. So I minded my business and left it alone. Between his mother and practice before the season starts, he’s got his hands full.
I will too once I get a job. Maybe then I’ll stop thinking about things I shouldn’t. Like how long him and Lisa have been…active. If it’s serious. If he could be with just one person.
“We like each other, but not the way you think,” I say. “It’s not my place to care about who he’s with.”
“Lisa didn’t sleep with him,” Marcela confirms.
“I don’t need—”
“He kicked her out. Said he had to go to the airport. She called today to apologize. I told her trifling ass I wasn’t the one who needed an apology.”
The breath that was trapped in my lungs escapes in a slow release. I fix my glasses and nod without glancing at my sister. The confirmation that nothing happened between them shouldn’t be a relief. But it is, and that confuses me.