Chapter 9 How Fond Are You of This Underwear?
How Fond Are You of This Underwear?
SI SUPIERAS BY DADDY YANKEE it warms my heart that my little sister found someone who loves her the way she deserves to be loved.
“?Puedo?” I ask my father as soon as I join them on the dance floor.
“Claro, muchacho. ?Esta nina me va a sacar el jugo! ?Dale, dale!” I laugh at his words as he walks back to the table.
“What did he say?” Daisy asks.
“That you’re gonna run him dry.”
We both laugh. I hold Daisy’s hand and bring her to me, slowing us down to match the bachata playing.
It’s almost like fate; the DJ must know how much I love dancing bachata—how much I love dancing with her.
Daisy always being around in my house meant she was there for the early Saturday mornings when Aventura, Juan Luis Guerra, Gilberto Santa Rosa, or Anthony Santos were playing.
It meant my dad was walking around dancing with anything that moved, teaching us the steps.
My mother silently drank her café con leche and read the newspaper while us kids learned side steps and how to follow rhythm.
Daisy is no stranger to any of my favorite Dominican and Puerto Rican singers, and I love that about her.
“I love your family,” she whispers. I love you, I want to say, but I keep it inside.
We fall into a silent dance beyond what our mouths say.
This silence is deeper. She won’t talk. She won’t look at me.
The only communication between us is the coordination of our bodies and how she melts in my hands.
Even if she’s upset at me, her body talks.
Her body is comfortable with me. Her body feels safe with me.
“What’s going on, Daze?” I ask, keeping my voice soft.
“Nothing,” she mumbles without turning to look at. Yeah, nothing my ass.
“Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” she echoes.
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
She finally does. She snaps her eyes to mine, and I find fear there.
“Daisy, what’s going on? Did someone hurt you?
” I bring my hand to hold her face. Her skin is warm under my palm, and she closes her eyes as she stops dancing.
The music keeps going, but it feels far away.
We’re both standing here, caught in this strange moment of stillness, looking at each other while the room spins around us.
“Stop looking at me like that.” Her words are sharp, and I flinch at the sudden coldness in her voice.
“Like what?” My chest tightens. I’m usually a very smart person, quick to see patterns, quick to read people, quick to read her, but I can’t figure this one out at all.
“Like I’m delicate and precious, and you might die if something happens to me.” Her eyes dart away.