Nathan
"Albert asked me to go to San Francisco with him."
Her hand flew to her chest, wide eyes staring up at me. A flash of guilt rippled through me, and I had to fight to keep myself from running my hands through my hair, or what was left of it. She liked it short like this, she'd said. It'd turned me into a man, she'd said. I hadn't known a haircut could do that. She put down her glass of wine, the white one I'd picked out to go with the meal I'd been planning to cook.
"San Francisco?" Charlotte asked, lightly shaking her head, lips slightly parted. "What do you mean, Nathan? On a business trip?"
By the worried frown on her face, I could see she'd already understood that wasn't it. I leaned backward in the chair, rubbing the back of my neck. The coffee table was littered with half-empty cartons from her favorite Vietnamese place, the biggest one filled with sauce stained napkins. I'd bought the ingredients for fabada something, a Spanish bean stew, but then I'd realized it'd be shitty to make her think this was some kind of romantic evening, while in fact, it was probably going to end in a fight. I'd ordered take-out instead.
"No. Not on a business trip. For longer."
She was staring at me, fingers playing with her golden rings. Mouth open, mouth closed. "But you didn't say 'yes', did you?" Her eyes were large, fixed on me. "Tell me you didn't say 'yes'."
More guilt rushed through me. Oh shit, I was such an ass... I planted my elbows on my knees, burying my face in my hands. Look at her, Nathan. That was the least I could do. I did, swallowing hard. "I said 'yes'."
No reaction. She just sat there, motionless, no indication of what was going on in her mind. I wished I hadn't eaten this much, because nausea was taking me over, and I was afraid I might throw up all of the spring rolls, along with the lousy person I was. I didn't know what to do.
"He's arranged an interview for me at the law firm of an old friend of his. I'd go back to doing family law, like during my internship. Will be very different from what I'm doing here all day."
I'd said too much. I hadn't meant to sound excited, but I was sure I had, even though I'd practiced telling her in front of the mirror today.
"You decided," she said. "You decided without me."
Yeah, I did. Another thing I'd done wrong, now that I thought about it. I should've told her I was considering it earlier, let her get used to the idea slowly. It'd have been better than throwing it in her face without warning. "I'm sorry," I said, too quickly. "I'm sorry, I... didn't mean to. It's just... I miss California. I've been missing it since the day we boarded that plane last June." June. Two Junes I wanted to go back to, one a girl, the other a time when I'd still been content with my life.
"So, that's it. You're giving up." It came out in a high tone, and I saw her blinking rapidly, something I wasn't used to at all from her. "You're letting them chase you away. Do you know what people are going to say, Nathan? Have you thought about that? You're letting them win."
I'd been expecting something like that. It was only logical, and I couldn't blame her for it. "It's not about them. It's about home. I just want to go home."
It'd dawned on me the minute Albert had posed the question. Turned out, I wasn't the great adventurer I'd always thought I was when Lena and I had been making plans to leave California and drive from state to state, maybe even visiting Canada or Mexico. Dreams about immigrating to Europe, or New Zealand — they'd been hers, not mine. Grandma had known me better at age fifteen than I knew myself even now.
London was a fantastic city, but I was never going to be anything more than a tourist here.
I'd never expected myself to say this, but I missed Palo Alto.
I missed having to wear sunglasses in the car, missed not having to worry about bringing a coat, missed being able to dump your brother in the pool because he was there and it wouldn't cause him to catch pneumonia. Missed strolling around the sunlit markets, missed the fresh tomatoes and oranges, missed the mountains and the vineyards and the ocean and the palm trees. Missed going for a swim whenever you wanted. Missed midnight trips to the eagles.
She wasn't responding. This time, I couldn't keep myself from running my hands through my hair. "I just don't belong here."
"Alright, if that's what you believe..." she trailed off, drawing circles at the base of her neck, something she did before she had to take a big exam. "Well, I suppose the year is almost over, regardless. We've been here for eight months. And we did say a year, perhaps, didn't we?" That was when she looked up at me, and I could breathe again. "What about we wait until I finish my studies, and then we return?"
"That's six months from now."
"Yes, it is."
"The interview is at the end of February. They want me to start around April."
"Can't you ask them to reschedule?"
No. No, I couldn't. I needed to go back soon, or I'd wind up losing my mind. "It's not a fucking court case, Charlotte. It's my life."
"Our life." She sat up straight, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Or are you giving up on us too?" I didn't say anything. I didn't know. She wanted to be here. I wanted to be there. How was that ever going to work? Would we move to and from every year, the one always resenting the other for dragging them across the globe? What kind of relationship was that?
"I never said that."
She breathed in deeply, closing her eyes. "And I sincerely hope you're not thinking it either. If you give up now, it'd just confirm what they were all saying about you from the start."
My blood turned to ice. I inspected her, the firm frown, chin up in the air, shoulders straight, and suddenly, I remembered the girl I knew, the girl I'd fallen for, shyly biting her lip and excusing herself to everyone everywhere. They could impossibly be the same person. Was she still underneath there somewhere? Was there a way to get her back?
Where had she disappeared to?
"Is that all you care about now?" I said, and it made her look up. "What other people are saying?"
"No, of course not. What a strange thing to say."
"Are you sure?"
"Nathan, what on earth are you talking about?" She was biting her lip again, turning her rings around and around on her fingers. Red blotches appeared in her neck, and her eyes were flickering rapidly. For some strange reason, seeing her panic like this brought a calmness over me.
I leaned forward, hands together as if I was praying. She needed to know this was serious, that this was something that really bothered me. "I'm talking about the dresses and the necklaces," I said, and it was only after getting it out I realized how much it vexed me. "When was the last time you wore pants? And the parties, Charlotte... When was the last time you skipped one? And the last time you enjoyed one?" Saying it all like this, one thing after another, I couldn't even understand anymore why I hadn't done this earlier. I'd forgotten what June had taught me. To just tell the truth. The truth was always the best option. "When was the last time we went for a walk? Or even to a supermarket?" She didn't respond, and I wondered if, for once, I'd taken her by surprise. "This person you are here... Is it the real you?"
I hoped it wasn't. Because if it were, I'd let myself get deceived, and I'd abandoned my brother for someone who didn't deserve it.
She swallowed. "I — I don't know." For a second, it seemed like she was going to cry, her lips trembling, then she sat up straight. "No, it's not. Please, darling... Don't give up now."
There were cuts and scrapes all over her hands, like always, but this time, I hadn't seen them appear one by one. I wondered how she came by them. That angry little red one, had it been a result of her startling and scratching herself? The deep straight line, was it a souvenir from her cutting herself instead of whatever vegetable had been the actual target? The small bump, had it been left there after an encounter with a hot frying pan?
I wanted her to tell me. I wanted her to tell me everything, no matter how long it'd take.
She was trying to brush her wet curls, for some reason half turned away from me, a deep frown on her face, her jaw set. We'd both showered, me grinning the whole time I'd been under there, at the one hand wanting to savor the feel of the warm water gushing down my body, clearing me of all the stress of the past month, on the other hand wanting to be done as soon as possible, so I could get back to her and the little lights in her eyes. God, was I happy they were still there, and god, was I happy I could still be the one to let them show up.
Seemed strange to me now I'd been somewhat afraid of facing her. I'd known she was going to be mad at me — I just hadn't known how mad, and if she'd ever be able to forgive me. I wasn't sure if I deserved it, but it looked like she had, for the most part.
"Mierda!"
Her comb had gotten stuck in her hair. She strained her lips, her fingers trying to grasp the object. They weren't succeeding at first. Then, they were, and she yanked at it so hard that the comb flew from her grip and landed clattering beside me. She flustered, looking at me with her head held high, arms in her side, like I'd dare to call her out on it.
I chuckled. Never thought I'd be jumping for joy because someone was flinging combs at me. I picked the thing up, offering it to her. "You wanna try again?" I said. "I'm a big target. You should be able to hit me."
She huffed, just like I'd expected her to do. "I wasn't aiming for you," she said, as she snatched the comb from me. "But I probably should have, with your crappy ass jokes."
My laugh would only annoy her, yet I couldn't seem to hold it in, like I hadn't been able to do ever since I stepped into the kitchen and spotted her standing there with cake stuff on the tops of her fingers, wearing my shirt, full of crusted white and jelly yellow stains, barefoot and paralyzed. I'd never stumbled across a more captivating sight.
"I wouldn't blame you," I said.
Something tugged at the corner of her mouth, and I held my breath, hoping it'd turn into a full-blown smile. "You're lucky my dad taught me violence doesn't solve anything, Nathan." For a second, the hopeful feeling in my stomach made me focus on her eyes, not wanting to miss one of my favorite spectacles in the world — until her face fell again. "Although abuela always thinks all your problems can be solved by yelling at them."
There was something tired in her voice, like she was resisting the urge to sigh. She placed the comb on the table, slumping down in a chair, her shoulders slouching. I'd been worried about her, hearing what she had to achieve by herself, the long days and nights, and whatever Sam had told me, it was clear she wasn't fine. He'd said she was weird — she wasn't, though. Exhausted, more like, and thinking. Thinking a lot. I could almost detect all the thoughts flying through her mind, for me to snatch away if I wanted.
If she let me.
I wanted her to let me. Like she used to. "Am I one of those?"
She glanced up. "One of what?"
"One of your problems."
She didn't laugh, just stared at me, the muscles in her neck tensing. "I don't want you to be. I like you better as a solution."
It was like she had thrown the comb in my face after all. This was her being honest with me again, and there was nothing I'd like more right now than to take her in my arms and hug her to death. I hadn't screwed up our friendship — I still had a chance to fix it, and I thanked my lucky stars for it. "I'll be a solution."
Her hands curled into fists, resting on her lap, chin dropping towards her chest. She sighed, rubbing her face, fingers stretched so tight they bent backward a little. "I'm so tired, Nathan."
I couldn't help but feel something bounce in my chest as she said it. Her Guevara-honesty was returning fast, and I hadn't even been home for more than an hour. I took the chair next to her, sitting down in it. "Me too." It was true. The last month especially had been draining, with Charlotte pissed off at me, and me not knowing where we stood or what was going to happen next. Strange, because one of the things I'd liked most about her was always being prepared for the next step. Right now, however, I couldn't think about any of that, only pay attention to June, and hoping she'd let me in again. Don't mess this up, Nathan. "We could just spend the whole day in bed together if you want."
She looked at me, completely still, then burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. Her shoulders convulsed, and she bent double, curls falling in front of her eyes. "Well," she said, trying to catch her breath, hand covering her mouth, "that's — that's something I haven't — haven't heard before."
Oh. Yeah, that might've been phrased somewhat awkwardly. I'd been meaning like we did the night of Sam's fifteenth birthday party, talking and watching movies, but yeah, it came out completely wrong. I didn't mind, though, because seeing her laugh like this made it all worth it. Luckily, she had gotten dressed — I wouldn't have survived the situation if she'd still been in my shirt.
Fuck.
I didn't intend to, but there was the image of her rushing inside again, dripping wet, shirt embracing all the curves of her body. The way she walked, her legs falling together and twisting, made her ass wiggle from side to side, something other girls might do on purpose to get attention. I'd never noticed before, and I shouldn't have noticed now. Hell, I shouldn't even have been looking — if I'd been sensible, I would've waited at least five minutes to be sure she'd be upstairs already. If I'd been sensible, I wouldn't have been repeating it in my mind right now.
I didn't care about wiggling butts, never really had, and I still shouldn't care about them, especially not if it was June's. This wasn't normal, and I blamed Charlotte, for letting me get used to regular sex. Due to us fighting, it'd been a little over a month since the last time, and it seemed like my hormones were having a hard time coming to terms with that.
I must've worn a shocked expression, because she stopped. "Don't worry," she said, giggling a little. "I know your intentions are entirely honorable. You're a gentleman, after all."
Yeah, well, she wouldn't have said that if she'd seen what'd been going on in my mind. Thank god for that — if she had, I could kiss our friendship goodbye already. She'd probably freak out, and I couldn't blame her for it. "Been a while since I've heard someone call me that."
"Really? What have you been doing on the other side of the ocean?"
Nothing very interesting, actually. Suddenly, I was ashamed of myself, that I stayed that long, not even realizing how miserable I was. Had I really needed that proposal from Albert to recognize going home was exactly what I needed? How pathetic was that? Why was it so difficult for me to acknowledge what I wanted? She always made that seem so easy. "I could ask you the same," I said. No way I was going to admit my mistakes now and let her gloat at me. "All Sam wanted to tell me was that you were acting weird."
She frowned. "Yeah, he keeps saying that. I don't know why." She sighed, then looked straight at me. "You could've called and asked."
"I couldn't. I didn't have proof yet."
That made her shake her head, an amused smile gracing her face. "Oh, you're so..." She ended the sentence in a tiny laugh.
Great. Now I felt like a fool. Hadn't she meant it literally? How could I've called her if I didn't have any positive news? "Besides, you weren't telling me anything," I said, which wiped the smile away. I wondered why. Was it the guy, and hadn't she want me to know about it? Like I hadn't told her about Charlotte at first? The idea made me hold my breath, but I had to ask: "Are you... are you seeing someone?"
"What?" Her brown eyes went wide, blinking at me, mouth open, like I'd said something completely inappropriate.
"Charlotte thought you were seeing someone."
She huffed again, grabbing her one hand with the other, apparently to squeeze it tight. "The only one I'm seeing right now is you, because you're kind of blocking my view." It was supposed to be a joke, but she wasn't laughing, and neither was I. There was something she was hiding, and it was starting to frustrate me to the point I longed to throw her in the pool again, hoping it'd loosen her up. "I'm just gonna check if the cake is ready, and then we can go to the market, okay?"
She stood up calmly, already walking to the oven, again with her butt wiggling from side to side. Something about this situation was off. It wasn't difficult to be with her, it'd never been, but it was difficult feeling she was holding back — it was like something had changed between us, and I needed to find out what, and how to set it right again.
She was going to be seventeen, after all, and I was determined to know her again before midnight, no matter what it would take.
"Really, Nathan? Have you been listening to this shit? I'm not sure if that's sweet or incredibly racist of you."
She was laughing, though, shaking her head, so it didn't really matter what the answer was. She'd been scrolling through my Spotify and found my newest playlist, the one littered with admittedly shitty Spanish pop songs. However, the cheerful beats and beautiful language had gotten me through the past month, and I wasn't ashamed of it.
"Well, like I said, I missed you."
I hoped it was the right thing to say. Knowing her, she could just as easily hold a speech on how associating all things Spanish with her was an extremely racist, toxic habit to maintain. Maybe it was. Even so, it seemed futile to feel guilty about listening to music.
She looked sideways at me, treating me with a small smile. "You have a weird way of conveying your feelings to someone. Not coming home for Christmas and then not calling me for two months doesn't exactly scream: 'I miss you so much, it hurts my heart every single second I'm away. Trust me, June, I can't live without you, that's why I prefer a rainy London over a warm California'." She was clasping her hands on her chest, fingers spread and constantly moving, putting on a dramatic voice, but I was fully aware it wasn't a joke — not completely, anyway. I could see it, in her eyes — "Jeez, Nathan, watch the road! That was a red light!"
Someone honked at us, making her startle, and a white Honda stepped on the brakes, only nearly missing our rear end.
Oh fuck. Apparently, it'd been too early to get into a car with her. Great. First time in nine months I was with her, and what did I do? Almost kill the both of us.
"Sorry," I said, adrenaline shooting through my veins. I seized the wheel tighter, vowing to not let myself get distracted by her again until we were safely parked somewhere. "I was just — sorry."
"Yeah, you better be. There are better options than dying if you really can't live without me." There was the bitter undertone again, the one that sent chills down my spine, and only now, I realized why exactly it bothered me.
She sounded like her mother.
Abruptly, I flashed my turn signals, pulling up on the side of the road and coming to a standstill. It shocked her: her eyes were large, staring up at me, waiting to explain my sudden need for a break. "I'm sorry," I said again. "I'm sorry. I'm an ass, and I've made tons of mistakes you never would've made. And if you want, I can keep on saying sorry the rest of my life, because yeah, you didn't deserve any of my shit." She didn't respond, seemingly frozen to the spot. "I'm serious this time, June. I'm changing things." I hesitated, wondering if I should tell her about the job in San Francisco. I thought the interview had gone well, but I didn't want to give her hope if I wasn't sure it was going to work out in the end. No, I could wait until I'd received the promised call, saying if I'd gotten the position or not.
"It's alright," she said, her tone too airy for the subject. Her hands, which were squeezing her legs tight, betrayed her. "You don't owe me anything. I'm not your... I'm not your anything."
Shit. Seemed like I'd done more damage than I'd initially thought. "But you are my anything."
Only when she raised her eyebrows at me, I realized that sentence hadn't made any sense. A smile played around her lips; my clumsy attempts at telling her what she meant to me solely amused her. "I'm your anything?"
"Yeah... Not sure what that means, but you're certainly something to me. Something big."
"Something big?"
"Yeah... Like really important kind of big."
She was laughing again, her body relaxing, head thrown back. See? She still thought I was funny, even though I wasn't trying to be in this case. "You've never been good at this, have you?" she said, when she'd calmed down a little. "What about your little sister?"
"I don't know. I've never had one."
Seemed like that wasn't what she'd expected. She shook her head, only slightly, and I wondered what answer she'd been thinking I'd give. "I hope that's not the way you see me, or this playlist is unbelievably creepy." She turned her attention to my phone again, clicking on one of the songs, causing a deep bass to boom through the car, complemented by a reggae-like beat. Alright, maybe I was starting to be somewhat ashamed of listening to this in all earnestness. "Do you know what this guy is singing right now?" The little lights were dancing in her eyes; it was like I'd found her again, like we hadn't been apart for so long. "He's basically mentioning this girl he knows is hot — and not once, but a hundred times. She's so hot, she's a twenty out of ten. Oh, and she's got a big ass. Plus, he wants to eat her, and yes, that is meant in the way you're thinking right now." She was enjoying this, launching truths at me once more, confronting me with the fact that, yeah, I could listen to this music, but I shouldn't have been associating it with her. She grinned at me, with that look on her face that just saw right through me. "You don't think I've got a big ass, do you? I know it's big when you compare it to skinny white girls' asses, but trust me, if you'd ever met my aunts, you'd think mine was pretty small."
I wanted to say I generally didn't examine her butt, only after today, that was a lie, and I was determined not to lie to her anymore. "You've made your point, Junie. I get it."
"Oh no... You're not getting away with this so easily." She was enjoying this so much I didn't even mind my embarrassment. She selected another song, the one with the saxophone, or whatever it was. While she took in the lyrics, her fist covering her mouth to keep her from laughing, I took her in, noticing that for the first time since I'd gotten back, she seemed completely at ease — happy, even.
It didn't take away my worries. In fact, it made me wonder what had happened that happy wasn't her standard state of being anymore. Or was it me that made her miserable, had she been fine the rest of the time? I wished she'd tell me.
"Okay," she said, the words coming out quickly due to her excitement, "so this guy is kind of describing how he has sex with this extraordinary girl, and she takes his stress away. Apparently, she's got some good moves. He's kissing her neck, grabbing her hips... and... oh hey! He also wants to eat the girl." Another knowing grin, and I knew she was going to tease me with this. "Are you that hungry, Nathan?"
"Isn't that why we're going to the market?"
Joking seemed to be the only viable way to answer to this, and she seemed to agree, bursting out into laughter again. "I'm not sure, seeing as we're standing parked by the side of the road. I'm starting to get scared you're gonna eat me if we don't get there soon."
Yeah, she was really turning seventeen. This was the second time in a few hours she was playing seductress, and I had to admit, I liked this side of her. She was still the confident girl I knew, and she had no shame in showing it. "No, don't worry," I said, checking the road before taking off again. "You don't have enough fat on your bones to be tasty. Except for your big ass, of course."
She was unable to speak for the rest of the ride, reduced to a giggling mess, and I was finally starting to believe we were really going to get through this.