How annoying, Alba thought, that on their farm she must wear simple muslin dresses, white, or perhaps with a pattern of flowers, while in Mexico City women were outfitted in silks. Her mother would never allow her rice powder, let alone rouge, and Arturo’s lover must have access to both.
Alba leaned forward, looking into her mirror, and pictured her cheeks dabbed with color, her lips streaked with carmine.
There was a knock on the door. She stood up straight and placed the book in a drawer, fearing it might be Tadeo. He mocked her reading tastes, but then all the reading he wanted to do was about horses and pigs. “I’m resting for a minute,” she said.
“It’s Arturo.”
She looked at her reflection, quickly pressing her hands against her hair, smoothing it back, making sure an errant curl was tucked behind her ear.
“Is there something amiss with your room?” she asked as she opened the door and gazed into his smiling face.
“No. It’s cozy enough. I wanted to give you that trinket I spoke about.”
“How sweet of you to remember me.”
“Here,” he said, and from his pocket he pulled out a chain with a single pearl dangling from it.
Alba rushed to her mirror excitedly, holding the necklace up. She angled her head left and right.
“I saw it and thought of you. How do you like it?”
“It’s darling!” she exclaimed. “Come inside. Help me put it on.”
He swept her thick, long hair away from her nape and with careful fingers manipulated the clasp. She watched his reflection in the mirror, his eyes fixed on his task, and wondered if he’d bought something just as pretty for his lover. He looked up at her, their eyes meeting in the mirror, and she blushed.
“But it’s not a trinket, you shouldn’t have,” she said, looking down.
“I’m aiming to cheer you up. Will you wear it tomorrow?”
“Of course! Although tomorrow is the mass and I ought to wear my crucifix and that scratchy gray dress Mother picked for me,” she said, frowning.
“You can’t wear both?”
“I could. As long as Mother doesn’t see it, or she’ll say it’s vulgar to pair the cross with anything else. But the chain is long….” She trailed her fingers down her throat, to the spot where the pearl rested, almost between her breasts. “I’ll wear it close to my heart, always,” she said, and looked up at him.
A smile stole over his face and her heart was near to bursting with joy at the sight. He stepped away from her. Hands in his pockets, he walked to the door.
“Will the Molinas be at the mass tomorrow?” he asked when he reached the doorway.
“Yes, they will,” she said, following two steps behind him. “The Molina girls will be pleased to see you. They think you’re dashing.”
“Am I, then?” he replied, and laughed.
He lingered by her side until there came the sound of a wail from down the hallway and Alba sighed, guessing that one of the twins was being naughty with the other. She had perhaps fiveminutes to herself before her presence in the nursery became imperative.
“I’ll try to take my nap now, or your mother will box my ears,” Arturo said.
“Thank you once more.”
Alba closed the door and hurried back in front of the mirror, admiring the new piece of jewelry. She bit her lips, hoping to add a pinch of color to them, and traced a line with her index finger down her neck.
1998: 2
Minerva didn’t know mostof the people at the party, and the ones who attended Stoneridge were at best faces without names. Many guests, many strangers. A couple of people approached her, yelling their names, indicating via gestures or expressions that they’d been introduced at one point, perhaps at another party, perhaps they’d seen each other in the cafeteria, but Minerva couldn’t hear what they said and couldn’t make herself understood with all the noise.
She found refuge on a couch and sat clutching a bottle of beer but did not drink. The TV was on, showingPinky and the Brain.They’d turned the volume off, so she couldn’t hear what was happening on the show, not that it mattered. She wasn’t watching it. She had merely picked that spot to hide. It was located away from the table where Patricia and her roommates were playing beer pong. She was afraid Patricia would ask how she was doing. If Minerva said she was feeling like shit, Patricia would offer her a Jell-O shot, suggest that she join the beer pong game, or any number of inanities.
Minerva liked Patricia. She was fun, energetic, and kept finding interesting holes-in-the-wall to visit. She liked Hideo, too. Lots. At night the three of them talked on ICQ about meaningless and profound topics, then they gathered in the morning in the cafeteria. Ithad been Patricia who showed Minerva how to make a snowman—she’d completed her bachelor’s degree in the States, so she already knew the minutiae of winters—and Hideo frequently popped by Minerva’s dorm with lychee candy, which she’d never tasted before.
