Page 11 of A Curvy Girl’s Hurricane Survival Guide

Before I can ask what’s wrong, Cai bolts out of the car too. I hesitate, then follow, giving her space but staying close. She leans against the van, hands jammed in pockets, staring at the sky like it owes her answers. It had stopped raining, and the sky had mostly cleared, but the clouds were moving fast as the wind picked up.

I don’t want to ask her outright what she saw on her phone, so I decide to look for something else to spur the conversation and then build on it. Finding neutral ground isn’t hard. Random chickens strut the sidewalk, a guy on the corner is selling tiny green fruits the size of marbles, and then, six feet away, a four-foot iguana saunters onto the concrete as if it owns it.

“Holy shit,” I say, jumping as it scuttles close. “Did someone lose a pet dinosaur?”

Cai seems to snap out of her reverie and glances over in my direction.

“What? The lizard?”

“Lizard?! I’ve seen gila monsters smaller than that!” I’m not kidding. From head to tail, the iguana is probably as long as a surfboard! It has long claws and bright colors, and it seems completely unbothered by us.

Cai just shrugs. “Well, I’ve never seen a gila monster, but these iguanas are all over Miami. They’re a menace.”

“Are they aggressive?”

Cai takes a few steps towards me to get a closer look. “I don’t think so. The worst I’ve heard is that they have whipped people with their tails. They’re invasive. They ruin plants and shit everywhere. They’re not afraid of people either; they just seem so smug.” She makes a face as if she’s personally offended by the iguana’s lack of attention to us.

“You don’t seem scared of them. You’re not one of those people who would have, like, a pet snake or something?” I tease.

Cai scoffs, “No way! I am not a fan of snakes or anything creepy-crawly. I’m just used to seeing those, but I’d never have a reptile for a pet.” She suddenly looks introspective and adds, “I wouldn’t mind a puppy, though.”

The iguana scurries into some bushes, leaving us in the humid quiet.

“Oh?” I say. “Why don’t you have one already?”

“Uh, lots of reasons… they’re a lot of work and require long-term commitment,” she says it like she rehearsed the line.

“So what’s-his-face didn’t want one?”

“He’s not the pet-owning type,” she says with a scowl. “Sometimes,” she continues, and then, as if thinking better of the words, she stops. I take a step towards her, encouraging her to continue. “Sometimes he could be cruel.” She swallows. “I don’t think he’d do well with a pet, especially one forced on him.”

I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper. The words land like a brick. I have to understand what she means. “Cruel?”

Cai backs up to lean on the van again. “Maybe I’m being unfair,” she explains. “I never saw him do anything to animals or anything, but the way he talked about things made me feel that way. Like he’d make jokes when he heard a friend say their puppy chewed up his shoes. Trevor said something like, ‘If that was my dog, it’d be the last thing he ever did.’” Cai shakes her head and shrugs. “Probably he was kidding, but I never felt the need to test that theory.”

My hands flex at my sides, itching to do something, anything, but hold back.

She looks up at the sky again, eyes glassy. “One of the guys posted a picture. Looks like one of his gamer pals is a woman he’s gotten… close to. So yeah. That’s probably why he’s extending the trip.”

I want to take her in my arms and curse him to hell, but I have to settle for taking a half step closer and saying, “Hey, I know we just met, and this wasn’t your plan of how this would go, but I am here. You don’t have to carry this alone.” She gives me half a smile.

Encouraged, I add, “I’m going to give you advice just this once, and then I’ll shut up and not mention it again. Some people spend years with the wrong person. I suggest you look at this like maybe he did you a huge favor. I say you shake it off and do your best to put it out of your mind. And if you feel compelled to message him or reach out at all, you just thank him. That’s going to piss him off worse than anything else you could ever say.”

Cai takes a deep breath, then, taking my advice literally, lets it out with a loud moan, shaking her arms and head. When she’s done, her face looks relaxed, her hair wild and free, and seeing her so unguarded, so alive, stirs something deep in my chest.

“That’s better,” she says, straightening up just as Rey comes back holding a box that jumps and clucks angrily.

“The chickens in there?” I ask, swallowing hard. “She’s… spirited.”

Rey nods and smiles. “This is La Jefa. Means ‘the Boss.’”

“Is that box going to hold her?” I ask after another lively kick from inside.

“Oh yeah, and that’s not what you have to worry about.” I raise an eyebrow in question as he hands me the box. “What you should worry about is that my Tio named her La Jefa because she reminded him of Cai’s mother.”

The box bucks in displeasure. I look from the box back to Cai. “Should I be worried?”

“No,” Cai says unconvincingly. “She’ll be very nice to you… probably.”