Page 20 of A Curvy Girl’s Hurricane Survival Guide

I sit on the edge of the bed while he hands me the bottle. The drops were cool and soothing. When I blink a few times and look up, Sonny is watching me, eyebrows drawn together, seeming concerned.

Or pitying me, my little internal gremlin says, rearing her ugly head again. I push her back down.

“Better?” he asks softly.

“Yeah.” I manage a real smile this time. “Thanks. For the drops… and for not making me feel like a total disaster.”

“You’re not a disaster,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re human. And honestly? Kind of adorable when you’re all soft and vulnerable like this.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks. I look away, suddenly very interested in the bottle in my hands.

“Now close your eyes. I have this cooling eye mask, which should help with the swelling. It’s some special gel. It’s nicer when it’s chilled, but it’s soothing either way.” I’m doubtful, but I do as I’m told, and instantly the cooling effects of the gel eye mask calmed my battered and beaten eyes. “I feel like it’s better tight, but if you want, I can loosen it.”

“No!” I say quickly. Not wanting him to adjust the relaxing mask. I can feel the tension that has been gathering in the front of my mind loosening. It’s being melted away.

“What were you using this for?” I ask him.

“Oh, my eyes get tired staring at a computer screen all day, and this helps.”

“So was your trip to Puerto Rico for work?”

“Yeah, a conference.”

Maybe it’s true what they say about taking away one sense heightening your others, because I feel rather than see that Sonny has more he wants to say. I can picture him there fidgeting, trying to find the words to tell me something. I’m about to ask him what’s on his mind when he speaks.

“I meant to tell you earlier. I can very much relate to how you felt growing up.”His words are heavy with emotion.

I began to sit up and pull off the mask to listen face-to-face, but he quickly reached out to stop me.

“No, no, no. You rest those eyes. I can tell you about it while you lie there.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s actually easier, I think.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.” I lie back down and get comfortable.

“Yeah, I’m sure. And honestly, there’s not much to tell. I grew up with a single mom and four sisters, and we moved around a lot. I was very lonely, and it was particularly hard feeling like no one shared my interests or wants while growing up. So when you said that earlier… yeah, I can relate.”

“What interests did you have?” I ask, trying to picture him as a young kid.

“Oh, nothing weird, just stuff that they thought was a waste. Like I got really into playing… chess.”

“Chess? And they got upset?”

“Not upset, but more like they didn’t get it. They didn’t understand why I would like it. They didn’t want to talk about it, share experiences, or play with me. So it felt lonely. I sometimes got the feeling that they wanted me to get in trouble or be rowdy. Because those were normal boy things. Instead, they got me. And they just didn’t know how to relate.”

I nod in understanding. “I get it. It’s hard to feel accepted when you don’t have that connection with anyone.”

I want to reach out and grab his hand. The words don’t seem like enough. But I hesitate; a hand touch feels so intimate right now in light of his confession. I’d be crossing a line, and I instantly feel the guilt I’ve been carrying surface again.

Suddenly, I hear the front door slam and raised voices. “Are people arguing?” Sonny asks.

“Nope, they’re just saying hello. The loud Cuban stereotypes are true in my case.” I sit up and pull the mask off. “How do my eyes look?”

Sonny looks at me earnestly and says, “Dazzling.”

I smile. “Welp, want to go meet more of my family?”