Page 39 of A Curvy Girl’s Hurricane Survival Guide

SONNY

I lay holding Cai, listening to her steady breathing. There is no way I’ll be able to fall asleep after what we have done. I am vibrating with the memory of her body against mine, her soft sounds, and the way she had arched into my touch.

Once I am sure she is deeply asleep, I carefully slide my arm out from under her and slip from the bed. I grab the flashlight and ease the door shut behind me.

I’m not sure where to go, but I need space. Being near Cai clouds my brain. She makes me forget responsibilities, consequences, even my own secrets.

She keeps pulling away every time things get intense, and not just physically, but emotionally. Trevor’s ghost is still hovering between us, not surprising given how recent the split has been, but I need perspective. She is probably feeling conflicted; I get that. Still, it stings every single time.

I wander toward the living room. Standing by the front door, staring up at the small window at the top, is Cai’s father. He isn’t a quiet man, but rather a man overshadowed by the strong personalities around him in his family. He has bright, intelligent eyes that seem to quietly observe everything. Cai has explained to me how he is a scientist who worked in agriculture. The jungle that is their backyard is the result of his green thumb.

He didn’t look over to me as he spoke. “It looks like we are almost in the eye.”

I cock my head to the side, listening. The wind softens to an eerie hush. “Does that mean the worst is over?”

Cai’s father turns to me. “Usually, yes. The front half is normally the rougher one. The eye gives you a chance to catch your breath and regroup. Then the second half is easier.”

He shifts his head to one side and adds, “Although it may be, it just feels that way because you had time to relax and reflect on the first half.”

He looks back up at the window. “I always insist that they leave this little window unboarded. It’s small and thick, unlikely to break. For me, the reward of observing the storm outweighs any risk from not boarding it up.”

I walk over and stand near him to look out the transom window. I’m not sure what he is watching; all I can make out is some dark grey and maybe moonlight?

Out of nowhere, Cai’s father turns to me and asks, “Have I told you how glad I am that Cai brought you home to meet us?”

“Oh, Cai and I aren’t together,” I say.

I expect surprise or confusion, but the look he gives me is knowing. One that seems to say that he knows something I don’t.

“We have a saying: Si tiene que ser, será. It means if it needs to be, it will be.”

That’s all he says. I’m not sure how to respond. Does he think being with Cai is meant to be? Or is he warning me some things simply need to happen, even if they’re messy?

“Want to come outside and look?” he asks.

I glance at the door. “Is it dangerous?”

He smiles warmly. “No, it’s calm now, and it’ll be spectacular.”

“Then yes, sir.”

“Call me Carlos,” he says.

“You got it, Carlos.”

Carlos unlatches the door, and we step out into the night. It’s surprisingly aglow outside. Even the wet grass reflecting the moonlight makes it look dazzling. I look up, and my breath catches.

A full moon shines through a perfect circle of clear sky, ringed by fast-moving black clouds. I am standing inside a living cyclone. The world is eerily still and beautiful.

“Whoa,” I whispered.

“What’d I tell you? Spectacular, right?”

It is one of the most awe-inspiring things I’ve ever seen. I am sharing this glorious vision with Cai’s father, and I become overwhelmed with the desire to share something of my own with him.

“I want to be with her. Cai, I mean.”

Carlos doesn’t look surprised. “I know.” He keeps gazing at the swirling clouds. “Con el tiempo y la paciencia se adquiere la ciencia. With time and patience, one acquires wisdom.”