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“I understand,” Mikael said softly, his eyes not breaking contact with hers. He’d leaned against a cabinet and was sipping a Diet 7-Up under the stained-glass window of St. Peter. What was with the men of this group and diet sodas?
“I’m curious—do you blame her? For your decisions? For your actions?” Apparently, Mikael was a mind reader and knew the parts she left out without being told.
“Sometimes.” Gia looked at her feet against the marmoleum, black flip-flops a contrast to the speckled shades of white and grey that composed the floor. She’d bruised a toenail saving Galileo. Just add it to the list of ways the day wasn’t going as planned. “My actions are my own. But look at the example I had.”
“Sure.”
“Anyway, I’m worried. This is the longest we’ve ever gone without speaking. What if something happened?”
“Only one way to find out, right?” Mikael was so tall, Gia noticed. And so peaceful. Like a tree in a forest, he swayed with the wind. Took things as they came. He didn’t prescribe or preach. He rolled with it.
“Understood. Thanks.” She was tired of being the one with the olive branch, but Gia would find it in herself to call her mom. Soon. Ish.
???
“Come on,chica, let’s get you patched up,” Roxi said, using the full volume of her voice. No whispering at the snack table.
“Really, I’m okay. It’s not that bad.” Gia grabbed the prized cinnamon sugar donut first—she’d learned. Roxi acted sweet, but she’d steal the donut just to do it.
“Why won’t you let me help you?”
“I don’t need help. I’m fine.”
“Sí,you’re fine. You’re scratched to hell, but it’s fine. Is your inner child answering me right now?”
“What?”
“Oh, come on, miss, ‘I don’t need anyone, that way I won’t get hurt.’ Stopping listening to theniñain your head who doesn’t want her mom to yell at her and come with me. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Oh, alright.” Gia took a bite of donut and sighed. There was something magical about cinnamon and sugar together, the spice and sweet co-mingling on her tongue. It reminded her of the cinnamon toast cereal she loved as a kid. She’d eat the cereal as fast as possible, so it didn’t get soggy, and then pour the milk down the drain when her mom wasn’t watching. She didn’t like the cereal-milk mixture she was forced to drink. Maybe her inner child was responsible for her continued refusal to accept help after all. That kid was always looking out for her.
Roxi grabbed Gia’s hand and pulled her out of indoor comfort and into the heat of late afternoon. The sun was high in an azure sky, the khaki-colored San Jacinto Peak hazy in the distance. “I’m over there,” Roxi indicated with a tilt of her head, gravity pulling the ponytail along with it.
“Nice ride,” Gia said of the burnt orange 4X4 in her view. “Didn’t figure you for a pickup.”
“No?”
“Nah, I figured convertible. Don’t know why. I was thinking something fast and sporty.”
“It’s not mine,” Roxi dug behind the driver’s seat. “It’s my girlfriend’s—she lets me borrow it to go to meetings. My ride is the school bus.”
They were enveloped in the scent of tar from the parking lot and a siren blared in the background as a firetruck rushed by, but Gia didn’t notice. She was too busy processing the fact that Roxi—who’d been flirting with her for over a month—had a girlfriend. Was that why she disappeared inexplicably from the diner the week before? Was that the family stuff that came up?
The sun beat down on her bare shoulders while she stared at the bruised toenail and waited. Beads of sweat snuck into the scratches, its salty slipperiness an immediate discomfort. She screamed when Roxi poured hydrogen peroxide over her shoulder without warning.
“Fuck! Why didn’t you tell me you were going to do that?”
“Because—you wouldn’t have agreed.”
“You’re right,” Gia said between clenched teeth. “And why didn’t you tell me you have a girlfriend?”
“Because—it’s not important. We’ve been together ten years—since I was 20. There’s no fire—no passion. It’s a relationship of convenience, for both of us. She has a girlfriend on the side, sometimes more than one. We’re basically just roommates.” Roxi dabbed antibiotic ointment as she spoke. Once the hydrogen peroxide sneak attack was over, she had a gentle bedside manner, as promised.
“Why don’t you just break up? Why stay together?”
“Because. We have a killer deal on our rental. We’ve had it forever and they’ve never raised the rent. The landlords are old gay boys who like that they’re helping family. Neither of us can afford to start over. So, we live together. We say we’re girlfriends. We put on appearances. It’s a habit.Ay Dios, you might need a stitch on this one—it’s pretty deep—”
“It’ll be okay. I’ve done much worse climbing. Can I buy you a coffee to say thanks?”
