“Yes, thank you.” I turn to stand beside Alex, easing closer while keeping space between us. I want to show Freddy I don’t need him.
Freddy nods and heads back inside.
If Alex had come on any other night, the plaza would have been filled with crowds for The Nutcracker. No one would have noticed him. And I would have been on stage until ten. I wonder if Alex knows that.
Alex remains motionless, his irritation not quite directed at me but near enough that it smarts. Still, my stomach quivers. Heat seeps into my hands and up my neck. My body recognizes his. It doesn’t care about all that has passed.
I was planning to take the subway. I won’t if it means riding with Alex.
“How’s Kiara?” I don’t know why I say that, of all things. It must be the part of me shouting to put distance between us. Hoping he’ll leave so I can get on the subway alone.
Alex grimaces. “She’s fine.” He tells it to his shoes. He shakes his head and lifts his face to me once more. “She’s not you, Isa. She never will be.”
Wind kicks up. I shiver inside my coat. I duck behind my scarf. I should walk away but I cannot move. My feet won’t obey.
“You’re cold. Come on, let’s get you inside.” Alex’s arm comes out, the other extends toward the subway.
More than anything, I want to feel the weight of that arm, the warmth of it around me. Instead I step back. “What do you want, Alex?” I mean to ask him why he’s here. But also, I wonder if he wants to hold me too, if the longing for it is shaking him apart.
Alex frowns at his hand, the one reaching for me, as if it’s a habit he’s been meaning to break. “Your hair is wet.” He says it with surprise.
Before he can move toward me, I coil the frigid, stiffening strands and tug up my hood. It’s dark and the street lamp’s behind me. Alex can’t possibly see my face anymore. I try to back away from him. My feet have stopped listening to me. They want to know why he’s here too.
Alex’s frown returns as I remain silent. “Did you have a nice Thanksgiving?”
He didn’t come here to ask me that. “Yes, thank you. And you?”
His hand brushes his abdomen. “Ate too many guava pastries.”
I smile, safe within my hiding place.
“I had no one to share them with.”
His hopeless tone springs tears from my eyes. My mood’s been like this these past months, shifting from one second to the next. It terrifies me.
“I tried calling you. Over the past few days. I texted you too.”
I nod even though I didn’t know, because I blocked his number. I thought it would be easier that way.
“I miss you,” he whispers. His hands are in front of him. His fingers open and close but he doesn’t reach out this time. He gazes down at me from under thick, thick lashes.
I miss you too. I almost say it. My tongue twists, fighting to form the words. My eyes swim with tears. Thank God for my hood.
He clears his throat when I don’t say anything. He looks toward the opera house. “I came because I wasn’t straight with you. About my papi.” He tells me his dad played pro for only a season and a half. That drugs led to an injury and then a suspension. That he was in and out of rehab and had a few arrests for possession too. One of those arrests was when Alex was with him.
Alex watches me, bare and undone. My insides ache for a five-year-old Alex who had to grow up under that shadow.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him. I’m not aware of putting my hand on his arm. The warmth of his hand covering mine makes me realize what I’ve done.
“I should have told you sooner,” he says. “But I didn’t want to give you another reason not to be with me.”
“What?”
Alex shrugs. “You never met Papi or Yaritza. We set it up a few times and you never showed. And I know you didn’t want me to meet your mother. Danny told me about her.”
My breath catches in my throat and I fight the urge to cough. Did Danny hear what Mom said about him? Did he tell Alex that?
Alex squeezes my hand. “It’s OK. Your mother’s right. I’m not good enough for you. I’m just another moreno from the Heights with a papi with a record.”
I feel exhausted all of a sudden. Like I could lie down on the cold stone and close my eyes.
“I would never think of you that way.” He must know that, right? “You are not your dad. What he did—what he does—that’s not you. It shouldn’t affect how people see you or what they think of you.”
“Yeah,” he says, but his eyes don’t meet mine. As if he knows I only partly believe what I’m saying.
“And you not being good enough for me? That’s just bullshit. That’s not why I needed to take a break.”
His face snaps up. He watches me. He’s waiting for me to give him the real reason.
Nausea clambers up my throat. I let go of his arm and step back, the hand that had been under his pressed to my mouth so I don’t lose the protein bar I just ate all over his sneakers.
“Isa? Are you OK?”
I shake my head. Is this why he told me about his dad? Why he brought up my mom? He’s expecting some big confession from me, isn’t he?
“Chrissy told me I should come find you.”
“Chrissy?” Confusion, followed by alarm, fills me. Did she tell him about Merrit? “What did she say?” I demand.
“Only that you and I should talk. I think . . .” He shifts his feet. “I think she’s worried about you.”
I rip off my hood. I blink into wind like ice. “I’m fine.” I grit my teeth and force my face to smile. Tears stream onto my cheeks but it’s from the wind and nothing more. Alex shouldn’t have come. I’m glad he told me about his dad. That he trusts me enough to share that. But nothing for me has changed.
“Goodbye, Alex.” I run until my feet strike the steps to Columbus Ave. I don’t bother crossing to Broadway to get a taxi going uptown. I don’t think of how much it will cost. I hail the first one I see.
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 9
ALEX
I run up the stairs to our apartment. Mami was expecting me sooner. One of the kids in my group didn’t get picked up on time. The kid was standing by the office, his bottom lip quaking. Robi used to do that when he got upset. I sat with him out by the batting cage and we talked baseball until the nanny came.
I open our door and the smell of bacon, fried beef, garlic, and peppers hits me. Mami knows I love her sancocho. She must be trying to cheer me up.
“Lo siento,” I say when I get to the kitchen. I usually cut up the onions and the vegetables.
“No te preocupes.” She sticks out her lips for a kiss. When I was smaller, she’d peck the top of my head. Now I bend so she can reach my cheek. I wash my hands in the sink, careful not to let water spray the platter of tostones waiting for a final fry.
I leave my sleeves rolled up. “¿Qué hago?” I want to help.
Mami shakes her head and tuts at me. “Nada. We’ll be ready to eat a las siete. Pero, go shower. Your friend, she will be here soon.”
I glance at her, confused. I thought Sra. Hernandez was joining us.
Mami shrugs. “I miss seeing your smile.”