Chapter 37

He wasn’t my boyfriend. How could he be? I’d be leaving for Spring Mills in a few weeks. But at the same time, I didn’t think it was a fling, either. Our attraction wasn’t fleeting, or momentary, or a mistake, or superficial. I didn’t know what we were. But I saw him almost every day for ten days straight.

The day after El Yunque, he stopped by the hotel. Lilly was still stripping beds and I didn’t have any guests to check in, so Alex and I took a walk. We held hands as we strolled through the campus of UPR. It still amazed me that this was a university. The buildings were pink, canary yellow, and tangerine, and the grounds were lush, green and trimmed with exotic flowers. All the college campuses I’d seen back home were dark, historic stone facades lined with oak trees—and they in no way resembled a vacation resort.

We stopped at a bench and before Alex even settled onto the wooden slats, he reached over and touched my face. Maybe it was because I was more prepared—or maybe because I had a kiss’s-worth of experience under my belt—but when his lips touched mine, I felt chills tickle my skin. He was warm and familiar. It was perfect.

I opened my eyes and realized we were still in the center of campus. Any number of people passing might have known him or his family. I would have been mortified to kiss anyone in such a public arena in Spring Mills, and the fact that he wasn’t embarrassed made me feel special. He wasn’t hiding me from anyone.

We walked back to the hotel. Lilly and Vince had already left for lunch without me. I didn’t expect them to wait, but their absence still made me feel unwanted. It was like finding out all your friends went to a movie without you because they thought you were sick. Even if you were, you still wanted the invitation. And when Alex left for work (he was a cashier at a local bookstore), I ate lunch in the hotel bar, alone.

After that, Alex stopped by the house to see me almost every evening. He, Lilly, Vince and I would lounge on the porch, listening to the frogs.We’d talk about everything—from what we wanted to be when we grew up to why women’s clothing designers sold pants in “long” but not shirts.

The one night Alex couldn’t make it, because he had to work late, he actually called to apologize. Since I’d been in Utuado, the only other person I’d spoken to on the phone was my mother. She called every other day, mostly to make sure I didn’t hate her for shipping me off. I briefly told her about a boy named “Alex,” but didn’t hint that he was more than an “amigo,” even though he was. My new extended family had taken to calling him “mi novio,” despite my protest.

 

 

Alex was coming to dinner. My Uncle Miguel had extended the invitation despite my panicked attempts to explain the delicate complexities of “talking” versus “seeing each other” versus “going out.” Either I didn’t possess the sufficient Spanish language skills or he didn’t possess the sufficient pop culture know-how to comprehend the situation.

The dinner was going to happen.

I convinced myself that it wasn’t a big deal. Vince, Lilly, her parents, my aunt and uncle, Alonzo, José and I would all share some food with Alex. Big whoop.

But when Lilly and I pulled up in front of the house, after two hours of work at the hotel, a raging party was in full swing.

“What’s with all the people?” I whispered to Lilly, assuming that there was a holiday, birthday, or some celebration no one remembered to tell me about.

“They’re here for you,” she grunted, as we walked across the lawn.

“For me? Didn’t I already meet everyone?” I muttered as I saw the dozens of figures inside moving to the booming salsa beats.

“They’re here to meet you and your boyfriend.” She snorted.

“What? He’s not my boyfriend!”

“Whatever. It’s an excuse to throw a party, not that they really need one,” she said, shaking her head.

We stepped inside the house and Lilly immediately disappeared into the crowd. I hadn’t seen any of these relatives since Lilly’s Quinceañera. I hated that feeling of being surrounded by strangers in a place you shouldn’t feel strange—like when the only person you know at a party is the birthday girl. I didn’t even have Vince to keep me company. He was still back at the hotel downing beers with Uncle Miguel, which seemed rather inappropriate given that my Aunt Carmen had clearly spent the day slaving in the kitchen.

I had stepped two feet into the house when a crowd of women engrossed me. Distant aunts and cousins, whose names I couldn’t remember, rattled off a million questions in Spanish—of which I could comprehend about every other word. I tried to explain that the boy coming was Alex, Lilly’s friend, and that he was not my boyfriend but that I liked him more than a friend. They burst into laughter at my explanation like I was some cutesy girl playing hard to get. I continued professing, in a voice like a concertgoer shouting over the crowd, that he was a nice guy and I really liked him but we weren’t technically boyfriend and girlfriend, until the room suddenly fell silent. Everyone stopped speaking simultaneously and my lungs clenched.

“Buenas tardes,” Alex said, from somewhere behind me.

I didn’t turn around. I considered slowly slithering into my bedroom so I could pretend like what he’d overheard was a figment of his imagination. But my relatives parted like a well-rehearsed marching band and I heard Alex’s footsteps halt at my back.

“Hola, Mariana.”

“Hey,” I said sheepishly as I turned around.