Mili drops some of her mom’s homegrown chamomile into a bowl and says it’s essential for curing illness. Everything we need for an elixir is in her kitchen, including turmeric powder which colors the ginger and garlic in the bowl a rusty orange. “Your mom could give the botanica and the bodega on Elmwood Ave a run for their money,” I joke. “And you could probably avoid Isobel if you shop for herbs here instead of the botanica.”
Mili cuts a look at me, and Inez’s laugh makes her have to pee.
When Inez is gone, I hope she’s okay. Seems like her bladder is always on the brink of bursting. I cut echinacea at the root, carefully, per Mili’s orders. “Inez called me three times this week,” I say, “asking if I have family drama we can solve for a spell.”
Mili stops chopping herbs to look up at me. “Do you?”
I shake my head, and she sighs, then stands on a chair to get some bottles down from a cabinet. The bottles are from the Philippines; each has a design so intricate I start taking pictures as soon as she hands them to me. “I see you’re not worried about using the camera in my house.”
“Only place taking pictures is safe these days,” I say, getting the angle right for a shot.
She’s a grump about it, mumbling that the house is scary quiet since the sungka board incident while reaching in the cabinet for another bottle. Inez creeps into the kitchen and grabs Mili’s ankle. “Since you enjoy being scared,” she says, ducking Mili’s swatting hand.
Mili hops off the counter with the last bottle. “My auntie tipped me off to where Mom had these stashed. I wonder what else she has hiding in this kitchen.”
I bring an open bottle to my nose. It smells sweet, but another makes me gag. “Is this from a sewer?”
Inez leans over to smell it and recoils. Mili laughs before she sees the horror on my face and says, “Of course not. Each one has oil mixed with water from hot springs in the Philippines. Auntie said people travel to drink from them in order to heal from disease. Some people believe drinking from certain hot springs can even delay death.” Mili stares at the labels on the bottles for a while, trying to decipher which is which, then pushes three toward me. “These.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “Not trying to poison my mom with your half-hearted Tagalog.”
Mili’s annoyed look is ripe for a picture. I take it. “I’m sure,” she says. “A tablespoon for each bowl.”
When we’re done, we clean up and bring the mixture outside. Mili sets the bowl out on the ground in front of her porch, and we sit around it. My thighs burn on the hot concrete, and the sunlight slices through Mili’s mouth and bounces off her teeth as she reads a spell Lindy gave her in Tagalog I hope she understands.
I pray this works. For me and Ma. Maybe it’ll help us with Jasmine too.
After we pour the mixture into vials, Mili tries but fails to manipulate sunlight like Lindy.
Inez says, “You’ll get it soon. You have to,” and I feel bad when Mili’s face falls.
She changes the subject. “So, you excited to see Ray at work today, Nat?”
“Her boo,” Inez teases.
“He is not my boo. Not anymore,” I say.
“But you wish he was.” Inez changes her voice to mimic me: “Oh, he’s so annoying. But when he works hard, the muscles in his biceps flex, and the sweat rolls down his chest, and I—”
“Want to take him into Mr. Ortega’s office,” Mili adds, “and lay him out on the desk.”
“Gross.” I slap them both on their thighs. “Doesn’t sound like me at all.”
But I’m mad as hell they’re right. Ray works a few feet away on a ladder or right beside me behind the counter, messing with the computer system, winking at me, sometimes sticking his tongue out. And I know I’m warming up to him because if I could use my camera at the bodega to capture these moments of him, I would. But they’d probably come out all jacked up, and then I’d worry about how they’d affect me. I’d have to worry if, somehow, they’d affect him too.
He’s switching from humming to singing now, and I forgot how beautiful his voice is. He catches me watching and smiles. He seems easy to forgive, but I know that what I said to him at the top of my stairs hurt him. Heat creeps up my neck when I remember Mili saying he loves me. I don’t think it’s love, but his feelings might be deeper than I thought.
Today, I don’t complain about him taking his time to get the job done or tease him about how much he talks while I’m trying to do mine. I listen to him make music for us. When he offers to get us dinner, I don’t say no.
He’s out picking up the food while I examine the elixir for Ma. It’s clumpy. Flakes of herbs float around it. The smell is rancid enough to take my appetite, even though my stomach still rumbles when Ray walks back in. Ma’s not going to want to drink this.
I tuck the vial away and watch Ray flip the BE BACK IN 20 sign on the door.
“That might look suspicious with the both of us in here,” I say.
He lays our Cubanos out on the counter and unwraps them both. “What do you think it looks like exactly?”
“I don’t know. The two of us in here behind locked doors? What if Mr. Ortega drops in?”
“You watch too many movies.” He laughs. It’s cute. “But if that did happen, Ortega would be happy we’ve finally cut the sexual tension, and he’d give us a thumbs-up.”
Ray looks off to the side like he’s waiting for me to say something smart and ruin it, but I try something new. “Maybe he’ll give us a raise.”
“If that’s the case, I hope he does come by.”
Ray doesn’t think I notice he stays later than he has to so I don’t have to lock up alone. “You going to let me take you home or whip out that handy-dandy bus pass of yours?”
“Don’t hate on my bus pass now that you have a car. Remember where you came from.”
He rolls his eyes. “I remember, but I don’t miss it.”
“I’ll let you take me home,” I say, “if you let me drive.”
“You don’t know how to drive. Is it a bad thing if I take you home?”
I shrug. “I don’t want to get dramatic over taking the bus when you’re done here.”
His face gets serious. He motions for the door. “I won’t let you get used to it. I promise.”