Page 13 of Guarded

Nero’s hand shoots back to his side of the car.

“Mexico,” he says begrudgingly.

“What part?”

“Tijuana.”

“Oh. What is she like?”

“Dead.”

My heart stops at his reply.Just shut the fuck up now, Ari.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It was a long time ago.”

I should shut up right here. Let us drive home in silence and move on, but I want to know more about him. Questions are popping up left and right in my brain, so I break through the silence again.

“Do you have any siblings?”

“One.”

I can tell he’s annoyed, so I reach into my Hello Kitty purse and pull out a stack of sticky notes.

“What are you doing?” he asks, looking over at me.

“Remember,osea hello, eighty-year-old trapped in a twenty-year-olds body. I need to write something down before I forget it.”

Digging into my bag I search until I find my sparkly pink gel pen. Glitter was my drug of choice. A glittery pen was another level of high for me.

“Why can’t you just type it on your phone notes? Why do you need to carry all of this?” His hand motions over my bag and items. I gasp in reply.

“And succumb to technology like the rest of the world? No, thank you, Sir.” He stares at me, and his eyes darken.

“I’m writing myself a reminder to make a list of Filipino dishes I can make. It’s this whole inner child healing thing I’ve been doing. Cooking, well, eating is my love language. What’s your-”

“No. You don’t need to do that. We don’t need to exert any efforts trying to heal, whatever the fuck you said.”

“Your inner child. And why not? Men’s mental health is equally important.” I chastise.

“There is nothing about me or my childhood worth saving.”

He turns the radio back on, ending the discussion. I want to ask what happened, but it’s not my place. Just like I know he’s wrong. Everyone is worth saving.

Sunday after-church traffic makes the drive home longer than usual. I’m about to burst at the seams with my need to converse when my phone rings in my lap.

I look down to see the Christmas picture of Gen and me in matching plaid outfits.

“Gen! Omg! Hello! Gen!” I sit up in the seat, and Nero turns the radio down.

“Hey.” She says, her voice cracking.

“Are you okay?” I whisper.

“I need to get out of this house, Ari. Can I come stay with you for a while?”

I look at Nero and back to the road. Gen didn’t particularly care for people, much less someone like Nero. Someone in a motorcycle gang with her stalker and enemy numero uno.

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