Page 2 of Ms. V's Hot Girl Summer

Two days later Milton called me assuring me that woman wouldn’t bother me again.

“She was a little confused about our arrangement, and to be honest, if I ever went monogamous again it wouldn’t be with her…” Milton had a way of dangling monogamy like the end prize. And he knew I wanted that prize bad.

Suddenly, that pretty smile of his loomed too close. I took a tentative step back from Milton, attempting to calm down the hairs on the back of my neck. Nothing around us should have caused the foreboding sensation that ran through me. I glanced around. Same kids, same families, nothing odd. Same pretty dog. Same summer green everywhere, same cars beeping and honking. Where could the threat be? Milton called my attention again.

“I should have waited. Sorry for asking this in the middle of the street. I’m just excited to ask because I’ve got this trip to the Poconos, and I want you to come with me for the holiday weekend.”

The hairs all calmed down as my mind focused away from whatever momentary threat was around us, and flashes of a romantic getaway captured my attention: tub and all. Milton and I had already been intimate enough for me to know all his special moves, but maybe with this weekend away, we could further align our desires and find that sweet spot for both of us. And maybe I should bring my toys in case we didn’t find that elusive sweet spot. Like any other damn time we had tried.

“We’ve never had a romantic trip yet…that would be so good.” I grabbed his hand, and again that solid, dependable quality hit me in my chest—until Milton grimaced, his thick lips pursing.

“Oh well, it won’t be fully romantic…it’s well, it’s a noncompulsory workretreat for couples. Only people in relationships get invited, but I thought if you and…well, you and I get along so well, it seems it was all destined to happen right now, you know, like it was meant to be?”

Oh…

“Oh…”

Oh…maybe playing Goldilocks would have been a better use of my time. But here I was, getting the question I hoped to get today, and giving a one-syllable answer back.

Story of my life.

TWO

Orlando

The mailbox key barely pushing into the slot told me everything I needed. The small mail room smelled of newspaper and cardboard, a bunch of Amazon packages piled high in a corner. Testament to the tight-knit community we had in this building that the packages didn’t disappear daily. The unspoken rule was: run down by 6:00 p.m. to get your package after all the major deliveries happened, and you’re good. It’s a free game from eight in the morning till midday when the deliveries start again. That’s why I was in the mail room, getting my latest package before the sun went down. I didn’t intend to check my packages until next Monday. Pretending things wouldn’t change was the main reason for my delay.

Pushing all the air out of my lungs, I pulled the key out of the slot and stared at the apartment number I shared with my mom and my two younger brothers. The offending mailbox stared back at me. How can an innate object carry so much judgment about my bravery?

“Nah, son, if I open you, it’s a warp. Then I have to read what’s inside there, and I ain’t ready.”

“Does talking to the mailbox help decrease the amount of bills? Because if it does, I might try that approach.” Fast on my feet, I whirled to find Mrs. Barranco’s wrinkly face and mischievous smile.

“Damn, Seño B, you almost gave me a heart attack.” I pressed my hand on my chest and stumbled back for a bit of drama.

“Ay por favor. You’re nowhere close to having a heart attack when your mama just finished wiping your butt a year ago.”

Kissing my teeth after an octogenarian said something would be considered rude and disrespectful, so I didn’t go that route. But clearly, between Sra. Barranco and me, the comedian was her, because my mother hadn’t ever been that attentive, and I had to learn really early how to take care of her, myself, and my siblings. Shit, I was probably wiping when I was three years old.

“Now, Seño B, you well know I’m the most mature twenty-five-year-old you’ve ever met.”

“Hmm.” Sra. Barranco’s smirk didn’t faze me. She’d said that shit to me plenty of times when she saw and heard Mom in one of her episodes, after I’d calmed her down. Or when she saw me making sure the boys had what they needed for school.

“Nah, don’t hurt my feelings now.” I rubbed my hands together and gave her a little twinkle-twinkle for extra humph.

“Oh please, did you decide when to go to Ofele Town? Did you make the plans?”

And just like that, my chest was tight again. First, the mailbox awaiting to dictate my faith, and now Sra. Barranco reminds me of my impending fatherhood.

I guess it wasn’t impending when my child was already three years old and living in Ofele Town in Florida. But I hadn’t known of the existence of said child until Ms. B here decided to share the news a few weeks ago. Maria, her grandchild, and her parents had decided against telling me. Fuck knows why. I was good to Maria. Yeah, we weren’t sweethearts or anything, but I’d never abandon her and my child if I’d known. Co-parenting would have worked for us.

“Yeah, you know they have carnival over there? I’m going with my friends in a few weeks.” My smart watch vibrated, reminding me of said friends waiting for me in our favorite coffee shop. “Damn, sorry, Seño B, I gotta run.” I ignored the judging stares of both Sra. Barranco and the inanimate object behind me and power walked toward the exit.

“Do you…so you’re not gonna check those admission letters then?” Sra. B’s question stopped me cold.

“How you know?”

“Tú mama is very proud. First, you finish your degree in three years and get that great job finding the kids who fiddle with those funny-looking cartoons in la computadora. I mean, if they wanna pay you all that money to find people who doodle, that sounds like a good investment of your three years, okay?”

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