Page 30 of Ms. V's Hot Girl Summer

“Yes, I’m young, okay!” Trinidad objectively was a beautiful woman. Her lustrous ochre skin glowed even with the little sun streaming through the windows. Her smile, damn her smile, it wasn’t perfect, but it was perfectly hers with her cute big canines fighting for space. Those eyes of hers that had their own language framed by long lashes that made my knees weak whenever they fluttered…and her body… Her dress draped her so beautifully, showcasing her strength, leanness, and flexibility.

It all told her life story. Fuck, I was sprung.

“Good, finally, we agree on that subject; glad we got to a good resolution.” I interlaced my fingers with hers, turning around to give my whole attention to her. Not that she didn’t have it before. But now I held her gaze.

“Boy, if you don’t stop,” she whispered. This time, it sounded like a promise, a caress. What would happen if I didn’t stop?

“If you were to stay behind, I would ask you, what if I couldn’t help myself, what would you be comfortable with…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. I wanted to be direct with her, but at the same time, my nerves were getting the best of me. My throat closed up as I waited for her answer.

“I have to go back… I’m, this trip with Milton, it might mean a stable future…for my family,” Trinidad said as if the words tasted sour in her mouth, but she still needed to say them. The cold of the air conditioner made me shake, and when her hand left mine, I held back the ball of frustration sitting at the base of my throat.

“I hear you. Maybe we should call it a day. I think we should head out early tomorrow; it will give us time to get to Jacksonville.”

“What’s in Jacksonville?”

“An airport, you will have better chances to get out and go to Milton,” I explained. The air was extra loud now; another group of people exited a shop with white costumes shining bright in the darkening evening.

“Are you sure? You have a lot going on tomorrow and only the morning and afternoon until your friends arrive. Are you going to share things with them?”

“No, I can do this on my own; no worries, Trinidad.”

And I meant it. I always did things on my own. Today’s camaraderie with Trinidad was a mirage, and I fell for it.

Not her fault that I fell for it; it was all mine.

FOURTEEN

Trinidad

Living in denial was not my style, but these past hours with Orlando had made me forget the realities of my life. Now back in his rental, in the room he graciously offered for me to sleep in, I sat on the four-post bed, staring at my luggage, wondering how my day had gone so wrong and so right at the same time.

My two sons had lost their damn minds setting me up like this. It was wrong, plain and simple. How had I missed the signs, though? What was I thinking by letting them use my laptop for all the transactions? The lure of them maturing before my eyes had dulled my instincts. How could I forget how it felt to be fifteen, thinking you knew it all when in fact, you had no fucking clue?

Therapy had helped me mold my parenting into a way that I felt comfortable with; I called it gentle/strict parenting, Dominican style. But lately, as they grew into the men they would be, I couldn’t figure out quite how to meet their needs for fulfillment, for confidence, for self-assuredness. My relationship with Milton was the answer to my prayers, someone who could help me raise my teenagers and give them those examples their father was not fit to provide.

My first thought was to ground them for the entire summer besides physical activity and mentoring. Nothing else would be allowed: no cheerleading trips, no hanging out with their friends. Nothing. It would be a memorable summer for sure, but would it do the trick? I wanted them to understand the ramifications of their actions, of making decisions for me without my say when they were categorically not the head of the household. They needed to calm their young behinds and stay in their lanes. Because of them, I was stuck in this very beautiful room, right next to temptation, and I wasn’t planning to succumb.

The room decor was more of the easy-breezy Ofele vibes with creamy walls and a white and yellow bed set. A little whitewashed wood desk and chair sat in a corner. No TV, because who in their right mind came to Ofele to watch shows? My toes reveled in the softness of the plush carpet covering the entire bedroom, the movements enough to calm me to have a civil conversation with my offspring.

Me: I need you all to find any connecting flight that gets me out of Jacksonville and back to New York tomorrow.

Brandon: Ma, we are trying.

Me: Con respeto, Brandon.

Brandon: Sorry Ma. I know we messed up. We trying to fix it. We know we messed up and let you down. We just wanted you to rest, you know? You always doing so much for us. I’m sorry, Ma.

Me: Good, but this is not the end of this. When I’m back home from the Poconos, the three of us are going to sit down and have an in-depth discussion about boundaries and each of our roles. You’re teenagers and my sons, and even though I make sure to honor your decision-making processes, this one was very wrong and did not take into account any of my boundaries.

Brian: You still going to Poconos?

Me: Yes. My relationship with Milton is my decision, and we will chat about it too.

Brian: Oh. Okay. Sorry Ma. I agree with Brandon; we messed up.

Brandon: Any flight? Even if it’s several stops?

My toes froze on the carpet, images of several airports flashing in my brain. Did I really want to spend my weekend like that? Was the Poconos this important?

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