Page 8 of Ms. V's Hot Girl Summer

Not quite there, always suspended in time.

Milton had a date tonight with one of his other almost girlfriends. Not IG girl—she had gotten the boot real quick after demanding more of his time and space. He replaced IG girl with a slightly younger model.

Which was not an issue.

When the thought skidded through my brain, I felt nothing. No anger, no jealousy, no joy.

Nothing.

I believed in different types of loving. I had read all the polyamorous books when Milton explained to me what he was. To be honest it sounded refreshing. Instead of people playing the field out there and lying about it, everyone was up front. The thing was that I was starting to understand that I was an occasional, maybe even situational, polyamorous person.

I was ready to jump back on the monogamy train.

Something to talk about in my next therapy session, right after confessing how my nether parts vibrated at the mere proximity of a man that was not my almost boyfriend. In fact he would never be my boyfriend because someone like Orlando would mean indulging in all the decadence and joy of living that I used to chase in my youth, regardless of being polyam or not.

Orlando reminded me of that feeling of jumping into the unknown without having to consider any consequences beyond tomorrow, without letting anything but pure desire and instinct guide your actions. Impulsive and full of happiness. All the things that could lead you to marrying a man that never loved you, and maybe even subconsciously used you to stay in the country or even worse until he could find his own feeling of pure joy.

Orlando kept talking and I nodded and said all the right things because I was back oto my full senses.

My ex-husband was the aggressive reminder I needed for not messing with the adrenaline that Orlando ignited in me.

I took a step back, widening the gap between us. He instinctively mimicked my motions, putting his own space in stark opposition to mine. Even in this he was the ultimate gentleman. Noticing my need and giving me more of it.

Space.

That’s all I needed from Orlando.

Any other thought was a dream. Orlando was a sweet fantasy. That was all.

A steamy, cute fantasy that tormented me on a daily basis. So keeping my space was the best thing I could do.

FOUR

Orlando

The sizzle of the onions and garlic made my stomach grumble after my hours with my mentees. As soon as I arrived home, I went straight to the kitchen, pulled out Mom’s paila, and started cooking dinner.

Without even having to peek into her bedroom, the scent of incense and loud mystical music blaring told me she was having one of her days. The grumble in my stomach morphed into unease. Would she take the time to come out and eat tonight? Having no other option, I focused on the rice and peas in the pot, steering the creamy coconut water until the bubbles prompted me to lower the fire. Chicken thighs went into the mixture of garlic, onions, and other seasonings. Maybe the scent would break her out of her episode.

Food is how she took care of us when she could, teaching me all the meals she learned from her mother, who grew up in Roatán, and her dad’s favorite Bayan dishes. Food is how I attempted to take care of her now that things had changed. With anxiety settling in my stomach, I pressed Rewind on the day, focusing on the highlights instead.

When I decided to join the mentorship program my old school organized, my main consideration was how well it would look on my law school application. Low-key, I was also yearning to connect with someone the way I wished I could connect with my younger brothers.

My mentorship program with Brandon and Brian became one of the highlights of my week. The kids were bright, not the most studious, but each had their individual interests that showcased their critical thinking and hunger for knowledge, which was fine.

Brandon was fascinated with anything that had an engine and could spend hours talking about videos he’d watched on the matter. He sometimes mentioned one of the boys he had a crush on, but he was very aloof about his sexuality overall, so I never pressed him in that area. Brian was more on hisdamn, girls are finemoment, but my mans had figured out a creative way to focus that attention. Women sports. He was a damn near expert on all the WNBA key players’ stats, and don’t get him started about soccer.

Each of them showed the potential to be great at whatever they wanted to be if someone took the time to guide their enthusiasm to open doors to discover opportunities. That’s all I’d ever wanted, so when Mr. Thompson reached out to me about the mentorship program, I knew this would be a good fit for me.

What I hadn’t been expecting was Trinidad Velasquez. I don’t know how dudes have types. I mean, I get it; we all have things we look for in the person we like, but for me, it had to be more than looks. Honestly, all types of women were my preference: small, tall, short, plump, you name it. If the vibe was right, I was open to exploring where the attraction could lead me.

When I met Trinidad the first time, I hadn’t been ready. The boys had talked about their mother as this perpetually tired, staid workaholic that somehow managed to be kinda cool when she tried.

Instead, a thick bombshell strutted down the pavement, her hair in locs, coils burning mahogany brown under the sun. The flower dress she wore spoke of afternoons by a bar on the bay with cocktails.

She reached her hand out, and maybe I moaned a little bit because she smirked.

“Hello, Orlando, the boys told me you were twenty-five but I could have been fooled to believe you were a little older,” she said, then set me at ease with her smile.

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