Page 35 of Sombra
“Not in charge of your own life?”
“Right. Now that I’m here, I get to eat late and to learn how to cook and—”
“For someone whois so interested in cooking, why is your Instagram so boring?”
“It’s not boring!” Before I know it, she’s taken the pillow and thrown it at me. It hits my head, and I laugh.
“It’s just all pictures of drinks from Starbucks.”
“Hmm. Yeah, I guess so. I never really thought about it. My mom hates it when I go there. That’s probably one reason. And I think it’s that I didn’t reallyhave anything to post, but all my friends were on, so I just posted whatever we were doing. Not very exciting.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it not being exciting. I’d rather it be real than exciting. But now that I’ve met you, it doesn’t really match you. It’s like you’ve been holding yourself back.”
Her mouth parts and her eyes narrow. “I think you’re right. That’s another thingI’m going to fix.”
“It’s surprising, honestly, because you’re so open and enthusiastic. I’d think you’d just have this exuberant life.”
“I don’t. But I want one.”
“I like this about you. I like how honest you are.” I’d better shut my mouth before I betray how captivated with her I am. How I’m hanging on to her every word.
“Thanks,” she said. Then she gasps at the clock.“Is it really two in the morning?”
“Yeah. I’d better let you sleep.”
“I’m on a different time zone, but you must be exhausted.”
I want to reach out and touch her, but I don’t. “Goodnight, Kim. Come find me first thing, and I’ll give you a tour before it gets too hot.”
“Good night, Tavo. Thanks for everything.”
As I walk to my casita, I think.
All my lifeI’ve been waiting for someone like her.
Or her.
The next morning,Kim knocks on my door just after I got up. I open it. She’s dressed for a warm day in a pretty blue and white sundress, her hair curling around her shoulders, but she immediately turns around, blushing.
Is it because I’m shirtless? I’m wearing gray sweatpants. Or because I haven’t shaved, and my hair is messy. “Buenos días.”
She bites her lip and avoids looking at me, peering at the floor, the ceiling, the door jamb. Anywhere but at me. “Is it okay to go on a tour now?”
“Yes. Let me show you. One moment.” I grab my white T-shirt and put it on.
She enters my little house,taking in my movie posters—Breakfast at Tiffany’s,Dirty Harry,A Clockwork Orange,Casablanca. The stacks of vinyl in the corner next to my grandfather’s record player. The books on American cinema and music. “Your place is cool,” she says. “I like it.”
Once again, she’s so refreshing, and she’s seeing me, not just what I look like on the outside. No one else understands my love of thesethings. My mother thinks my place is a hovel.
I head to my bathroom and brush my teeth, keeping an eye on her. She doesn’t know I know she’s watching me.
Rinsing out my mouth, I spit, and then wipe my face with a clean towel. “Thanks. Me too.” My hair is wild, but I run my hands through it and call it good. I come over to the bed where she’s perched, grab my jeans and underwear,and head to the bathroom.
She runs her fingers along the books. “What do you like to read? Just these nonfiction books?”
Behind the closed door, I get dressed. “Yeah. Pretty much. I like biographies. I like to know how people lived. You?”
“Mysteries.”
