25. Punta Gorda

TWENTY-FIVE

PUNTA GORDA

Me Quiero Enamorar, Jesse even when I’m trying to find the best path, my eyes keep tracking her.

We start going into the trenches. The trail narrows into a single-track lane surrounded by pine trees, leaves, branches, and roots popping out of the ground. I avoid them the best I can but sometimes you just have to push through and go over them. I weave through the lanes, opting to go on the trail as opposed to going on the obstacle course. People fall and tumble through those and the impact can be catastrophic. I’m playing safe and maybe that’s why I keep staying behind other bikes. I’m not giving up, but I would rather finish this race in one piece and fourth place than not finish it at all.

Roe’s taking the lead and I’m two bikes behind her, chasing their tails and watching this girl dominate the race. I have no doubt in my mind that she’s got this track down and that she’ll place in the top three.

And one and a half hours later, she finishes first, and my rules of staying away from her won’t matter. The only things I feel right now are my chest full of pride and my hands itching to touch her whole body.

“Ready?” I ask Roe when she comes back from picking up her plaque from the award ceremony. We parted ways afterward so she could go find Emma and I could get the trailer ready to go. This morning we put all the gear and bikes in the garage and now, all that’s left is the mat that’s serving as our floor. She seems ready and I get the confirmation I need when she nods and climbs in the truck.

I roll the mat up and shove it in the camper’s garage, closing the door with a strong push and run to the driver’s side of the truck. My parents only live thirty minutes away and I want to see them before we head back. I hope Roe’s on board.

“Hey, are you in a rush to get home?” I ask, blasting the AC on my side while reaching out and closing the vents on hers before her skin breaks into bumps. She’s constantly shivering and trying to hide her body from air currents while wearing minimal clothing.

“Nah, I don’t work Mondays for this exact reason,” she answers, not lifting her eyes from her Kindle. Her hair is pulled to the side over her shoulder, covering part of the design on the black shirt. She’s wearing soft leggings and sitting with her feet tucked under her. Her checkered Vans are off and forgotten on the passenger side floor, and her other hand is doing pressure points on the tip of her fingers. She’s wearing sunglasses that frame her face and make her look like an angel and her light pink lips are tucked in concentration. I want to be what she ’ s concentrating on. Co?o, que desastre. Shit, what a disaster.

“I was planning on stopping at my parent’s house on the way back. It might delay us a few hours but we can leave whenever you want.”

“Cool, cool,” she says as I pull out and head to the highway. I’m not calling my mom to tell her about bringing Roe in order to avoid them speculating on who she is. I would rather show up. Be the element of surprise.

The ride is quiet. She reads and I drive. I’m playing my ‘after race’ playlist which consists of Jessie y Joy and Christian Castro, courtesy of growing up surrounded by women. My dad might hate that I don’t listen to reggaeton all the time but I do enjoy different types of music, even if it’s femenino. Music is music; it shouldn’t matter what gender I am, I should be able to listen to whatever I want.

Every so often, I ask Roe a question and she answers without hesitation, which is more that I can ask for. She asks some in return and I hold nothing back. This is a two-way street and I’m here to walk it.

We pull up to my childhood home and Roe’s eyes snap up. The well-manicured garden and the yellow accent chairs on the porch makes it look like a picture-perfect house from the outside. There are rocks and small flowers that lead the way from the driveway to the yellow front door. Small daisies in pots next to the door add the perfect touch, or so my mom says.

“What should I expect?” she asks, placing her Kindle in her bag and putting on her shoes.

“Expect the girls to swarm you with questions, my mom to feed you, and for my dad to say nothing at all,” I reply, taking the key out of the ignition and hopping out of the truck before walking around to open her door.

“Thanks,” she says when I offer my hand and help her down. I’m surprised she even let me do this so I bite my tongue and just nod instead of making a comment about it.

Before we get to the door, Roe steps behind me, shielding her body with mine. She grabs my shirt and tucks herself into my back. I reach my arm behind her, squeezing her arm lightly and turning around to see her face. She’s pale as a ghost and she’s biting her lip so hard, I’m afraid she’ll draw blood.

“What’s going on?” I ask with concern in my voice.

I reach out to brush her hair behind her ear, after the wind blew it right across her face, and wait for her to answer my questions. The minute my fingers touch her skin, she sucks in a quick breath.

“Nothing,” she answers, avoiding my gaze.

“It has to be something. I can see it written all over your face, princesa. What’s going on?” My hand leaves her neck and runs down her arm, all the way to her hand, taking it in mine.

“I’m about to meet your family and I’m not great in social scenarios I can’t control,” she spits out before tugging her hand out of my grasp and shoving it in her back pocket. She’s balancing on her feet, tilting back and forth slightly as her eyes roam over the front porch.

“They’re going to love you, Roe. I’m sure of it,” I urge, hoping that does the trick to settle her down. However, it seems to do the opposite and she bites her lip harder. I tug the lip out of her teeth with a gentle finger and wrap my other hand around the back of her neck. I want to wrap her completely in my arms and kiss her until all of her worries go away, but I remind myself this is my parents’ house and I can’t be doing that.

“I know you get overwhelmed sometimes. It’s okay; I won’t push you. If at any point you want to leave, say the word and we will.” I drop my forehead to hers, the lavender scent on her hair invading my senses and her soft skin caressing mine. “I’ll follow your lead, I promise.”

She closes her eyes and lets out a breath with the wind that effortlessly freezes this moment in time. We’re so close we could kiss but I don’t want to take advantage of her vulnerability, so I just stay still. Holding her and letting her breathe.

She takes a sudden step back and says, “Okay, let’s go before your family thinks I’m a weirdo.”

“Chances are they already do. I don’t usually bring girls home, so get ready for the trial.”

“Trial? How Salem of them. I’ll take it, witchcraft and all,” she says, walking toward the door with purpose.

God, this girl. Keeping me on my toes. I never know what’s gonna come out of her mouth and I am learning more with every interaction, that I really like that.

“Santi, mijo, que bueno verte? 1 .” I hear from the front door, catching my mom walking toward me, open arms and all smiles. She might be five feet tall but her presence is more like a skyscraper. Her bright red dress makes her gray hair shine white and warms her dark eyes. Think Cruella De Ville but Latina, and not into puppy theft hopefully.

“Hola ma? 2 ,” I say, hugging her and lifting her off the ground. That move earns me a smack on the head with whatever she’s holding and we both laugh as she tells me to put her down. I see that this time her weapon of choice is an oven mitt on her hand. “What are you cooking, ma?” I ask, pointing to it.

“?Porqué me hablas en ingles, mijo? ?Cuantas veces tengo que decirte que espa?ol namas?? 3 ”

“Because I have a visitor, ma,” I add, turning my body so she can see Roe, who is smiling shyly behind me.

My mom lifts her eyebrows at both of us but mostly at me. She hands me the mitt and walks to Roe. As Roe extends her hand, my mom opens her arms and I’m suddenly terrified about how this is going to go. Either Roe is going to freak out and storm back to the truck, or my mom is going to be offended and walk back inside when Roe rejects her hug. To my surprise, neither happens.

My mom embraces Roe in a quick hug that she doesn’t return but instead of making it awkward, my mom pats her shoulder and squeezes gently saying, “I’m so sorry sweetie, I have no manners. I’m Santi’s mom. Welcome.”

Roe smiles and says, “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Cruz. I’m Roe.”

Before I can say anything about how much my mom hates that, my mom grabs Roe by the hand, pulls her inside while saying, “None of that nonsense. My suegra? 4 is Mrs. Cruz. Call me Adela or Del. Ven, let’s go see the girls. They will love to see you.”

Family is the strongest foundation there is. I love my parents and my sisters with all my being, and seeing my mom interact with Roe this way means more than I was ready for. Better yet, it might be cementing every feeling I’ve had about her until this point. I hope my sisters feel the same way and that they don’t break my girl with questions.

They walk in and there’s nothing to do but to follow them and pray to all los santos ? 5 that Roe doesn’t run away.

1 ? Santi, mijo, que bueno verte: Santi, my son, so good to see you.

2 ? Hola ma: Hi, mom.

3 ? ?Porqué me hablas en ingles, mijo? ?Cuantas veces tengo que decirte que espa?ol namas? Why are you speaking in English to me, son? How many times do I need to tell you to speak only in Spanish?

4 ? suegra: mother in law

5 ? los santos: the saints