26. Ghosts Can’t Touch Shit

TWENTY-SIX

GHOSTS CAN’T TOUCH SHIT

Breathe Me, Sia (for an emotional read) or

Shit Show - Leah Kate (for an upbeat read)

Roe

You would think the music would overshadow the noise of everyone talking but it just blends into the background between the voices. Saint’s mom brought me straight to the kitchen to join the sisters. In between the girls asking me a million questions, their mom finishing dinner, the dog running around, and Saint setting the table, I feel like I haven’t had one moment to figure anything out.

So much sensory input at once. I excuse myself to go to the bathroom, wash my face and get back to the kitchen. Saint asks if I’m okay and when I nod and smile, he squeezes my shoulder and gets back to the task at hand.

Everyone in this family is beautifully loud. Full of life and joy. Even though I’m overstimulated, I’m not really overwhelmed. I’m just left wondering–is this what life should be like? Is this what true family looks like? It doesn’t matter because I will never know.

Everyone sits around the table after the food is set, and I’m about to sit when it gets eerily quiet. I stop from pulling out the chair, and I stare at Saint. He gets up and swaps chairs with me. After we both sit down, his mom says a prayer in Spanish and we start passing the food around.

“So, Roe, have you ever eaten tostones before?” Gabby, his youngest sister asks.

“This?” I ask, holding the plate with round, flat patties. “No, I haven’t. What are they?” I pick one up and put it on my plate before passing the tray to Dani who sits right next to me.

“Fried plantains,” Gabby says, scooping a type of rice on her plate. “This is called moro. It’s rice with guandules in it. Not sure how to say that in English,” she adds.

“Pigeon peas,” Saint says.

I nod and keep shuffling around plates and adding to my own as they take turns explaining what I’m about to eat. My large white plate is full of small mountains of food. I don’t like when my food touches and it’s definitely a challenge with so many choices.

“Roe, darling, you don’t want avocado?”

“No, Mrs. Cruz.” To that she raises her eyebrow . “Fuck, I’m sorry. Del. Oh shit, I’m sorry, again,” I say when I realize that I just cussed, and I did it again . “I’m so sorry, I clearly have no manners.” The table erupts in laughter before settling again, allowing Del to talk.

“You get one free pass. No cussing at the table.” She looks at her children and smiles. “That goes for all of you, too. Not in English, not in Spanish. ?De acuerdo?”

“Si,” everyone says in unison and we start eating. The explosion of flavors in my mouth is more than I’m used to but definitely what my body needs.

“I’m sorry your dad is not here to see you, Santi, he has a long surgery today,” Del tells Saint before sipping on her beer.

I don’t go for beer usually but I’m dying to try this one that everyone but Gabby is drinking, so I grab Saint’s and take a sip before giving it back to him. This earns me a laugh from everyone and a chuckle from him when I open my eyes wide.

“You can have one too,” Del says.

“I’m usually not a beer drinker but that is delicious.”

Everyone says something in Spanish at the same time but before I can ask what it means, Saint translates for me. “Presidente, the cold beer that everyone wants. I’ll bring you one, hold on.”

He gets up to get one while his sisters ask questions about the race and the plans for the next round. They also give Saint shit when he gets back about losing to a girl, but he replies that I’m a badass girl, not a regular one. His mom pulls his ear over the cuss word and we all laugh.

The hours pass with laughing, joking, questions asked and stories told. When it’s time to leave, I feel like I will be empty without days like this afternoon. This was more than nourishing for my body; this day fed my soul and the girl inside who has always craved big family life.

I walk to the truck and give Saint time to say a proper goodbye to his family. His mom tears up as she says goodbye and doesn’t move from the door until after Saint is in the truck and we’re out of the driveway heading home.

The drive home has been pleasant, all four hours. In between talking and singing, it’s been nicer than not. I haven’t felt uncomfortable once. My feet are on top of the dashboard and I’m reading on my Kindle. Saint is singing to whatever song is playing. It has an upbeat tempo and two male voices singing in Spanish. It sounds like a bop but I have no clue what it’s about.

“Do you like this type of music more than other styles?” I ask, truly curious.

“Music is music. If it can make me feel something, I’ll listen to it,” he says. “This is my celebration playlist, that’s why it’s mostly happy music.” His eyes wander to mine, smirking he asks, “What about you, princesa? Do you like anything other than Miley Cyrus?”

“Funny, you ass. I’m a rock girl but I listen to pretty much anything, even Taylor Swift,” I add. “It took me a while but I even listen to country now.”

His eyes grow wide. I knew that would catch him by surprise so I smile and say, “Yee haw.” Before I can keep joking around, we pull up to my house. I know something is wrong by the way Saint’s shoulders tense right away. I jerk my face toward the door and see that it’s wide open. I never lock my house, but the door standing open like this is not normal, unless I somehow forgot to close it.

He parallel parks the truck and opens the door, but before getting out he orders, “Stay in the truck, Roe. I mean it.” His voice is sharp, with an edge I’ve never heard before. There’s no thinking on his part, he jumps out and walks in the house, flicking the lights on and walking in.

One minute.

I want to pull out my hair, and I might if he doesn’t come out soon and tell me what the hell is going on.

Two minutes pass.

Fuck this shit, I’m going in.

I speed walk toward the house and step in to find Saint about to run into me. His hands come up to grab my shoulders, and he looks as spooked as I felt just seconds ago.

“Roe, can you listen for once in your life?” he groans, annoyed and almost angry but without raising his voice.

“This is my house and if I want to see what’s going on, I can,” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest. I understand he’s being all protective and shit, but he needs to stop hovering and telling me what to do. I’ve been parenting myself for years; I don’t need someone else to try to swoop in and save me.

“Roe, what if there was someone here? You could’ve put yourself at unnecessary risk.”

“Just like you?” I snap. “You think because you’re a man, you can just defend against everything and save everyone, don’t you?”

“No, but I’m trained in self-defense. I can do a little more than just scare someone.” He raises his hand, tucking a piece of my hair behind my ear. “Next time, please listen to me, okay?”

His fingertips graze the side of my face as he pulls back his hand, and a jolt of electricity sparks on my skin. One touch and I’m short-circuiting. I let out a breath and nod. “What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing that I can see,” he answers, turning his body and looking around. I should be focused on what’s happening in my house but all I can see is his shirt fitted tightly around his arms as they flex naturally. I hate that I might be starting to love his protective and borderline overbearing presence. All I can smell is his fresh and salty scent– still can’t figure out how he always smells like the beach.

I shake myself out of my stupor and look around. Everything seems normal, except there are a couple plants out of place. I walk around and touch them, remembering exactly where they go. I would never put my Jade so far away from the window, and I never move my snake plant from its precious spot by the door.

I notice my spatulas are out and my cups that usually live on my counter aren’t there. I find them on the table. It’s not a lot, but definitely enough for me to notice. I look at Saint and whatever he sees on my face alerts him, because he’s quickly putting me behind him and walking backward into my room.

“There’s nobody here,” I say, and for someone so sure of herself, I sure as hell sound shaky. “But someone was,” I add.

“What? Did they take something?”

“No,” I say, plopping myself on the ground and lying flat with my arms and legs spread wide like a starfish. “They did move shit around though,” I add, pointing out the things I noticed out of place.

“Maybe a family member?” he asks.

I laugh and say, “I don’t have family, Saint. They are all dead and ghosts can’t touch shit.”

He looks taken aback by my statement, but somehow, he knows better than to ask more about it. He goes straight to the only other question that makes sense. “Then who?”

I sit up and notice his usually calm eyes are nowhere to be found. I find turmoil and concern instead, maybe even pity, but there’s nothing I can do or say to fix this.

“I don’t know. But whoever it was, they’re gone. I’ll get my gear and you can go. I’m sure I can get my bike and shit from you at another time if you don’t have time to help.” I get up and try to walk past him out of my room but he grabs my arm, stopping me from moving any more. That simple touch wakes every cell in my body and I can’t help but be in attention to what he has to say.

“I’ll get your stuff; you stay here.”

I listen for once and stay put in my room. I change into comfy clothes–boxers that I use as shorts and a tank top. Then I take my pillows and my weighted blanket and walk to the guest room. I couldn’t see anything out of place in my room but the feeling that someone might have been in there is too much for me to sleep in there.

“Roe?” Saint asks.

“In here,” I shout, hoping he follows my voice because I’m already lying down and I don’t want to get back up.

He walks in with his bag and mine, drops them to the floor, and spreads out a blanket on the ground.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m sleeping here until tomorrow when we can figure out what the hell happened. I was going to sleep on the couch, but it’s white, and my mom would disown me if I slept on it. She would ask me if I showered with bleach; if I didn’t, then I need to stay off of white couches,” he adds.

He stands there looking like a damn snack that I want to devour whole while acting protective but not overbearing. That combination is deadly for me because I get the sudden urge to jump out of bed and climb him like a tree. He already told me several times that he won’t lay his hands on me until I open my heart to him. What he doesn’t know is that’s impossible. It’s impossible to let someone in your heart when you don’t have one anymore. I was born with a heart, sure, but it was shattered beyond repair. Demolished and decayed, leaving a black empty hole instead.

I do offer him the one thing I can. Folding the blanket back, I pat the empty space on the bed. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor, Saint. Come here.”

“You sure about that, princesa?” he asks. When I nod, he sighs in agreement, stripping down to his boxers and walking toward me.

He covers us and lays the weighted blanket on top of me before settling down on his side of the bed and keeping to his own side. It’s like he’s drawn a line down the bed with the promises that he refuses to break. I can feel all the lines that I want to erase that he won’t let me bend. His lines are set in stone to divide our lust. The same way that we are split in real life: him full of life and me nothing but empty inside.