You bastard, I say, and splash water at him, and stretch out my arms wide, and lean back to float. He places his hands under me. Above me, the sun presses its warmth on my skin. Water fills my ears. For a moment I pretend I’m alone, just me and the sun.
Now paddle your feet, Ana. As fast as you can.
I paddle, splashing water into both our eyes.
He climbs out of the pool first and puts a towel on the floor for me to sit on. As if to keep from looking at my body, he points to the view of the valley. The clouds drift far away, teasing us with their presence, the land thirsty. It hasn’t rained in weeks. He sits close enough to skim his fingers on my leg. The hairs on the back of my neck awaken. How much time has passed? We sit there in silence; his arm brushes against mine, my heart races.
So what if I stick my foot in it? What if I turn my head to meet his lips?
I wait for him to lean over, but he doesn’t. He props his weight on one arm, then the other. He acts as if we had all the time in the world. But I don’t have time, so I kiss him, right on the mouth, covering my breasts with my hands. Our full lips closed tight like our eyes, they press against each other like soft pillows. My insides spin around as if I’m still in the water. A thread pulls up between my legs, through my heart and up my throat. Don’t pull away. Don’t look at me. Not yet. Not yet. What have I done? Is this what Teresa and Mamá have warned me about? The trouble ahead, that once you start you can’t go back. When we part, we both giggle. I clamp my legs together, open my eyes wide, pull in my body tight tight tight all around, covering every point of entry. He looks away embarrassed.
I should go, I say. If I don’t get home soon my mother will kill me.
Let me take you home.
He mops the edges of the pool as if to erase our time there together. I clumsily put on my dress, afraid to stay another minute, afraid of myself.
After he drops me off a few feet from my house, he says, I’ll see you tomorrow? His smile takes over half of his face.
Okay, sure. I pretend my life isn’t about to be turned upside down.
Mamá isn’t home when I arrive. What a relief. I rush over to my room to look in the mirror to see if Gabriel’s kiss left a mark. I stare at my reflection and pucker my lips. They look swollen, transformed.
One kiss and suddenly I’m una mujer. Not a niña or jovencita but a woman. I touch the mirror to understand how it happened without warning, but with the hot-pink dress on, the girl who had never been kissed is gone. I am Ana, about to be married and to travel to America. Juan Ruiz is expected before noon.
I look into the distorted mirror at the white lace ruffles around the neckline over and around my shoulders. The dress cinches at the waist and barely covers my knees. Juanita has blown out my hair and tied it back into a bun at the crown with ribbon upon curly ribbon, in white and pink. I put one hand on my waist, shift my hip to one side. Is that really me?
In New York I’ll have a closet full of dresses and jewelry. All kinds of purses and shoes. And Juan will pay for me to go to the salon every week and get my nails done. And he’ll take me to see shows and we’ll go dancing with live bands. And our house will be full of his friends and family. Every day will feel like a party.
Mamá walks into the room carrying her pouch of makeup.
Come by the window. The light is better, she says.
I kneel on the floor and lean against her knees. Hold myself up nice and tall so she can study my face.
Look up, she says, and brushes mascara on my eyelashes, then blows into them to dry. She pulls the sides of my eyes and draws a line above them, leaning back for a better look.
I want to see, I want to see, I say, and jump over to the mirror. Surprise! My eyes are twice as big. My lashes twice as long.
Mamá pats pink cream on my cheeks and curses how dark my skin has become. Even darker after spending time with Gabriel in the pool.
What if Gabriel sees me now? He’d probably think I’m too much woman for him.
Mamá pats red lipstick on my lips and asks me to lick and spread.
But Juan won’t like it, I say.
Just for the photo, she says. So your lips don’t get lost on your face.
She takes a tissue to blot them. A trick she recently learned from a magazine. So it won’t get on your teeth, she says.
I go back to the mirror, thinking of all those times Teresa stole my mother’s makeup and put it on to sneak out at night to meet El Guardia. I smile to show Mamá that no lipstick got on my teeth. We all need some kind of mask.
Mamá makes me sit outside on a wooden bench, under the shade of an almond tree, where it’s much cooler than our house—a real furnace. Teresa, Yohnny, Juanita, and Lenny are off to the beach.
Ana, get out of that dress, Teresa insists. El Guardia will be here any second.
She’s in her bathing suit, a sausage casing, under the oversize men’s shirt she uses for cover.
My little brother, Lenny, already in his cutoff shorts, slaps his sweaty arm against mine.
Gabriel will be there, Teresa eggs me on as if she knows about the kiss.
Oh the fun I will miss, I say, thinking about Mamá’s warning. Not a hair out of place. Not a speck on the dress or else.
Ooh Gabriel, Lenny teases.
I try not to blush.
When he gave me a lift home on his bike, the feeling my mother calls the devil who steals reason came up between my legs. Without reason is how women make mistakes. Big ones, like Teresa, who got caught by the devil the day El Guardia stuck his cucumber inside her and gave her a baby Mamá has to care for.
Go, already, I tell them. Mamá’ll kill me if I get up from this bench.
One time, Yohnny spoke back to her and she hit him with a broomstick so hard he lost consciousness. She did cry afterward for those three, maybe five minutes when we all thought he was dead.
You really want to go away with that old man? Teresa asks. Her tits sit on her chest like hand grenades.
It’s true, Juan’s old and hasn’t married and has no children. This worries my mother, but he comes from hardworking people who can be trusted. And he’s tall and fair, and his shoes are always polished. Besides, out of all the girls Juan could marry and take to America, he picked me.
Look, Teresa, I finally say, when one’s hungry no bread is too hard to eat. I have no choice.
Teresa takes a small towel from her bag and pats the sweat from around my hairline and neck, her breath fresh from chewing on fennel.
You’re a ghost with all this powder. And this ridiculous dress? Poor little thing.
I like the dress, I mumble. All my life I wore Teresa’s hand-me-downs although she is wider and shorter than me. She’s probably jealous. The dress smells new, all starchy and crisp.
C’mon, Ana, if the old man wants you he’ll wait until we get back from the beach.
El Guardia’s clunker pulls up. One of the doors has fallen off, but he has temporarily duct-taped it back to the car. Merengue blasts from his radio. He honks on the horn.
You don’t have to marry him, Teresa says, extending her hands. As El Guardia revs the engine she reminds me that Gabriel is waiting for me at the beach.
I touch my lips. Underneath the lipstick, I can still taste his kiss.
Mamá, a real mind reader, rushes out of the house and swats Teresa away with a kitchen towel.
Get away from her. Why do you want to ruin Ana’s life the way you ruined yours?