A Formal Affair (8 page)

Her phone, which she had left by the bed, was buzzing, and she picked it up. Twelve missed calls. All from Jamie and Alicia. Of course, there was nothing from Domingo. He'd moved on, and she hadn't. He was happily coupled, while she was going to be alone for the rest of her life.

Lying down, she curled up into a ball and wept.

THE NEXT DAY
, Carmen woke to find that the blackboard in the family kitchen was covered with messages:

It was Sunday, so her mother was doing her usual brunch spread, including Carmen's favorite, huevos rancheros.

“I didn't hear the phone ring,” Carmen said, gesturing at the messages.

“Lucky you,” her sister Una said snippily. “I've been up since eight because of you and your phone-happy friends.”

Carmen's little sisters, Lindsay and the twins, Laura and Lula, padded into the kitchen in matching footed pajamas.

“Car-men,” Laura called out, breaking her name into distinct syllables the way she always did. “You promised you'd make astronaut suits for our Barbies.”

“Yeah,” Lula added. “They're flying to Mars
tonight
.”

Carmen sighed, staring at the blackboard. Then she turned to her younger sisters. “Two astronaut suits, coming right up. They'll be ready in time for their space walk. But right now, I need to make a few phone calls.”

She grabbed the house phone and took the stairs two at a time. For a loser dateless girl, she was feeling oddly energetic. Maybe this was the denial phase people talked about in the grieving process. She took the phone out to her favorite spot in the house, the little terrace that overlooked the canal. Christian called it the Juliet balcony.

Still in her gray and white pin-striped pj's, Carmen perched herself on the little wooden chair that overlooked the water and wondered whom to call first. She knew Alicia and Jamie were calling to apologize—and after a good night's sleep, and in the light of a new morning, she no longer felt the Shakespearean level of betrayal that she had felt the night before. She knew her friends were just trying to protect her. And judging by the way she'd cried like a baby during a movie about two talking dogs, clearly she needed more protecting than she had realized. Her friends would apologize for lying about going out, and she would forgive them…eventually.

Domingo was another matter entirely. She had no idea why he was calling. And the not knowing made her nervous. Carmen decided to call her
amigas
first. She dialed Jamie's number, and her friend picked up on the first ring.

“Carmencita! You okay, girl?” Jamie asked, her voice heavy with concern.

“Besides the fact that my two best friends lied to me in the same night? I'm cool,” Carmen replied. Just because she'd woken up on the forgiving side of the bed didn't mean that her
amigas
shouldn't work for it, just a little. Some groveling was in order.

She could hear Jamie's voice sink. “About that—I'm sorry.”

Carmen smiled slightly and said, “Sorry enough to help me find some fab Lucite bracelets on eBay to ensure your forgiveness?”

“Whatever it takes,” Jamie said, laughing in relief.

“
Gracias, chiquita
,” Carmen said. She spent a few more minutes filling Jamie in on what had happened at the movies—and how crazy everyone in the theater must have thought she was—before saying good-bye and hanging up; everything was now back to normal.

Next she dialed Alicia. Leaning on the balcony railing, she watched a father with three little kids sail a yellow rowboat down the canal. The kids were screaming in delight, as if they were on the funniest roller coaster in the world. It reminded Carmen of when she, Una, and Tino were little and Christian had used to row them around. It wasn't so long ago that the Littles—Carmen's pet name for her three younger stepsisters—thought the rowboat was as big as the mammoth cruise ships that were docked all around Miami.

“
Hola
,” Carmen said, when Alicia finally picked up the phone.

Alicia launched into a terribly sweet monologue about how terrible she felt about hiding the double date. She didn't know whether Carmen would've felt better coming along without a boyfriend or whether, in the wake of Domingo, she preferred to see her
amigas
when they were sans their dudes.

Carmen shrugged. “It probably just depends on the day. But ask me next time. By lying to me, you didn't even give me a chance to choose.”

Alicia's voice was thick with regret. “I know. I feel terrible. I'm sorry.”

As she had done with Jamie, Carmen didn't immediately let her off the hook. “Sorry enough to ask Gaz if he would drive all the way to Pembroke Pines to pick up a special silver carpet runner that we're renting for the winter formal?”

“Of course,” Alicia answered right away. “He's got the van, and I'll go with him. By the way, good job making me really work for this apology.”

“It's how I roll,” Carmen said playfully.

Alicia paused. “Seriously, though. How are you? I talked with Jamie briefly, and she said something about Domingo being there with another girl?”

Carmen sighed. “I was bad yesterday, but today, I'm pretty good.”

“I'm glad, C.,” Alicia said. “And while last night wasn't a great example, you know that the boys will come and go, but
amigas
are forever, right?”

“
Gracias
, A.” They talked for a few more minutes, with Carmen giving directions to the store, and then hung up.

Those two calls had been easier than anticipated. As Alicia had said, Carmen knew her
amigas
were always there for her.

But the next call wasn't going to be so easy.

She hadn't spoken to Domingo in over two months, but she still knew the number by heart. Unfortunately, her fingers were shaking so hard that she dialed two wrong numbers before getting it right.

“Hello Domingo, it's Carmen,” she said when she heard his voice on the other end of the line.

“Hey, what's the
qué pasa
?” he asked, casually and cheerfully, as if they were just two old friends catching up.

Carmen was confused. He had been so weird last night. And didn't he realize that this wasn't easy for her. What game was he playing? All she did know was that she didn't know what to think. Then she heard her mom's voice in her head. Whenever there was drama in their household—and with a Chicana mom, a British stepdad, and six kids under one roof, there was bound to be drama—her mother always said, “Why don't you try being honest? Honest works.”

So, she took a deep breath and said, “Honestly, I'm just returning your call. And…”

Carmen was surprised by the little catch in her voice and the way the emotions were still swirling around unsettled inside her.

She continued, “And I'm a little nervous, because last night was really awkward.”

Carmen could hear Domingo exhaling on the other end of the line. He seemed relieved that she'd broached the topic. “That's why I called, C. It was awkward for me, too. I was hoping we could talk. Could I come over?”

Part of her really wanted to see him. Another part of her couldn't get the image of his hand, entwined with his new girlfriend's, out of her head. That was still fresh and painful, almost overpowering everything else. But talking to her girls had helped. Maybe it would help to talk to him, too. And if he came over to her house, she'd have home-court advantage. If she started to fall apart, she could retreat to her room. No worrying about walking through a movie-theater lobby and running into people. She told him to come over.

By the time Domingo rang the doorbell, two hours later, Carmen had changed out of her outfit five times and restyled her hair twice as many times as that. She was in the process of putting her long hair up in a ponytail for the umpteenth time when she heard Christian call out, “Carmen, you've got company!”

She walked down the stairs and stopped for a nanosecond to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She was wearing a long, tie-dyed yellow and white patio dress that she'd made herself, inspired by an old photo she'd seen of her mother in Mexico. She wore her favorite pair of sparkly flip-flops, and the ponytail, she hoped, conveyed a casual, not-trying-too-hard vibe.

Domingo stood in the kitchen sipping a glass of water. He looked more handsome than any ex-boyfriend had a right to be, and his outfit was one she'd never seen before: a brown and white checkered shirt, paint-splattered khakis, and brown, round-toed, leather work boots. He looked downtown and cool, like an artist in the Deco district.

Carmen pointed to his pants. “So, you paint now? Or did you buy them that way?”

Domingo looked down and laughed. “I paint now. First rule of art school: get off the computer and into the studio. Canvases before screens.”

Carmen was intrigued. When she and Domingo dated, she had come to believe that he was actually surgically attached to his laptop. It was hard to imagine him as a junior Jackson Pollock when Carmen had always seen him as a Latino Bill Gates. “Wow. That's different.” Carmen smiled, hoping that her voice didn't sound as sarcastic as she felt. “So, are you any good?”

Domingo shook his head. “Not even close. But as my teacher, Ms. Bevill, says, I'm bad in interesting ways.”

Carmen laughed and took a seat at the kitchen counter, next to Domingo. Despite the butterflies in her belly, she was surprisingly calm now that he was there in her kitchen. It felt like old times. Almost.

“So, about last night…” Domingo began. “I'm sorry I didn't call you to let you know that I was back in town.”

Carmen played nervously with the fringes of the napkin in front of her. “Ashley seems nice.”

“She's great,” Domingo said.

Carmen tried to keep herself from wincing.

“But Carmen,” Domingo continued, “we've only been going out for a few weeks. And I guess what I wanted to say, why I came over, is that seeing you last night was confusing. If you think we should give this another chance…”

It was not what she had been expecting to hear. And she tried to figure out whether it was what she'd been hoping for. She and Domingo hadn't exchanged so much as an e-mail since he had left for college. They had both agreed that the best way not to hurt each other was by not being in touch. E-mails, they both felt, would end up becoming mysterious, postbreakup messages that would be hard to decode. But now Domingo had given her a signal that was not in the least bit mysterious. He wanted to try again…if she did.

Domingo got up and came over to stand behind her; he put his hands on her shoulders and began to massage them. He used to say that when she was tense, her shoulders touched her ears, that's how high and tight they'd get.

Now he was touching her in that way that made her feel good. Carmen relaxed; actually, she more than relaxed—she grew excited. She was ready for what came next. He kissed her—softly at first, then with more urgency. Even though they were standing in her family's kitchen, she felt completely swept away, as if she and Domingo were a movie-star couple kissing on the big screen. The dorky side of her—the sometimes shy, sometimes clumsy part—was sitting in the audience watching.

When they finally came up for air, Domingo looked at her hopefully. “Tell me that means yes.”

Carmen couldn't believe how quickly her fortunes had shifted. Not even twenty-four hours before, she'd stood in that very same spot, crying her eyes out, her heart broken in a hundred pieces. It was as though the emotions had all been clouding her judgment, but now the sky had cleared. She was actually acutely aware of where she was, who she was, and what she wanted. She knew what she had to do.

“I love you, Domingo,” she said. “I never loved anybody before you. You are my
first
love. But I think that your relationship with Ashley proves that our first love isn't the only love either of us is going to feel. I want you to have new adventures, that's what college is all about. It's
exciting
to see you in your paint-splattered pants, looking like a skinny Diego Rivera. But let's not be Frida and Diego. Let's not hurt each other by holding on when everything we know says we should let go. Who knows, maybe in a few years, when you're older and I'm wiser, we'll find our way back to each other.”

Domingo took a step back. “Wow. That was either really deep or the nicest rejection any guy has ever gotten.”

Carmen shrugged and smiled. “Did you like the Frida and Diego reference?”

Frida
was Domingo's favorite movie. He and Carmen had watched it so many times Carmen had begun to suspect that Domingo cared less about the artist than the R-rated shots of Salma Hayek, the actress who played the influential Mexican painter.

“You're right,” Domingo said. “I don't want to hurt each other like Diego and Frida. But I also don't think this is how
our
movie ends.”

Carmen hugged him tight. “Well, then we'll both have to keep on watching. I like sequels.”