We Never Asked for Wings (24 page)

She was squirming on top of him, rubbing herself against him in a wet, rhythmic way, and he couldn't tell if she was trying to get him inside her or trying to keep him out. She kissed his ear, and he opened his eyes and tried to think about the stars, about the birds, about his project, anything but the feel of her against him. He reached down, thinking there was maybe something he was supposed to do, something that might feel good to her, but when he touched her she rolled off, all at once, and took a breath.

“I'm sorry.”

“Why? No, no, it's not that. It's not anything.”

She was trying to say something else, he could tell. He hoped it wasn't that he was doing everything wrong, because he might be. He'd been thinking only about himself from the moment he saw her naked, and he should have been focused on her all along.

Finally she turned away from the sky and looked at him. “Do you want to?”

He didn't. But he would; for her, he would do anything. “Do you?”

She shook her head no, slowly. “I will, though.”

He kissed her hard, relieved, but also curious, and still worried that maybe he'd done something wrong, something to turn her off.

“Is it God?” he asked.

She smiled big, and he saw Carmen in her face, the sly confidence at the dinner table, as if something had long ago been decided between mother and daughter and God.

“No,” she said. “It's babies.”

It made sense, that in this way they were the same: two unwanted children scared to create the next generation under similar circumstances. He kissed her again. “Let's wait,” he said into Yesenia's mouth as she kissed him again: his lips, his cheek, his ear.

She pulled away just enough to look him in the eyes, her expression mischievous. “There are other things we can do, you know.”

Alex's heart dropped as she dropped, her head disappearing underneath his jacket.

Alex wore a suit to school the next day. Yesenia had found it in the alley, along with a white shirt and lime green tie. He thought he'd be the only one dressed up, but he was wrong. The girls wore skirts and blouses or serious, high-necked dresses, and the only boy not wearing a suit was Jeremy, who was instead sporting a bow tie, suspenders, and an open white lab coat. It would take more than an eye-catching outfit for Jeremy to win, though; his project was one of the worst in the class.

Wes had picked Alex up and dropped him off that morning, his trifold presentation tucked safely in the trunk and sample feathers pressed into a glass frame. Alex expected his father to drop him off at the curb nearest the science wing, but instead Wes parked in the student lot and walked Alex all the way to class.

They were twenty minutes early, but already the classroom was crowded with students and parents and judges. The desks had been pushed to the center of the room to make space for tables that had been brought in and pushed against the classroom walls. Alex found his name and set his project down just as Miraya walked up with a box full of donuts. Alex took two, handing one to Wes, and together they ate apple fritters while setting up Alex's board. In the center was the title, which they'd come up with over a series of texts the weekend before, and which had gotten longer with each additional text: “Using Stable Isotope Signatures to Investigate the Effect of Climate Change on the Migration Patterns of Allen's Hummingbird.” And below the title were the hypothesis and a photograph of his grandfather's file cabinet, open to the reds and showcasing his organization system. There was almost too much to fit onto the board—the description of the process of creating isotope signatures, photos of the mass spectrometer, and isoscapes of California and Mexico—in addition to the framed feathers, marked for where they would sample. The board was so crowded that Alex had had to print his expected results (
If my hypothesis is correct, feathers from earlier years will have a more southern signature
) in eight-point font and glue it to the very bottom right-hand corner, where he was now sure the judges would miss it.

But it was the best that he could do, and he was proud of it, and he could tell that Wes—who'd taken a quick tour of the room and given him a giant pat on the back upon his return—was proud too. Alex gave his father a hug good-bye and thanked him, and then he wandered the classroom himself, surveying the final presentations for the ideas he'd heard bits and pieces of over the last semester.

In the front of the room, a professional-looking poster was taped to the whiteboard. Julianna Skye's was the project everyone was talking about. Apparently she'd started a makeshift lab in her basement, trying to create a strain of algae high enough in oil content to be an economically feasible biofuel. An environmental lab had somehow gotten wind of the project (the other students said her dad ran the lab, but looking at the man in jeans and flip-flops who had accompanied her, it was hard to believe that was true) and had given her a budget and space to work. Already her results looked promising. It was an amazing idea, the kind of thing that not only made a great science project but, if successful, would make an actual, real-life contribution to the world. She would win for sure.

Which left just two more winners. Mr. Everett had invited half a dozen scientists from universities and labs all over the Bay Area, and they walked around with their clipboards, taking notes on a photocopied scoring sheet. In front of his own project, one of the judges snapped open the glass frame and picked up Alex's feathers one at a time. Alex wished he would put them down. His grandfather had taught him before he could walk exactly how to handle them, and it made him cringe to watch the man's fingers moving haphazardly against the barbs.

After an hour the judges left the room to confer, and a hush fell over the classroom. Alex had expected nervous chatter, but everyone went to his or her desk, pretending to read books or look through folders. No one made eye contact. Competition had been disallowed, and yet there was nothing but competition in that room. Too much was at stake.

Five minutes later the judges returned. They handed Mr. Everett a sealed envelope, and with more drama and flair than Alex thought necessary, his teacher sliced open the envelope and withdrew a sheet of paper.

“In no particular order, I present the winners. First.” He paused here, and Alex, annoyed again at the exaggerated suspense, tapped his foot under his desk.

“Julianna Skye. ‘Creating an Economically Feasible Algae Biofuel.' ” Everyone clapped dutifully, and Alex thought, along with the rest of the class, that the results were clearly in order. Julianna's project was hands down the best. Without a pause, Mr. Everett announced the second winner: Sophia Joyce Chen, for her work on cholesterol and reductase inhibitors.

Mr. Everett stopped and looked around the room. There was only one remaining spot.

“Now I'm going to remind you all. Everyone's a winner here. Before Christmas break you will all divide up into teams, and every one of you will spend the next two months pouring yourselves into one of these projects as if it were your very own.”

“Oh, come on!” Jeremy burst out, and then slapped a hand over his mouth. Jeremy couldn't really be hopeful, could he? But Alex was. He had a shot. His project was as good as any of the remaining projects, and he knew it.

“Fine.” His teacher put the paper back in the envelope. His eyes moved slowly around the room until he found Alex, and then they stopped. “ ‘Using Stable Isotope Signatures to Investigate the Effect of Climate Change on the Migration Patterns of Allen's Hummingbird.' Alex Espinosa—congratulations!”

He'd won. The rest of the class clapped in spite of themselves. He was the freshman, the underdog. There were hands on his shoulder, back slaps of congratulation. More than one person asked if they could be on his team, but it was all happening so fast, he couldn't keep track of who was speaking. His mind went to his father. All the hours they'd spent at the lab and in his office, the midnight texts, the printouts of maps and images and mathematical equations he'd brought over after work. Alex couldn't have done it without him, couldn't have done it if his father hadn't come back into his life right when he did.

They were packing up their presentations when Mr. Everett hit the lights. The room went still and quiet.

“Has anyone seen my keys? They've been missing since yesterday.”

A chorus of muttered noes and shaking of heads.

“Weird.”

Alex looked at the floor, breath held, heart stopped. The pause of his teacher surveying the room seemed to stretch on forever.

“I guess I'll have to make another set,” Mr. Everett said finally. He turned the lights back on. “Another congratulations to the winners, and to the entire class for an impressive display of scientific thinking.”

The classroom resumed its noisy motion, and Alex's heartbeat returned to its pounding.

That was it.

Mr. Everett had lost his keys, and would make another set.

Done and won and forgiven, all on one incredible day.

D
uring the buildup to
nochebuena,
Letty tried over and over again to remember what she'd been thinking, hosting a party in which Wes and Rick would share a night together in the company of her best friend and children. But she hadn't meant for it to happen. She'd invited Rick and Alex had invited Wes, and by the time she realized it, it was too late to call the party off without ruining the holiday for Alex and Luna, and on this, their first Christmas without their grandparents. The party and her parents and Christmas were intertwined in their minds, the midnight extravaganza full of presents and people and dancing and food, all culminating in the happy hangover of exhaustion that was Christmas morning. The thought of just the three of them, alone in their teeny dollhouse cottage on Christmas Eve, was too much for even Letty to bear, so she shopped and cooked and decorated and answered a never-ending litany of questions about the food and drinks and music from Alex. He was almost as nervous as she was; for the first time, Letty would meet the mystery girl who occupied so much of her son's time.

Rick arrived at eight, his arms full of groceries. They hadn't spoken except in passing at work, and Letty could feel the tension between them as he handed her the bags and turned his attention to Luna, who yanked him down the hall to meet Alex.

“Luna talks about you all the time,” Alex said, shaking his hand and then turning back to the dripping wet hair he was trying in vain to untangle.

“It's nice to meet you,” Rick said while extracting Luna, who was attempting to scale his side.

Letty turned her toward the bedroom. “Go put your dress on.”

It was too early to get dressed, but that was all Letty could think of to get her daughter to stop hanging on Rick. Luna listened for once, skipping off to her bedroom, and Letty followed Rick into the kitchen. “What are you making?”

“Linguini with clam sauce,” he said, pulling out a large bag of clams, still in their shells. A downstairs neighbor had brought it to her mother's party every year, and when she moved out everyone had missed it, so Maria Elena had learned to make it herself. Luna must have told him, although Letty couldn't think of when he might have asked.

“Alex and Luna will be happy,” Letty said. “They love it, even though they won't eat seafood any other day of the year.”

Rick didn't meet her eyes as he moved to the sink and washed his hands, and Letty felt a bubbling anxiety, remembering what he'd said the last time he stood in her kitchen.
I won't be your backup.
He wasn't going to sit around and wait, and she wondered how much time she had to decide. Not much, she thought as she moved about the kitchen, shaking up a round of French 75s and stacking bottles of champagne in the refrigerator to top them off after everyone arrived.

As far away from her as possible in the tiny kitchen, Rick lined up cutting boards and chopped garlic and fresh parsley with a sharp knife.

“Do you need help?” Letty asked.

Rick shook his head no, not taking his eyes off the parsley, so she slipped out to check on Luna.

“Look!” Luna said when Letty walked into the bedroom. With her arms out to the sides she spun in circles, squealing as the lavender lace dress Maria Elena had sent twirled around her knees.

“It's beautiful,” Letty said. “Let me do your hair.”

Letty brushed her daughter's hair in long strokes while Luna ran her fingers over the lace and then along the back of the neckline, where the tag on a store-bought dress would be. Maria Elena had embroidered Luna's name and the date, as she did every year, and this time she'd stitched the words
With Love, Nana
below the date in black thread
.
Luna traced the smooth words as Letty braided her daughter's hair into a crown, and when she was done they stood quiet in front of the mirror, admiring Luna's long dress and perfect plaits.

There was just one thing missing.

“Wait here,” Letty said as she crossed to the closet, where she dug around on the top shelf until she found the other package her parents had sent. It contained Alex's and Luna's Christmas presents, as well as a letter from her mother and the most recent check Letty had sent, returned. Enrique continued to work, her mother had written—he'd even been contacted by a museum in Spain for a particularly complicated restoration. Attached to Letty's uncashed check was a Western Union claim number—Maria Elena had wired enough money to buy three plane tickets to Mexico. As a surprise, her father had drawn pretend plane tickets for Letty to stuff in Alex's and Luna's stockings. As nervous as Letty felt, she wished the tickets were real, and for tonight. Nothing sounded better than a quick escape.

“What is it?” Luna asked, tugging on her sleeve impatiently.

Letty stuffed the tickets out of sight and withdrew a bumpy envelope with Luna's name on it.

“This is from your grandpa, for Christmas,” Letty said, handing it to her. “I think he would want you to have it now.”

Luna tore the envelope open and gasped. On a delicate gold chain perched a miniature golden bird, no bigger than Luna's pinkie nail. A tiny sparkly eye winked up at her.

“A diamond eye,” she said in awe.

The diamond wasn't real, of course, but Luna didn't need to know.

“Nana and Grandpa love you,” Letty told her. “And they miss you.”

“I wish they were here.” Luna sighed.

Letty smiled as she fastened the necklace around her daughter's neck, thinking of tomorrow's presents, the plane tickets, and then she dressed herself quickly, passing over the long-sleeved gown her mother had sent in favor of a simple black cocktail dress with thin straps and a low back. She'd already decided she would wear her hair in a high bun, and she took her time arranging the loose curls around the top and sides in a careful mess. When they were both ready, she and Luna spent the final hour dashing around the house, putting up strings of lights and hanging ornaments on a tabletop tree and lighting candles in the tin luminarias that stretched down the dark drive.

Wes arrived first, just after eleven. Luna had already started dancing, and was sweaty and out of breath when she opened the door. When Luna hugged him, her coiled hair came unpinned and flopped over one ear. Letty said hello quickly and then disappeared down the hall, grabbing a box of bobby pins and mixing two bubbly drinks in the kitchen. Rick didn't look up from his work.

Holding both drinks in one hand, Letty closed the door between the kitchen and the living room. The meeting of the two men was inevitable, but the longer she could put it off, she decided, the better.

“Merry Christmas,” she said to Wes, exhaling heavily and handing him a drink. They clinked glasses, and Letty concentrated hard on taking slow sips, but the drink was too good and her stress level was too high. When she set the glass down on the windowsill, it was nearly empty.

“I love the lights.”

Wes gestured to the wall of drawers, where they'd wrapped a string of colored lights from handle to handle to handle, up and down and across at random, giving the wall the look of an electric Jackson Pollock.

“That was Luna,” she said, patting the window seat and beckoning her daughter.

Luna jumped up, and Alex sat beside her, checking his watch and then turning back to the dark road. Letty started on Luna's hair. The drink and the simple task relieved her tension. She took her time, unbraiding and rebraiding the tip before securing every last strand of hair with a pin. Wes stepped up beside her, one hand holding his drink, the other resting gently on Alex's shoulder, and Letty felt a rush of warmth, from the champagne cocktail or from the four of them there in the window, all together, waiting for the other guests to arrive. She imagined the look on Sara's face when she turned up the driveway and saw them, Luna and Alex in the foreground, Wes and Letty behind, arranged as if by an invisible hand into a perfect portrait of an American family.

Just as she'd put the last pin in Luna's hair, a car turned in to the driveway.

“Yesenia!” Luna screamed, jumping off the window seat. She raced out the door and across the gravel. Luna had made her brother's girlfriend a pipe cleaner, jingle bell, and silk rose wrist corsage at school, and while she slipped it onto Yesenia's wrist, a second car pulled up behind them. Luna ran over to hug Sara, pulling her up the stairs and beckoning Yesenia and her mother to follow.

They stepped into the living room all at once, and even though there were only seven of them, there was barely enough room for them all to stand. Letty pushed the furniture into the corners, and Luna jumped onto the window seat while Alex pressed in close to Yesenia, ostensibly to make room for other people. He slid his hand around her back with a comfort that made Letty's stomach turn.

Sara saw the look on Letty's face and stepped into her line of vision. “Back up, Mama Bear,” she said. “I think it's time for a drink.”

“It's time for
another
drink,” Letty said, and Sara laughed.

They walked into the kitchen, where a steaming platter of linguini and clams sat on the table. Two salads and a glass filled with forks had been placed on the table beside it. Sara pinched a clam from the tray and popped it into her mouth.

“You made this?” Sara's expression was disbelieving.

“No way,” Letty said. She called Rick's name, but he didn't answer, and so she poured a tray of drinks and followed Sara back into the living room. Just as she was about to go looking for Rick, Alex pulled her aside.

“Mom, this is Yesenia,” he said. “And her mom, Carmen.”

“I'm Letty,” she said, offering Carmen a drink.

Carmen took a sip, a warm smile spreading across her round face.
“Gracias por invitarnos,”
she said as she squeezed her daughter's shoulder.

“Thank you for having us,” Yesenia translated. “It's really nice to meet you.”

Letty was surprised by her strong, sure voice, a mismatch with the girl's small body, and she watched as Alex took Yesenia's coat, leaning down and helping her out of her black jacket. He'd warned her about Yesenia's size, but in person the girl was even smaller than Letty had imagined. Her red velvet dress had a puffy skirt like Luna's—it had probably been made for a ten-year-old—and underneath the long skirt she could just see the tops of Yesenia's orthopedic shoes. But the dress was more flattering than it might have been. Studying it closely, Letty could see that Yesenia or Carmen had altered it, cutting a wide boat neck over her shoulders and tailoring the bodice so that it accentuated the curve of her chest.

When Letty looked back up, she realized that Carmen was watching her watch her daughter, her expression full of pride.
“Te ayudo?”
she asked, and Letty nodded.

In the kitchen they served dinner. Letty dished out the food while Carmen ran the plates into the living room. When everyone had been served, Letty carried the final two plates herself, one for her and one for Rick. But when she walked into the living room, he still wasn't there. Setting the plates down on the table, she looked back in the kitchen, and then walked down the short hall. The bathroom door stood ajar. She pushed it open, but found the small room empty. Where could he be? She thought of his flat, unresponsive face as he chopped garlic, and a flicker of panic bloomed inside her. Could he have finished cooking, set the dinner on the table, and left? Did he really think she'd invited him only to play chef? Her heart pounded at the thought, and she raced through both empty bedrooms before slipping through the living room and out the front door.

Rick sat in his Highlander, the engine off. Letty's relief was so great, and so unexpected, that it was all she could do to support her own weight as she walked across the gravel.

“Rick?” She opened the passenger door. “What're you doing out here?”

He'd changed. On the passenger seat his jeans and T-shirt were folded over his tennis shoes, a pile of hangers on top. Letty pushed the pile onto the floor and climbed inside the car, running one hand along the elbow of his suit jacket. He stared straight ahead, into the dark night.