When the Tides Held the Moon

by Venessa Vida Kelley

Río went quiet again and let his eyes rest on my face, the way he often did when the night deepened, and sleepiness thinned out our banter. Except now, his gaze held something more, a curious intensity I’d been noticing more often as spring grew warmer. “Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” I ventured through half a smile. “What? I got something stuck to my face?” “It brings me pleasure to look at you.” My hands tightened around my cuatro. “Though,” he added, surveying my surprise, “you seem strangely unaware of your beauty.” “Beauty?” His voice lacked the sarcastic punch I’d grown accustomed to whenever he was kidding around. But he was still wrong. People didn’t cross the street to get away from beautiful people. Beautiful people didn’t invite ridicule or hate just for breathing the same air, for taking up space— “Merfolk do not lie,” he declared, as if he could hear the mean thoughts stomping around in my head. “But as it seems you do not believe me, let us make an agreement.” No. No agreements. “Río—” “One day, I shall tell you how beautiful you are and why it is so. And on that day, you must believe it.”