Wait for It

by Mariana Zapata

Jesus Christ. Men. Fucking men.

Oh my God. It was too early for this. And if I was going to be totally honest with myself, noon would have been too early for this. Six in the evening would have been too early for this.

My grandma had told me once you couldn’t make someone love you or even like you, but you could sure as hell make someone put up with you.

There were plenty of pointless things you could do in your life and whining to a man about another man seemed like it would be at the top of the list.

“I think a bug flew into my mouth, Goo. I’m all right.” He winced. “I hate it when they do that. They don’t taste like chicken.” What the hell? Before I could ask him why he would assume bugs tasted like chicken, Mr. Larsen shot me a horrified expression that we shared for a moment.

Life was a lot easier spent next to a pine tree than a cactus.

“Since we’re good, can I ask why you have Pop-Tarts in your back pocket?”

Who the hell loses a shoe and isn’t blackout drunk? How the hell does someone lose a shoe to begin with? I wouldn’t walk around bragging about it either.

“You okay with Mexican food?” “I don’t know anyone who isn’t okay with Mexican food.”

But I didn’t feel very much like a mature adult then. I’d used up all my adulting points of the day.

Real love was gritty. The real kind of love never quit. Someone who loved you would do what’s best for you; they’d stand up for you and sacrifice. Someone who loved you would face any inconvenience willingly. You didn’t know what love was until someone was willing to give up what they loved the most for you.

“I’m gonna hug you as long as you promise not to grab my ass, okay?” I almost laughed, but it sounded more like a broken croak.

A hug was an easy way of showing someone you cared about them, of offering comfort, of saying, “I’m so happy to see you” without words.

But in that moment, I was reminded of what I had always known—we were sisters, Van and I. Blood or not. Different races and all. She’d been the serious, quiet one who kept us out of trouble, and I had been the reckless, loud one who tried to talk her into getting into trouble. We were each other’s yin and yang.

Reading glasses? More like sexy glasses. God help me.

He likes working with his hands. I wasn’t going to make that statement into something more. Nope. No way.

“She wouldn’t be my first, but she’d be the only one who ever mattered. I think she could wait for the time to be right. I’d make sure she never regretted it.”

You can’t always wait for someone else to do the right thing when you can do it yourself.”

“I’ve seen you in your underwear and combed nits out of your hair, baby. I think we’re past that.”

“But you’re playing favorites!” “I’m always going to be fair with the boys, but I will play favorites with everyone else who isn’t an active member of the team. Don’t put me into that position, because I know she”—he tipped his head toward me—“only bites when she has to, and I will always take her side. Are we clear on that?”

“You’re a tattletale, that’s what you are. Nosey Rosie. What did I tell you about snitches?” “You love them?”

“You’re fucking nuts.” All I did was shrug again. “You know that, but you’re still here, aren’t you?”

“Look, I appreciate you looking out for me, but I’m a grown woman. I can take care of myself.” “Maybe you can take care of yourself, but have you thought for one single fucking second that maybe somebody else might want to take care of you too?”

We could be friends and that was all he had ever given me the impression he wanted, with the exception of him rubbing his mouth all over my neck…

I am not going to look at Dallas’s butt. I am not going to look at Dallas’s butt. Nope. Not doing it. Not doing it. As if tempting me, Dallas walked by in front of me,

Did I give my eleven-year-old the stink eye? Damn right I did. The problem was, I’d learned the stink eye from the best: him. I stuck my tongue out at him and he stuck his right back.

Life could be brutally short, and happiness was never guaranteed.

“I want you. I want your smile. Your hugs. Your love. I want your happiness.” He paused. “Every single thing.”

“You know I’m crazy.” “You’re my best friend. I know you’re crazy.”

I know you can’t promise you won’t break my heart someday, but—” “This is serious to me too. I’ve made a lot of decisions in my life I’ve regretted, but you will never be one of them. When I saw your pink toolbox with puppies on it, I’d never been angrier with myself for making stupid fucking life choices than I was then. I won’t break your heart, Diana. I’ve never been scared to work for things or wait for them. I know you, and I know that you’re it. I just had to wait to get divorced so I could do this right for you. Life is so fucking short, Peach, and I’m too old to not know and go for what I want. And you know what I want. What I’ve wanted. For a long, long time.” He paused. “You.”

“You are the toughest person I’ve ever met, Diana, but you’re also the most vulnerable, and that drives me fucking crazy,”

“I know you can take care of yourself, but I want to be there to help you out. I need you more than you need me, and that’s okay,” he told me.

I can’t do casual. I don’t think you get that.” His mouth went to my ear. “What gave you the idea that’s what this would be? The last thing I feel for you is casual, Diana.”

But I got this thing—you might know what it is, it’s red and it’s in the center of your chest—and that has more than a soft spot for hot aunts who raise their nephews. You can’t even call it a spot, really.”

“I always thought you looked like mine, but you sure do fucking feel like you’re mine, too,”

“You couldn’t feel more like mine if you tried,”

“I thought you were crazy at first, and then I got to know you and I liked you—you were my friend and you were nice just because that’s how you are, not because you wanted anything from me. And then that day I was taking lice out of your hair, you looked up at me while we were laughing and I knew I was done,”

“Diana, I love you, and every bone in my body tells me that I’m gonna love you every day of my life, even when we want to kill each other.” I sniffled, and what did he do? He laughed. “When you’re old, I’ll hold your hand when we cross the street. I’ll help you put on your socks,” he promised.

“Mom, you’re fine. I know I haven’t always been the person you wanted me to be either, but you’re kind of stuck with me and I’m stuck with you.” I gave her a squeeze. “I love you anyway.”

“I don’t know where I went wrong with you.” A knock came from the front door just as I said, “Me neither.”

“If you’re trying to get laid, we have to wait until everyone leaves,” I whispered. Dallas grinned and I did too.

Did he look relieved or was I imagining it? “You asked me for help.” This funny feeling rolled around in my belly and I smirked at him. “So?” “You really do love me.” His mouth was gaping. Ugh. “Shut up,” I groaned. “You better get used to it. I’m not letting you get out of this one day because you get tired of me asking for help.”

had gone about it the same way he’d made me fall in love with him. Slowly, unexpectedly, and completely.

All I could think about as I stood there was that sometimes life gave you a tragedy that burned everything you knew to the ground and changed you completely. But somehow, if you really wanted to, you could learn how to hold your breath as you made your way through the smoke left in its wake, and you could keep going. And sometimes, sometimes, you could grow something beautiful from the ashes that were left behind. If you were lucky. And I was a really, really lucky bitch.