Aristotle and Dante Dive into the Waters of the World (Aristotle and Dante #2)(2)

“I like having one too.”

And then he said, “But, at least, if I were a girl, then we could get married and, you know—”

“That’s not ever gonna happen.”

“I know, Ari.”

“Don’t be sad.”

“I won’t be.”

But I knew he would be.

And then I put on the radio and Dante started singing with Eric Clapton and he whispered that “My Father’s Eyes” was maybe his new favorite song. “Waiting for my prince to come,” he whispered. And he smiled.

And he asked me, “Why don’t you ever sing?”

“Singing means that you’re happy.”

“You’re not happy?”

“Maybe only when I’m with you.”

I loved when I said something that made Dante smile.



* * *



When we pulled up in front of his house, the sun was on the verge of showing its face to the new day. And that’s just how it felt—like a new day. But I was thinking that maybe I would never again know—or be sure of—what the new day would bring. And I didn’t want Dante to know that there was any fear living inside me at all because he might think that I didn’t love him.

I would never show him that I was afraid. That’s what I told myself. But I knew I couldn’t keep that promise.

“I want to kiss you,” he said.

“I know.”

He closed his eyes. “Let’s pretend we’re kissing.”

I smiled—then laughed as he closed his eyes.

“You’re laughing at me.”

“No, I’m not. I’m kissing you.”

He smiled and looked at me. His eyes were filled with such hope. He jumped out of the truck and shut the door. He stuck his head through the open window. “I see a longing in you, Aristotle Mendoza.”

“A longing?”

“Yes. A yearning.”

“A yearning?”

He laughed. “Those words live in you. Look them up.”

I watched him as he bounded up the steps. He moved with the grace of the swimmer that he was. There was no weight or worry in his step.

He turned around and waved, wearing that smile of his. I wondered if his smile would be enough.

God, let his smile be enough.





Four


I DIDN’T THINK I’D EVER felt this tired. I fell on my bed—but sleep didn’t feel like paying me a visit.

Legs jumped up beside me and licked my face. She nudged closer when she heard the storm outside. I wondered what Legs made up in her head about thunder or if dogs even thought about things like that. But me, I was happy that for the thunder. This year, such wondrous storms, the most wondrous storms I’d ever known. I must have nodded off to sleep because, when I woke, it was pouring outside.

I decided to have a cup of coffee. My mom was sitting at the kitchen table, cup of coffee in one hand, a letter in the other.

“Hi,” I whispered.

“Hi,” she said, that same smile on her face. “You got in late.”

“Or early—if you think about it.”

“For a mother, early is late.”

“Were you worried?

“It’s in my nature to worry.”

“So you’re like Mrs. Quintana.”

“It might surprise you to know that we have a lot of things in common.”

“Yeah,” I said, “you both think your sons are the most beautiful boys in the world. You don’t get out much, do you, Mom?”

She reached over and combed my hair with her fingers. And then she had that look that was waiting for an explanation.

“Dante and I fell asleep in the back of my pickup. We didn’t…” I stopped, and then I just shrugged. “We didn’t do anything.”

She nodded. “This is hard, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said. “Is it supposed to be hard, Mom?”

She nodded. “Love is easy and it’s hard. It was that way with me and your father. I wanted him to touch me so much. And I was so afraid.”

I nodded. “But at least—”

“At least I was a girl and he was a boy.”

“Yeah.” She just looked at me in that same kind of way that she had always looked at me. And I wondered if I could ever look at anybody like that, a look that held all the good things that existed in the known universe.

“Why, Mom? Why do I have to be this way? Maybe I’ll change and then like girls like I’m supposed to like them? I mean, maybe what me and Dante feel—it’s like a phase. I mean, I only feel this way about Dante. So what if I don’t really like boys—I only like Dante because he’s Dante.”

She almost smiled. “Don’t kid yourself, Ari. You can’t think your way out of this one.”

“How can you be so casual about this, Mom?”

“Casual? I’m anything but. I went through a lot of struggles with myself about your aunt Ophelia. But I loved her. I loved her more than I’d ever loved anyone outside of you and your sisters and your father.” She paused. “And your brother.”

“My brother, too?”

“Just because I don’t talk about him doesn’t mean that I don’t think about him. My love for him is silent. There are a thousand things living in that silence.”