Brighter Than the Sun, page 16
I put a hand on her shoulder and shake her gently. Nancy jolts awake, staring at me with wide eyes and a frightened look on her face.
“Who is it?” she says. I’m not sure if she’s talking about something she saw in a dream or if she’s wondering who I am, but I take a few steps backward so she can see me clearly.
“It’s just me,” I say.
Nancy’s eyes slowly focus on me. “Oh, mija, what are you doing awake?”
“It’s Thursday,” I answer, feeling a heavy weight landing on my stomach as I watch Nancy’s face. Her eyes move quickly as she comes to the realization of what this means.
“Ay, Dios mío,” she says, propping herself up from the couch. “I’ll get dressed. Don’t worry, mija, we’ll get you to work on time.”
She rushes down the hallway and into her bedroom, and I’m left there standing in the middle of the living room, feeling like the biggest burden.
The drive to the store is silent. I mostly just stare out the window, but whenever I turn to look at Nancy, she’s got the same blank expression on her face. Her hands are loosely wrapped around the steering wheel, her shoulders slumped. She also blinks a lot, which is what worries me the most. I know exactly how she’s feeling—the fogginess, the lingering shock of realizing you’ve overslept. I’m no stranger to any of that. I just hope she’ll be able to get some more sleep as soon as she gets back home.
“Have a good day,” she says to me as I open the passenger door of the car.
“Thank you, Nancy. For everything. I—”
“Don’t worry, mija,” she says. “You should get going, it’s almost five.”
I run into the store, up to the staff room, and clock in at six minutes past five. I try my best to hurry downstairs, but I know it won’t make much of a difference at this point. I’m officially late.
When I walk into the warehouse, the first person I notice is Nick. He always is, really. This morning he’s wearing the same red plaid shirt as on the day we first met. His scruff is getting a bit long, which means he’ll probably show up tomorrow with a freshly shaved face, and his brow is furrowed as he looks down at his hands, deeply focused on work.
I go to the corner, pick up a crate, and head over to the table to join him.
“Hey,” he says to me.
“Hey.”
“Sleep well?”
I nod, glancing briefly into his eyes as I pop the crate open. “How about you?”
He nods back, the corners of his lips twisting into a subtle smile.
Things have been different between us over the past couple of weeks, and I wish more than anything that we could go back to normal. I just don’t know how.
During the first few days after Papi told me the restaurant was closing, everyone was worried about me. Nick, Lina, Kelly, Marcos—they all noticed that something had changed deep within me, even though I couldn’t find the strength to tell them about what was going on at home. They asked if I was okay, if there was something wrong, but I kept insisting I was fine.
Soon enough, people stopped asking. Everyone seems to have gotten used to my silence—even Nick, because he no longer tries to make conversation, no longer cracks jokes. He just works peacefully by my side, not even talking to the rest of the table, trying his best to keep me company even though I haven’t been the easiest person to be around lately.
I wish I could find a way to make him see how grateful I am for the fact that he hasn’t given up on me, how much I appreciate him being here next to me, day after day. I also wish I could get him to ask me all those questions one more time—if I’m okay, if there’s anything wrong. I may not have been ready to answer them truthfully before, but I’m ready now—ready to tell him about the restaurant, about what’s going on with my family. I just don’t know how to bring it up, so I keep hoping he will—that he’ll speak up and help me break down this barrier I’ve put up, because I have no idea how to lower it on my own.
“Soledad?” Bill’s voice comes from behind me suddenly.
I turn around quickly, feeling anxiety rising in my chest, because I know exactly what this is about. Bill must’ve noticed I showed up late, and he’s about to give me a hard time for it.
But then, when I approach him, he doesn’t seem at all upset. He lifts up a piece of paper, which looks a lot like the sheet where everyone’s schedules are written out for the week, and says, “You haven’t taken any weekend shifts lately.”
“Uh, I…”
“I thought you wanted weekend shifts.”
“I—I do.”
If I’m being honest, all I want is to be home on weekends. I want to be with Diego and Abuela, to sneak out and go to Mami’s old restaurant, even if it’s empty, and even if it’s only for a while. But now that Bill is asking, I really have no excuse. I should be taking every single opportunity I get for longer shifts.
“Well, that’s good,” Bill says. “Because I need people for this Saturday and Sunday.”
Once we’ve settled on my hours, I head back to the table, telling myself I’ll at least be able to hang out with Ari and all of them after work this weekend. The thing is, the thought of joining their weekend plans doesn’t bring me the same type of joy as it did before.
“What was that about?” Nick asks me as I reach into the crate I was working on and pull out a few pieces of clothing.
“Just scheduling weekend shifts.”
From the corner of my eye, I notice the way Nick’s eyebrows shoot up quickly. “You’ll be around this weekend?”
“Yeah,” I reply, letting out a long sigh. “I guess I will be.”
There’s a brief moment of silence between us, during which we both reach for hangers at the center of the table. But then, with a sigh of his own, Nick turns to me and says, “Is everything okay, Sol? I—I know you’ve told me a million times that you’re fine, but… I don’t know. Something feels off.”
I swallow hard. This is it—the question I’d been hoping he would ask, but all of a sudden there’s a knot in my throat that reminds me of why I’d had such a hard time answering honestly before, why I’d been trying to avoid telling him the truth.
“It’s just…” I blink, trying to keep myself from crying. “There’s been a lot going on lately.”
Nick doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me expectantly, and that’s when I tell him everything—about Papi closing down the restaurant, about how it feels as though we have lost Mami all over again, about how all the progress we made in the year since she died has vanished all of a sudden, and now it’s as if we’re back at square one.
I try my best to keep my voice steady, to take deep breaths, to slow down anytime I feel like I’m getting too close to tears. The last thing I would want is to start crying inside the stockroom, even though Nick has a way of making me feel as though it would be okay even if I did—as though I could cry, or scream, or flip over the table we’re working at, and it would all be fine. As though there’s nothing I could possibly do that could make him judge me.
“But you’re not,” he says to me.
“What?”
“You’re not back at square one. I—I mean, it sounds like you’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
I can almost hear Abuela in his voice. Or is it Ari I’m thinking of? Either way, I can picture one of them telling me not to be so hard on myself, to look around and notice all the things I’m too stubborn to see at times.
“Thank you,” I say, not looking directly at him. “But you don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to say it,” he interrupts me. “But it’s true.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about all of this sooner. I know I’ve been acting like—”
“You don’t need to be sorry,” he says quickly. “I’m just happy you trust me enough to tell me now.”
My entire body fills up with warmth as I realize that I do trust him, and that maybe I don’t deserve all his patience, or his understanding, or his willingness to be right here next to me for the past two weeks.
“So… what would you say about hanging out on Saturday?” he asks me. “You know, after our shifts.”
In the back of my mind, I think of all the reasons I should say no—because I should spend that time doing homework instead, or because I should ask Ari what she’s up to before I agree to other plans, or because no matter how much I want to say yes, I’m not sure I’m ready to think of Nick as anything other than a friend.
But then, when I turn toward him and stare into his puppy eyes, my heart melts. There’s no way I could say no, even if I tried. And so, nodding slowly, I say, “Yeah. We could figure something out.”
Neither of us says much for the remainder of our shifts. All I know is that the second I walk out of the store an hour later, there’s a weird sensation in the deepest part of my stomach—one that feels a lot like longing. As I start making my way up Fourth Avenue toward the MTS station, I get the sudden urge to turn back the way I came. I want to return to Wallen’s, and go down to the warehouse, and spend a bit more time with Nick, even if it only means standing there in silence while we work on the clothes.
I’ve never experienced this feeling before, but I’ve heard about it—mostly from characters in telenovelas. I’ve heard them describe how there are some people that you could never get enough of—how, sometimes, you can start missing someone the second after you say goodbye to them.
I don’t know if this is the same thing, or if it’ll even last. But, as I step onto the trolley, all I can think about is Nick, and his brown eyes, and the fact that we’re hanging out this weekend.
“This is a blue line trolley,” a voice overhead announces. “All passengers must have a…”
The trolley starts moving, and I stumble my way toward a seat, my legs feeling weak. I have no way to explain what is going on inside my chest right now. Because, among the deep sadness, and anxiety, and guilt that’s swirling around in there, I also feel something exploding—a warm glow that breaks through the hopelessness, breathing new life into my lungs.
At least for right now, there’s nothing and no one in the world that could dampen the pure joy that the thought of Nick brings me. And as the trolley rolls onward and the streets rush past the windows, the glow inside of me only keeps growing stronger and stronger.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
WHEN I TELL NANCY AND ARI THAT I’M SPENDING Saturday evening with a boy, they both stare at me with shocked looks on their faces.
“Well… how did you meet him?” Nancy asks me. There’s something in her voice that warms my heart—a gentle curiosity that she’s hoping will come across as casual, even when I know she’s trying to find out every detail about where I’m going and who I’ll be with.
“At work,” I say, looking down at my plate.
Ari chokes on her glass of water. “Is it Nick?” she asks. “Did he ask you out?”
I lift the fork up to my mouth, but before taking a bite of spaghetti, I turn toward Ari and nod.
“What?” she shrieks. “Well, is it a date?”
“I’m not sure. I mean, we’re friends, but I don’t know if we’re—”
“That’s good,” Nancy says quickly. “Starting off as friends is always a good idea. There’s no need to rush into anything else, you know?”
I laugh a little, thinking about Mami. She would’ve said the exact same thing, which makes me grateful to at least have Nancy, and to know that she’s looking out for me.
“What are you two doing on Saturday?” Ari asks.
“I don’t know yet,” I answer. “He said he’d pick me up at six.”
Ari’s eyes widen. “He’s gonna pick you up here?”
“I’ll make sure to be home all night on Saturday,” Nancy says. “That way you’ll be able to call me, and I can go pick you up if you need me to.”
“Thank you, Nancy.”
While Ari asks me questions about how Nick asked me out, and whether I have any suspicions about what he might have planned for our date, I can’t stop smiling. Because even though Papi, Abuela, Luis, and Diego aren’t here, there’s something about tonight that makes me feel as though I’m eating dinner next to my family.
Even though we’re not related by blood, and even though a lot has changed since I first moved in with them, Ari and Nancy feel like home, and I couldn’t be any more grateful for that.
Nick rings the doorbell at exactly six p.m. on Saturday, just as he said he would.
“Sol!” Nancy’s voice echoes throughout the house. “Sol, he’s here!”
“I’m coming!”
Ari asked me if I wanted to borrow makeup or any clothes, but I said no. I figured that if a t-shirt and a pair of jeans are good enough for work, they should be good enough for a date. I did, however, wash my hair and spent a solid half-hour doing my braid, trying to make it look as perfect as possible.
“Be safe, mija,” Nancy says to me as I step out of my bedroom. “And remember, you can—”
“—call you anytime,” I say. “Don’t worry, I won’t forget.”
Ari comes to wrap her arms around me. “Have fun,” she whispers into my ear. “And promise to tell me everything later.”
“I will,” I say. “I promise.”
I hug her back, and then I turn toward the front door. When I open it, I find Nick standing on the front steps with his hands in his pockets.
“Hey,” he says to me, smiling. He’s wearing a white t-shirt and his old, dirty Timberlands. He looks different somehow, but it takes me a second to realize why: He’s pushed his hair back with gel.
“Hi,” I answer, my voice a little too high.
“Hey!” he says again, looking over my shoulder. Turning around, I see that Nancy and Ari are still lingering by the living room, watching me and Nick with big smiles on their faces.
“Oh, hello,” Nancy replies, waving at him. “Nice to meet you!”
Before she can say anything else, Ari whisks her away into one of the bedrooms, and I turn back around to face Nick, feeling myself blushing.
“Sorry about that.”
“No, no,” he says, flashing a smile at me. “You ready to go?”
I nod once, stepping forward to walk out of the house.
“My truck is parked just around the block,” he says.
“Where exactly are we going?”
Nick lifts his eyebrows. “You’ll see.”
He leads the way down the sidewalk and around the corner. I’m not sure what I pictured when he said he drove a truck, but I don’t think it was this. Parked beside the curb is an old pickup, which must’ve once been painted red but has now become a rusty shade of brown. It has bumps and scratches here and there, and it looks like it could use a good wash. Somehow, though, it feels so perfect. Now that I’ve seen it, I don’t think there’s any other car in the world I could picture Nick driving.
I jump into the passenger seat and buckle my seat belt. A second later, he hops in and starts the engine.
As he pulls away from the curb, I sneak a sideways glance at him. None of this feels real. It’s as if I’m in a dream and I might wake up any second, but when Nick cracks the windows open and a soft breeze starts blowing in my face, I’m reminded that it isn’t. I’m really here, and so is he, and we are really driving through Ari’s neighborhood on our way to an unknown destination.
“Are we going into the city?” I ask as we drive past a sign on the side of the road that says we’re heading north.
“Nope,” Nick answers, throwing me a quick smile.
Before I can ask where he’s taking us, we get onto the highway and the wind starts blowing at full speed. Nick turns up the music, and I turn toward the open window, watching shops, and trees, and dry patches of land flashing past us.
After about twenty minutes, Nick slows down. He drives off the road to take us down a dirt path, past a few sad-looking trees, and he stops in the middle of a clearing.
“This is it,” he says, turning off the engine. He must be able to see the confusion on my face, because he lets out a small laugh. “We’re having a picnic… sort of. Come on, I’ll show you.”
He opens his door, and I do the same. I jump out, landing on dry grass, and walk toward the back of the truck. Nick opens the tailgate to reveal a bunch of things on the truck bed: A cooler, a blanket, a couple of lanterns, and a big bag of chips.
I’m not sure what to say. He seems to have put a lot of thought into this, so I feel like I should thank him, or ask if I should’ve brought anything. Instead, I blurt out: “So… we just sit on the grass?”
Again, he laughs. “No, not on the grass.”
He hops onto the truck bed and reaches for the blanket. In one sweeping movement, he stretches it open and lays it out so we can sit on top of it.
“Come on up.” He offers me his hand. I take it, feeling electricity running through my veins when his skin makes contact with mine.
“You can sit,” he says to me after I’ve been standing next to him awkwardly for a couple of seconds.
I do as he says, leaning my back against the side of the truck, and I watch as he leans over to open the cooler and pulls out two bottles of beer. He cracks them open, hands me one, and comes to sit next to me.
“Cheers,” he says, clinking his beer against mine.
“Cheers.” I take a small sip out of my beer, while Nick takes a long one. The sunlight is quickly disappearing. The sky is shifting from light blue to gray, and all around us, the night seems to be coming alive with the chirping of a thousand insects, which blends in with the sound of cars speeding down the highway. Through the trees, I can make out their headlights flashing by like hundreds of fireflies vanishing into the distance.
“It’s getting dark,” I say softly.
“That’s the whole point.”
I turn toward him, searching for answers in his face.
“The stars look different from here,” he tells me, resting his head against the side of the truck as he looks up at the sky. “We’re far enough from the lights of the city, and it’s supposed to be a clear night.”
