Page 72 of Play Dirty
“Nothing, here set the table,” I say, handing her the four plastic plates. For a moment, we just look at each other. Then I realize the tables Blondie is used to aren’t simple ones, with just the needed utensils; instead, they are the ones with fancy silverware, china, and porcelain. “That’s all it is. Simple living girl.”
She smiles nervously, her cheeks blossoming red from embarrassment, which she tries to hide, but I think it’s cute.
I walk toward the kitchen, letting her feel helpful. I wonder if it helps her feel better about herself. Or did I just make her feel worse? I wish I were better with girls. Fuck communicating at this point. Even when I was with June, she would practically break things down for me. I’m good at sports, but suck in the boyfriend department, or at least that’s what I’ve gathered from my time with June.
“No es tu novia?She’s not your girlfriend?” I kiss the top of my grandmother's salt and pepper hair and breathe in the smell of home, wrapping my arms lightly around her neck.“No es mi novia, June murió. No, she’s not my girlfriend, June is dead.” My grandmother stops stirring the beans, placing a hand on her waist, and she turns to me.
She looks puzzled. It’s not like she met June, so it’s not an attachment. It’s another question, the same one that comes up every time I visit home, and the reason I try not to come so frequently. I shake my head, answering her silent question.
“Nada aun. Nothing yet.”
“Ella es una de las ricas?She’s one of the rich girls?” She shifts her attention back to the food, “Be careful. Those rich people aren’t your friends.Y el Zayden?And Zayden?” I grab the container that has the rice and begin to walk back to the small dining room, “He’s good, coming to visit soon.”
“Good. His dad is cleaning himself up.” She adds.
But we both know it won’t last, and truthfully, it’s too late for them to rekindle their relationship. That train has long left the station, but I don’t tell her that. Neither does Z., he just lets her believe it could happen, just like she believes one day I’ll bring justice to Fernanda. She never believed the cause of death. A car accident from drunk driving, when my sister didn’t drink and hardly ever partied.
Her mistake was meeting that rich asshole, who had her smiling, inviting her to lavish parties. No matter how deep I search in my brain, I cannot remember who he is. Nothing.
After we get done eating, Shiloh continues her intense soccer talk with Erikson. I’m in awe that she knows so much about the sport. I didn't think Blondie cared this much. It was always June who dragged her to the games. To my knowledge, Shiloh would just complain— she didn’t want to see a bunch of men running down a field. Yet here she is talking about it —better gameplay than most.
I let them finish, noticing it’s starting to get late. “Erikson, I think it’s time to say goodbye to Barbie. I gotta bring her back to her castle.”
She slaps my arm playfully, and I pretend she just took a piece of it. “I kid. I kid.”
“Asshole.” She mutters, and my gaze follows my grandmother, who has been awfully quiet, just looking between us two. I’m sure she can see the invisible link that draws us together, just like June saw the day she left my dorm crying.
Not only could I not get hard, but to make matters worse, I called her Shiloh. Closing my eyes, I think of that night, replaying it in my mind like a curse.
“It’s okay,” she breathes, biting back the tears as she slips into her leggings. I prop my elbows on my legs, watching her as her body shakes from the anger. I called her Shiloh, fucking Blondie’s name. “I’m going home.”
“You don’t have to, I’m sorry.”
She looks over her shoulder, looking at me with pity and sadness rather than resentment. “Seriously, it's okay.”
“It’s not, I just called you by your best friend's name.” I let out opening my arms in the air, she slips on her shirt, untucking her brown waves from beneath the collar. “So, it happens.”
I shake my head. She's doing this again. Being so fucking understanding, and I know it’s fake. A mask to hide how she truly feels. “Fuck, June. It’s not.”
She stomps, “You’re right, it’s not.” She finally breaks, a small laugh escaping her lips. “I thought I could get you to see me, but clearly I’m just standing in the way.”
No.
I wanted to say, but I stayed quiet, and maybe this is where it all went wrong… I let her leave without stopping her. I tell myself that I did, but the truth is, it felt like a heaviness was lifted from my heart as she stepped out that door. I just never expected that it would be the last time I saw her. Snapping out of the memory, I rise to my feet and help clean up the table as Shiloh and Grandma finally break the ice.
Leaning into the doorframe, my heart feels less heavy watching her glow... No mask. No hiding. No pretending. Just existing, and she looks magical. “Hate to break the fun, but we’ve got somewhere to go.”
Shiloh looks over at me, the look in her eyes full of warmth, buzzing with life. A look I haven’t seen since June’s death. For a second, I contemplate just staying, but I have other plans that involve my own selfish need to have her to myself, and I do think we need to talk. Not fuck. Not kiss, but talk.
We are due for that much.
Stepping into the night air, her ponytail dances with each step. My hands clench with the need to wrap it around my hand and pull her towards me. I hate the distance; it’s worse now that I got to taste her again. I fed my addiction, and now I'm afraid I've become a lost cause. I stop by my bike, holding out my helmet. “Let me show you the part worth seeing.”
She hesitates for a second before taking my helmet. I smile when she places it over her head. Climbing onto the R1, I pat the seat behind me. “You know how to ride?”
Shiloh drops the helmet over her head fully and climbs on like a pro. I press the throttle and kick off the bike, weaving into the dark streets of Bajo Bay. Where the stars don’t shine, except in one place, closer to the waves, away from the filth and the rocky mess that consoles me during my darkest days. I bring her to the purest part of me, holding the door open and expecting nothing but an ear to listen.
We get there in no time, her hands still wrapped tightly around me. She gasps, taking in the dark waves as they splash against the rocky shore. “It’s beautiful.” She mutters, removing the helmet. I park the bike, feeling her climb off. I watch as she moves forward, closing her eyes and inhaling the night air. When you’re close at night, when the water is high, you can feel the droplets make contact with your skin.
