Page 36 of Morena
“What’s your name,5Bonita?“ he shouted after me.
“Morena,” I answered, glancing back with a forced smile.
He hummed, then chuckled. “You don’t want to ask for mine?”
“I’m not interested.”
“Well, I’ll tell you anyway,” he laughed. “Francisco.” He gave a small bow, then leaned against the window. “Francisco… pero mis amigos me llaman Paco.”6
I rolled my eyes again. “Who said I wanted to be your friend?”
“Then more than a friend,” he said, biting his lip.
“Keep dreaming, Francisco.” I slammed the window shut and walked away.
I caught my reflection in Carmen’s mirror. Somehow, my hips always looked wider there than they did anywhere else. Iwore my favorite blue Levi’s and a black shirt with two cherries printed over the chest. After a glance, I turned toward the bed, shook out the sheets, and started making it.
On my way to the bathroom, a knock echoed through the house. I rushed downstairs and pulled open the front door. A man in his late twenties stood there. He had beautiful blue eyes, a white shirt tucked into white trousers, and for a moment, he seemed at a loss for words, but I was the one at a loss with his eyes.
“Hi,” I said, raising my hand.
It took him a moment before he asked, “Is my mother here?”
“Your mother is…?” I prompted with a smile.
“Lucia,” he said quickly, clearing his throat. “Carmen is her friend.”
“Oh. They went to the farmer’s market.”
From behind him, Francisco called out, “Leave the poor girl alone, Carlos, she’ll eat you alive!” He threw me another wink.
I rolled my eyes. “I hope you don’t know him.”
“Unfortunately, that’s my brother,” Carlos said with a shrug. “But hey, family, right? We don’t get to choose them.”
I laughed. “I know.”
“Anyway,” he said, smiling, “nice to meet you.”
I hadn’t known Lucia had two sons, and even less that they lived just next door to Carmen. Boys like them only ever meant trouble. And trouble was the last thing I needed. So even though I caught myself biting my lip as I replayed, I shook it off and went back upstairs to finish cleaning.
Not even thirty minutes had passed before Carmen came home with a fresh bouquet of daisies in her arms. I hurried down the stairs; I had already finished half the day’s work and sat at the kitchen table. It was time for one of her coffees. Every time I drank it, I would flip the cup upside down and beg her to read my future. She never told me the dark things, only the good, and sometimes I wondered if she was lying just to keep me hopeful.
“Morena!” she called, but when she spotted me, she jumped. “¡Dios mío, me asustas, loca!”
I laughed. “I’m ready.”
She arched her brow. The kettle hissed, and soon the rich smell of coffee filled the air. She poured it into the white cups and pressed it down on a small plate that was already in front of me at the table. I didn’t wait. I lifted mine too quickly, scalding my tongue, but kept drinking anyway.
“You’ll give yourself a heart attack,” she teased, pressing her hand over mine to lower the cup. “Patience.”
“How was the market?” I asked.
“Boring as usual,” she chuckled, before narrowing her eyes. “And here? I heard you met Lucía’s boys.”
I bit my lip, then rolled my eyes. “One of them is fine. The other one,” I growled, “makes my blood boil.”
She threw her head back with a laugh. “So you met Francisco.”
