Isaiah

Saturday #6

I miss a lot of things when I’m overseas, but most of the time I try not to think about them. Out of sight, out of mind is a way of survival when you’re thousands of miles away from the comforts of home.

It’s just easier that way.

But it’s what I signed up for. There are no regrets or self-pitying moments that seep into my mind when I’m tossing and turning on the nights when it’s unbearably hot and sleep is impossible.

But last night, when I took Maritza back to her car after an afternoon of hanging around the city, dropping into coffee shops, people watching on Rodeo Drive, and catching the latest Marvel flick at my insistence, she asked me point blank if I was lonely.

Her question came out of the blue, but given what I know of this woman, randomness is kind of how she rolls.

“Clearly you’re longing for some kind of connection with someone,” she told me as I walked her to her car. “Or you wouldn’t be here, spending a week with some girl you picked up at a café.”

“Excuse me? Last I checked, you picked me up,” I told her. “And it wasn’t in a café. You fucking rear ended my car. And then you—”

“You don’t have any other friends around here?” she cut me off with a question.

“Some.”

“And your family?” she asked.

“We’re not that close these days.”

She looked at me with pity in her eyes and I shook my head, telling her not to feel sorry for me.

“I’m not a sob story,” I tell her. “My life hasn’t been ideal, sure. But you’d be doing me a disservice if you felt sorry for me.”

“Then you’re running away from something,” she said, nibbling her thumbnail as she studied me. It was dark by then, the moon reflecting in her chocolate-brown irises, her creamy complexion glowing. Everything about her was soft and ethereal and I wanted to kiss her again, but I couldn’t.

I’d kissed her enough that day, and for reasons I couldn’t comprehend.

Of course, I swore to her they were just kisses, they meant nothing. But I couldn’t explain why I kept craving them, kept finding every excuse I could to casually touch her, trailing my fingertips down her arms, brushing her dark hair out of her face, leading her by the hand when we’d cross the street.

I pull up outside her grandmother’s house just past sunset and send her a text. Today I’m picking her up—her insistence. Within minutes, the gate swings open and she strides out in a short sundress, her long legs tanned and accented in strappy sandals.

Her mouth is slicked in bright red and when our eyes meet, she smiles as wide as I’ve ever seen her smile. Reaching up, she holds her chestnut curls in place as the breeze blows at her skirt.

“Day six,” she says with a smile while she climbs into my passenger seat, her voice tinged in melancholy.

“Yep.” I shift into reverse, not wanting to dwell on the fact that after tomorrow we’re going our separate ways. “How was work?”

She wasn’t able to switch shifts with anyone today, which worked out because tonight I’m taking her stargazing at the Griffith Observatory. I’m sure she’ll say it’s romantic and I’ll insist that it’s not, but it’s something I’ve always wanted to do.

There’s something about feeling small that puts things into perspective for me, and no better way to do that than to gaze at billions of stars in an infinite universe.

“I lied to you last night,” I say as we head down her grandmother’s picturesque residential street.

“What?” Her attention whips to me as she adjusts her dress over her legs.

“You asked if I ever miss anything when I’m over there,” I say. “I miss Pringles. And Starbursts. And peanut butter M&Ms.”

Her fist meets my shoulder, though it hardly hurts. “Ass.”

“What?”

“I thought you were being serious.”

I chuckle, coming to a stop at a red light. “I am. I miss those things. You can’t get them over there. Not that easily anyway.”

I know there are other things I should probably miss … like the feel of soft lips, the smell of sweet perfume, the wash of contentedness I get when a beautiful girl looks at me like I’m something special. Soft things. Comforting things. Distracting things.

We don’t have those over there.

But I try not to think about that. And I try not to think about what it might feel like to be thousands of miles away from here, missing Maritza.

If the past has shown me anything, it’s that I’m a shit boyfriend. I’m terrible at communication. I’m bullheaded and rash. And I’m not quite ready to lace up my boots for the last time.

This is why I can’t go deep with her.

I can tell her that I miss candy, but I can’t tell her that I might miss her …

We pull up to the observatory forty minutes later and find a place to park.

“Stargazing, Corporal?” She laughs through her nose, shaking her head as she checks her phone, silences it, and slips it into her purse. “Like that’s not romantic.”

We get out of my car and I meet her by my dented, scratched-up bumper. “I knew you’d read into it.”

She walks beside me, arm grazing mine as the soles of her sandals pad the concrete sidewalk. “Just keep your hands to yourself and we should have ourselves a nice, non-romantic evening.”

We head inside, and I hold the door for Maritza and the couple entering behind us. They’re dressed to the nines in a navy suit and little black dress. Diamonds glint from the woman’s ears and the man presses his hand into her lower back before muttering a quick “thanks.”

We find an available telescope a few minutes later, and I stand back as Maritza crouches slightly, peering into the eyepiece.

“You have to look at the moon,” she says, waving for me to come closer. “That’s so crazy. You can see every little detail.”

I take a look for myself, though it’s exactly what I expected. Growing up, one of my brothers had a telescope. He’d use it to spy on the girls next door when they were outside sunbathing, but I actually put it to good use, checking out stars and neighboring plants as best I could.

The moon was always my favorite though.

Even through our cheap telescope it looked so tangible, like I could reach up and touch it, crumble it in my hands.

“What’s your favorite constellation?” I ask her.

She stands straighter, gazing up at the clear sky as she blows a breath through her red lips. “I don’t know? The Big Dipper?”

“Ursa major,” I say. “That’s the proper name.”

“It’s the only one I really know.”

“When’s your birthday, Maritza?” I ask.

“August fourteenth. Why?”

Placing my hand at her lower back, I pull her closer to the telescope. Bending, I peer through the eyepiece and locate the Leo constellation.

“We’re in luck,” I say. “Take a look.”

She bends, squinting as she glances in. “What am I looking at?”

“See that cluster of stars that kind of looks like a clothes iron with a little hook coming out of it?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s Leo. Arguably the easiest constellation to find, but there you go.”

Maritza stares at it a bit longer before backing off, and when she looks at me, she clasps her hand over her heart. “Isaiah, that was really sweet what you just did.”

“I wasn’t trying to be—”

“Hush.” She swats my arm. “When’s your birthday? I want to see your constellation.”

Dragging my thumb and forefinger down the sides of my mouth, I chuckle. “April first. Fool’s day.”

“You’re joking.”

“Yeah, no.” I roll my eyes, like I haven’t heard that a million times before.

“So that makes you, what … an Aries?”

I nod. “Yeah, but you can’t really see the Aries constellation this time of year. It’s easier to find in the winter, right around Christmas.”

Maritza stands in awe of me, quiet, eyes wide. “Seriously, Isaiah.”

“What?” My brows meet.

“There’s so much more to you than you let on,” she says. “All week I thought maybe I was scratching a little bit of that surface of yours, and then you spring this on me.”

“I’m not springing anything on you.”

“You know stars and constellations and that’s just so … deep,” she says. “And so cool. You’re not just some handsome, muscle-bound soldier.”

I laugh. “Right. I’m human. With interests. Just like anyone else. Doesn’t make me special.”

Her head cocks. “It does in my book. You’re special, Isaiah. And weird. And complicated. And wonderful.”

“Anyway.” I wholly disagree with all of that, but I’m not in the mood to argue with a girl who thinks she’s right about everything all of the time.

“I hope you never change.”

“I don’t plan to,” I say.

“But if you do change, you know, I hope it’s for reasons that make your heart happy,” she says, sighing.

“Can you not?” I ask.

Her expression fades. “Can I not what?”

“Get all mushy and sentimental.”

She laughs. “Trust me. You haven’t seen mushy or sentimental. Anyway, just being out here with the stars and everything just makes me feel philosophical or something. I blame you. You brought me here. This is your fault.”

“Right. Because I control what comes out of that mouth of yours.” My eyes drop to her cherry red lips and my breath catches in my throat. I’ve never craved anything so badly in my life as I crave her strawberry taste on my tongue right now.

“Excuse me. You two finished with your telescope?” A surfer-looking guy with his two surfer-looking sons stands behind us, expression eager as his hands rest on their shoulders.

Great timing, dude.

“It’s all yours.” Maritza slips her arm into mine and leads me away, only several steps later and she’s yet to let me go. In fact, she’s holding on tight, and I don’t even know if she realizes it.

Everything about the way she touches me is so natural.

“We should pick a star,” she says as we walk.

“What? Why?”

Her eyes widen as she gazes above and her mouth curls into a cheesy grin. “I don’t know. So anytime you’re over there and you feel alone you can look at the star and remember this night.”

“Stop.” I scoff. “Only lame asses do shit like that. And I kind of feel like you’re starting to break your own rule …”

Maritza shrugs. “Tomorrow’s our last Saturday together. I guess it’s kind of hitting me in a way I didn’t expect. It went by so fast.”

“It did.” We walk side by side, slow, silently savoring our dwindling time together.

As soon as we return to my car, she folds her arms, leaning against the passenger door. “I’m not tired. Are you?”

My gaze falls to her mouth before lifting to her glinting eyes. “Nope.”

“Want to get a drink?”

* * *

“Why isn’t this stupid thing working?” It’s almost two in the morning and Maritza is pressing the remote to the gate so hard I think the stupid thing is going to fall apart in her hands.

“Maybe the battery’s dead.”

Glancing past my dash, she squints. “Think we can climb that? Maybe if you just hoisted me over …”

“You’re drunk off your ass. I’m not letting you climb a nine-foot iron gate. You’ll fall and hurt yourself.” I massage my temples.

I’m exhausted.

She’s wasted.

And all the flirting she did these last several hours did nothing more than gift me with a raging case of blue balls.

“Let me see if Melrose is up.” She grabs her phone, dropping it on the floor. Maritza giggles before finally managing to dial her cousin’s number. “Mel! Can you come outside? My remote’s not working and we need in … yes, I said we … Isaiah, who else? … I know … just come get us.”

I’m half able to make out what sounds like her cousin lecturing her about bringing strange men home, but at this point I couldn’t care less. After tomorrow, I’m never going to see Maritza or her cousin again and I’ve spent the better part of the past two hours convincing myself for the millionth time that I’m okay with that.

“Thanks, sweets.” She hangs up. “Mel’s coming. It’ll just be a minute.”

We sit in my idling car for what feels like a decade before the gate slowly opens and her cousin stands before us in a see-through tank top, red plaid shorts, a messy blonde bun, and a mint green face mask. Her arms are folded and she’s glaring at me, as if it’s my fault Maritza got so hammered.

Truth be told, I have no idea how this happened.

I paced myself. I thought she did too.

“God, I’m starving,” Maritza moans as I pull through the gate. “I should’ve had dinner earlier. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Oh, there we go. That’s how this happened.

“Want to order a pizza?” she asks, her face lit like it’s the best idea she’s had all night.

“You go ahead, I’m just walking you to your door then I’m taking off.”

Her hand rests on my forearm. “You’re not staying?”

I park in her grandmother’s circle drive, beside a trickling fountain surrounded by strategically placed up-lights.

“Why would I stay? I just wanted to make sure you got home safely.”

“What’s with you all of a sudden?” She unfastens her seatbelt, angling her body toward me. “I thought we were having a good time tonight?”

“We were,” I say. “We did. But the night’s over.”

“Am I annoying you? Is that what this is? You can be honest,” she says. “I swear, Isaiah, I only had, like three drinks, you saw me. I didn’t mean to get like this. It’s just, I was so busy at work today and then I had to come home and get ready and I guess I forgot to eat?”

“It’s fine.”

“No.” Her full lips press together. “It’s not fine. I should’ve stopped hours ago or switched to water or something. I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t ruin your night.”

I reach for the ignition and kill the engine. “I’ll walk you in.”

Climbing out of the car, I meet her around front, by the hood. She’s quiet, studying me as she attempts to keep her balance. The front door of the guesthouse is cocked open. Guess Melrose beat us back.

“Come on. Let’s get you inside.” Hooking my hand into her elbow, I pull her against me and lead her inside, trying not to breathe in the way the warm Southern California breeze mingles with her grandmother’s flowers and Maritza’s citrus perfume.

Stopping outside the door, she stands to face me, squaring her shoulders with mine.

“I had fun stargazing tonight,” she says. “Thank you for showing me Leo.”

I nod. “Of course.”

Maritza lingers, like she’s waiting for me to cap the night off with a kiss, but I refuse. It was fun earlier this week, but somewhere along the line, shit threatened to get real and now I have to draw a hard line.

“Tomorrow’s our last Saturday,” she says. It’s got to be the second or third time she’s brought it up tonight, as if I could possibly forget. But as much as I want to spend another day with her, part of me thinks it might only make this harder … and it might defeat the entire point of spending the week with a girl I thought I could walk away from in the end.

After getting to know her and spending day in and day out with all of her idiosyncrasies, I’ve realized she’s funny and witty and sarcastic. She’s genuine and honest and kind. She’s unapologetic and charismatic.

If I were the committed type, I’d lock her down in a heartbeat.

I’d make her mine and never let her go.

But it doesn’t work that way. I’m leaving and she’ll be here. We’ll be worlds apart. And commitment was something I longed for a lifetime ago. It doesn’t mean a damn thing to me now.

“I had fun with you this week,” she says, voice soft and low. “I’m kind of sad for it to end.”

“Goodnight, Maritza.” Forcing a quick smile, I leave before it gets too deep.

Returning to my car, I fire up the engine and get the hell out of there before I say or do something I might regret.

It’s only when I’m several blocks away that I glance at my phone for the first time all night and find seven missed calls in a row, all of them from my sister.