saltwater

Nadia’s tattoo has finished peeling. Angelica admires its clean lines, running her finger on the granite countertop in the shape of a wing. “We should show it off.”

Nadia takes a bite of her croissant, squinting at her latest sketch. She flips the page to see what it’s missing. “Where do you want to go? Bar?”

“I don’t know..Shopping? Maybe the beach. Somewhere with people.” It’s been a long time since they’ve encountered a gangster, so she’s confident they are out of danger. 

“You want to make friends?” Nadia smirks as though the idea is absurd.

Airily, hoping Nadia takes it as a joke, she answers, “I don’t want you to get bored with my company.”

Cohabitation has been surprisingly comfortable; Angelica can’t imagine wanting to live with anyone else. But she doesn’t want to hide in Aureliano’s apartment forever. Though she’s lived there for weeks, it has yet to feel like home.

Besides, what better way to move on than to walk a new path among new people? Angelica used to sit in the park, listening to strangers complain about their straight jobs, plan pub trivia nights and girls’ brunch, and recount the plots of their favorite sitcoms, and she pitied them. They seemed so ordinary and so boring, back then. Now she wants the peace that being ordinary often provides. 

Maybe freedom’s holding hands in a crowded park, knowing there’s no one chasing us. Maybe it’s the opportunity to live gently.

Nadia laughs and shakes her head. “I never could get bored of you, Ange’. How about this? We’ll go shopping. I was thinking about buying a motorcycle, anyway.”

Angelica’s mouth drops. 

“We have plenty of cash left,” Nadia insists, defensive. “And tons to sell, if we find another good fence-and we will. I’m thinking of getting something used. I can fix it up myself. A new hobby. 

Since Angelica has never before bothered to consider cost before making a purchase, it’s easy to dismiss her misgivings. Besides, the beauty of Nadia’s smile is persuasive.

By noon, Nadia is driving them across town, drumming the steering wheel to the beat on the radio as she passes the speed limit. Leaning her head against the window, Angelica alternates between watching the clouds and eyeing the other drivers with suspicion.

As they approach the city center, the traffic gets worse; they end up stalled at a red light while a cargo-truck struggles at the turn. Angelica spots a woman in a black silk wrap dress identical to her own. She pokes Nadia’s sharp shoulder, asking, “Do I look like such a pretentious bitch in this dress?”

Nadia gives her an exaggerated once-over and snorts. “I didn’t want to say so before, but...yes.”

Covering her eyes with her hand, Angelica laughs. I don’t even really like all these new clothes, she thinks. I just wanted to be grown up. To be different. 

At the car lot, Angelica feels even more self-conscious in her expensive outfit. Nadia, on the other hand, is in her element, talking to the salesman and mechanic like they are old friends. They speak in a language that Angelica doesn’t understand; she fidgets, silent, while Nadia inspects engines, heedless of the grease staining her loose-fitting, acid-washed jeans. The motorcycles all look the same to her. She watches the furrow between Nadia’s brow deepen in concentration and rub her new tattoo. 

All I want is for her to be happy, she admits to herself, finally. Finally, I love her.

It is a painful epiphany, especially because she realizes, as Nadia laughs with the handsome blonde mechanic, that she’s jealous. I thought I wanted us to be in the outside world. But what if she finds someone she likes better? What if she doesn’t want me? What if she leaves? 

Hearing Nadia approach, she tries to control her shallow breathing. Nadia describes her purchase, and Angelica nods and smiles stiffly. It looks like every other black motorcycle; Nadia speaks of it as though it is a magic carpet. 

Fear and loneliness are rolling towards Angelica like the tide. She imagines Nadia riding away in a wave of dust, a choking farewell.

But then Nadia links arms with her, smiling excitedly like a little girl, and says, “Imagine how fun it’ll be to drive along the coast together this summer.”

“This summer?” 

Nadia raises that eloquent brow. “Yeah, of course. Road trips are no good in the cold.”

I thought you would leave by winter, Angelica takes a deep breath, telling herself to be brave. If she doesn’t say it now, she may never.

“Maybe...maybe we can find a new apartment by then? This one is too big and...well...too manly, I think.” She feels like she’s cracked her heart like a clamshell, but Nadia reacts as though she has said nothing out of the ordinary.

“You’re right,” she says, tapping her chin. “We can use something smaller. Maybe something with a garden for you, Green Thumb. Nadia slides her hand from Angelica’s elbow to her fingertips, and pulls them to a stop before the words have even finished resounding in her ears. When Angelica gapes inn surprise and relief, she smiles tenderly. ”You still don’t get it, huh.”

She steps closer, and Angelica leans, confused, against the glass window of an abandoned coffee shop. It is covered in graffiti the same pink as her new lipstick.

And Nadia kisses her. It’s a real kiss, the kind that makes her press closer. It’s a kiss worth every minute of uncertainty. 

Why bother with handsome princes when I could have this? she thinks, sighing against Nadia’s chapped lips. At her back, the sun is garish orange.

They hold hands on the way home, and Angelica finds herself giggling incredulously.  She would be embarrassed, except Nadia winks at her, and she knows the other woman just as excited. 

Later, they will debate what kind of house they want, what furniture to buy, and what jobs to apply for. They’ll collapse into bed to sleep and then have quiet sex in the dawn light. It’ll be new for both of them, but they are fast learners. The salt of Angelica’s tears will taste like happiness when Nadia leans across the pillow to say, “I love you, you know?” 

But first, Nadia pulls the car over next to a market so Angelica can steal a leopard moto jacket from the sidewalk rack. It’s almost identical to the one she left at her father’s house all those months ago.

“For our bike ride,” she says, tossing her hair. She shrugs it over her black silk wrap dress, and Nadia bumps her shoulder in rebellious delight.