I slammed the door shut.
“It is possible,” I said to no one, “to be completely sick of one’s own shit.”
I changed into my pajamas and robe, flopped onto the couch with a bag of cheese-dusted popcorn, and began flipping through channels. I was starting to give up on finding a decent movie when I landed on Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. A movie about a guy who has his ex-girlfriend wiped from his memory.
“Lucky bastard,” I muttered and hit play.
If I could, I’d go back and wipe River Whitmore from my mind, starting from the very first second I laid eyes on him.
Then you’d have even less than what you have now.
A few minutes in, a knock came at the door. I opened it to Beatriz. She wore slacks, a jacket over her flowered blouse, and her purse on her arm.
“I’m going home for the day, Mr. Holden, but wanted to see if you need anything first.”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“You never came to dinner tonight.”
“I never come to dinner.”
She frowned. “Mr. and Mrs. Parish ask about you every day.”
“They do? No, they don’t.”
Beatriz waggled a finger. “I never lie. It’s not good for the soul. They also said you would not let them celebrate your birthday last month.”
“I didn’t have a birthday last month.”
She pursed her lips. “You did have one, no matter what the calendar says. You’re here, aren’t you?”
“Technically speaking.”
Her face softened, and her smile was like one I imagined mothers wore when they were trying to comfort their child through something painful. She peered past me and squinted at the TV.
“That girl has very red hair.”
I opened the door and stepped aside to let Beatriz in, since it was clear she wasn’t going to leave me in peace. And maybe I didn’t want her to.
“That’s Kate Winslet,” I said. “Her hair is red to show us when she is in her relationship with Jim Carrey.”
Beatriz frowned, more interested in the bag of cheesy popcorn on the couch. She picked it up with two fingers. “What is this?”
“Popcorn?”
She sniffed the bag and grimaced. “No, no, no. Isso é um lixo. This is garbage. I’ll make you better.” She set her purse on the couch and headed for the door. “The big house has what I need. Be right back.”
Before I could comprehend this strange turn of events, Beatriz returned with her arms full of ingredients and breezed past me to my little kitchen.
“I will make you pipoca,” she said, laying out brown sugar, honey, butter, and a can of dulce de leche. “Much better.”
She and Ms. Watkins are tag-teaming me with motherly niceness.
And like a sucker, I was falling for it. Aching for it.
Beatriz hummed as she stirred the ingredients in a saucepan, and soon my little place was filled with the scent of warm honey and sugar and the sound of popcorn kernels clanging around a pot.
When she was done, she came out with a bowl of fluffy white popcorn drizzled with thick brown syrup and a bunch of napkins. She frowned at the TV.
“Now her hair is blue.”
I laughed a little as Beatriz settled herself on the couch beside me with a sigh. She offered me the bowl. “Try this. It’s not garbage.”
I took a sticky handful of pipoca and crammed it in my mouth while Beatriz watched me closely.
“It’s good, yes?”
I suppressed a groan as the sugary-salty goodness melted in my mouth. “Eh, it’s okay. Not bad. Passable.”
She snorted and swatted my arm. “Not bad. Fica quieto. It’s good.”
“It’s amazing. Thank you, Beatriz.”
Thank you for being here.
She nodded, satisfied, and settled on the couch, taking a handful of pipoca for herself. “I can watch this movie with you? About the sad man and the girl with the rainbow hair?”
“Yes,” I said, my throat thick. “I’d like that.”
We watched the movie in easy companionship, as the characters who’d wiped each other from their memories inevitably came together again. Destined to be together no matter how hard they worked to avoid it.
Toward the end, while Jim and Kate frolicked on a snow-covered beach, Beatriz sighed heavily.
“You’re a romantic, Beatriz?”
“No, I am thinking. You are alone here a lot, Mr. Holden.”
My smile faded. “I am. But Beatriz…just Holden, okay?”
She smiled, the motherly affection intensified. “Do you not have someone, Holden? A girlfriend?”
“No girlfriend. I like boys.”
Beatriz thought about this. I waited with my breath locked in my chest to see how my words would land. If she’d withdraw her warmth and care and leave me alone in the dark.
“Okay, then. Where is your boyfriend?”
I let out the breath. Christ, how many times had I imagined my own mother saying something so simple? So full of acceptance… I swallowed the tears in my throat—they burned all the way down to the yawning black hole inside me.
“I don’t have one.”
She scoffed and took my chin in her hand, giving my face a gentle shake. “Do you go to school with blind people? How can anyone look at this face and not fall in love?”
“I don’t make it easy.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” she said. “É fácil amar você, meu doce menino. Mas você tem que se deixar ser amado.”
She turned her gaze back to the TV, and I stared for a moment, her words sinking in, reaching dark places that hadn’t seen the light in years. Old pain whispered that Beatriz was secretly laughing at me or that she was only being paid to be nice to me. I ignored them as best I could and slowly, carefully, rested my head against her shoulder. And she let me.
She tilted her
