She felt him shift behind her, and opened her eyes to see both his legs stretch out on either side of her, no longer in the crossed-over position they’d been in earlier. Carmen’s cheeks grew warm; it felt more intimate this way.
“I told you,” he said in a voice so quiet that she wouldn’t have heard it if she wasn’t seated this close to him. “Tonight is all yours. So, you do the speaking, and take as much time as you want to. I’m not walking out that door until you’ve said all that there is for you to say.” Asa’s hushed words could’ve easily got lost in the space between their bodies, but somehow that only added to the sensation of the two of them being the only ones in the world that night. “Even if I have to stay here ’till sunrise.”
A small laugh fell past Carmen’s lips. “Dad would probably be back by sunrise.” She suddenly lifted her head from her knees and turned her body around slightly, shooting a curious look at Asa over her shoulder. “Wait, don’t you have to be home?”
Asa’s hands were crossed behind his head, his eyes never leaving Carmen’s as he responded, “Was supposed to stay at Wyatt’s anyway, so there aren’t going to be at least three dozen worried calls from Ma.”
“I guess your dad’s pretty chill then,” Carmen stated.
Asa shrugged. “He trusts that I’ll be able to handle myself.”
“But your mum’s always worried about you?”
Asa nodded, affection pooling in his eyes. “Always.” He chuckled. “But she has a temper. She’s borderline insane when I sometimes turn up home late and couldn’t drop her a message either ’cause my phone died or I’d just forgotten to do so.”
“And you don’t get frustrated with her during those times?”
“Sometimes I do,” he admitted sheepishly, unfolding his arms and letting it fall down by his sides as he picked at a loose thread on a pillow. “But then I remind myself that all that anger comes from a place of worry, and that worry from a place of love. Aside from dad, if it’s not her feeling protective over me, who else is supposed to? She’s a mother; she’ll always have those maternal instincts. I should be grateful I get to have one when there are other kids out there who don’t.”
Asa inhaled sharply, his hand freezing and letting the thread slip through his fingers as he snapped his head towards Carmen. “I didn’t—Joder! —Carmen, shit, that’s not—I’m going to shut up, okay? I’m so, so sorry. I just didn’t think—I was speaking about ma and I—”
“Don’t stop,” Carmen whispered, shifting her body around sideways so that she could get a clearer look at him. “I want you to speak about her…I want… I want to know… to know what it’s like.”
Asa’s eyes softened—his entire posture softened—and Carmen watched him hesitate for a split second before he reached out and wrapped an arm around her waist, tightening his grip just a little bit more as he pulled her towards him until she was resting sideways against his chest. Carmen closed her eyes, whatever nervousness she’d been feeling earlier crumbling to dust and floating away as her heart grew lighter in weight.
She felt Asa’s other hand slip into her hair, cool fingertips massaging her scalp in small, inconsistent circles.
“She loves cooking,” Asa told Carmen, not asking her if she was sure she wanted to hear him speak about what it was like having a mother around. He didn’t question, didn’t make her second-guess, he just obliged, trusting that Carmen knew what she wanted. “And she takes a hell lot of pride in it, too. Anyone mentions anything about how she’s just giving into a gender role about women being cooks, they better start preparing to get their asses handed to them. With extra whipped cream on top.” He let out a chuckle at that, fondness evident in that small sound itself. It made Carmen smile and made her chest warm all over.
“She’s passionate about everything. I suppose she lives by the motto “Go big or go home”. Every little thing she does, she does it by pouring her blood, sweat, and tears into it. So when she’s mad, she’s a spitfire on the loose. And when she’s stubborn, there isn’t the most valid and logical argument you could lay out before her; it’s not going to change her mind. Same thing with forgiving too; she’s a pro at holding a grudge. She’ll be cursing you to the pits of hell while making the world’s best enchiladas. The woman’s crazy.”
Asa sighed, his breath fanning the top of Carmen’s head and fluttering a few strands of her hair ever so slightly. “But when she loves, she does so with every inch of her existence. She’ll give and give and give, until she forgets how to stop giving.” His fingers trailed down Carmen’s scalp, tangling themselves in her hair as he messed around with her dark locks. “She’s the kind of person who never makes you doubt the intensity of her love, even if it does make you question her sanity from time to time.”
“Sounds like someone I know.” Carmen smiled, tilting her head up to look at Asa.
His eyes met hers as he looked down at where the side of her face was pressed against his chest. Carmen’s ear was right next to his sternum, and she could her the faint thumpity-thumps of his heart. The calming effect it had on her was indescribable.
“I’m not stubborn,” he pointed out, a small smile on his lips. “And my cooking skills are nonexistent. Unless its normal stuff like sandwiches. But Ma says I’m a disgrace to the Mexican cuisine.”
“I meant the part about not forgiving easily—”
“I am not as bad as my mother. She would literally take her grudges to the grave—”
“—and
