I squeezed his hand as he dragged me through the mess we’d just navigated. I let him be the shield that pushed between dancing couples and around the swarm eight people deep at the bar. There was, incredibly, a line to leave the club—they were stamping hands for reentry because Ozone would be open until nine the next morning—and I hid behind Omar then, too, breathing slowly and deeply through my nose the whole time, assuring myself that thirty minutes couldn’t have disappeared so quickly: I would not be here, standing among strangers, when Y2K brought with it whatever was coming. I would not have on this shirt, these pants. They would be on the floor of Omar’s car, probably, but that was closer to starting over. That was something I knew how to do.
But in his car, after he’d moved it to the darkest corner of the emptiest floor of the parking garage and we’d made the customary climb—Omar first, then me on top—to the backseat, I moved in all the familiar ways, but it wasn’t working. I shut my eyes tighter, made myself louder, but I couldn’t stop thinking about home. I wrapped my hand behind Omar’s head and shoved it down—ignoring his annoyed Ow! because I didn’t want to see his face—but that only put me right back in my room, with Mami’s head on my collarbone, my nose nestled between the two halves of her hair. The parts of me normally up for the work of sex started to feel raw, and I panicked I wouldn’t come, that this time would be the first where I couldn’t use Omar to escape anything. Omar must have felt my hips lose their roll, my movements become more mechanical, because he smacked my ass and huffed into my ear, in a voice pained with want, I’m close, I’m close, try to come with me, I want you to come, too.
And that was it, what I needed to do: I would drink my weight in water when I got home, I’d gulp it down in the shower I’d make myself take, and I’d wake up with the sun and go with my mom to that fucking rally, to see for myself what she was like, who she was that scared everybody so much. I screamed with relief, finally, at the simple knowledge of it, of having put myself back together with that choice. It felt almost easy—like floating, like letting a wave bring you back up after it’s broken over you.
23
I LET THE WATER POUND ME on the back for another half a minute before turning the clear plastic knob and grabbing my towel. I had ten minutes to get ready before Mami left with or without me, she said, and I was more wrecked than I thought I should be. I’d felt pretty sober by the time Omar dropped me off and, once inside the apartment, my vision started spinning only after I plopped onto the living room couch to sleep, a spot from which I’d be sure to hear my mom once she was up.
Dante was standing in his crib when I went back into our room, my towel around me like a dress, and since the sun was all the way up, I lifted him out and draped him across Leidy’s chest. I yelled, Happy New Year, as he said bah bah bah bah and pounded his fist against her chin.
—Shit, she said. She rubbed her eyes but sat up on her elbow when she realized I was on the edge of the bed, my hand still on Dante’s back to keep him in place on her. How was it, she murmured. How was Ozone?
—It was okay.
She pulled her pillow out from under her head and threw it on the floor.
—Okay? Oh-kay? Do you not understand I was stuck here with this guy all night? You gotta do better than okay, she said.
Her breath smelled weirdly sweet beneath the normal badness of any morning.
—I don’t know, he’s pretty cute, I said. I pressed my hand down on his back and wiggled him on top of her. He put out his arms and stiffened his legs, some kind of reflex, his body curving up like someone in free fall from an airplane. You’ve done worse, I said.
—True. Last New Year’s I couldn’t even drink. Was Ozone crowded?
I stood, clutching my towel at my chest, and said, It was. It was crazy. I’m going with Mom now but I’ll tell you everything later if you want.
She pulled Dante to her side and sat up all the way.
—Going with Mami where? she whispered.
She motioned for me to shut the door. I picked up her pillow and tossed it to her as I did what she asked.
—To this thing down the street for Ariel. The New Year’s Day rally thing.
—Are you joking? You can’t go to that.
—Why not?
I grabbed my plainest white underwear from my suitcase, figuring today would be a no-Omar day, and slid it on under my towel. I turned my back to Leidy, let the towel drop to the floor, and wrestled on a bra.
—Because it’s gonna get out of hand, she said.
—We’ve been before. Remember at Thanksgiving? When we saw Mom on TV and ran down there?
—Then was different, she said.
Our mom had ended that day by talking to the media about her two little girls and how they were just like Ariel, and we didn’t contradict her there, in front of the cameras, didn’t identify ourselves as those two little girls. But on the walk back to the apartment, after the camera crews left, Leidy hissed into Mami’s red, blotchy face, Mom! You can’t exaggerate like that! What were you thinking?
I stared into the closet and said, I forgot to tell you, your shirt was a hit last night.
—I know what you’re doing, she said.
I thought she meant changing the subject, but she whispered, You want to see it for yourself. You’re not going for Ariel. You’re going for her, right? So you can say you saw it.