Shit, shit, shit.
I couldn’t just let that cake get away, so I jumped into my car and followed her.
Do it for the cake, I told myself.
It would probably have been better overall if I could have convinced myself to do it for Mayra or even just to do it for myself, but I wasn’t there yet. I wasn’t sure if I would ever be. Doing it for the cake was getting me as close as possible, at least.
As close as possible seemed to be driving around in circles about two blocks away from Mayra’s house.
The good news was, I didn’t seem to be panicking. I didn’t seem to be getting any closer, either, but at least I was still able to signal right turn after right turn and burn up gas as I went around and around the neighborhood in the vicinity of my girlfriend’s house.
My girlfriend.
I smiled and tried turning left. Somehow, the turn indicator ended up pointing me right again, so I followed it. The next couple of attempts had similar results.
I sighed.
The biggest problem wasn’t Mayra’s house or her driveway but the possibility that her father’s truck with the shotgun rack in the back would be there as well. That was the main thing keeping me at a distance. I tried to ease my mind by replaying the short conversation
from very early this morning when her dad said I had Lords beat.
That made me frown, though, not because of what he had said but because of the reminder that Mayra had once dated Justin Lords, and it wasn’t even that long ago. I knew they had been together, of course, but I had never really given it much thought before. Now that she was my girlfriend, I didn’t like the idea at all.
She kissed me because I was her boyfriend. I could only assume she had kissed Justin Lords as well. The thought of kissing Mayra made me think of my alone time in the shower and how that activity had a tendency to lead to another specific activity—one that definitely featured Mayra—and took place in my head as much as in my hand. While the thought usually made me feel pretty good, now I couldn’t help but wonder what Mayra and Justin had done in addition to kissing.
It was none of my business, really.
I wanted to know.
I didn’t want to know.
I felt like I should be pulling petals off a daisy.
Taking a deep breath, I made another right.
The thought of Mr. Trevino’s hunting truck parked in the driveway didn’t seem nearly as bad as the conversation I felt compelled to have with Mayra over the second slice of cake. Actually, if Mr. Trevino were there, it would be easier because there was no way I would broach the subject in his presence.
Did he know?
Would he tell me?
I put all thoughts of asking Mayra’s father about her previous relationship out of my head. That was just too much. It was another one that I was quite sure fell into the “inappropriate conversations” category.
I turned left without thinking about it because that was the only way the conversation was going to happen. I tried to decide if it would be better to see Mr. Trevino’s vehicle in the driveway or not. I slowed down as I approached, and even through the thick trees around the neighborhood, I could see the driveway quite clearly. Mayra’s car was parked to one side, and the other side was empty.
I could see Mayra, too. With a small plate in her lap and a bent-over book in her hand, she was sitting on the steps leading to the front door. I wondered how long she had been sitting there waiting for me and figured I had probably been driving around for at least forty minutes.
With a deep, shuddering breath, I pulled into the driveway at about a quarter of a mile an hour.
I was not going to ask her anything about Justin Lords. I was not. Not at all. Her former relationship wasn’t going to drive me crazy because the cake was going to be all I would care about.
Just to prove the point, an imaginary bell rang in my head, and my mouth started to water.
I turned off the car and sat there, looking at my hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough to make my knuckles white. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Mayra had not moved, other than to place her book onto the cement step next to her feet.
I glanced up, and I could see Mayra’s smiling face as she waited patiently on the porch steps. My hands refused to let go of the steering wheel, but at least my mind was relatively calm. I kept breathing. It was about all I could do, other than salivate, at the thought of another slice of that cake.
“Let go,” I whispered to my fingers. Remarkably they listened, at least temporarily. As I tried to wipe the clamminess off my palms, my fingers gripped my thighs instead. I sighed at myself, forced my fingers to uncurl, and gripped the handle to the door.