“It’s on my bed. I’ll get it for you before you leave.”
She motions for me to bring my plate and walk into the living room. She sits down on the couch and motions for me to sit next to her. She sets her plate on the coffee table and then pulls the table closer to us. I set my plate beside hers.
“We need drinks,” she says. She hops up and goes to get two sodas. “This okay?”
I nod. “Perfect.”
We sit quietly and eat and the food is really good.
She accidentally drops a dollop of sauce on her glove and rubs it away.
“Why don’t you take those off?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “It’s okay.”
I take her hand in mine and reach for her elbow. Her eyes close and I can feel her deep breaths lift the hairs on my neck. I arch my brow in question as I reach to roll down the edge of her glove.
She nods. “I can do it, though.”
I don’t stop. I scrunch it up in my hands until I can pull the fingers and slide it all the way off. Her hand trembles in mine.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
She nods. “I’ve just never…” She stops signing. “Never mind.”
“Never what?” I ask.
“Never…shown…anyone.” She holds her chin tight and stares me down. “Until you.”
I reach for her other glove and do the same to it. She keeps her lower arm turned away from me, but then she tips it and I can see the slashes on that arm.
“Both arms?” I look at her face.
“Yes.”
“Same time?” I watch her eyes. They stare into mine.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Guilt.”
“Did you ever do it after that?”
She smiles softly. “No. Emilio taught me to play piano.”
“Emilio?”
“My adoptive dad. He and Marta adopted me when I was twelve.”
“When your parents died, there was no other family to take you?”
She shakes her head. “No.” She looks at me shyly. “Do you feel…differently about me…after seeing the scars?”
“Yes,” I admit.
Her face falls.