think thatâs why Mamiâs so hard on her. She must look at Luz and think no matter how far she goes, sheâs never gonna really get away from him.
I still call her a baby but Trini is three already and sheâs the happiest little kid you ever seen. She laughs all the time, like sheâs always telling herself jokes, and sheâs got these great dimples when she smiles. Sheâs too old for a crib, but when we moved her into Luzâs bed when she was two she kept climbing back in during the night, even though we were using it as a laundry hamper. Eventually we gave up and put her back in the crib. Her hair is so light itâs almost blond in the summer and she has a voice just like a bird. Sheâs half Puerto Rican and half question mark because her father donât know where he comes from. Scottie calls himself a mutt, which is what the nuns at the orphanage used to call him and his sister after their parents died in a house fire. He says he donât look like anything but I think he looks like everything. If he changed his accent he could convince you he was from a dozen different countries. He says thatâs a pain in the ass but to me it seems like fun. Almost like wearing a mask on Halloweenâyou could be anybody.
When Lucho gets home I turn off the TV and pretend to be reading a book. She walks by me without saying anything and heads to the kitchen. From the doorway I watch her unloada bag of groceries straight into the fridge: a six-pack of beer, three types of milkâregular, chocolate, and coffeeâjuice boxes, peanut butter, eggs, frozen waffles, cheese, and mayonnaise. Then she puts a few cans of beans, two boxes of cold cereal, a bunch of bananas, and some crackers in the cupboard. She tosses a bag of white bread onto the table and walks out of the room, leaving a trail of aftershave behind her.
What I like about Lucho is that she donât yell; the downside is she sometimes donât talk for days. That kind of silence scares me more than yelling does. Her other problem? She disappears. Just leaves for work in the morning and we donât hear from her for the rest of the weekend. But she always comes back, thatâs the important thing. She used to do the same thing when Mami was here, something about her needing to breathe different air. At least thatâs what Mami told me the first time she left.
She also told me Luchoâs not just her friend. Sheâs her girlfriend, just like Krystal and me. The men on the corner say itâs wrong because somebody has to be the man, but all you gotta do is look at Mami to see that sheâs happier with Lucho than when Scottie was living with us. When Lucho first started coming over I used to walk into the living room and find them sitting on the couch just looking at each other. The TV was off and they werenât even talking. Mami would smile at me and then go back to looking at Lucho. Luz told me she read in a book that when people are in love they donât have to talk, they just sit and stare at each other and it makes them feel better. I guess I never been in love âcause I donât ever feel better just by staring at a girl.
Iâm sitting at the kitchen table cutting coupons out of a flyer from Star Market when Lucho walks back into the kitchen. Sheâs out of her jumpsuit from work and has on the white tank top and jeans she usually wears. Her hair is cut short and combed straight back so if you didnât notice the sports bra that flattens her chest you might guess she was a man. Sometimes I think she wants people to think that. She sits down in a chair across from me and peels a banana, giving me half.
âYou seen your sisters?â
âTheyâre still next door, I think.â I stare at the tattoo of two masks on her arm: one happy, one sad. When I asked her about it once she said, âMy two facesânever know which one youâre gonna get.â
âAinât