Antes | Oscar Diaz

july.

Cesar insists on helping them carry the bags of clothes Claudia  brings with her when Araceli's folks get back from Mexico. Araceli told  her to come back soon, even though she spent half the past month with  the Diaz boys anyway, and even told Oscar he could, too.

"But only if you bring Cesar," she said, and Oscar flipped her off as he walked back to his car.

"This  is all you have?" Cesar asks. He seems almost disappointed. Claudia  knows it's because he wants to show off how strong he is, but it stings,  just a little bit. She smiles at him anyway.

"Yeah," she says, a  backpack slung over her shoulder and her free hand reaching out to muss  up what little bit of hair Cesar has left. He showed up with Oscar the  week before after a day of nannying in Brentwood. He seemed equally  excited about the clean-cut neighborhood and the fresh buzzcut Oscar  gave him. "Thanks for helping."

"You're welcome," he says, very  seriously. He's missing a tooth when he smiles. The bag's not that big,  but he's so little it looks like it is. Oscar took the fuller ones  inside first.

The house smells like Pine-Sol. Like Claudia hasn't  been around after a Santos party, or seen it on any average Friday  night, when the mess of a nine year old has yet to be cleaned up again.  She should be charmed, probably, that Oscar thinks he should impress her  like that, but mostly she's thinking of her self-imposed two month  deadline in this house. No amount of mopping and scrubbing is going to  convince her to just stay, even if she's here until school starts.

Oscar refuses to talk about the three of them just leaving Freeridge together. It's driving her crazy.

"Oscar's  room, baby," she says, when Cesar looks a little unsure of where he  should take his charge. Oscar's in there already, folding her clothes  for her, since she didn't bother doing much besides throwing  shit into  bags that afternoon, and it makes her feel—good. Taken care of.

"Right here, lil' homie," Oscar tells him, and then, after, "you want a snack?"

"No thanks," Cesar says. He stays forgetting to say thanks.  It's something they're working on, the three of them. He watches Oscar  and Claudia for a little while, folding clothes and tucking things into  drawers, the sun barely setting behind the old curtains shielding them  from view. It all feels very domestic. He says, suddenly, "Does this  mean you're getting married?"

Claudia's neck hurts, she looks up  so fast. Says, "Um," while Oscar stares at Cesar with his mouth  half-open. His expression is enough to make her laugh, any other time,  but right now, she's hit with the sudden need to bolt. Which won't work, because she lives here now.

Oh God. She lives here now.

While  she frantically reminds herself it's just for two months, Oscar finally  speaks. He clears his throat first. "Whatchu talking 'bout, C?"

Cesar says, looking thoughtful, "Well, Claudia's moving in."

"Yeah,"  she says, slowly, hoping she smoothed her expression into something  that doesn't look as frantic as she feels, "but that doesn't mean..."

She looks to Oscar. He looks back at her. They remain quiet for too long.

"So you're not getting married?" Cesar asks. His eyebrows pull together.

Claudia says, a little squeaky, "Baby, we're too young to get married."

He looks confused. "But you're grown-ups."

Claudia wants to disagree on principle.

"You  got money for a wedding, compa?" Oscar says. He's got a pair of  Claudia's shorts in hand, a pile of clothes laid out carefully in front  of him. Part of her feels hopelessly enamored of the sight. "You gotta  pay for food, and for music, and for a dress..." His voice tapers off. He  turns his head to look at Claudia. There's a faraway look on his face.