Después | Oscar Diaz

yo soy todo

It's not too long after that she finally lets herself be honest with  herself: shit with Oscar is easy in a bad way. Makes her feel like she  hasn't had four years to figure out who she is, would rather spend time  doing nothing with him when she knows she could use her time—maybe not  better. Not more wisely. But just differently.

It comes down to  this: Oscar is doing the same shit he always has. Claudia's got a whole  job with a completely different set of responsibilities. She doesn't  think they can coexist, her as a teacher, Oscar out gangbanging. She's  pretty sure they shouldn't.

She thinks of how their bodies still  fit together and it aches. He made fun of her the other day, laughing  about how her makeup ruined one of his shirts—"What's this sparkly shit,  nena? You got it all over me,"—and it was almost like being sixteen  again, running around trying to figure out what the two of them could  make out of themselves. But she's not sixteen. Hasn't been, for a long  time. Is maybe better than she imagined she could be. But Oscar...

She  sees it even when she isn't looking. Giving a fourteen-year-old beer  with dinner, the smell of mota in the house ever-present. Before he got  locked up, he'd smoke—well. He didn't want to be his mother, but that  doesn't mean he wasn't like her in some ways. Didn't do harder shit  often enough to make her nervous, but sometimes, at parties, he did it  anyway. She doesn't think he's doing that now, but. It makes her  nervous, anyway. Makes her think of her students and her job and what  might be said if she's caught running around with someone with a tear on  his face.

Claudia knows what she should do, but she doesn't want  to do it. It's not about Oscar, is the thing. It's about her. It's her  being selfish, thinking about what she wants to do in the next year or  five. She remembers being eighteen, nineteen years old and not knowing  what the months ahead of her were going to look like. She knows what  they look like, now—but Oscar's not a factor in that anymore. Hasn't  been in a long time.

When she looks at Cesar she sees what Oscar  might've been, once. She sees how he's probably going to grow into  someone very much like him. She doesn't have the heart for it. She's  still in the middle of trying to sort her own feelings out when  Oscar—like always—manages to surprise her.

They're cooking at the  Diaz place, the smell of arrachera rich in the air, guacamole on the  table already. Her first week of class has gone better than last year's,  now that she's got more than just student teaching experiences under  her belt. Oscar stops in the middle of drying his hands and just looks  at her for a moment. He says, "I never said sorry."

"For what?"

"For  telling you to leave," he says. When she breathes it's like her rib  cage is about to crack open. "Those first few months at Corcoran...shit  was hard. I didn't want you to see that."

She meets his gaze. Takes in the tattoos, the buzzcut, a little shorter now than how he used to keep it but still such an Oscar  thing she can't say it's out of place. Considers the curve of his  mouth, how his eyebrows are pulled together. All his focus on her. She  says, "That wasn't up to you to decide."

Those months she took  trying to get over him. How it all disappeared the second he touched her  again. The things she learned and did and became while he was gone. The  things he didn't. It threatens to choke her, but she doesn't want to  let it show.

"Yeah," he says, and steps close to her. Like it's just the two of them in the house. "I'm sorry."

She swallows. Says, because she can't think of anything else, "Thank you," before wrapping her arms around him.

Part  of her still smarts at the way he ended things. Most of her, though,  finds his presence such a relief she doesn't even want to think about  it. Near four years of trying to get over him and for what? For him to  end up right back next to her anyway. Looking at her even more  intensely, his touch a welcome thing and feeling new and familiar all at  once. It's overwhelming. Intoxicating. It makes her want to know what  things would look like if things had gone just a little bit different.