“Wait, before you start.” I turn the mixer off and place it down as she removes her puffer and all the layers she’s got onto keep her warm. I grab a glass and pour her favorite drink. “I made youcoquito.”
Her bottom lip juts out and her entire body softens, the tension dissipating like it was never there. “You are one of a kind. I love you and I didn’t mean any of those things I said about you in my head just a second ago.”
I grin as she takes it from my hand and inhales it. She sighs, and when she takes a sip, her brows hike up and she takes another.
“I figured you would need the extra alcohol.” I didn’t hold back when I added both rums. Not only because I knew my Puerto Rican best friend would need it, but because I also need it. “Oh, and I made flan.”
“It’s unfortunate how much I like men because I would make you mine in a heartbeat.”
“I know…” I grab my own cup and chug the remaining half of the white liquid.
“Jesus, is it that bad?” She eyes me incredulously as I pour myself morecoquito.
I’d never tried or made this until I met Jenny. Usually during the holidays in my Mexican household, we’d makechampurrado,ponche,atole, orabuelita chocolate. So attemptingcoquitowas like opening a treasure chest full of gold.
“Wait, does this have something to do with Sylas?”
I turn to hide my face as it burns. I’m sure my cheeks are pink, and that never happens. I’m usually good about hiding my emotions, but ever since Salt two days ago, my face feels like it’s been set next to a furnace.
“Well…” I take a sip, but the cold drink does nothing to cool my insides.
“Wait!” I hear her run, footsteps heavy as she shuffles her things around. “Don’t tell me anything. I’m going to shower! You’re going to finish doing what you’re doing and then we’regoing to drink and put up the rest of the decorations!” She slams our shared bathroom door shut before I get to respond.
She’s done with her shower in record speed. Though she did wash her hair yesterday, so she got to skip that step.
Jenny tells me everything she endured today. I’ve experienced my share of shitty customers, from working at the restaurant, housekeeping, to tutoring rich college students who couldn’t give a single fuck about school and the customers I sell my baked goods to.
Despite that, I’ll take it over having to work in retail during the holidays. Unless things worsen, then I’ll find myself at the register next to her.
We finish setting up the cheap little decorations we bought at the dollar and thrift stores and finally start on the tree.
The fireplace on the TV crackles and “Christmas Eve/Sarajevo” by the Trans-Siberian Orchestra plays. It feels sort of fitting to how everything played out that night.
Three sips for liquid courage, I recount in full detail what happened because TMI doesn’t exist in our friendship. With every bit of information I give Jenny, her lips and eyes widen, and her hands stop working.
A few minutes later, I’m finished with mycoquitoand feel buzzed and turned on.
“Say something.” I grab my cup and pour the ice into my mouth. I anxiously chew on it, waiting for her to give me a sign of life. She’s so still, she could pass as a statue. “Jenny!”
She presses her lips together and brings her hand to her mouth, covering it as her squeals ofyes, yes!slip out.
“What?” I pour the rest of the ice into my mouth, chewing faster. “What?”
“Anna Maria Lopez!” She exhales a breath and squeals again. “I’m sorry, I’m—wait.” She drops her hand, her face the mostserious I’ve ever seen it. “But you wanted this, right? Because if you didn’t, I don’t care who he is, I’ll kill him.”
I drag my pullover off and put my hair in a ponytail, stalling. “What would you think of me if I told you I liked ita lot.” I whisper that last part.
I’m never nervous about opening up to Jenny. I know whatever I share with her, she won’t make fun of me. So, it’s not that I’m wary of her judging me, but rather it’s me accepting what I’ve been denying since that night with Sylas.
“Bitch.” She stares, perplexed and taken aback. “Do you know who I am? I don’t view you any different because you enjoyed it. Is this why you’ve been acting weird?”
I go and grab the rest of the coquito and flan, knowing I’m going to need it. The ornaments are long forgotten as I hand her a spoon and we sit on the floor and pour more of the white liquid into our cups.
“Yeah…”
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” she says before she stuffs a mouthful of the flan in her mouth.Funny, he said that too. “Kinks are normal. Sure, they’re not deemed that by society because you know they have a ‘standard’ for what is.” She rolls her eyes. “But it’s not like you’re hurting anyone or committing crimes. You’re just getting off by getting used and being called a whore.”
This is why I love her. There’s no judgment; just a girl making her best friend feel at ease.
