He rubs a lime on one quarter of the rim of the shot glass, rolls the glass around in the salt, and pours in the tequila. Eyes on me, he takes the shot and, without wincing, brings the lime to his mouth for abite.
“Fine." I’m probably going to regret this, but in this moment I don't care. I’m finally not sick and being around Isaac makes me feel young, like I really am my age. Some days I feel so much older. I flash him a grin and point at his empty shot glass. “Teachme."
Isaac eyes me. “No more red wine?" He reaches over the counter to where my wine glass sits, abandoned. “You can't mix wine andtequila."
“No more red wine," I say with more confidence than Ifeel.
He pours it in the sink. I gulp. Why do I feel like I'm in over myhead?
Isaac repeats the process, lining up the shot of tequila for me. “Lick the salt, take the shot, and bite into the lime. Simple asthat."
“Right," I repeat. I'mnervous.
Isaac comes close so he's standing right beside me. “I've seen you do shotsbefore."
I narrow my eyes at him. I remember thatperfectly.
I do what he says, tasting the salt, grimacing at the tequila, and puckering when I bite thelime.
“Well?" He asks. I lift my eyes to his and find him grinning ear toear.
Actually, it wasn't that terrible. I like salt. I like tart citrus. The sting of the tequila...well, I could get used tothat.
“Notterrible."
He holds out his fist, and I bumpit.
As I watch, he sets up a second round, and we take it together. There's a nice, warm feeling coming overme.
I turn around, the edge of the counter digging into my back as I let it support my weight. “You know, there's another stereotype about Latinomen..."
Isaac gazes down at me. “And what would thatbe?"
I swallow. “They’re incrediblypassionate."
His eyes grow darker. “You tell me, Aubrey. Am I incrediblypassionate?"
I lean my elbows behind me on the counter and look away. “Hard to say. It was a long timeago."
“I see. And there have been so many since me that I was swept to the back of your memorybank."
“Hardly."
“Not many? Was there someone special? Did some lucky guy get to spend time with you and my daughter?" Possession takes over in hisvoice.
“No. After you...well, I was pregnant. And then I was a mother to a baby. And things, you know, they, uh..." I look down at my midsection. “They don't really look the same after you have a baby." I run my hand over my stomach. It's mostly flat now, but there are telltale signs a life grew in there. My belly button isn't the same. It's bigger than it used to be. And the skin around it reminds me of a crepe dress my grandmother used towear.
“Can I see?" His eyes are earnest. He leansforward.
“You want to see my stomach?" Did I hear him right? Maybe the tequila is clogging myears.
“I want to see where Claire lived. I know it sounds crazy, but I missed seeing her in there. I missed out on seeing you with your belly swollen. I just... I don't know. I missed out on so much." He looks sad, so sad. I feel bad that I know what it was like and he doesn't. For a moment I wonder if somehow I could’ve tried harder to find him, but the thought dissipates. What more could I have done? Life dealt me the cards. All I could do was playthem.
His sad eyes make me say yes. “Just remember, I'm not going to look like I did five years ago. Assuming youremember."
Using my hands, I hop to a seat on the counter and lean back on my elbows. Isaac steps in front of me, his hands pushing on my knees to split my legs. He steps between them and reaches for the hem of my shirt, eyes onmine.
My cheeks are warm. He’s waiting for me to give him a green light, so I nodslightly.
