"So he’s supporting you?"
"Not exactly. He doesn’t give me money, if that’s what you’re asking. But I was able to quit one of my jobs to concentrate more on school and looking for clients. And I don’t need to pay rent. If I leave him right now, I don’t know how I’ll make it work. And I’m not going back to living with my mother." I'm not sure if I want him to hear this, but his dark eyes are steady and understanding and soaking it all in.
Cruz leans back against the trailer and holds my gaze for the longest time. "Is that the only reason? Money?" he asks gently.
His voice stays with me, smooth and low, even as his body pulls away an inch.
"What do you know about it?" I try to tease, but my mouth has too much truth in it. And too much sandwich.
"I know a little. Don’t forget I was born poor too. I’ve got what? Five, maybe seven years on you? You’ll be fine on your own. Get a room somewhere clean and quiet. Don’t let him treat you like shit. It’s not worth it."
"How do you know if he treated me like shit tonight?"
"Seeing that you showed up drunk and shaking, I just do. I’m not going to ask. It’s your business. But he doesn’t deserve you. Just my two cents."
"I'll have to give up school if I have to pay rent. And how many guys would want me if I wasn’t someone? I want to marry and have a family sometimes in the future. I don't want to be just an arm piece. I want to be independent. I want to bring something to the table too. School's my ticket out."
"There are definitely more than one guy who'd want you," Cruz replies. "But don’t forget, I’m the first one in that long line of potential husbands." He grins, turning it into a joke.
I laugh. "Suuuuuure."
"I’m very serious. Whenever you’re ready to settle down with a normal dude, I’m at your service."
I laugh again, then take another bite of my sandwich because my cheeks heat up and I need to occupy myself with something. "You really think that being a rockstar and all, you’ll get married and have kids and just tour in between family gatherings?"
"Why wouldn’t I?"
"Just sounds insane."
"Nothing insane about it. I want a big family. At least three kids."
"Three kids?" I say, watching his face for something to give away. Cruz gives nothing, but I can feel him anyway. He smiles like he already knows. "Who would be stupid enough to give you three kids? Have you seen your band? You guys literally twist everyone's brains by talking about sex in a confessional."
"Hey, I don’t write the lyrics." He raises both hands in the air defensively. "I just play bass."
"You’re still complicit."
"Does that turn you off?"
"On the contrary. It’s sexy." I tilt my head and watch the sky unfold like a map of stars, uneasy and easy at the same time.
"But you get it, right? It’s all a metaphor? The songs. The lyrics."
"Yes."
"So then what’s wrong with three kids?"
"Nothing… I think when I’m ready to have kids, I’ll just settle for one. If I fuck up, at least it’s one and not three."
We both smile at this like it’s just another joke. But in every joke, there’s always some truth.
"Hey, Wendy." His voice drops to its lower register, like he’s about to whisper some secret. "I meant what I said. If you have nowhere to sleep tonight, my bunk is available. No strings."
"No strings, huh?" I say, my pulse in my throat. The way he looks at me, like I’m the sun.
He nods. "No strings."
Pause. Because I have nothing to say to that.
