Page 41 of A Curvy Girl’s Hurricane Survival Guide

It takes me a minute to spot Sonny in the living room. He is lying on the couch very still, his head leaning back, eyes closed.

I walk over and gingerly sit next to him.

His eyes open, and that friendly, knowing smile spreads across his face. “Hey. Couldn’t sleep?”

“Well, I did initially, but then…” I almost say ‘I noticed you were gone,’ but gratefully stop myself. My siblings’ words earlier are still echoing in my head. I try to sound light. “I guess my sleep is all off schedule. I can really feel it when I don’t get regular sleep. The late nights and lack of sleep are for the party people and people who waste their off time playing video games.”

Sonny visibly stiffens. Quietly, he says, “Playing video games isn’t necessarily a waste of time.”

I shrug, doubling down. “I mean, do you think it’s okay to cast aside your girlfriend to play video games all night with some girl you eventually go see in Puerto Rico?”

Sonny’s jaw tightens. “You can see you’re projecting, right? That’s a very specific scenario. I’m sorry that happened to you, but that doesn’t mean everything related to video games is exactly like your experience with Trevor.”

I just want him to agree with me. I want that same Sonny who had been ready to pounce at dinner to defend me, to tell me that it isn’t my fault that my relationship with Trevor has failed. It was the games, the tramp, or anything else. Instead, he is defending them.

“Well, maybe I am projecting,” I say, crossing my arms. “But I’m not willing to experiment with another gamer to see if there’s an exception.”

Sonny looks down at his hands in his lap as he lets out a sigh. Have I judged him wrongly? I see him as a driven, serious, accomplished man, and I don’t associate any of that with a guy who plays video games.

“Well… I guess that’s all that needs to be said then.” He closes his eyes and leans his head back again.

I lay down on the couch next to him, the silence between us heavier than the storm that is kicking up again outside. I have the horrible feeling that something I had just said has broken something fragile between us.

Rule #17

POST-STORM CLEANUP INCLUDES COFFEE, GUILT, AND HARD CONVERSATIONS

SONNY

I wake up on the couch, my neck stiff and my shirt clinging to me in the house’s humid heat. Light is leaking in through the spaces between the boards, casting the room in a grey hue.

Lying next to me, curled into a ball, is Cai. Her lips are slightly parted, and ringlets of her hair stick to the side of her head, giving her an angelic look. Her dress is slightly stuck to her body, outlining every curve, and making me think of very unholy things. I want to scoop her into my arms despite the heat.

I hear a shuffling noise from the kitchen and turn to find Abuela there. She is smiling at me as she gently beckons me over. I quietly stand up and make my way over.

“Buenos días, mi niño!” she says, squeezing my arm.

“Good morning,” I say, guessing that more or less was what she said to me.

“Make coffee. Want?” She gestures to a metal coffee pot on the stove.

“Oh yes, but there’s no power, right?” I ask.

“Is ok. Is gas.” She gestures to the gas burners.

“Nice!” I say, adding a thumbs up.

Abuela starts busying herself with adding grounds and water to the pot.

“Do you think the storm is done?”

Abuela perks up as if listening for something, then nods. “Sí, ya está al final. Soon.”

I nod. These people are like Rain Man for storms. They all seem to read the barometric pressure or see air currents, as evidenced by their behavior.

Abuela lights the pilot with a match and places the coffee pot on the burner. She leans close to watch the flame as she adjusts the heat.

Gas stoves always make me nervous. I take a step back. Abuela clocks it immediately.