All the Waters of the Earth

Chapter 30: Monolithic Primordial Soup

Jake leaned over, wrapped his arms around me tightly, and kissed me on the beach, a desperate, giving-taking-needing kiss, the kind that you remembered afterward, not just because your lips were kiss-stung and swollen, but because you remembered the way it made you feel. This kiss made me feel essential to his life. Like I was a requirement, for him, to be able to breathe or to function. It made me feel like no other world existed except the world that I creating with him.

But it also made me feel like he was filling me up, like he was giving me back what I needed from him. And that made me feel, similarly, like it was a requirement for him to kiss me; I didn't think that I could breathe or function otherwise, as well. I felt like he was essential to my life. It was a phenomenal kiss.

I loved it.

And I admitted it: I loved him. I'd tell him soon enough.

The vast ocean spread before us, murky in January, but nevertheless sparkly on the top, in the sun. I thought of the primordial soup that made up the contents of that water: all of the kelp and plankton and sea life living within it. So many creatures coexisted in the ocean, but we normally just looked out and saw water and surface waves, but nothing more. The waters of this earth looked so deceptively simple and beautiful from above, almost monolithic, but underneath them, and within them, one found peace and terror, creation and death, activity and entropy. It was complicated, but if you paid attention, you learned that within the waters, there was a constant source of growth and expansion, and a whole lot of astonishing beauty.

I didn't want to leave the beach. We kissed a little bit longer, and then, becoming self-conscious of the sunbathers, who watched us but pretended not to, we walked hand-in-hand back to his car, putting on our shoes when we got off of the sand.

"Let's get your son," said Jake.

We walked into my parents' modest suburban house to pick up Rob, and my mother — who was no taller than me — reached up and pinched Jake's cheeks. Oh, for crying out loud, he wasn't twelve. She said to him, "It's so nice to meet you, after you called me to bring my Lucinda her soup when she was sick. Mijo, how are you? How is your papa?"

He gave her his half-grin, which was melancholy this time, but nevertheless devastating, as normal, and I saw my mom, not immune to his charms, falter a second, and recover. "It's nice to meet you in person and thanks for asking, Mrs. Figueroa. He's not doing that well. I'm going to go back and get him after I drop Lucy and Roberto home."

"I'm so sorry to hear that," said my mom. "I will pray for him."

"Thank you," said Jake politely, and he looked around the living room. A bookshelf held copies of my books. Pictures of me and Roberto and other family members were framed and put on the walls, and on shelves. It was neat, but a little bit cluttered, like there was no reason to throw out the old; you just made room for the new next to, or on top of, "it," whatever memorabilia "it" was.

Then I realized that Jake didn't have a family home like this, and never would. I couldn't give him a different past; we would have to work on a different future.

My dad had been in the den watching television, but he came out, and sized Jake up. My dark-haired, mustached father wore a plaid, button-down shirt, jeans, and a large belt buckle. He looked like he belonged in the country, even though he was a mechanic in the city, not a rancher. Standing next to Jake it was immediately apparent that height was genetic: my father came up to about Jake's shoulders. Boy.

"It is nice to meet you, Jake. I wish your father a speedy recovery," said my dad formally.

"Thank you Mr. Figueroa, it's nice to meet you too. And yes, I hope he gets well soon."

"Now. You must eat. You need to keep up your strength to take care of your papa," my mom chided him, and took his hand and pulled him to the dining room table. "Sit down, I will bring you something. It's New Year's Day. I have extra chili colorado, frijoles, arroz—"

"Mom, he's not used to people fussing over him," I started, but she completely ignored me. I eyed Jake and he looked a little amused. Oh, well, he did need to eat.

And, I supposed, he needed to also get used to having people take care of him.

"Lucy, did you have lunch?" called my mom.

"No."

"I'll make you lunch, too." What was it with food being equal to love? I supposed that being fed meant that you were cared for. This was normal for me. My mom always took care of me like this. She worked in a grocery store, after all.

But I thought that even though this was normal for me, it was probably strange for Jake.

The more I thought about these things, the more I wanted to expose him to them, and make it so that they were his new normal. I was so glad that he was going to let me help him stop being Mr. Workaholic Businessman and start being just Jake.

Then my son walked in the room, sock-clad, looking rested.

"What did you do today, mijo?"

"Watched the Rose Parade and football. Played games with abuelo."

"How much Minecraft did you play?"

"Some." Then he spotted Jake. "Mister Jake, you're here!" And he ran over and gave him a hug.

Well.

Now I wasn't jealous of my own child, but I would admit that I noticed that he didn't give me a kiss even though I hadn't seen him overnight, but Jake got a full-on welcome with a hug. Interesting.

But he needed a full-on welcome from a child. So this was excellent. And I loved that my son seemed to really like Jake. The next thing I knew, Jake had asked Rob about his science fair project, and was agreeing to help him make something. Glory and hallelujah, I didn't have to do it.

My mom served us plates of tacos and we ate, and as we enjoyed our lunch, I thought that I was glad to give Jake some glimpses of my family, because when he was with me, I was at home.