Eliza felt sorry for herself and even more sorry for him. Alex had gotten a job with a roofing company, showing up at six a.m. each morning to sling tar and lay down shingles in the scorching sun. Yet they were barely paying their bills, much less eating enough.
She quietly set her purse down on the worn armchair next to the couch and went to take a shower in their joint bathroom. The blast of cold water gave her hot skin a little relief. But it did little to cool her anger over the lack of money she had made for all of her hard work the past fourteen hours delivering plates of greasy tacos, hauling dirty dishes caked with dried-up crusty refried beans, and waiting on even greasier, crustier truck drivers who sometimes tried to grab a quick feel when she wasn’t looking.
She towel-dried her hair, put on an oversized tee-shirt and denim shorts, and lay across her bed. She was almost asleep when she was startled by the sound of her name.
“Acha…Alex!” Eliza often had to correct herself, still getting used to their new names. She sat up, blinking, her bedroom light still on. “You scared me.”
Both of them were ordered by the Council to change their given names when they were banned from their homeland a month earlier, although to Eliza it already seemed a lifetime ago. Alex Trellis and Eliza Smith had set off together to face life off the reservation and had found jobs and a two-bedroom apartment that they could barely afford in the busy, dusty, hot city of Phoenix.
“Sorry, I woke up and noticed you were home and thought I’d check on you.” He stood leaning against the door frame to her bedroom, which was adjacent to his. While they shared the rest of the apartment, they were lucky to find a two-bedroom unit they could afford together.
Eliza smiled inwardly. Still the same old Achak, always looking out for me. “Well, thanks, but I was almost asleep.”
“With the light on.”
“You could have just turned it off.”
“True, but then I wouldn’t have gotten to talk to you and share such wonderful conversation.” His sarcastic tone normally wouldn’t have bothered her, but she was grouchy now that he had woken her. “I noticed you had a few beers without me,” she said snippily.
“You could have woken me and had one too.”
“Um, there were none left.” Eliza wished she didn’t sound so irritated but couldn’t help herself.
“Well, excuse me for wanting to relax a little after a day spent frying like a chicken.” He stood tall, his eyes now glinting with resentment.
“And what, you don’t think I work equally hard at the diner?” Eliza climbed off her bed and stood to challenge him. She was just a foot away and could smell his familiar musky man-scent.
He remained in the doorway. “And whose fault do you think that is?”
“Get out!” she screamed and pushed his chest as hard as she could, but he was muscular and strong and didn’t budge. She started to push again, but he backed up two steps out of the doorway.
“I’m sorry. I…don’t know what got into me.” His face blushed with embarrassment. “It was a long day. I’m really sorry.”
Eliza was still furious, but her energy faded, and her voice sounded like a little girl’s in her ears. “It’s okay, I had a hard day too. Just go, I’m really tired.”
“Okay, good night.” His expression was dejected as he looked down, not meeting her eyes as she shut the door on him.
“ACHAK!” She sat upright in her bed, waking from a bad dream in a cold sweat, her tee-shirt nearly soaked. Pulling it off over her head, she fought to remember, not knowing she had screamed his name.
They were in a forest. A white man, scarred and ugly, was lunging for her friend with a huge, dagger-like knife, plunging it into his abdomen. But she was tied to a tree and couldn’t free herself to help him.
She heard a soft knock on her door and pulled the bedsheet up to cover her nakedness. “Come in,” she said.
Alex gently opened the door a few inches and peered in. “Are you okay? You called my name. Well, my old name. It sounded like you were in trouble.”
“Sorry to wake you, I was having a bad dream.”
“Oh, okay, well I just wanted to make sure.” He went to close the door behind him.
“Stay.” Eliza whispered it so softly she wasn’t sure she said the word out loud.
Alex opened the door a little wider and stood in the doorway, dressed only in boxer shorts, looking baffled. “Did you say stay?”
“Yes, please, sit.” She motioned for him to sit with her on the end of her twin-sized bed, which, together with a dresser they had bought at the thrift shop down the road, nearly filled the little bedroom. “Sorry I woke you.”
“That’s okay, you sounded scared to death.” He didn’t bother turning on the light since the full moon was enough to illuminate his way to sit on the edge of her bed. “What was your dream about?”
When Eliza was done relaying her nightmare, she noticed Alex’s eyes shimmering with tears in the soft moonlit glow. She reached out and covered his hand with her own, being careful to hold the sheet around her. “Hey, it was just a dream.”
“I know.” Alex blinked, obviously embarrassed for her to see him like this. He cleared his throat. “It’s just that I felt really bad for what I said earlier. You’re all I have, Eliza. You’re my best friend, and I would never hurt you. I know I’ve never said this to you before, but, well, I love you.”
Eliza was stunned, unable to speak, but her heart filled her chest until it felt like it would explode. Not thinking, only feeling, she reached her arms toward him, and he moved toward her, and they embraced, the sheet falling away between them.
He kissed her, and she felt lightheaded tasting the sweet saltiness of his mouth on hers. Suddenly they were lying together under the sheets, their bodies blending into one.
THEY NEVER SPOKE AGAIN of that night together until several moons later, just after her nineteenth birthday, when Eliza realized she had missed her menstrual cycle.
The two had fallen in love with each other that night but decided to honor their heritage and upbringing by staying chaste thereafter. Still, it was impossible for them to be platonic, so they spent many nights kissing and touching, going to bed restless and aching for each other. Not talking about their intimate night was one thing but trying not to think about it was like un-lighting a fire. You could douse it with water to put it out, but you couldn’t pretend it had never been lit in the first place nor take away the heat it had already cast upon you.
Alex had surprised Eliza the night of her birthday with a candlelit dinner for two. He had cooked her favorite meal, roasted Cornish game hen with potatoes, and had set their small dinette with folded napkins, the Corelle plates, and silverware they had bought on sale at Walmart. He had even decorated with balloons and fresh flowers. And after dinner he brought her a small chocolate frosted cake topped with nineteen candles and sang “happy birthday” to her.
She cried happy and sad tears at the same time, loving him and missing her family.
During dinner they had actually talked about getting married to put an end to their torture.
“But I don’t want to get married for just that reason,” she had told him shyly.
“Of course not, me neither.” He had quickly added, “I love you, you know that. I want to make you my wife.”
“I love you too, but I think we might want to wait until we have a little bit of money saved