sanctuary. [oscar diaz]

[3] the girl named sangria.

THE GIRL NAMED SANGRIA.

The sound of Cesar piddling around in his room woke me up the next morning. The rising sun was peeking through the blinds of the window and I quickly learned to hate how close it was to my bed. I rolled over and grabbed my phone from the bedside table to see the time. 8AM. I didn't go to bed until around three, which was the time I had successfully finished unpacking everything.

I slowly got out of bed and walked over to the door. I opened it and walked down the hallway. As soon as I reached the end I looked to my left to see Oscar sitting on the couch in sweats with no shirt on. He was watching some movie on the TV and he hadn't noticed me yet, so I took the opportunity to stare at his body. His torso was nicely tanned. His muscles stood out even more than before, and I saw a couple more tattoos on his biceps that I hadn't seen yesterday.

I caught myself staring too long and changed my stance from standing to look like I had just entered the room. I fake groaned, which finally caused Oscar to look at me. "Why you look so sad, mamas?" he smirked, extending his arm to rest on the back of the couch.

"I thought I was dreaming," I sighed, turning to walk into the kitchen. I opened the fridge and bent down, looking for some type of alcohol, but the only liquor inside was multiple forties and a few six packs of Coronas. I rolled my eyes, standing back up and turning back around to the living room. "I need a glass of champagne? Do you have champagne? I feel like you don't."

"Its eight in the morning," he stated, judgmentally.

"Time is only an illusion," I shot back, leaning forward on the island. "And since we're in California that means its noon on the east coast. Therefore, I can have a drink."

"Your dad told me a lot of things about you, but he failed to mention your drinking problem," he joked, laughing at himself.

"I'm the one with the drinking problem?" I asked, incredulously, pointing at myself. "There's like fifty beer bottles laying around here. Your fridge got more beer than it does food inside."

"They ain't all for me. They're for the boys when they come over," he defended.

"Sounds like something an alcoholic in denial would say," I shot back, stand up straight as I crossed my arms over my chest.

He didn't say anything. He just smiled at me, clearly amused.

Cesar walked in, making both of us look at him instead of each other. My eyes crinkled in confusion as I took in his 'outfit'. He had a white bed sheet wrapped around him. The left side was tied over his shoulder while the right was wrapped around his chest and he had some sort of leaf crown over his head.

"Por que estas vestido así?" I laughed.

"Tu hablas español?" he asked, surprised.

I nodded. "Yo vivo en Cuba," I stated, matter-of-factly. "Don't see how I could do that without speaking the language."

"Oscar didn't tell me where you were coming from," he told me. "He just said the boss man's daughter was coming to live with us for awhile."

Of course he wouldn't tell him the entire story. Oscar had proved himself to be a man of few words. He just stared, or smiled or beamed instead of speaking what he was thinking. I sometimes wish I had that talent. Using less words and using my facial expressions or posture to convey my thoughts. But I had a blabber mouth and always felt the need to speak. It's what got me into so many arguments and confrontations, but I couldn't seem to stop. I always felt the need to say something to make noise.