19
Stranded Sudha Balagopal Juan’s my chauffeur from airport to hotel. With the briefest glance at my ring finger, he hands me his card. He has a surfer’s body with visible tattoos and a shock of dark hair he continually flicks back from his forehead. ‘Where’s your famous Cancun sunshine?’ I point to threatening clouds. ‘Sorry, we never have this, cómo se dice, this clima here. You come from?’ ‘Minneapolis.’ ‘Much snow there, no? Is good here normalmente.’ He looks at me in the rear-view mirror. ‘I take you sightseeing before storm, okay?’ He’s fast and direct. I try business-like. ‘Are you picking up my boyfriend, Roy Clark, at 6:00?’ He’s unfazed. ‘Sí. But we go see town before storm. Yes, pretty senorita?’ I twirl his card. ‘I’ll call.’ Mom says I’m attracted to bad boys. ‘Your problem? You tend to waste your time with men who won’t commit or those who’re unreliable. Not one was worthy.’ She reminds me of my abysmal choices: Amit, who was in college for six years, didn’t get a degree, never found a job; Gus, who lived with his parents at age 30. She says Roy’s perfect and enumerates his qualifications— good looking, lawyer, financially sound. Besides, he doesn’t wear jeans. Last week, he jotted down Mom’s number in his planner. I also heard him call the Cancun hotel and ask for a florist. One of my rings is missing. He’s a meticulous planner, yet no good at subterfuge. A problematic legal case now delays his trip to Cancun. I receive his frantic text: Frustrated and stuck in Houston. I hear a storm’s brewing? Flight status unknown. He doesn’t add: I miss you. I love you. Juan calls from the lobby. ‘You wanna go? You pay me nothing.’