The Book of Want: A Novel

3. Domingo

21 DOMINGO Julieta nudged Manuel with her elbow. He offered nothing more than a grunt in response and pulled the blankets over his head. “Please come with me,” she said. “Like we used to before the twins.” Manuel mumbled something. “What, mi cielo?” Manuel lifted his head an inch from the pillow: “That was almost nineteen years ago.” “So?” He let his head drop dramatically onto the pillow and pulled the blankets tighter around his face. Julieta nudged him again. “I’m asleep,” said Manuel. “Snore,” he added dramatically. Julieta stood and walked to the dresser. Manuel peeked out from beneath the blankets, sighed, and sat up. “Mi amor,” he began, “I work six days a week at that camera store. I deserve to sleep late on Sunday, don’t I?” Julieta turned. “It’s my store, too, and I’m right there working by your side those same six days.” “I know, I know,” he said. “Not to mention doing our taxes and keeping inventory.” “I know you work hard too,” said Manuel, holding up his hands in surrender. “That’s not what I meant, mi amor.” “What did you mean?” “El domingo es mi día favorito.” “Sunday is my favorite day, too,” she said in almost a whisper. Manuel was at a loss. No matter what he said, he was going to lose this one. He listened to the noises outside: the Sunday Times landing with a thump in 22 their driveway, a few rambunctious dogs yapping, giddy birds chirping to their hearts’ content. “So, you’re going to see Tomás tonight?” Julieta finally said. “Yes,” said Manuel. He paused for a moment before adding: “Tomás is feeling kind of down. Sunday is when he really feels like a lonely, old man.” “He’s our age,” she said. “And if he tried, he could meet someone nice and marry again.” “People don’t change,” Manuel responded. “From the moment you’re born until the day you leave this earth, you’re basically the same person.” Julieta ignored this last comment. She simply came back to bed and sat at the edge of the mattress. Manuel admired her figure. The power walking had helped Julieta drop a lot of weight that she’d slowly accumulated during motherhood. Manuel pondered whether he could seduce her into missing morning Mass. He caressed her arm. “Have a little communion with me,” he smiled. Julieta let out a tiny laugh and stood up. “I get the body of Christ only once a week,” she said as she walked to the bathroom. “I can get the body of Manny every day, if I want it.” Manuel scratched his chin and coughed. Julieta started to brush her teeth. After a few moments, she swished her mouth and spat into the sink. She grimaced to examine her teeth in the mirror. Perfect. Never a cavity, no need for braces. By this age, Julieta’s mother and father had lost most of their teeth and both wore annoying sets of dentures. She came back to the bedroom because Manuel had been so quiet. There he sat in bed, the man she’d loved for almost three decades. “Well, say hello to God for me,” he said. Julieta nodded and went back to the bathroom to finish getting ready for Mass. Manuel slid down and buried his face in the pillow. He was asleep within minutes. As she drove to church, Julieta wondered why she drew such comfort from this Catholic ritual. Perhaps it reminded her of her childhood in Mexico. But that couldn’t be it. Weekly Mass was never a big part of her life despite the fact that their pueblo possessed a beautiful basilica. Even gringos made pilgrimages to this holy place, pale men and women who wept silently as they absorbed the power and beauty of the church’s architecture and consecrated statues. But even with this wonderful house of worship in their midst, Belén repeatedly told Julieta and her two sisters that there was no need to attend Mass each Sunday because 23 God was everywhere. This raised grave concerns in the mind of the young Julieta. Was God there when she went pee-pee in the cold, stinky outhouse? And was God there when her parents made funny noises in their bedroom late at night when they thought the children were asleep? Julieta now laughed at...