“You know my birthday is in a couple of weeks,” Ma says, clapping her hands together. “Calista wants to throw a barbecue at some park by her house. You should bring her then!”
“That’s the plan, Ma,” Ian says, the smug bastard’s gaze careening into mine.
“Excuse me, boys. I’ll be right back.” Ma pushes herself up from her chair and makes her way to the bathroom down the hall.
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” I say under my breath.
Ian stands, adjusting his tie. He looks like a goddamn buffoon. Or a kid playing dress up in his father’s clothes. He’s nothing more than a snake oil salesman trying to project an image of success, but I see through it.
I’ve always seen through everything he’s done over the years, like it’s some skill I’ve honed and practiced and fine-tuned.
“Okay, so if you killed me … how many would that be? What’s your running total?” he asks.
“Fuck you.”
“What does it feel like to kill people you don’t even know? I’ve always wanted to know,” he says. “Do you ever feel bad about it? Do you ever feel like, hey, maybe I shouldn’t fight this war I have no business fighting and maybe I shouldn’t kill people if I don’t have the decency to fucking look them in the eyes when I do it.”
“Go to hell.” My shoulders rise and fall with each hard breath and I clench my fist to keep from strangling the jackass. “You’re lucky Mom’s in the next room.”
I step closer to him, until our faces are mere inches apart.
“What exactly are you doing?” I ask. “With Maritza? What’s your plan here?”
“I like her.”
“Bullshit.” I shake my head, hands hooked on my hips.
“I’m being the better man. Being the man you could never be,” he says. “She had no idea what a piece of shit you were until I told her.”
“The fuck did you tell her?” I spit my words at him.
“Nothing that isn’t true.” Ian tosses his hands in the air and wears a sneer that every part of me is seconds from ripping off his face.
Pulling in a hard breath, I try to calm myself down before I do something stupid.
But it doesn’t work.
And within an instant, I’ve got his shirt collar and tie bunched in my right fist and his back is slammed against the living room wall. His face is turning red and he’s struggling to say something, his eyes wide and fearful.
I’ve done some things in my life that I’m not proud of, but I’m a fucking saint compared to Ian …
“Stop seeing her,” I say, letting him go and watching him slink down the wall like the pathetic slug he is.
“Or what?” he asks.
“Boys, what’s going on?” Ma’s voice disrupts this shit show and Ian adjusts his tie. “Please tell me you two aren’t fighting. You haven’t seen each other in so long and then I walk out for a few minutes and—”
“It’s fine, Ma,” Ian says, offering a reassuring, fake-as-hell smile. “We’re good now, but I should get going. I’m taking Maritza out to dinner tonight.”
His eyes settle on mine, a silent “fuck you,” and then he’s gone.
If he so much as thinks about hurting her, he’s a dead man.
PRESSING ‘SAVE’ ON MY Word file, I close out of my research paper and email it to my professor. Heading out to the kitchen, I grab a drink of water and check the time. I’m supposed to get dinner with Ian tonight, who’s surprisingly becoming a good friend.
He’s an amazing listener, extremely sympathetic for being a guy, and gives the best advice.
And he’s normal.
Just a nice, normal guy.
No gimmicks, no shtick, just a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of person.
Grabbing a bottled water from the fridge, I unscrew the cap and lift it to my lips, only to spill it down my shirt the second someone knocks on my door. It wouldn’t be Mel or Gram because they both have the code to the lock, and I’m not expecting company and even if I were, I never have people ring the buzzer at the gate because I don’t want to bother Gram so I usually have them text me when they’re here.
Dabbing the wet splotches of my shirt with a dish towel, I get as much as I can before tiptoeing across the guesthouse toward the front entrance. Peering through the peephole, I squint until the face comes into focus.
Myles.
Exhaling, I debate pretending not to be home but quickly decide I’m a grown ass woman who doesn’t need to hide from anyone … and also my car is parked out front.
“Myles, hey,” I say when I get the door. “Come on in.”
“Hey.” There’s a sadness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, like a wistful longing when he looks at me.
“What’s up?” I slide my hands down my back pockets and linger in the doorway next to him.
“Was just visiting with my grandmother,” he says. “Thought I’d stop over and say hi. Haven’t seen you in a while …”
“Yeah. I’m sorry. I’ve been swamped lately with school and work and everything,” I say. “How’ve you been?”
“Good,” he says. “Was actually going to see if you wanted to go to the Art Con Awards with me next month. As my date.” He flashes a nervous grin that disappears in seconds. “You know, as friends.”
“Myles …” I drag in a heavy breath, tilting my head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m so sorry.”
He wrings his hands before shoving his thick glasses up his nose. “I tried calling you a while back. You change your number or something?”
“I did. Some psycho kept calling me from a blocked number,” I say.
His gaze immediately falls to the floor and his lips press flat. “I see.”
Oh my God.
It was probably Myles.
The buzzing of my phone in my pocket sends a quick startle to my heart, and I waste no time redirecting my attention.
It’s Ian.
“I’m sorry,” I say, pointing to my phone. “I have to take this. Good seeing you though. Congrats on the script option.”
I get the door, giving him no time to protest or linger, and he leaves without making things more awkward than they already were. Next time I talk to Gram, I’ll have to tell her my suspicions. Maybe then she’ll finally stop wishing and hoping and praying there’s a chance.
“Ian, what’s up?” I answer.
“Hey, I’m so sorry,” he says, the sound of traffic fills the background. He must be driving. “I’m going to have to cancel dinner. My mom had a fall this afternoon and she’s in the hospital. I’m on my way to see her right now.”
“Oh my God. Is she okay?”
He hesitates. “I don’t know. Doctors are trying to figure out why she fell. She said she blacked out, but that’s all we really know right now.”
Ian’s voice breaks a little and the seriousness in his tone breaks my heart. Just last week he was going on and on about how amazing his mother is and all the things she did for him and his siblings before she got sick.
“I want to be there for you,” I say. “Which hospital is she at?”
“Maritza, you don’t have to do that.”
“Ian, we’re friends. That’s what friends do. Let me be there for you. If there’s anything your family needs, I’ll be the gopher. If anyone needs a babysitter or someone to entertain the kids or something, I can be that person.”
He hesitates at first and for a moment I wonder if I’ve overstepped some boundary I never knew was there, like when I sent Isaiah the giant care package.
“You’re incredible,” he says. “That would be amazing. Thank you. She’s at Good Samaritan on Wilshire.”
“Perfect. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
CALISTA CHECKS HER PHONE before shoving it in her pocket. “Ian’s on his way.”
Reaching for Mom’s hand, I shrug. “So? I’m not leaving.”
She lifts her hands. “Wasn’t saying you should. Just thought you’d want to know. He’s in the build
ing. Just texted me for Mom’s room number, so he’ll be here any second.”
Mom is sound asleep in her hospital bed at Good Samaritan, monitors beeping as the scent of bleached bedding and antibacterial soap fills the air around us. In the corner, my other sisters, Layla and Raya, talk amongst themselves. My older brother, Marco, is down the hall chatting up one of the nurses, though he claimed he was just going to get an update.
Guess the gang’s all here.
“When are you two going to bury the hatchet?” Calista asks. “Hasn’t it been long enough?”
I shoot her a look.
Forever would never be long enough.
“Hey,” Calista says a minute later, peering across the room where the man of the fucking hour stands in the doorway, looking like he’s about to shed a tear or something.
I don’t buy it.
If he truly cared about our mother, he would’ve taken care of her when I was gone instead of running around knocking up other people’s girlfriends.
“Hey, Cal.” Ian strides across the room, ignoring me as he heads toward Calista and gives her a side hug. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s stable,” Calista says. “Just resting right now. They’re waiting on some labs. Thinking maybe her meds interacted or something, but we won’t know for sure until we get the results.”
Ian greets the other girls next, heading across the room and leaning against the wall, arms crossed and making small talk.
It’s funny how years ago we were all on the same page about Ian and his penchant for lying and cheating and scamming and generally only looking out for his own interests, but I go away for years on end and suddenly it’s like he’s taken my place and everyone loves him again. And it’s not that I’m jealous—this isn’t a fucking competition—I just hate that some of us seem to have forgotten what a vile human being he is.
Ian won’t stop checking his phone and after a minute, I watch as he types out a quick message and shoves it back into his pocket before returning to his conversation.
“She’s going to be okay, Isaiah,” Calista says, voice low.
“I know.”
“You’ve been here since 6 AM,” she says, “and you haven’t left her side once. Go. Get something to eat. Grab a coffee. Stretch your legs. Just do … something.”
“I’m good.”
Calista marches around Mom’s hospital bed, arms folded. “I’m serious. Go for a walk. It’s better than sitting here stewing, which is exactly what you’re doing.”
“I’m not stewing.” My nose wrinkles.
She rolls her eyes before grabbing the sleeve of my t-shirt and yanking me into a standing position.
Exhaling, I straighten my shirt, smooth out the wrinkles, and squeeze between my obnoxious older sister and the wall beside Ma’s bed. Ian, Raya, and Layla watch as I leave, and I walk with purpose, like I have somewhere to go, when I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do.
I’m not hungry.
I don’t want a coffee.
I don’t want to go walking around a germ-y hospital.
It’s cold as hell outside.
Passing the nurses’ station, I spot my older brother flirting with a copper-haired, freckle-faced girl-next-door type in lavender scrubs, and he’s so far gone he doesn’t notice me.
Rounding the next corner, I stop mid-trek when I nearly bump into a familiar face.
“Oh. Hi.” Maritza brushes a strand of dark hair from her eyes, tucking it behind her left ear. “I’m just … I came here to support Ian.”
“Obviously.”
Her expression softens and she’s a little less bent out of shape than she was yesterday morning at the café, and I take this opportunity to share a few things on the off-chance she might be more receptive this time around.
“You know, I came home a few weeks ago,” I said. “Tried to call you, but your number was disconnected. Tried stopping by the café, but you were never there. I couldn’t remember your address because I’d kept it in this book in my tent and we lost it in one of the airstrikes, and to be honest, ever since the coma, parts of my memory are a little foggy sometimes. Couldn’t even remember how to get to your place when I came back.”
Her dark eyes point toward the ground and she pulls in a breath of purified hospital air.
“But the one thing I didn’t forget was you, Maritza,” I say. “I never stopped thinking about you for two seconds. I don’t know what he told you, but I can—”
“Maritza.” Ian’s voice over my shoulder brings my commentary to a screeching halt. “Everything okay over here? Just came to find you. Wasn’t sure if you got lost.”
Her gaze lifts, traveling between us, and she nods. “Yeah. It’s fine.”
“No, everything is not fine.” My voice is a harsh growl and my jaw tightens. “Go back to Mom’s room. Go back to pretending like you’re some stand-up guy.”
“Isaiah.” Maritza’s voice is somewhat scolding, like she thinks I’m being hard on him, but if she only knew …
“You can’t date him, Maritza,” I say. “Date anyone else. Just not him.”
“You can’t tell her who to fucking date,” Ian says, trying to step between us. I place my hand on his chest and shove him out of the way, keeping my eyes trained on her.
“What makes you think we’re together?” Her arms fold across her chest and her gaze narrows.
Chuffing, I say, “Because that’s what he said …”
“Ian, is that true?” Maritza peers over my shoulder to where my brother stands. “Did you say we were seeing each other?”
I answer for him. “Yeah. He was telling our mom all about you, how he was going to introduce you to the family soon and all this other shit.”
“I never once said we were dating,” Ian says, the embarrassment in his tone obvious, but that’s what he gets for lying.
“But you sure as hell made it sound that way.” I talk to my brother but I’m looking at her. “See, Maritza? He’s a liar, a master manipulator. You can’t date him.”
“I’m not.” Her pretty face is red and twisted and she glares at both of us with the same disdain. “I’m not dating Ian. We’re just friends.”
“Good. You deserve better than that jackass,” I say.
“What, like you’re any better?” Ian chuckles.
Turning to face him, I rush him against the wall and gather his shirt in my hands, giving him a good, hard shove until that stupid fucking smile of his disappears.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” A hand on my back gathers a fistful of my shirt and yanks me away.
Calista.
“The hell are you two doing out here? Having a pissing match? In the middle of a hospital? Are you both insane?” Our sister splays her hand on Ian’s chest, keeping him from making any sudden moves as he stands there seething.
He’s lucky I didn’t bash his fucking head in.
“I’m sorry, it was a bad idea coming here. I’m going to go.” Maritza turns to leave before anyone has a chance to stop her.
“Is that the girl you like, Isaiah?” Calista asks. “The concert girl? How does she know Ian?”
Maritza turns for a split second, as if she heard my sister, but then she’s gone.
As much as I hate the fact that I didn’t get to say my piece and explain everything the way I wanted to, at least she got to see firsthand what a Svengali my brother is. If I can keep her from so much as thinking about dating him … I’ve secured a small victory.
But the war is far from over and I’m hardly done fighting.
I won’t stop fighting until I win her back.
“THANKS FOR MEETING ME today,” I say when Ian arrives at the Coffee Bean on San Vicente. I feel like it’s only fitting that we have this conversation here, where we first “officially” met. “How’s your mother? Is she okay?”
He takes a seat. “Yeah. She’s going home today. They think there was some kind of mix-up with her meds, so they’re getting that straightened out and she should be goo
d to go.”
My hand covers my chest. “So glad to hear that.”
“And before you say anything,” Ian says, “let me just apologize for yesterday. For Isaiah. You shouldn’t have been put in the middle of that, and I hate that he made you feel uncomfortable.”
“You don’t need to apologize for your brother,” I say, noting the way he wasted no time placing all of the blame on Isaiah.
“Sorry.” His full lips twist into a smile. “Old habit.”
“But I wanted to talk to you about what he said … about you telling your mom about me and wanting to introduce me to your family …”
He sits up straight, eyes locked on mine.
“I thought I made it clear that I didn’t want to date you,” I say. “And you said you only saw me as a friend.”
Dragging his hand along his smooth jaw, he flashes a disarming smirk. “Yeah, I guess … I guess my feelings changed, Maritza. And I got a little ahead of myself.”
“Why’d you give him the impression we were dating?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know why he interpreted it that way.”
I’m beginning to see through him, little by little, piece by piece. There are all these little nuances in the way he talks, the word choices he uses. It’s crazy that I didn’t see these things before, but I can’t stop seeing them now.
“Anyway, I wanted to meet up today because I was thinking,” I begin, “and after what happened yesterday, I don’t think it’s a good idea that we continue our friendship.”
Ian’s expression falls, his gaze shaded in disbelief. “You can’t break up with a friend, Maritza. Who does that?”
“It’s not a break-up. I just don’t want to cause any more rifts between you and your brother, and I don’t want to give you the wrong impression about my intentions,” I say. “For now, I think it’d be in everyone’s best interest if we all just went our own ways.”
His chiseled jaw unclenches and he clears his throat before scanning the room. He doesn’t have to say anything for me to see his ego in real time.
We linger a bit, neither of us saying anything. I’ve already said my part, but apparently I’ve left Ian speechless.
My phone vibrates in my bag and I reach down to silence it, catching Rachael’s name flashing across the screen. I told her I was coming here today to have this talk with Ian, so she’s probably just checking to see how it went. I’ll call her back when I leave.
[2018] PS I Hate You Page 19