by Lia London
So, she hid the pregnancy for as long as she could, hoping Mateo would soften, maybe even commit to marriage. Her hips filled out, and then her waist. Nausea at even a whiff of cumin or cilantro made cooking for him harder. She sensed him drifting away, and then a young woman appeared at their door with a rose and a card for him.
“What’s this about?” Zaira had asked.
“It’s a thank you,” said the woman, tossing golden hair over her shoulder and giving Zaira an appraising look.
Zaira had felt like a bloated cow next to the petite beauty. “For what?”
But she knew. Mateo had taken her to some kind of hormonal heaven and assured her Zaira meant nothing to him.
Which she didn’t.
Zaira knew that now.
She sank onto her bed and pulled the pillow into her arms. How had it taken her over a year to kick him out? Was she so desperate for a loving family that she’d pretended not to see the multiple affairs that followed? Pretended not to notice the empty half of the bed beside her? Pretended not to notice her beautiful daughter—named for an angel—had no present father?
Zaira wiped away the last of her tears and flopped down into the fetal position, cradling the pillow to her belly. Maybe it was better she knew of Antonio’s commitment issues this early on, before they shared a roof. Gabriela would be old enough to feel the pain of loss when it all turned sour.
“Let him go, Z.” Though she spoke the words aloud, she couldn’t bring herself to hate him.
Antonio was no Mateo. No, he was a million times better.
But he could still break her heart.
Chapter 10 ~ The Wedding Crasher
Zaira stared at the post-it on the floor. Someone had clearly stuck it to her door, but it had fallen when a breeze caught it, probably from the sporadic ceiling vent just above that spat hot or cold air seemingly on whims of a delusional thermostat. She picked it up and read Antonio’s neat print. Hi Z. Can you please stop by my office when you get a chance? A.
Her stomach pinched. She needed to talk to him, too, but what did he want? Was there more bad news? More retreating?
“You rang?” She leaned on his door jamb as casually as she could.
“Oh hi!” Antonio’s brows jumped. “No patients yet today?”
“Not yet. What’s up?”
He swiveled his whole body to face her and seemed to hesitate. “Look. I feel really bad about Carlos ditching out on you like that.”
“I told you not to volunteer him.” Zaira balled her fists at herself. Why was she being confrontational?
Antonio gave her a sad half-smile. “Yes, you did. I just didn’t realize how much homework he wasn’t doing while he was with Gabi. He did all the little things, but he wasn’t chipping away at the bigger projects, the ones that take focused effort a little every day.”
For a moment, Zaira’s eyes glazed as his words took on a different meaning. Family. Marriage. Commitment. Security. Love. All the things she longed for required daily sacrifices of time and attention. Wasn’t that true of anything that mattered in life?
She nodded her understanding.
“I’ve hunted some leads for possible babysitters. There are some teen girls with experience. The high school lets out before the middle school, so they’d be available sooner.” He held up a post-it between two fingers. “They came recommended by the moms of some of Emilio’s friends. I’ve put them in order of probable best.”
Zaira stared at the yellow square of paper in his fingers. He’d done all that research for her, yet all she could think to say was, “Are those generic post-its? They don’t stick very well, do they?”
“Huh?” He examined the paper for a second before extending it to her again. “Yeah, I guess. Kind of cheap.”
She took the post-it from him, folding it without reading any of the names. “That’s really nice of you to find those for me. Thanks.”
Antonio’s smile was hard to read. Was he pleased? Nervous? Wishing she’d leave?
Zaira cleared her throat. “So…I hate to bring this up, but Sofia’s wedding…”
He seemed to brighten, and he rose to his feet. “Right. That’s this weekend. Still need a Gabi guard?”
She needed—and wanted—a date to the wedding, but if he viewed this only as a service project, she’d still be grateful. “Yes, please.”
Antonio beamed. “Great. This’ll be fun.”
“Really?”
He shrugged. “I’m practically a professional wedding attendee this year. All the Team Northwest guys.”
“Oh. Right.” He had never mentioned the weddings. Never invited her as his date. Maybe he didn’t get emotionally charged at weddings. Maybe she needed to stop over-thinking things and let go. With a sniff, she gave him a salute. “Okay, we can talk over the details later. I’ve got abuelos to care for.”
“Lucky abuelos,” he said, brushing her arm gently.
She hurried back down to the Clinica, marveling that her arm could burn at his touch while her stomach felt cold with rejection.
Because Zaira needed to arrive with the other bridesmaids an hour early, Antonio offered to come later with Gabriela, so she wouldn’t be bored and fussy when the ceremony finally began. By the time he pulled into the parking lot of St. Augustine’s, he knew he’d been delusional. Gabriela might be a good girl so far as toddlers went, but she was enamored of Carlos and Emilio, not Antonio. She only tolerated him for as long as the Teddy Grahams lasted, and then she insisted on testing the laws of gravity with every single item lighter than herself for twenty straight minutes.
Strapped and squalling in her car seat, she kicked at Antonio’s legs as he tried to calm her. He doubted he’d be able to slip into the back pew unnoticed. All eyes turned to him. Women grazed up and down his dark suit with open admiration, then flickered their gaze to Gabriela with sympathy. Men huddled up to joke about the young man with the loud cargo.
Defeated, he slumped down into the second-to-last row on the bride’s side and smiled weakly at a family with four kids. Surely, they’d dealt with noisy little ones and would cut him some slack?
He had forgotten to ask Zaira how formal the wedding would be, and whether or not the reception would likely include excessive drinking. He’d been pawed at such events by sloshy women more than he cared to remember and hoped Zaira would clearly mark him as her own, thus dissuading unwanted advances.
He sighed. Really, he just wished she’d indicate that she was interested in him. Things had chilled quite a bit between them since the warmth of Christmas and New Year’s Eve.
Pulling Gabi onto his lap, he thumbed through the app store on his phone, trying to find something quiet to entertain her. As the sanctuary hummed with social activity, three men with guitars entered and began strumming a gentle prelude. At length, the priest arrived in his white liturgical robes and announced the start of the wedding.
The music shifted, and Gabi climbed up to stand on his thighs, watching as two young girls entered with flower petals.
“Mami!” she called out, pointing to the entering procession.
Antonio tried to stifle her enthusiasm but gave up and watched the line of women enter. It took him a moment to realize that Zaira led the parade, exquisite in a red, black, and gold dress that dipped lower in the back than the front and hugged her hips just right.
“Mami is right,” he whispered to Gabi, hugging her to keep her from toppling off her perch. He couldn’t tear his gaze from Zaira. Countless ringlets dangled high at the nape of her neck, accentuating the soft curves of her cheeks and shoulders. When she took her position and turned with a smile to face the gathered congregation, his heart pounded at her beauty.
“Mami!” called Gabi again.
“Sh sh, hija. Yes, Mami is there. Es la mas bella, verdad?”
The guitars plucked a gentle rendition of the wedding march, and everyone stood to receive the bride. Antonio hoisted Gabriela onto his shoulders, so she’d have a better view, but his thoughts ke
pt drifting back to the front to where Zaira stood. She saw Gabi, of course, and wrinkled her nose in an obvious attempt to keep from laughing.
Antonio’s eyes connected with Zaira’s for a moment, and her smile flashed broader. His breath hitched, and his pulse rose.
A gringa woman in front of him saw all this and glanced at him quizzically. He grimaced apologetically and returned his attention to the bride. For a moment, Sofia’s subdued demeanor startled him, and then his mind wandered back to the beauty at the front of the room. How lovely she would look in bridal white!
Fortunately, the spectacle of the ceremony kept Gabriela enthralled. She pointed and cooed when a padrino brought out the velvet tray with thirteen gold coins to signify prosperity and trust. The priest blessed them, and they circulated reverently through the party, ending with Sofia. Later the priest wound a white-beaded rosary around the couple in a figure eight, the Lazo signifying they were bound together for eternity.
To his surprise, Antonio found his eyes watering when he met Zaira’s gaze next. She, too, appeared emotional, though it made more sense for her since it was her cousin, not his.
But something in the symbolism of unity and the blessing of the priest spoke to his heart. Examining the short time of their acquaintance, Antonio knew that it was a promising start. They could make a relationship last, couldn’t they? If they both wanted it?
The mass proceeded, and at last the priest pronounced Miguel and Sofia man and wife. They kissed, everyone sighed and clapped, and without further ado, the couple charged down the aisle to the rhythm of recorded mariachi music, buoyant with laughter.
Antonio slipped quickly into the side aisle, hoping to sidle his way to the front and greet Zaira before she vanished in the crowd. Unfortunately, at least a dozen other men clearly planned the same escape route in reverse. He found himself swimming upstream, trailing Gabriela behind him.
When he finally made it to the front near the altar, he realized his mistake: the groomsmen and bridesmaids had exited in a procession down the center aisle after the happy couple. Now trapped at the back of the line of departing guests, he groaned and stared into the rafters.
“I guess we should wait for the crowd to die down, Gabi.” He sank into the front row pew and leaned his hand on his chin. “Stay up here, hija.”
Gabriela stood beside him, resting her elbows on the wooden pew and drumming her palms to the rhythm of the music. Antonio smiled at this and craned his neck, hoping to see a flash of red and gold that might be Zaira returning for them. Feeling small and out-of-place, he stood back up, rising onto his toes as he peered over the crowd.
Suddenly he heard a giggle, a crash, and a screech in rapid succession. He spun to see Gabi clutching the lacy altar cloth to her head. Dark red liquid stained her shoulder, and Gabi’s cries of pain pitched louder. Antonio stared with horror at the fallen Communion cup. Had it crashed into her head?
As he scrambled to calm her, footsteps sounded. Both the priest and Zaira arrived from different angles, but they shared matching scowls.
Antonio cringed. He had failed to protect Gabi. Surely Zaira would be furious. Feeling sick to his stomach with humiliation, he muttered an apology and bolted down the aisle, wriggling his way through the crowd in search of someone who might have a First Aid kit.
Zaira stared in disbelief at Antonio’s retreating back. “Where are you…?”
“Es su esposo?” asked the priest.
“No, he’s not my husband.” She reached for the sobbing Gabi though her gaze still trailed after Antonio. What had happened?
But she knew. Wasn’t it obvious? The wedding ceremony had been beautiful and full of tradition, and it spoke of commitments of a lifetime.
Surely alarm bells went off in his head, warning him away from any such entanglements. Like her father, like her ex, like all the scum baggy men she could think of, Antonio probably wanted to run away before the relationship got too demanding. He’d fulfilled his duty of watching Gabi until the wedding was over, and now he wanted out of there.
With tears welling in her eyes, Zaira surveyed the mess Gabriela had made. “Oh hija!” She scooped her into an embrace and wiped the pungent wine from her daughter’s forehead. “Come on. Calm down, hija. You just got a boo boo.” She eyed the heavy Communion cup. “I can wash the altar cloth, Father,” she offered in Spanish.
He frowned his doubt, lifting the lacy mantel. “This may not come clean.”
“I can fix it. Please let me try.”
The priest gave her a sympathetic smile, and his Argentine accent bounced over the words. “I’ll leave it here on the pew, if you really want to try. I’m sure you can find a way.” He patted Gabriela’s head softly. “Your daughter is beautiful. Go, take care of her.” He shooed her away with a patient but firm flick of the wrist.
Heavy with reluctance, Zaira tucked Gabi onto her hip and walked slowly down the now deserted aisle. Her daughter’s damp fingers tickled the exposed skin on her back, sending an unpleasant shiver down her spine.
Did the priest’s words carry more import than they conveyed on the surface? Was he telling her to fix things with Antonio? But what if Antonio didn’t want to?
“Z!” Red-faced and breathing hard, Antonio rushed into the back of the sanctuary with an industrial-sized roll of paper towels. He charged toward her like a football player. “Is she okay? I couldn’t find a First Aid kit anywhere, and—”
“Antonio, Antonio. Calm down. It’s wine, not blood.”
“But she was screaming so loud.” He dropped the roll and picked up Gabi, kissing her damp curls and running his hand over her head as if in search of a gash. “She’s really okay?”
Zaira gaped at him. Were those tears in his eyes? “Antonio, what’s wrong? She just got a big bump on her head and made a mess. She’s fine.”
Antonio squeezed Gabriela, burying his face in her shoulder as he carried her out into the foyer. Gabriela seemed to sense distress in him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “To-no.”
“Gabi,” he whispered back. “I love you, sweetie. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt her,” said Zaira, confused at his reaction. She glanced around at other stragglers who had not yet joined the fiesta down the hall. With a gentle shove, she directed him into a short hallway that led to the parking lot.
“Blood. There was so much blood.” Antonio was visibly shaking.
“Antonio, there’s no blood. That’s just wine. Smell it.” She tried to lift the cloth of Gabi’s dress to his nose, but Antonio clenched his eyes shut as if wincing in agony.
Suddenly, he thrust Gabi into Zaira’s arms. “I can’t. I can’t keep her…” His voice trailed off as tears overtook him. He spun on his heel and bolted out the door, leaving Zaira again staring at his retreating back.
She swept the back of her hand across her cheek to banish the hot tears crawling there. In the bathroom, she tried to clean Gabriela up. Despite ruined ruffles, their reflection left Zaira smiling. They were a pretty pair, stains and all. Lifting her chin and holding Gabi in place to see herself in the mirror, she said, “Gabi, mi cielita linda, you are beautiful and strong. I am beautiful and strong. Together, we can do anything we need to do, and we don’t need anyone’s help.”
Gabriela clapped her hands. “Mami.”
“Yes, that’s Mami.”
Gabriela pointed at herself in the glass. “Poopy Gabi.”
Zaira sniffed and groaned. “You mean that wasn’t someone else in here?” She sagged against the sink. “Oh crap. Antonio has the diaper bag.” She smacked her forehead. “And the car seat.”
“So maybe you need some help after all,” said Tia Julia in Spanish, emerging from one of the stalls.
“Tia!” Zaira flushed with embarrassment but decided against explaining her words. “Um, Antonio brought Gabi here, but he had to leave early, and we forgot to get her stuff.”
“Don’t worry yourself.” Tia Julia waved away Zaira’s concern and turned on
the faucet. “Carmencita or Laura will have something you can use.” She washed her hands. “Someone with a car seat can give you a ride home if you need. Let’s go join the party.”
“Wait.” Zaira held up a hand. “I’m not ready to go out there just yet.”
Tia Julia’s eyes narrowed. “What happened? This isn’t about Gabi’s mess, is it?”
Zaira chewed her lips and shook her head.
“Antonio?”
Zaira sniffed and nodded.
“Did you have a fight?”
“I…don’t know. He just left.” The stifled sob broke free and ricocheted off the clean white tiles of the bathroom. “They all leave, Tia.” She reached with her free arm and folded herself and Gabi into the woman’s comforting embrace.
“They don’t all leave.”
“Yes, they do. Dad left. Mateo left.”
Tia Julia caressed Zaira’s back and stepped back to meet her eyes. “Your father was a selfish jerk. Gabriela’s father was a selfish jerk.” She held up a finger. “This Antonio is not a selfish jerk, or he would have used you by now. He hasn’t, has he?”
Zaira shook her head, conflicted by her own fears and desires. “I don’t think he even wants me. He says he won’t sleep with women while the boys are living with him, but I think it’s just an excuse.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Tia Julia’s tone took on a sharpness even as it grew quieter. “You want him to want you, but you don’t want him to take you and leave you. You meet a man who is kind, hard-working, and responsible, and you don’t know what to do with him because he’s so much better than all the other men in your life.”
Zaira released a reluctant laugh. “No kidding.” She set Gabi onto the counter and began combing through her hair with her fingertips. “But Tia, he—”