by Lia London
“Do you love him?”
“I think I do.”
“Does he love you back?”
“He said he does, but—”
Tia Julia stopped Zaira’s hands with her own and made eye contact through the reflection in the mirror. “If he says he loves you but draws a line at the bedroom door, it’s because he loves you. Don’t be a fool.” She let go of Zaira’s hands and kissed her cheek. “And don’t be a selfish jerk.”
***
When Zaira got to her apartment after the reception, Gabi’s car seat and diaper bag sat on her welcome mat with a giant card. She unlocked the door and shoved the items inside with her foot.
“Go on, hija,” she called after Gabi, who darted down the hall to her room.
Zaira leaned against the door to close it and picked up the card. Afraid of what it said, she took her time opening the envelope, but it turned out to be a cartoon picture of a teddy bear in a birthday hat and an old-fashioned cloth diaper with a pin. Every party has a pooper… read the front. She opened it and smirked at the irony. Sorry I pooped out on yours.
A block of Antonio’s neat print filled the space below, and Zaira drew a breath before reading. Was it a good-bye? An apology? An excuse?
Beautiful Zaira & Princesa Gabriela,
I am so sorry about what happened at the wedding. When Gabi got hurt because I wasn’t paying attention, I felt—and still feel—terrible. I should be a better protector. Also, I thought the wine was blood, and it reminded me of the day I saw my little sister, Isabela, bleeding on the street, dead. That was my fault, too. It seems that I have failed to take proper care of the women I care about most. Please forgive me. I am not good enough for you.
Antonio had signed it Love from A to Z.
Zaira closed her eyes and let the hot tears stream down her face. Of course. Why hadn’t she remembered his tragic past and thought about how horrors of those memories would be triggered by blood or injury to a little girl?
Her heart swelled with sympathy for Antonio’s mental suffering even as her stomach tightened with fear for her own situation. Surely this meant he was backing away. He’d said he was “not good enough” for her. That was nice-boy speak for “We can’t be together.”
Slumping to the floor, she stared at the contrast between the elegance of her dress and the grubby linoleum floor, marked with winter footprints and dropped Cheerios. One was a temporary illusion of grandeur, and the other was her reality. A day versus a lifetime.
Antonio’s kisses had lasted a day, relatively speaking, but the heartache of losing him could last for years.
Chapter 11 ~ The Poison Inside
For a week, Zaira managed to stuff her emotions in a box in the corner of her brain and busy herself with work, cleaning, and caring for Gabriela. Through strategic scheduling of appointments, she avoided seeing Antonio at La Casa, though part of her ached with disappointment that he never made an effort to catch her between patients. Her own conflicted feelings were too hard to handle, so she soldiered on with acute focus, growing more and more miserable every day.
Saturday promised to be a welcome distraction for Zaira. The three-hour shift at La Casa was the busiest of the week, and it came with no risk of bumping into Antonio and triggering all the ups and downs of wanting him but not wanting to risk the heartache of more rejection.
She was genuinely cheerful all day … until abuela Patricia showed up.
“Did you go on a date with my boyfriend yet?” asked the old woman with her slurry Spanish.
Zaira forced a smile. “Mr. Seneca has been a kind friend, but he’s your boyfriend, Patricia.” The image of the gnarled figure kissing Antonio with anything more than a maternal peck on the cheek made her chuckle.
“Don’t you want to know if his lips are as sweet as his smile?” insisted Patricia with a mischievous hitch of her shoulders.
“Uh. I’m sure they are, but I really shouldn’t be … um.”
Patricia clearly misunderstood. “Ah, but I’m old and will die soon. He will need a new girlfriend.”
“You’re not dying, Patricia. You need more Vitamin B and D.”
Patricia tapped her chin. “B y D? Besos y diamantes?”
Kisses and diamonds? A laugh burbled within her. “Yes, Patricia. I guess all women need that, don’t we?” The sigh she exhaled took with it her good mood.
Patricia held up her left hand. “It doesn’t have to be a diamond.” She pointed to her simple wedding band. “A string with a knot will do if he really loves you.”
“Patricia! Are you married all this time, and you have a boyfriend on the side?” Zaira needed to switch the tone of the conversation back to joking before her heart started writhing within her.
The abuela’s face grew a shade more serious, and her gaze deepened. “My husband is with the angels now, but Antonio keeps me company and gives me hugs. He is being good to me until I join my husband in heaven.”
Touched by Patricia’s sweet admission, Zaira wrapped her arms around her tiny frame and squeezed as hard as she dared. “He’s very nice to everyone, isn’t he?”
Zaira considered her romantic interactions with Antonio, and how he’d never forced himself on her. Hadn’t she initiated the first kiss and almost every kiss since? Surely, she’d just been throwing herself at a good man who was too kind to say he wasn’t interested. If he kissed her back so well, wasn’t that just biology taking over?
Giving Patricia a printout of the vitamin label that would help her find it in the store, she ushered her out into the hall and sighed with relief to see no one else waited to see her. She had five minutes to close up and get out.
Soft footsteps stopped outside the door. She released a heavy sigh, and her shoulders sagged. Hopefully, this wouldn’t be a long visit from a drop-in.
“Hard day?”
Zaira spun so fast her shoe stuck on the tile, and she wobbled forward, catching herself on the edge of the examination table. “Antonio! What are you doing here on a Saturday?”
His smile came shyly. “I had to make up for the hours I shaved off my shifts to help Carlos with a project after school.”
Leaning on the exam table for support, Zaira considered this. “Is he doing any better?”
“Yeah, he’s keeping up with his work. I didn’t want him to claim he was behind and couldn’t watch Gabi on Saturdays.”
“You don’t need to do that, Antonio. If he ever can’t do it, I’ll find someone else.”
“Why would you do that if we’re willing? Worst-case scenario, she can come hang with me for a while.” His eyes were softly guarded. “If you felt like that was okay.”
Zaira took a deep breath, reliving the moment his body had tensed when she hinted at forming a family. She couldn’t face more rejection, even if he meant well now. “I don’t want you to feel obligated, or pressured.”
He licked his lips and looked ready to speak, but then nodded and backed out of the door. “Whatever you say, Z.” He lifted his hand in a weak wave and disappeared down the hall.
Zaira glanced down at the stack of pictures of various OTC remedies she recommended to her patients with limited English skills. Where was the picture for something that would fill her empty heart? Or better yet, what could she take to mend the hole in it and lock it away?
Antonio deflated all the way home. It had taken all his courage to visit the Clinica at closing time, and he’d been shot down. Clearly he’d done irreparable damage to their relationship when he had his little meltdown at the wedding. Maybe no apology could be big enough, but he wanted to try.
But where to start? How could she know how much she meant to him and how that was why he feared his mistakes so much?
He pulled into the driveway, and before he had turned off the car, Emilio dashed up beside him, pounding on his window.
“Antonio! Hurry! Gabi’s sick! Hurry, please!” Tears of panic streamed down the boy’s face, and Antonio burst into motion, racing across the street with Emilio at his he
els.
“What happened?” he shouted as he burst into Zaira’s apartment. Her car was just pulling into the parking lot. Carlos wasn’t in the front room, and Gabi’s coughing yowls rang from down the hall.
“In here!” called Carlos, his voice carrying desperation. “She’s puking bad, Antonio. What do I do?”
Antonio found Carlos holding Gabi by the waist, dangled over the toilet. Her face purpled with the effort of gagging and crying at the same time. Sweeping her from Carlos’ arms, he shifted to the bathtub and set her down on her hands and knees facing the drain. “Flush that—no wait! What color is it?”
Gabi vomited on cue, spraying pinkish brown liquid on the fresh white surface.
“Pink? What did you feed her? A pack of Jell-o?”
Carlos’ face contorted with fear. “No, I don’t know what’s going on. She was totally fine until a few minutes ago.”
Tear-streaked Emilio nodded vigorously. “She was happy and playing, then she came in here to go potty. She wanted to go by herself, so we let her, and then she started barfing.”
“You guys, you left the door open. What’s going on in here?!” Zaira blew into the room like a hurricane, pressing Antonio aside and assessing the mess. “Everyone out!” Her hand caught Antonio’s elbow. “Except you.”
The boys hurried into the hall, crying and fretting for Gabi.
“What happened?” asked Zaira.
Gabi threw up again, coughing and sobbing. She reached for Zaira, who took her into a tight embrace.
“I don’t know,” said Antonio. “I got here right before you. The boys said she was totally fine and then came in here to go potty and started barfing.”
Zaira swore and snatched up a plastic bottle from the floor between the tub and the toilet. “She must have gotten into my shampoo. I forgot to put it back up in the cabinet.” She closed her eyes as if saying a prayer even as Gabi dry heaved. “I wonder how much she drank.”
“I’ll call Poison Control.” Antonio pulled out his phone and hesitated. “Uh. Do you know the number?”
“It’s on a magnet on the fridge. Bring me one of her sippy cups, fast.”
As Zaira cranked on the tub faucet and began rinsing Gabi down, Antonio hurried into the kitchen to do as she ordered.
“Is she going to be okay?” asked Emilio, his lip trembling.
“Is she going to die?” Carlos’ eyes were rimmed with red.
Antonio’s stomach clenched. “Not on my watch.” He rushed back to the bathroom to find Zaira had removed the top half of her scrubs and now bent over Gabi, wiping her with a washcloth and murmuring soothing words. Her tone changed in a sharp bark. “Fill the sippy with tepid water. Did you call yet?”
Antonio fumbled with the phone, fridge magnet, and sippy cup, trying not to stare at her exposed skin. He slapped the magnet onto the mirror and dialed with one hand while he tested the temperature of the sink faucet’s flow with the other. By the time the dispatcher answered, he was handing off a full sippy cup and reaching for a clean towel to drape over Zaira’s shoulders.
A grateful smile lifted her lips for a second before she returned to calming her baby.
The next seven minutes were a tornado of questions and answers, thermometers, tongue checks, and descriptions of vomit. When he finally disconnected, the bathroom fell quiet save the trickling of the last water down the tub drain.
Breathless with worry, Antonio sagged down to sit on the floor, his back against the sink cabinet and his wrists on his knees.
Gabriela had stopped spewing and huddled in her mother’s lap, wrapped in the towel he had placed on Zaira’s back. The two of them shuddered in unison.
“You cold?” he asked, looking away from Zaira’s bare shoulders even though his hands longed to soothe circles into her skin.
Zaira sighed into Gabi’s hair. “I took off my scrubs because I couldn’t afford to get stains on another set.”
“Smart thinking.”
“Can you grab me a sweatshirt from my closet?”
“Sure.”
He pulled himself to his feet and stepped out into the hall where Carlos and Emilio waited with expectant expressions. “She’s going to be okay. It’s not super poisonous, and it looks like she got most of it out of her system.”
“I’m so sorry,” wailed Emilio. “I didn’t know the shampoo was in there.”
“Emi, it’s not your fault. It’s okay.” Antonio walked heavily into Zaira’s bedroom, realizing it was the first time he’d seen it. He scanned the simple lines, the soft blues and grays that mirrored his own tastes. At the closet door, he paused, searching for a sweatshirt. His hand fell on the bridesmaid’s dress, and his ears burned with shame at the memory of how he’d abandoned her after the wedding. He fingered the soft material, lifting the sleeve to his cheek.
“I’m going to need something warmer than that.” Zaira entered, clutching a towel to her chest for modesty’s sake.
“Sorry,” he said distractedly. “Here.” He unhooked a blue sweatshirt and handed it to her. “Where’s Gabi?”
“With Carlos and Emi, of course.” She dropped the towel and pulled the sweatshirt up over her head, looking for a moment like an inflatable wind puppet from a used-car lot. When her face emerged through the neck hole, she leveled her eyes on him. “Get a good look?”
Antonio blinked. He hadn’t even registered the view of her bra-clad chest because he’d been so preoccupied about Gabi. “I…” Stepping closer, he reached for her but hesitated. Her eyes no longer held the tenderness they used to. No wonder. She had every reason to be angry about Gabi’s endangerment.
If only he had known better what to do. She needed more than his pitiful attempts, and he could not bear to disappoint her. He needed to step away before he failed her.
Zaira smoothed her sweatshirt down over her stomach and pulled her damp hair from its ponytail. With a thin-lipped jerk of her head, she ushered him out of the bedroom. As he walked slowly down the hall, a weariness sank in with each step.
“Thanks for being here,” she said to the boys. “It wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have left my shampoo out.”
“Just don’t ever let her go to the bathroom by herself,” suggested Antonio.
Zaira gave him a steely look. “They don’t need to worry about Gabi anymore. I’ll get someone else.”
Antonio’s eyes shot to Carlos and Emilio, and his stomach lurched at their crestfallen faces. She wasn’t going to give them another chance? Well, why should she? “Right,” he said simply. “Let me know if you need me to get anything for you.” He lifted Gabi from Carlos’ arms and handed her to Zaira. With an urgent look, he ushered the boys outside and turned to Zaira. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do?”
“No. Really,” she said flatly. “I need to be alone right now. For a while,” she added with a pointed look.
She was pushing him away. “But I’m—”
“I’m fine,” she snapped. After a beat of silence, she shifted Gabi to her hip. Her whole body seemed to be trembling, and her voice quivered when she spoke, as if she was trying to contain deep emotion. “I know you can’t believe this, but Gabriela and I got along just fine without you for a long time. We don’t need your help. I’ve got it covered.”
Sucker-punched by her words, Antonio blinked back hot tears. “I see.” Placing a kiss on the little girl’s forehead, he whispered, “Good-bye.”
In the street again with the boys, Antonio lowered his head against the wind and rain.
“Are we ever going to get to go over there again?” asked Emilio.
Antonio didn’t answer.
Carlos leaned in. “Did you guys break up or something?”
Shrugging, Antonio pulled the fob from his pocket and unlocked the car. “Or something.” He opened the car door. “Let’s go get some Mo’s take-out. I think we need something good after all that.”
Zaira stared at the closed door, still holding Gabriela tight. Poison Control had confirmed keepi
ng Gabi hydrated to dilute any remaining shampoo in her stomach would likely suffice given the brand. Now she just needed to watch for signs of a fever or blistering in the mouth.
She dressed Gabriela methodically in flannel jammies and decided to save the lecture about drinking hygiene products for another time. Tired and drained of adrenaline, she could find no energy in her body nor hope in her heart.
She paced the apartment, clutching the drowsy Gabi to her chest. With each step, Zaira grew wearier with guilt and loss. She had endangered her daughter and cut out Antonio even after he helped so admirably, a true partner in the emergency.
But he was gone now.
Had she not just witnessed an end to her relationship? A silent break-up of sorts? Antonio had not fought with her, but neither had he fought for her. He had not swept her into his arms in her bedroom and kissed her, nor had he argued that he and the boys should stay on as babysitters. He may have been nice about leaving her, but he’d left her all the same.
Like Mateo.
Like her father.
Like all men would.
Maybe it was her own dumb fault afterall.
Tucking her feet under her, she sat on the couch with Gabi in her lap and stared dully at her front door. In the heat of the moment, with her fears for Gabi clouding her thoughts, she had told Antonio she didn’t need him and that she wanted time alone. Now, in the silence, the stupidity of her words numbed her. The Miss Independent act had gone too far, and now she was left with nothing. In the relationship with Mateo, she had been the giver, always sacrificing for him, and he had taken advantage of her physically, emotionally, and even financially. With Antonio, she had been the taker, accepting kindness after kindness and offering so little in return. If only she’d caught herself in time and realized that they could both give, both take, both grow together in strength as equal partners.
Weak and miserable, she curled up in a ball, nestling Gabi to her chest. She rested her head on the arm of the couch, her eyes still fixed on the door. He would never come back. Why should he after how she treated him?