Claiming Carlos

by Rachelle Ayala

  Oh, I see. She’s waiting for Carlos. And what do you know? He emerges from the kitchen dressed in regular clothes.

  Julia flutters up to him and gives him a kiss. “Oh, Carlos, you could have been hurt. So brave of you to save Choco.”

  Of course she looks lovely, her pink chiffon dress glowing in the moonlight.

  Carlos shrugs and accepts her kiss. He sees us and waves, then unlocks the delivery van and helps her into the passenger seat—my seat.

  Brian snickers and elbows me. “Bet you want to scratch her eyes out.”

  “Shut up.” I glare at him and tap Livy. “Let’s go. Genie, Brian, come on.”

  I turn around and Carlos approaches. He has a plastic baggie with tiny green muffins. “Hey, I made these for you. Are we still having dinner? I’m sorry I got sidetracked by the buffet tonight, but I still owe you one.”

  Who does he think he is making a public spectacle of me? As if I’m a little girl he bakes cakes for. He’s obviously trying to save my face in front of my siblings, acting like we have a friendship left.

  “Kuya, can I come too?” Livy tugs his sleeve. “Please, please?”

  “Sure, sweetie, if Choco says okay.” Carlos flashes me a grin. He gives Livy the muffins since I’m not receiving them. “As long as you stay out of the way when the kissing starts.”

  What the eff? Now he’s making fun of me. “Your fiancée’s waiting for you. I’m outta here.”

  “Wait.” Carlos blocks my path. “I’m serious. I’m not done with you.”

  “I’m done with you. What part of leave me alone isn’t clear to you? I don’t care if you don’t hand deliver your wedding invitation. I’m sure Julia will draft me for bridesmaid. At least she still likes me.”

  Genie motions for Brian and Livy to step back, but they’re obviously still close enough to hear.

  Carlos’s breath sizzles in back of his teeth. He holds a finger vertically in front of my mouth. “You’re having dinner with me at my place. Seven o’clock.”

  Of all the nerve. I take a deep breath, the kind babies inhale when they’re about to wail, and shape my mouth for the ultimate insult, but he’s walking away already—sauntering like he owns the place—flipping the keys in the air and catching them. Arrogant ass.

  Titters and giggles come from the peanut gallery. I wait for a smart remark from Brian, but none comes.

  Livy pipes up. “Are we going to his place at seven?”

  “No! Not seven, not eight, never.”

  # # #

  It’s close to noon when I wake up the following day. There’s no point getting up early when our restaurant is boarded up. Our gala Filipino fiesta had turned into a disaster. I doubt customers will soon forget the scenes of horror and panic as they trampled for the exits.

  I pull on running shorts and a T-shirt and find my running shoes in the closet. No one is up. I knock on Livy’s door and when she doesn’t answer, I open it a crack.

  “What?” she says, rubbing her eyes.

  “Want to go running with me?”

  “No way. Let me sleep.”

  “How’s the belly button. Are you taking care of it?”

  She waves her hand dismissively. “All good. Go away.”

  Huh, I get to deal with a teenager without having enjoyed her babyhood. Her parents lived in the Bay Area until Olivia died four years ago. Her father, Kevin, couldn’t take being alone with Livy and transferred back to San Diego to be close to our family. That way, when he went on his extended business trips, Livy could stay with us and I would watch over her—as a big sister.

  No one but my parents, Livy’s parents, and a few relatives know what happened. Julia obviously knows and so does Evie, but Genie and Brian were too young. Livy will never know. It has to be this way.

  Mama’s in the kitchen by the time I return from running. She’s silently stir frying garlic rice for breakfast.

  “Sleep well?” I ask, unsure if my father’s fessed up to her yet. I grab a water bottle from the refrigerator.

  “So, so. And you?” Her voice is clipped, a sign of high stress.

  “I’m just so tired.” I stretch and take a sip of water. “How’s Papa?”

  “Why don’t you ask him? He’s in Evie’s old room.”

  Oh, no. They’re not talking. Not good.

  “Did he say anything about last night? You know, what Miranda said?”

  “Not a word. He’s clammed up.”

  “Let me talk to him.”

  “Good luck. He’s in a horrible mood. Accuses me of suspecting he’s having an affair with Miranda.”

  “Well, duh. He’s only been hanging all over her, hiring her, and then singing a duet with her, not to mention staying out all night.”

  Mama slaps the spatula on the wok and shuts off the gas burner. “Choco, do you think he’s really having an affair? Is that why he wants her to run the restaurant?”

  Even worse. Apparently, my mother hasn’t picked up on the DNA thing.

  I put my hand on her shoulder, consoling her. “Maybe he’s trying to sell it for the best price. Miranda might have connections in the business world.”

  “I don’t know.” Mama opens the refrigerator and takes out a carton of eggs. “There’s something strange about the entire Johnny business. Why did your father ask him to come in and consult on the restaurant in the first place?”

  Nausea invades my gut at the thought of Johnny being Papa’s love child. But I don’t want to worry my mother. First step is to find out how old he is and what his real name is. My investigations have hit a dead end. Apparently “Johnny Dee” only exists on social networks. You’d think my father would have checked his background before hiring him.

  I placate my mother. “It’s probably nothing. You know how women are. She sees a business she wants and tries to extort it from him. I bet he made those trips to find out more about her so he can discredit her.”

  Oh, Papa. This better be true. I have to believe you’ll never cheat on Mama.

  Mama wipes her eyes and sniffs. “I’ve already gone through the betrayal, the suspicions, the sneaking feeling that my life was based on a lie. If he’ll tell me everything, I’ll be willing to work on our marriage and forgive him.”

  Wow. She’s so much more gracious than I. Here I am, pissed and upset about Carlos getting engaged to Julia when we never even had a relationship to begin with.

  I hand Mama a tissue. “You two love each other. It’ll work out.”

  “I hope so.” She spoons individual servings of garlic rice into a saucepan and heats it up again. “How about you and Carlos? Can you forgive him? I was too dense to see it, but Elena called me this morning saying Carlos has something to tell you.”

  “It’s no use. I know you want us to be friends again. But he’s with Julia now.”

  “Hmmm.” Mama cracks an egg over the sizzling garlic rice. “I’m not sure it’s real. Their body language was awkward last night. I don’t feel it.”

  That’s a relief. So they weren’t all lovey dovey? Then why was Julia simpering and cooing at Carlos last night in the parking lot? Maybe it’s Mama’s interpretation that’s wrong.

  “Forget it.” I pitch the empty water bottle into the recycle bin. “I don’t want to talk about Carlos. We have to save the restaurant, if we still can.”

  “I’m talking about you.” Mama takes a plate and slides the garlic rice and fried egg onto it. “You need to think what you want and what you’re going to say to Carlos, instead of this childish ‘I hate you’ business. Really, even Livy’s above that stage.”

  “But I can’t. Gloria.”

  “What about Gloria?” Mama levels me with a stern but weary gaze.

  “She says if I get my hooks into Carlos, she’ll tell him about Livy,” I whisper, glancing around to make sure no one else is lurking.

  “Livy is part of you. Any man who would love you has to love her too. Better to find out now what he’s like. If he only loves you when things go well, he’ll rejec
t you when you need him the most. But, if you let him know all your warts and mistakes and he still loves you, then he’s the right one.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m scared to find out.”

  She kisses my forehead and rubs the creases from between my eyebrows. “I’ll say no more.”

  Tears well in my eyes, and I hastily turn away from her. I don’t want to think about Carlos, entertain the possibility. There are more important things to worry about.

  Chapter 30

  It’s eight-thirty in the evening and I step into my apartment. I’m not here to be down the hall from Carlos. Nope. I have to pack my stuff.

  My lease runs out the end of the month, and I’m moving back home. After all the planning and hoping, I’ll be right back where I started, a waitress at my parents’ restaurant, or even worse, flipping burgers if my parents lose their restaurant. No business degree, no advancement, no moving cross country. The only difference, I owe money for the shopping spree and beauty treatments I took on my trip with the fake Johnny Dee.

  I drag the empty boxes in and turn on the lights.

  My bromeliads are limp, dried up, dead.

  Obviously there’s nothing fresh in the refrigerator. I forgot to take out the trash, and the apartment has a closed in, musty smell.

  After opening the windows, I take out a garbage bag and start dumping stale food from the refrigerator. There’s the buko pie all congealed, a batch of empanadas Carlos brought over long ago, and two bottles of his favorite beer, San Miguel Dark.

  Everywhere I look, there’s another sign of him. The catcher’s mitt he left in my closet, the recipes he stuck on my refrigerator, even the funny faces he scribbled on my calendar depicting my mood for the day. What am I going to do? Wipe away all that he means to me because Julia’s in need of him? Why did I have to be such a busybody matchmaker?

  Except I can never be with him. Since I had a child out of wedlock, I’m considered damaged goods, unsuitable for marriage, especially for a religious conservative like Gloria. The last thing I want to do is come between Carlos and his mother. My life is so screwed.

  I fill up the garbage bag and fasten it. I have no choice but to schlep it down the hallway past Carlos’s apartment to the garbage chute. And you know what? I’m not even going to be jealous or think anything but pleasant thoughts.

  He probably spent the night with Julia, then took her out today. He didn’t have to work because the restaurant’s closed. Even though we, the family, went there to continue the cleanup and to inventory our supplies, Mama convinced Papa to give the cooks and wait staff the day off.

  The hallway is empty. I heft the bag over my shoulder and power walk toward the chute as fast as possible. My ears are on alert for any sound of a door opening. When I walk by Carlos’s apartment, it’s quiet—no music, TV, or sound of conversation. Maybe I should step out onto the hallway balcony and see if the lights are on. I pull the chute open and shove the garbage bag into it. It shuts with a loud bang.

  How annoying it must be for Carlos to live near the garbage chute. The coast is clear so I walk to the end of the hallway and open the glass door of the balcony.

  The night air from the ocean is cool, a nice welcome from the heat of the day. Glittering skylights shine like beacons from a futuristic space city. I take a deep breath and let the light breeze wash over my face.

  The door behind me thumps. I startle and turn, catching my breath.

  Carlos walks past me and places his hands on the balcony rail next to me. He doesn’t acknowledge me, acting as if he were some random tenant who decided to take in the refreshing evening air.

  If he thinks I’ll turn tail and run, he has another thing coming. I’m also a tenant and have just as much right to stand here as he. Of course, the view and fresh air are no longer enjoyable, having the heated presence of the man who trampled all over my heart.

  Gah. I can’t even say that! He never once promised me more.

  Liar. He kissed you like there was no tomorrow.

  That’s your interpretation.

  Whatever. He’s not even your friend anymore.

  I hate talking to myself. Me and me don’t even agree. What’s wrong with me?

  “You’re late for dinner,” Carlos says, still looking straight ahead.

  “Why are you pretending you care?” I turn to leave, grabbing the door handle.

  “Why are you pretending to not care?” He clasps his hand over mine. “Come on, let’s go to my apartment and talk.”

  “We can talk here.” It’s not like I have much choice. He’s trapped me on the balcony.

  “Shall we sit?” He gestures to the lounge chairs left by the management for sunbathers.

  “Sure, good idea.” I take the chaise lounge closer to the door.

  He flips his back so he’s lying almost horizontal. “The stars are out tonight.”

  I have no clue why he’s talking about stars. Is he trying to turn this into a romantic moment? My sour stomach tells me he’s not, but my stupid, gullible heart bounces and coos like a ninny, wanting more.

  Better squash any thoughts of more. There’s no way I’m getting involved with Mother Theresa’s son.

  A smile graces said son’s lips, but he’s still staring at the sky. It’s exceptionally clear tonight, uncommon when the marine layer typically rolls in and obscures everything.

  “How long have we known each other?” he asks. “Six years?”

  “Yes.”

  “And during that time, when have I ever disliked you?”

  “Never.”

  “So, why are you going around making snide remarks? Acting as if we’re no longer friends?”

  I squirm at what he’s saying. If I admit it’s because I’m jealous, it’ll give him more power over me. He’ll be smug, knowing that it pains me every time I see him with Julia.

  “We’re still friends.” I manage to squeak the words.

  “Then why the awkwardness?”

  Because you kissed me, you stole that innocence from my heart, unleashed my need for you.

  Pain burns in my palms and tingles my fingers. He’s marrying someone else, and it’ll never be the same again. The moments tick by, dragging. What does he want me to say? Congratulations. I can’t stand seeing you with another woman.

  He cuts into my thoughts. “Did you ever wonder why we never got together all these six years?”

  “That’s easy. You liked Evie.”

  He huffs and shakes his head. “I work for your father. He holds my visa. As for Evie, sure, I like her, but not in that way. She was always unsure of herself.”

  That’s a shock to me. Evie’s the smartest in our family. How could she ever be unsure of anything, other than her feelings for Romeo?

  “She was?” I protest. “I can’t believe that.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you.” He taps the arms of the chaise lounge. “But since it seems to bother you.”

  “Not at all. If you liked her and now you like Julia, it’s okay with me.” I’m a little too hasty, and he senses it.

  He quirks his eyebrow and turns those dark delicious eyes on me. “Your father asked me to flirt with Evie to make her feel pretty.”

  “Serious? My father would do that?” Now that I think about it, what if he told Johnny to bolster my self-confidence? I mean, the way he let Johnny kiss me and moon over me. Too gross. But hey, it might mean Johnny’s not my half-brother.

  Carlos’s forehead wrinkles. “Your father loves all of you, and you know how Romeo’s mother was all about the skin lightening. Evie felt she was ugly.”

  “No way. Evie who wears all that makeup and dates an actor? She’s got gorgeous even skin tone.”

  “A couple shades darker than you and Genie.” He drags his fingers over my arm. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m dark too, and I’m happy about it. But you know how the older generation is.”

  “Yeah, it’s unfair. Everyone says Genie’s the prettiest, but I figured Evie thought she was abo
ve me. I’m the one with the sinful freckles, according to your mother.”

  “I like freckles. They’re cute.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, my shining goal in life is to be cute at twenty-six. Thanks a lot.”

  “Does it bother you a lot what my mom says?” Carlos takes my hand and intertwines his fingers with mine, sending warm fuzzies through my body.

  Duh, it bothers the heck out of me. But what can I tell him? The politically correct version, obviously.

  “Not really. She’s a mother after all. She cares about you and doesn’t want me to influence you badly. I can’t blame her. I’m always making mistakes, the Johnny thing, the slutty clothes, and that kiss she witnessed.”

  He half stands and drags his chair closer to mine. Sitting up, he strokes the side of my face and lifts my chin. “I kissed you because I wanted to. I still do.”

  I lick my lips, wanting him to kiss me, to show me he means it. But I can’t. “Uh, uh, this isn’t right. You’re engaged to Julia.”

  “Julia still loves Steve. I sent him a text letting him know about the engagement so he can fight for her.”

  “Wait, what are you saying?”

  “I wanted Julia to tell you herself, but this engagement’s to test Steve.”

  Now it makes sense why Julia wants selfies posted to her Facebook. But what if it backfires?

  “No, it’s a bad idea. If Steve doesn’t come back, it’ll throw her into deeper depression.”

  “She knows the risk, but she’s willing to take it.”

  I close my eyes and knock my forehead against Carlos’s shoulder. “You don’t understand Julia. Somewhere in there, she’s in love with you. This isn’t going to end well.”

  He tickles the bottom of my chin. “You worry too much. How do you feel about me being engaged to Julia?”

  “I think you’re misleading her if you think it’s going to get Steve back for her. That’s plain wrong.”

  Carlos rubs my back between my shoulder blades. “See how tense you are? You’re always worrying about others. What about you? What do you want?”

  “I’m scared to tell you.” My pulse jitters and my voice is teeny tiny.

  Why is he looking at me so intently? I have no makeup on, nothing. I’m not even wearing perfume, and I’m dressed in a white buttoned blouse and Bermuda shorts, not exactly the height of fashion.