The cab driver drops me off a block away. I don’t want them to see me coming. I’m prepared to camp on their doorstop, sleep there if necessary. No one’s going to take my Livy away from me. No one.
The street is a quiet, tree lined one, typical suburbia where neighbors keep to themselves behind manicured lawns. The curtains are closed, but it’s not unusual for a latchkey kid to hide behind them and pretend no one’s home.
I ring the bell and step back, knowing Livy’s been taught to look through the peephole. I stare at it, plastering a smile on my face. Please, please, Livy, open the door.
My ears are pricked for the faint sound of a footstep or a creak in the door as she leans against it, standing on tippy toes to look.
Nothing. I ring again and hear the hollow echo of the bell inside. What if they moved or went on vacation? Or worse, Livy’s in the hospital with a blood infection?
I collapse on the porch and hug my knees. How disappointed Livy must be to find out I’m her mother. My heart breaks for her anguish, the horror she must have felt when reading that message.
My bottom lip trembles and I shudder, holding myself to keep from breaking apart again. I hadn’t wept when Livy’s mother died. She was my eldest cousin who used to babysit us. Beautiful Olivia. Intelligent, accomplished, a business executive who looked like a model.
I stare at my faded image in the mirrored front door window pane.
Who am I fooling? I’m a bitter caricature of her. No amount of makeup can hide my imperfections.
I still remember her wedding, how radiant and alive she was. Pretty Genie got to be the flower girl, and Brian was the ring bearer. I, of course, was relegated to ugly duckling status with an unflattering blue and yellow barrel shaped dress.
The same drowning sensation when my mother pried Livy from my arms engulf me. They all said I should never have held her, but Livy came so fast. I went into labor at a softball game. I was in the stands when my water broke, and I delivered Livy in the police car. I held her all the way to the hospital. I counted her fingers and her toes, and when she opened her shining brown eyes, it was my face in the reflection.
I gave her her first kiss, rubbed the fluff on her head, and told her I loved her, that I’d always be there for her, no matter what. But the paperwork had been signed.
Tears flood my face, and my heart pulverizes like crushed gravel. Not only have I lost Livy, but I can never face Carlos again. There was a flash of shock and anger when he first found out about the Facebook message. He was innocent, but my first instinct was to lash out at him, blame him, and refuse to listen. By the time we parted at the airport, he was furious. He didn’t even wave goodbye.
I suck at everything. Fresh tears renew their assault on my eyes. My stomach growls, and I have to use the restroom. If Livy’s in there, she’s not answering. After walking back from the neighborhood café, I knock on the next door neighbor’s house.
An elderly woman I’ve seen before answers the door. “I know you. You’re at the wrong door.”
“Actually, I was wondering if they went on vacation. They don’t seem to be coming to the door.”
The woman rolls her neck, her vertebrae cracking. “Not that I know of. There was quite a scene last night. Police cars.”
“What? Is everyone okay?”
“Guess so. There’s no crime scene tape. I heard the girl ran away. But they found her, thank God.”
“Is she okay?”
“Must be. Everyone left before I went to bed.” The woman opened her door wider. “Won’t you come in for some tea or cookies?”
“No, thanks, I can’t. I’ll wait for them. Or can I use your phone?”
“Sure.” She holds the door open.
The house is musty and dark, and there’s an old keypad phone sitting on a phone table on top of a yellowed telephone book. I lift the receiver and call my mother.
“I’ll get you a drink,” the woman says. “Orange juice, milk?”
“Water, thanks.”
My mother answers on the first ring.
“Ma, it’s me, Choco.”
“Where’ve you been? We’ve been calling and knocking on your door. I’m at Carlos’s place with Tita Gloria. She’s worried about Carlos. She thinks something might have happened to him.”
“Like that’s all she cares about? Livy knows. She ran away last night. Ask Gloria if she’s happy now.”
I hang up.
“I’m sorry,” I say to the neighbor whose hand shakes with the water glass. “I didn’t mean to yell. It’s been an awful day.”
“That’s quite all right, honey. You may stay as long as you want.”
“No, really, I have to go. As soon as Kevin comes home, I want to be there. You know how he opens the garage door when he’s a block away? I’m going to run in.”
The woman rubs her gnarly wrinkled hands. “Yes, that’s a great plan. You run right in and surprise him.”
I thank her for the phone call and resume my vigil. First, I ring the bell. No answer. I speak through the door. “Livy, no matter what, I love you, and I’m sorry you had to hear it this way. I wish I could have kept you, but I was a fourteen-year-old girl, not much older than you. If you’re listening, forgive me. And know I always love you.”
I press my ear to the door. There’s silence save for the tinkling of the wind chimes. Maybe I should write her a note. I knock on the neighbor’s door and borrow paper and pencil, then return to my vigil.
After writing a note to Livy, I start one to Carlos. I don’t know what to say except I’m sorry. Without Livy, I’m no longer whole, no longer a person who’ll be a good wife or companion. I’ll spend the rest of my life in court trying to get my parental rights back. I’ll say I was a minor. I didn’t understand what I signed. But I can never look at Carlos and forget. He took his mother’s side while my heart was breaking. He only thought of her, not me. They say blood is thicker than water. It’s true. Livy is mine.
But, Carlos. I still love you.
I bury my head in my knees and sob.
A footstep alerts me, and I look up, expecting Livy’s father.
“I thought you’d be here.” It’s Carlos. He sits on the concrete steps beside me.
“Carlos, I’m so sorry.” I throw my arms around his shoulders, but he’s silent, stiff, and he doesn’t hug me back.
“Kevin’s taking Livy to India,” he says.
“India?” I gasp. “Why?”
“That’s his long-term assignment. Since he can no longer leave Livy with you and your parents, he took her.”
“But I need to get her back. I need to talk to her.”
“Her social network accounts have been canceled. I spoke to Kevin on the phone. I don’t know what to tell you.”
“I came back for nothing? Is there no appeal? No judge or lawyer? I never wanted to give her up. I was forced by my parents.”
He blows out a long breath. “Come on, let’s take you home.”
He’s quiet all the way back to my apartment. I’m too distraught to question him, ask him where we stand. All I know is I’ve hurt him. Blamed him unfairly.
I unlock my apartment door and run to the kitchen table where I left my phone. There has to be some update on Livy. Somewhere. Twitter? Instagram? I can’t believe I’ll be left without any contact.
“Put the phone down. We have to talk.” Carlos shuts the door behind me.
Of course we have to talk, but I don’t want to. A spear of dread begins way down in my belly and shoots its way through my heart. Carlos’s voice is deep, strong, flat. He means to break up with me forever.
Slowly, I place the phone on the table and walk past the boxes to my bedroom. I slump onto the bed, too weak and drained by warring emotions.
He clears his throat, his legs beside the bed. He’s refusing to sit, to get closer, to give me comfort.
“I’m sorry, Carlos. I shouldn’t have blamed you. I knew you wouldn’t have done it, but I was so hurt I lashed out at you. I’m
a terrible person.”
“It’s okay. I have only one question to ask.” His face hardens, his eyebrows lowered. “I know who fathered Livy. Why did you lie to me?”
A shockwave socks my belly and panic jolts through my bloodstream. “Who? How do you know?”
“Cut the acting. You knew it was Johnny all along, didn’t you? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Everything in my body drops like a pile of bricks. I try to get up, but I’m falling. Light and dark patches swirl around my head and I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Johnny? Not in a million years. I never met the guy. How can it be him? Except how would I know? They shoved me on my stomach and took me from behind. How would I have known who wore a condom and who didn’t? They gave me drugs. I was their whore. A no good fucking whore.
My body collapses on the mattress, wracked with loud, gasping, air sucking sobs. My wails rent the room, and my fists and feet pound the bed. I bang my head on the pillows and flop like a wounded fish. I hate myself. I’m worthless. I don’t deserve Carlos.
Strong hands lift me, and I’m pulled against Carlos. “You’re not worthless. You’re not a whore. They raped you.”
Is this real? Have I spoken out loud? The only sounds I hear are my sobs and wails. He clutches me tight, and I wrap myself around him.
I don’t know how much time passes, but he’s here, solid, silent, tense, giving me his presence.
“What’s going to happen now? What’s going to happen to us?” I say, my throat parched and raw. “I still love you, Carlos. After everything.”
“I love you too, but I have to leave.” Carlos holds me tight. “I’m going back to the Philippines. It’s my home.”
“Will you come back someday?”
“No. I made a mistake giving my heart to you.” His eyes are watery and red, but no tears drop. He pushes away from me.
“I never wanted to hurt you. Never.”
“You did and you will. Besides, you have things to sort out. You and Johnny.”
“How’d you find out? Who told you?”
He stares at me, his eyes in slits, as if weighing whether I’m acting innocent or not. “Johnny’s mother showed my mother the DNA results.”
“Shit! It’s true?” I pound on his chest and everything sinks into place. Miranda asking my father to let her and Johnny into our family, her parading the DNA results in his face, forcing my father to do her bidding, because as the man of the family, he was protecting me. He hurt my mother to protect me and Livy.
“Carlos,” I wail and throw myself against him. “I truly didn’t know. You have to believe me.”
He moves my hair from my eyes and nods. “I believe you.”
“Then you don’t have to go. We can try again. I promise I’ll never keep any secrets from you.”
His lips press together and he shakes his head. “You need time. I need time. I’m sorry. It’s time for me to go home.”
I clutch his hands and place them on my breasts. It’s my last chance. I can’t lose Carlos. I can’t.
“Today was supposed to be our wedding. Tonight’s our wedding night. Spend one more night with me.”
I unbutton my shirt, letting it drape off my shoulders. The thought of never touching him again, never holding him, never pressing myself against him, makes me desperate, bold, shameless.
Carlos hesitates. His jaw tightens, and the muscles on his arms bulge. He flexes his fingers and swallows.
Without losing eye contact, I unzip my jeans, and shimmy one side off my hips. His eyebrows rise at the thin red line of my thong, and he wets his lips.
My gaze leaves his eyes. I rake it over the strong chest and settle at the bulge growing between his legs. Focusing on it, I flicker my tongue, eager to taste his manhood, inhale the spicy, earthy scent, and swallow his essence. I can’t let him go. Just can’t.
I make another motion with my hand, as if my thumb and fingers are wrapped around his rod, then caress my palm with my fingers while stretching and curling my toes.
He loses the internal fight, the battle of wills, and lowers himself onto my bed. Crouched like a leopard, he launches over me, breathing heavily. His scent overshadows me, woodsy and sporty, a freshly showered male, but aroused.
I slide his belt from the loops, then palm his erection with light pressure. When he presses closer, I unzip his jeans and wet my lips. He helps me lower them and kneels to remove his shirt. While his head is inside his shirt, I grab his cock and wet my thumb with the bead of moisture at the tip and gently rub around the opening. My other hand cups his balls while I move my mouth down and kiss him all along his length, ignoring the head for now.
His scent is so sexy, so tasty, I want to dive in, but I want this to last forever. His breathing is labored, and his arms shake as his hips jerk, thrusting in my hand.
I loosen my grip and continue licking. He strains and groans, quivering to control himself. I encircle him with my tongue, and when I think he can’t wait any longer, I cover the tip with my mouth and run my tongue around the rim.
He groans and moves to go in deeper, but I move my head back, keeping only the tip warm and wet. I know he wants to come in hard, like he did last time, but I don’t give it to him. I move slowly and deliberately to draw out his pleasure and torture him to submission.
His hips move in again, then back, and in, his breath rasping when I withdraw and blow. He sizzles in between his teeth. Goosebumps erupt over his chest and shoulders.
Sliding up, I shrug off my blouse and raise my chest to his mouth. He lowers himself onto one elbow and rips my bra down, freeing my breasts. His hot mouth descends and grabs my nipple, while he rubs his face against my other breast. His cock settles between my legs. I wiggle to get my jeans off, driving him into greater frenzy.
He growls and rolls to his side, his big hands dragging my jeans down. Cupping my butt, he lifts my legs and noses the small lacey triangle of my thong to the side. One long finger slides in, and his thumb rubs the top of my mound, but stays clear of my clit. I roll my hips, weaving them in and around, seeking his touch. Flickers of pleasure torture me, both inside and out, not quite there, intense for a few seconds, elusive.
I move my thong off my hips and push my crotch against his hungry, wet lips. He kisses and fondles me, and when his tongue penetrates, the rush almost throws me off the edge. But my orgasm wanes as soon as he removes his lips. Slowly, like an advancing thunderstorm, he climbs over me, a wicked grin on his face. He lowers his lips over mine, his hot tongue plundering me. I stretch and arch, eager to have his weight shove me into the mattress. My fingernails rake his back, and my legs open wide, welcoming, grasping.
I cleave to him, pulling him in, and there’s a moment when he feels like he’s holding back. But I slap his behind, and he plunges in.
We moan together, in symphony, and there’s no holding back the wet slapping noises. He’s too wild to take it slow, too needy. Grunting, sweating, panting, he pounds me hard, thumping the bed against the wall and shaking the entire room.
My orgasm screams like a train wreck, out of control. I cry out, unable to slow down the torrent of emotion: love, loss, joy, grief, peace spinning my body, flinging a million stars in my eyes and settling like a warm, snuggly blanket from the top of my head to the soles of my tingly feet.
Carlos grips me tight and sinks into his release, he groans over and over, stroke by stroke, clutching and twitching, seemingly endless pulsations inside of me until I can’t tell if it’s him or me causing the aftershocks.
Even as we gasp and smother each other with caresses and tiny kisses, a sense of despair melts over us. His body tenses, and he draws back, too quick, too final. I’ve lost.
“Choke, I …” he starts to say.
“Don’t say anything. Don’t look back. Just leave.”
I turn over as soon as he’s off me and bury my face in the sheets, rubbing and writhing against the slowly fading heat, the scent of satiation, the departure of his love.
Chapter 4
1
Summer settles into fall, and now it’s past Thanksgiving. Carlos did indeed leave without looking back. I never tried to contact him, nor did he me. I deleted all my social networking and made new accounts. Genie’s gone to college, and my parents are on their round the world trip. I’m home taking care of my sixteen-year-old brother.
Livy and Kevin returned to San Diego, but Kevin refuses to let her see me. My attorney advises me to respect his wishes so that the court would look more kindly to my petition for parental rights.
Johnny wrote me a long letter apologizing for his mother. He made one last attempt to ask me to work at his restaurant, but I told him to leave me alone. After what he did and the way he tried to barge into our family, there’s no way I can be civil to him or let him interact with me in any way. Fortunately, he never contacted me again. Good riddance.
My mother’s no longer friends with Gloria, and she’s no longer my godmother. I can’t blame Miranda for telling Gloria about Johnny, but I can definitely blame Gloria for telling Carlos. Apparently, my mother feels the same way.
As for the restaurant, I have no clue what’s going on. I never drive by. Julia tells me it’s being remodeled, and I tell her to leave me out of the loop. She’s sorry Carlos left and wishes she had behaved better. But when I ask her who she thinks posted the message on Livy’s page, she insists it’s Brian. She says Livy wasn’t leaving him alone, and he wanted to get rid of her. Ace detective she’s not, although she’d make a good writer with her quirky imagination.
Day by day, I cook and refine my fantasy menu. I’m a food blogger now, and my life revolves around shopping for rare and tasty ingredients and cooking to an enthusiastic crowd, my brother and his soccer teammates.
I have a good gig going. They’re all latchkey teens, and their parents are affluent enough to pay me for their meal plans.
Brian clatters down the hallway, still in soccer cleats. His teammates follow, dragging mud and grass across our Saltillo tile floor.
Claiming Carlos Page 29