Ten Years Later

by Lisa Marie Latino

  “YOU ARE A LIAR! ANDREA IS AT THE HOSPITAL AND NONE OF YOUR FRIENDS KNOW WHERE YOU ARE!”

  “Wait, why is Andrea at the hospital?” I cried.

  “I DON’T KNOW, WHY DON’T YOU ASK HER YOURSELF SINCE YOU WERE WITH HER ALL NIGHT, YOU LIARRRRRR!”

  Checkmate. “Okay, I wasn’t at Andrea’s house,” I conceded.

  “SO WHERE ARE YOU?”

  “I’m in the city.”

  “ARE YOU AT A BOY’S HOUSE?”

  I was too tired to argue. “Yes,” I replied softly.

  “WAIT UNTIL I TELL YOUR FATHER! YOU ARE DEAD, YOUNG LADY!”

  This wasn’t getting either of us anywhere. I rubbed my temple; her piercing voice was making my headache worse. “Look, nothing happened, all right? I’m safe; it’s no big deal. End of story.”

  “NO BIG DEAL?” I heard my mother take a deep breath. “I thought you were dead,” she continued in a dramatic tone. “Do I even know this person?”

  “Kind of,” I said, chuckling. Another non-lie. My mom isn’t a baseball fan, but she is well versed as to who Miguel is; I remember begging her for weeks to let me hang his poster on my bedroom wall, despite its clashing with the color scheme. She finally conceded, but for months, complained every time she stepped in the room that the tape was ruining the paint.

  “WHAT’S SO FUNNY?!” Her voice was back to a window-breaking pitch.

  I sighed. “Nothing at all. Okay, I’m getting my things together and will be home soon.”

  “YOU’RE DEAD WHEN YOU GET HOME!” And she hung up.

  Oh, how the tables have turned. A few hours ago I was being treated like New York royalty and ended up sleeping (literally) with one of People Magazine’s 100 Most Beautiful People in the World. Now I was in his son’s nursery, intrusively sitting on the rocking chair Marco’s mother (or nanny) used to lull him to sleep while getting reamed out by my mother for missing an arbitrary curfew. This might as well be my bedroom.

  Speaking of babies, it hit me that I still had to get in touch with Andrea to find out what was going on. I hit her name stored under my phone’s “favorites.”

  “Hello?” she groaned.

  “Andrea! What’s going on?”

  “I started bleeding last night,” she explained, sounding extremely exhausted and hoarse. “We’re all okay, but the doctors want to monitor the situation, so I’m stuck in the hospital. The twins may come sooner than we thought.”

  “Okay, I’m in the city. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

  “Oh, so that’s where you are! With everything going on, I forgot to give you the heads up about your mother looking for you. Who are you with?”

  I rubbed my throbbing head. “It’s a long story.”

  “You can’t do that to me! It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

  I gave Andrea blow-by-blow details of what I could remember.

  “It must be nice,” Andrea puffed. “You’re out gallivanting with the Prince of New York City, and I’m lying here waiting for my precious goods to be slaughtered.”

  I stifled a yawn. “Hopefully, you won’t be pushing them out anytime soon.”

  We hung up. I gingerly rose up from the chair and snuck back into Miguel’s bedroom. To my surprise, he was sitting up in bed with his arms crossed over his bare chest. His dark hair was tousled, and he had slight stubble sprinkled across his cheeks. He looked extremely sexy.

  “Morning,” he said cheerfully.

  I seriously considered forgetting about whatever was going on in Honey Crest right then and jumping back into his bed.

  “Morning,” I repeated. I walked over to my side of the bed and picked up my purse, which was open on the floor.

  He climbed over to me. “Where do you think you’re going?” he smiled, wrapping his arms around me and drawing me into bed. My purse fell out of my hands and back onto the floor.

  “I thought you snuck out on me,” he pouted, lightly kissing my forehead.

  I was mush in his arms. Andrea, what? Babies, who? “Nope, I just had to make a phone call.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  I turned to face him. “My best friend is pregnant with twins and got rushed to the hospital last night because she was bleeding. I have to go see her.”

  “Oh.” He frowned. “So you can’t hang out?”

  “No,” I pouted. I honestly wanted to cry.

  “All right then. Well, I’ll walk you out,” he shrugged, releasing me. He sprung out of bed and threw on a t-shirt that was slung over a chair. By the time I got up, he was already standing by the door, whistling to himself while waiting for me. I had to admit, his jarring change in attitude startled me. He walked me down the hallway, past baby Marco’s room and past the living room where his friends and their dates were snoring away.

  Miguel opened the front door. “If you need a ride back to your car, ask for Juan at the front desk. I would walk down with you, but, you know…”

  I lowered my head in shame. “Yeah, I know.”

  He nervously glanced at my right fist, which was clenching my cell phone. “You didn’t take any pictures or tell anyone what we did last night, did you?”

  My minutes-ago conversation with Andrea flashed across my mind. “No pictures, and I don’t remember enough of last night to recount what happened.”

  Miguel let out a sigh of relief. “Goooooood!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands. He pulled me in for a quick hug. “It was a fun night, though,” he said quickly. “Take care.” And with that, he released me and basically pushed me out the door.

  I turned to look at him. “You… ”

  The door shut before I could finish my sentence.

  “…too,” I said slowly. I scratched my head. What had just happened there? My confusion quickly turned to anger as I walked to the elevator. Just like that, he throws me out, like a piece of trash? No promise to call? Did last night not mean ANYTHING to him?

  Annoyed, I skipped going to the front desk and hailed my own taxi back to my car, which was in a parking garage by Bamboo Sushi.

  My mother, after all these years, would get her wish—the Miguel Martinez poster was coming off my wall as soon as I got home.

  ■ ■ ■

  Three Advil, a liter of bottled water, a doughy everything bagel with cream cheese, and two hours of aggravating New York City traffic later, I rushed through the entrance of Saint Brigid Hospital.

  “Maternity wing?” I asked the receptionist.

  “Fourth floor. Who are you here to see?”

  “Andrea Deveroux. D-E-V-E-…”

  She punched the letters on the keyboard. “I don’t have an Andrea Deveroux on file.”

  “Andrea Rocha?” I suggested. She certainly wasted no time ridding herself of her married name!

  “Room 402,” she said a few seconds later, handing me a pass.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled.

  The elevator was taking forever, so I ran up the emergency stairs and down the maternity wing’s long, well-lit corridor.

  Sir Walter Scott once famously said: “Oh! What a tangled web we weave, when we first practice to deceive!” I think the inspiration for his poetry came from the drama emitting from the people currently assembled in room 402.

  There was Andrea, sitting up in bed, writhing in pain. There was Andrea’s mother, an older looking version of her daughter, sitting in a chair next to the bed, clutching rosary beads while silently praying. There was Andrea’s father, a rail-thin Brazilian man, who stood against the wall menacingly staring at Richard, Andrea’s gay soon-to-be ex-husband, who was anxiously pacing around the room. Sitting on top of the windowsill, for reasons unbeknownst to me, was Xander, the man Andrea had fallen in love with. And finally, next to him was Dante, who immediately looked the other way when I entered the room. There were more storylines in this hospital than Shonda Rhimes would know what to do with.

  I gave everyone a tentative wave and walked up to Andrea’s bed.

  “How are you feeling?” I said,
gingerly wiping a piece of stray hair away from her makeup-less face.

  “All things considering, I’m okay,” she groaned, adjusting the pillow behind her head.

  “Do you need anything?” I asked.

  Andrea shook her head no while eying me up and down. “I like your outfit!” She briefly perked up. “Is that what you wore to the city last night, you dirty stay out?”

  “Yup,” I lightly laughed. Only Andrea would pay attention to my fashion choices while holed up in the hospital.

  “So that’s what you’ve been doing instead of coming to see me? Partying hardy?” Xander joked.

  “I know, I’ve been bad,” I agreed. “It’s been a very busy time.”

  “Cut her some slack, will ya? Last night Carla hung out with Miguel Martinez,” Andrea scoffed through her pain. From the corner of my eye, I saw Dante give me a questionable look. I had to act fast, considering a sports personality was in the room and could go public with my very top secret information.

  “Andrea, please never mention that again. He’d kill me if…”

  “I don’t care if you are hanging out with the President. It’s never too busy to get your fitness in,” Xander interrupted.

  “Shut up about her fitness! You are not her father!” Andrea snapped.

  “So what’s the latest?” I asked, hastily changing the subject.

  “The bleeding stopped, and the babies are okay, but if their heartbeats drop again then they are going to do a C-section,” Mrs. Rocha explained in her broken accent.

  “But you’re only a month away from your due date, so this isn’t TOO bad, right?”

  “Their lungs aren’t fully developed yet, so they want me to hold out to 37 weeks. I’m at 35 now. I just hope…hope they are okay.”

  Mrs. Rocha started crying, which in turn made her daughter cry.

  “I’ve just been under so much stress, with the divorce and everything,” Andrea continued, blotting her eyes with a tissue. “And this is YOUR fault!” she screamed at Richard.

  Richard shook his head. Mr. Rocha’s facial expression grew angrier, and he clutched both of his hands in threatening fists.

  “Carla, can I speak to you outside?” Dante suddenly asked.

  “Sure,” I answered, relieved to be taken out of this pressure cooker.

  Dante and I exited the room, and he shut the door behind us.

  “What the hell is Xander doing here?” I blurted out.

  “She was working out with Xander when the bleeding started,” Dante explained in a monotone voice. “He drove her to the hospital and wanted to stay to make sure she and the babies were okay.”

  I gave him a knowing look. “I see. And Richard?”

  “Um, doesn’t he kind of have to be here?”

  “Do you not know the story?” I retorted, arching my eyebrow.

  “Whatever,” Dante muttered. “Speaking of illegitimate relationships, what were you doing with Miguel Martinez last night?”

  A pang of annoyance hit my body. Thanks, Andrea. His tone was wrought with judgment, and who was New Jersey’s resident womanizer to judge anyone in their dalliances?

  “I’m not at liberty to say,” I scoffed. In different times, Dante would have been the first call I would have made, not so much to deliver the nitty-gritty details, but because Miguel was his favorite New York Yankee and he would have gotten a kick out of my close proximity. But had Andrea not blabbed my business to the room, the story never would have left my lips--not to someone who had gone from blood brother to mild acquaintance.

  We walked a little more in silence. He suddenly stopped and turned to me. “Carla, there’s been something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

  “What’s up?” I chirped, sounding more confident than I felt because right then it finally hit me—these past few weeks of not talking had nothing to do with his breakup with Stacy.

  His piercing blue eyes cut into me. “Is it true that you tried to get me fired?”

  My mouth dropped open. “What are you talking about?” I shrilled.

  “The night that I got drunk, is it true you told Dan that he should fire me?”

  Oh no, he was NOT going there! I felt the anger that I’d been suppressing since September quickly rise up my body. “Listen to what you just said, Dante,” I countered. “‘The night I got drunk.’ Had I not dragged you out of your apartment and into the studio, your ass would have been done. And now you think I was trying to get you fired? Where do you even get off on accusing me of such lies?”

  Dante smirked. “Right, so Dan just made it all up.”

  “Made what up?” I snapped.

  “That you suggested he should hire someone more serious about the job, someone more like you.”

  “I didn’t say that,” I asserted.

  Dante took a step closer to me. “You didn’t? Why would Dan call me the next morning warning me to stay away from you?”

  My Italian temper was about to pop off. “Oh, so that’s what he called you up to say? He had nothing to say about your almost missing your show, but instead wanted to talk shit about me?”

  “See, you did try to get me fired,” Dante insisted.

  “I did not try to get you fired!” I barked. “Dan called me freaking out that you weren’t at the station yet. I had no idea where you were. He wanted me to come up with a solution, so I recommended myself.”

  “How convenient!” Dante threw his hands up in the air and started to walk away.

  “Hey!” I ran around him, stopping him in his tracks. “There’s a big difference between volunteering to fill in versus actually trying to push you out.”

  “Carla, you’ve been so bent out of shape since I started there. You saw a window of opportunity to get me out, and you tried to take it.” Our noses were almost touching at this point.

  “You tried to get YOURSELF out of there! You got fucking hammered the night of your show!”

  “It’s not the point, Carla. Besides, I would have found a way into New York.”

  “How?! You couldn’t even stand up straight!”

  “That’s not the point,” he repeated.

  “Yes, it IS the point! You think life is one big party, and you have no sense of responsibility!”

  “I don’t have a sense of responsibility? I’ve been living on my own since I’m 18; meanwhile, you are 27 still living at home with your parents!”

  “Living at home with my parents has nothing to do with this. At least I know how to maintain a job; you barely had a cup of coffee with W-S-P-S and you managed to almost fuck it up, as you’ve done with every other opportunity handed to you.”

  “Really? Enlighten me Carla; what else have I fucked up in my life?”

  “Music. Sports. College. Shall I continue?”

  “I don’t think you want me to start comparing resumes, Carla,” he warned.

  By now we were engaged in a full-on screaming match. The hospital patrons had gathered near us to watch the free fireworks display.

  Dante shook his head. “Look, I LOVE what I’m doing. Has it always been my dream? No. But I’m here now, and I’m doing a damn good job at it! Just because Dan doesn’t think you are talented enough to do this is not my problem—”

  I gasped, interrupting him mid-thought. “I can’t believe you just—”

  “…And because you are too thick-headed to see that, you let your insane jealousy ruin our friendship,” Dante finished.

  “No, what ruined this friendship is YOU. Dan has his head buried so far up your ass that you’d believe anything he says, instead of listening to someone who’s known you for almost thirty years!”

  “Dan has nothing to do with this. You showed your true colors since the day I took this job.”

  “And you now just showed yours.” I gave him one last glare before turning to walk away. As I made my way to the elevator and out the hospital doors, I managed to keep myself numb. However, the second I stepped into my car, I took a very deep breath and starting quivering.
I knew what was coming. When I exhaled, the dam exploded. Everything from the past twenty-four hours came out in one big heap.

  For the next half hour, I sat in the hospital parking lot, an inconsolable mess. People passing by probably thought I had just lost a loved one. But hadn’t I?

  ■ ■ ■

  It was almost three in the morning, and despite being physically and mentally drained, I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned while replaying my conversation with Dante for the hundredth time.

  Cutting into my thoughts was my cell phone vibrating on my nightstand. I lunged for it, hoping it wasn’t more bad news.

  Andrea.

  “Are you okay?” My voice was shaky.

  “I’m more than okay,” Andrea said peacefully. “I’m here holding Nadia and Nico, and they can’t wait to meet their Aunt Carla.”

  Without even thinking, I jumped out of bed. “I’ll be right there.”

  15

  Day 159

  Miguel Martinez and I are lying in front of his fireplace, furiously kissing on the white carpet as if our lives depended on it. We’re both still fully clothed, and I’m on top of him, grinding into his crotch.

  “I want you so bad,” he breaths. He immediately rips his shirt off, but before I can do the same, I notice that he is distracted by something outside.

  “Will you look at that freakin’ view? Wow,, I love being rich,” he says, pointing out the window towards the twinkling New York City skyline. I climb down from him and hug my knees towards my chin, not sure what to do or say.

  He jumps up and then reappears a few seconds with two glasses of wine. He hands me a glass as he finishes his in one big gulp. “To Ruby getting fired,” he toasts, kissing me on the cheek.

  My eyes light up. “She got fired?”

  “I got her fired,” he says, nuzzling my neck.

  I rotate my shoulder, pushing him off. “What do you mean? I thought Dan-”

  “Dan nothing. I don’t like the way she was treating you. I love you, Carla, and it’s the least I can do,” he takes my wine glass away and drinks its contents in one shot. He throws the glass behind him and grabs my chin, sending chills down my spine. “I can’t wait to make love to you,” Miguel whispers.