“Oh God. Please, never talk about my booty, Mother.”
“Why not?” She grinned cheek to cheek. “You did get your best assets from me, after all.”
“I’m going to pretend this conversation never happened.”
She took the hangers off the rack and handed them to me. “Just do as your mother says. Velvet pants.”
I did as she said because mother knows best.
The interview was my fifth one of the day, and after it finished, I headed straight home for the night. My favorite thing to do after a long day of interviews was to go home, flop down on my couch with my dog, and overthink every stupid thing I might’ve said.
The way you said something during interviews could be completely misunderstood, making me have the heaviest cases of anxiety. You could look like an asshole when you thought you were making a goofy joke. You could look like a moron when you misunderstood something the host was asking you.
I was blessed with an overactive mind. I thought too fucking much. Half the things that went wrong in my head, no one else even noticed. But me? I broke down every second of every day, because I didn’t know how to shut off that part of my brain.
I was sure that process of overthinking was super healthy and super helpful.
After a while, I shifted my thoughts to something else because finding the flaws in my performances was painfully draining. Greyson had called me earlier that week to update me on the whiskey launch party, which I was sponsoring for him, and it felt good to talk to him.
Over the past few months, Greyson had been through some of his own hellish wars, and it was only recently that he began reaching out to me as opposed to me calling him day in and day out—all because of a nanny named Eleanor.
Ever since she came back into Greyson’s life, he was becoming more and more of the person I knew he was deep inside. He was waking up from the worst nightmare because that woman was willing to be patient with his brokenness.
The last time I’d spoken with Greyson, he’d made sure to note that Shay would be coming to the whiskey launch with Eleanor, seeing how they were cousins.
I would have liked to say I hadn’t thought about her over the past few years, but that would’ve been a straight-up lie.
When I thought about the defining moments of my life, Shay was at the top of my list. She was the first and pretty much only person who’d ever been able to wake me up from my deep slumber. Before her, I’d struggled so much with who I was, with my worth, with why I had been brought into this world. After a few months with her, she’d helped me see clearer. She’d opened my eyes to possibilities and made me dream of a future, a future I’d once thought I’d never get to experience, a future I almost missed out on living. I had left her side thinking someday I’d find myself, which would lead me back to her arms. I’d thought with some practice, I’d figure out the broken pieces of me and be enough of a man for her to love.
It turned out that shit wasn’t easy, and I wasn’t magnificent at self-discovery.
I failed time and time again, and when years passed by, I knew she was better off without the mess I would’ve left upon her front door. I moved on, knowing she would be better if she did the same. There were so many times I wanted to go back to her, but I knew I couldn’t show up to her with my broken pieces, hoping she’d help heal them. I knew she was better off without the mess I would’ve left upon her front doorstep.
It came down to me not being selfish. It came down to me not trying to lean on her in order to keep me standing. It came down to me wanting more for Shay than I could’ve ever given her. She wanted all of me, yet my heart worked in phases like the moon. It shifted every few weeks, sometimes feeling completely full, other times looking like a crescent sliver.
Still, she crossed my mind every now and again. Now that Greyson had informed me she’d be in attendance at the whiskey launch that coming weekend, she was making an appearance in my thoughts much more regularly.
What was she like nowadays?
What did she do?
Were her eyes still as brown and full of hope as they were before?
Who did she love?
That question passed through me more than most—who did she love today, and who loved her back?
Most of the women I spent my time with never really stuck with me. I was known for my speed-dating persona because I never settled down, always moving on to the next. Most people probably thought it was because I was this Hollywood superstar who didn’t have to settle down. They probably thought I was only searching for sex but that was a lie.
I was searching for anything that had a small resemblance to the first girl who’d ever loved me—the real me, the broken me, the scarred boy who didn’t know how to love himself.
I was looking for parts of Shay in every woman who crossed my path, but they never got close to the way she sparked something intense throughout my entire being.
Rookie crawled into my lap and began snoring with his heavy breaths.
After my dog, Ham, passed away years ago, it took me a while to consider getting another companion. Maybe individuals who weren’t dog people would’ve never understood the heartbreak that happened when a person’s dog passed away, but to me it felt like losing a best friend. Ham had stood by my side through the hardest periods of my life, both in my youth and in my career. Losing him almost killed me, too.
I put off getting another dog for the longest time. I felt as if I was somehow betraying Ham for moving on, but the moment I saw Rookie in the shelter, I knew he was the right one for me. He peed on my shoes and everything. Ever since then, we’d been attached at the hip. He was a small toy poodle—a very manly man dog, obviously—and he was treated like a king upon kings. The next day, he and I would be headed back to Chicago for the whiskey launch party the following weekend. The next day, I’d be in pretty much the same city and breathing the same air as Shay. A few days after that, we’d be face to face.
I sat there in the silence of my New York penthouse, staring into the darkness as every single memory of Shay Gable came rushing back to me. I played them on a loop because every memory was worth reliving.
13
Shay
My grandmother always joked that good men existed, it just so happened they all lived on the movie screen.
Normally I loved our Sunday dinners, but lately they felt like love’s battlefield, and Mima was shooting out bombs trying to dissect my current relationship.
Mom was late for dinner—again—and that left the conversation wide open for Mima to be her nosy self, asking about my love life—or lack thereof. Sam and I had been dating for the past nine months, and I was in a comfortable state of contentment with our situation, yet that didn’t seem enough to please Mima.
Her crown roast sizzled as she sat it down on the dining room table. After that, she brought out the mashed potatoes and green bean casserole. Leave it to Mima to cook a whole feast for a simple Sunday dinner for three.
Steam rose from the meal, and the aromas of perfectly cooked foods filled the space as my stomach rumbled in anticipation.
“I don’t understand why we haven’t met him if you two have been dating for so long,” she argued, setting down a tossed salad. “You haven’t even given us a name.”
“I told you, Mima—I don’t want to bring him around if it’s not serious. Plus, it’s only been nine months.”
“That’s long enough to know if you’re into someone. People have children in nine months’ time. If they are able to bake up a whole human, you should be able to make up your mind about a man. If it is not serious by now, it’s not going to be serious. Besides…” She scooped up a big spoonful of her mashed potatoes—too much for me, but I’d definitely eat it all—and plopped it down on my plate. “I don’t think he’s the one for you.”
I laughed. “How would you even know? I hardly talk about him.”
“Exactly. If someone’s the one for you, you can’t help but feel ecstatic about it. You want to talk about
them all the time. It spills out of you like lava, warming you from the tips of your toes to the crown of your head—which makes me believe, this isn’t the one. There’s no passion behind it.”
“There doesn’t have to be passion. This isn’t a movie. It’s real life.”
“Real life should be better than the movies.”
It was weird how Mima believed in love so much when love hadn’t been the greatest for herself. Even after all the heartache she’d been through with my grandfather, she still believed in happily ever afters.
I, on the other hand, struggled with the concept daily. I’d only been in that soul-crushing love once in my life, and it had done exactly that—crushed my soul. I was completely okay with hovering in the realm of liking someone instead of giving myself completely to them.
Not every romance had to be The Notebook.
Some could be a made-for-television kind of story. For example, those Hallmark movies where two people fall in love in three days and no souls are crushed in the making of their connection. Those stories had some appeal to them. They were easier. Fluffy and comfortable. Plus, if the couple broke up after the end credits, it wasn’t as if anyone was shattered. The girl would probably go back to working in New York City again, and the hero would start selling more trees on his father’s Christmas tree lot until another big city girl crossed his path the next year.
“Maybe that stuff is just for the fairytales, Mima. Maybe all that heart skipping and flowery stuff is just for the storybooks.”
“Oh, honey. You can’t believe that. You are, after all, the one who is going to break this family’s love curse.”
Here we go again.
The Martinez family curse.
My grandmother was a firm believer that fairytales still existed in real life, even though she’d never lived to see a truly healthy relationship within our family. Mima believed in knights in shining armor, princesses, funny sidekicks, villains, and magical curses. My gosh, did she believe in those curses. She was convinced our family had many generational curses that shadowed us all and kept us all from achieving our greatest love story.
There is no amount of pressure like the pressure from a grandmother who is convinced you’re the one brought into this world to break the generational family curse set upon your family decades before. Mima was completely sure I was the one to end the Martinez love drought.
I didn’t want to believe in her crazy speeches, but I swore, they sometimes held a bit of truth. We Martinez women had experienced a bit of bad luck in the romance department for ages.
I could hear my mother in my ear at all times. Every time I got let down by the opposite sex, I heard her whisperings. “Never has there been good men in our family history, mi amor. We women are cursed to love sons of bitches. My grandfather was a son of a bitch. Your grandfather was a son of a bitch, your father was a son of a bitch. We’re better off alone.”
Then, I’d hear Mima and her hopefulness slipping in. “I pray to God each day that you are the one to end this curse set upon us Martínez women. You are our savior.”
Again—no pressure.
Over the years, the three of us ladies had grown closer than before. We held each other up whenever life tried to knock us down—which it had done over and over again. But, with the love of my mother and grandmother, I knew we’d always make it through the darkest of days.
The three of us were like a low-budget version of Jane the Virgin—full of love, light, laughter, and support. The Martínez women were built to survive, even if we were cursed by love. I was Jane, the girl trying to create a writing career for myself, but I didn’t have a Michael or Rafael fighting over me and my love.
Instead, I had a Sam. I doubted he was one who would go to war over me. I didn’t blame him—I wouldn’t wield a sword over him, either. We weren’t that kind of relationship. We hadn’t needed to go to war for our connection.
Before I could respond about the curse of the Martínez clan, Mom came rushing through the front door, humming loudly and spinning in circles. “I’m in love, I’m in love, and I want the whole world to know it!” she exclaimed.
Her words confused the heck out of me. My mom? In love?
What in the world…?
“See, that’s the kind of excitement you should be having about this mystery boy!” Mima exclaimed.
Not very likely.
Mom looked so happy and light, grinning ear to ear. Any minute now she’d be Tom Cruise jumping on Mima’s couch about her love affair.
“You know who made you excited?” Mima asked me.
Don’t say Landon Harrison. Don’t say Landon Harrison…
“Landon Harrison.” She beamed with a sparkle in her eyes. If there was anyone who Mima loved almost as much as she loved me, it was Landon. Since day one, she’d always been his biggest fan. But if there was anything Mima took seriously, it was her loyalty. When Landon and I went our separate ways, she cut ties with him, too, in order to show her love and support for me. When it came to choosing sides, my grandmother would always choose mine.
Still, that didn’t mean she didn’t occasionally bring up Landon, and remind me that he was a wonderful boy.
“The last time I heard you sound excited about a relationship was when you were seeing that, sweet, sweet boy. You should give him a call,” Mima offered.
“It’s been over a decade, Mima. I definitely don’t have his number,” I replied.
“That’s a shame.” She pouted. “You were so happy with him.”
I was a teenager—what did I know about true happiness?
“Speaking of happy…” I cleared my throat. “We should probably talk about Mom’s new love.” I needed the attention to move on from me to someone else, and who better than the lovesick puppy that was my mother? Maybe she was in charge of breaking the Martínez curse, not me.
“Yes. What is this love you are going on and on about?” Mima asked, making Mom a plate.
Mom plopped down in her chair, still grinning cheek to cheek. “I just rescued a puppy,” she stated.
Well, that made more sense. It definitely was puppy love.
“I’m picking it up from the Humane Society tomorrow, and oh my gosh, I just adore the pup so much. I mean look!” She pulled out her phone and passed around a picture of the most adorable dog ever.
As Mima held the phone in her hand, she shook her head. “You mean to tell me you came spinning into my apartment over a dog?”
“Not just a dog, Mama,” Mom squeaked. “The dog. Her name is Bella, and she’s just the most adorable thing in the world.”
“Oh, great,” Mima groaned, rolling her eyes. “Another vagina in the family.”
I snickered a little under my breath.
“What is wrong with you ladies? When are you going to settle down and bring a man over for dinner! I am getting sick of eating each week with you two dopeheads. And plus, I’m getting up there in age and would like a granddaughter some day!”
“What did you think I meant when I said I was in love?” Mom asked. “That I was bringing a guy around?”
“Is that so crazy?” Mima asked.
“Um, a little. There is no way a guy is more exciting than a puppy. What could a guy give me that a puppy couldn’t? Love, comfort, snuggles—”
“Orgasms,” Mima said, causing me to spit out my wine in shock.
“Mima!”
“What?! It’s true. You went out to get a puppy because you were probably getting sick of being home alone, right Camila?”
“Well, yes.”
“You know what could make you feel even less alone at home? A big, strong man. Plus, he can put his penis inside you, which is a win-win.”
Oh my gosh, my grandmother was talking about orgasms and penises inside my mother. This conversation just took a very odd turn.
“Are we really talking about orgasms at Sunday dinner?” I asked, still baffled.
Mom’s phone dinged, and she eagerly went to respond. Her cheeks turned ro
sy, and she turned her back away from us for a moment as she began typing back. “Sorry, it was the humane society. They said I can pick up Bella tonight if I come when I’m done here!” she exclaimed.
“See? Don’t you miss that, Shannon Sofia?” Mima asked, gesturing toward my mother. “Even though your mother is showcasing that excitement over a mutt, it’s still exciting. Something that makes your heart race faster and faster.”
“No thanks. I’m not into heart attacks.”
Mima frowned. “When did you become so unromantic? You used to live for good love stories. You still write love stories, but you’re telling me that you don’t believe in love anymore?”
“I can write love stories, and not believe in the concept, Mima. I doubt Melissa Mathison and Steven Spielberg believed in E.T., but they did a great job creating that film. Besides, my relationship is fine.”
“Fine,” Mima huffed, waving her hand toward me in dismissal. “No one wants to be fine in a relationship. You want to be alive.”
“Maybe we should drop this conversation,” I offered. I didn’t want to talk about Sam anymore, and luckily, Mom was quick to go on and on about Bella. Still, I kept thinking about Mima’s comments about Sam and our lackluster romance. Sam and I might not have had massive fireworks shooting from our hearts, but our little sparklers were just fine.
On the way out, Mima packed me up some leftovers, and placed her hands on my cheeks. “I hope you know that my worry and concern for your romantic life comes from a place of love, Shannon Sofia. I fear that if you keep down this road of hardness with your heart, that soon it will turn to stone.”
I gave her a lazy smile, leaned in, and kissed her chin. “Don’t worry, Mima. This heart of mine is still beating.”
Just not solely for the attention of men.
“Think about taking your boyfriend to that whiskey party Greyson East is throwing. It might be good for you to reveal him to the world there.”
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