Tell Me That You're Mine

by Victoria De La O

  I think I’m fooling myself about Sedona, which is probably why Eva gave me that look. A weekend away would be doable, but a plane ride and a week away from Diego would be impossible for her in December. I’m beginning to understand what Eva meant about losing her freedom and spontaneity. She must think I’m an insensitive ass.

  But how understanding will Brett and Jim be about our inability to leave Diego at a moment’s notice for a poker game or dinner? If we say no to Sedona, will there be other vacations together, or will they eventually stop inviting us?

  Soon, it’s pitch black out. We swerve to avoid a crash up ahead and narrowly miss getting tangled in it. My legs are still feeling good, but my heart’s not in the ride anymore. Luckily, Brett and Jim are hungry, so we turn around and head back, leaving the thousands of riders and their neon and tin foil costumes glowing like a galaxy on wheels.

  “That was crazy but so much fun,” Eva says later when we get home.

  “Sorry you almost got c-crushed once or twice.”

  “They were no match for my wicker basket.”

  Her cheeks are flushed, and I can’t help but pull her into a kiss. Already I recognize the feel and taste of her, and I know I’m where I want to be.

  “I h-hope you didn’t get t-too excited about Sedona,” I tell her, “because I d-doubt I can go with work and school and everything.”

  Instant relief crosses her face. “Oh, okay. Maybe we can see if they want to do a weekend somewhere instead?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Eva and I are just going to have to make this relationship up as we go along. There’s no other way, really.

  * * *

  Niners better not fuck it up, Jude texts me the next morning while I’m at work. Saturdays are always busy, so it takes me longer than usual to decode and respond to it.

  Jude’s pissed that the 49ers are having a bad season, and he’s worried they’ll lose tomorrow.

  The new normal, I respond.

  The emojis he responds with are creative, to say the least.

  Instead of going home after work, I decide to do a drop-in on Jude. I haven’t done this since I’ve been home because I don’t want to intrude—the very fact that it feels like I’m intruding is weird. It’s a reminder that “our house” is now “his house.” Jude’s already said that he wants to take some money out of the house to use as a down payment for my own place. But it’s not about the money.

  Screw awkwardness. I need to tell Jude about Eva. I know he won’t approve; I wish I could say that didn’t have me shaking in my boots. But nothing feels official in my life unless Jude knows about it.

  He opens the door looking like a man lazing around on a Saturday with nowhere particular to go.

  “Hey.” He turns and walks back in the house, expecting me to follow, and that makes everything a little bit better.

  “What are you up to?” I throw my keys on the living room table.

  “Nothing.”

  He flops on the couch and throws his bare feet up, leaving me half a cushion to sit on. I shove his feet off and get comfortable.

  “Want to p-play something?”

  Jude fires up the Xbox and grabs the controllers. “I really want tacos. Like, a dozen of them.”

  “So why don’t you g-get some?”

  He shrugs. “Too lazy.”

  Some of our best conversations happen while we’re gaming. The lack of eye contact makes talking a whole lot easier.

  We jump into Call of Duty while I try to formulate what I’m going to say. Jude’s reaction to Eva—or more specifically, Diego—is bound to be predictable. Anger, frustration, some yelling. A shit-ton of lecturing and heavy persuasion.

  All pointless.

  It’s not like I’m committing a crime. But for Jude, this will be almost worse. Jude took custody of me when he was twenty-one. After that, his friends fled, his spare time evaporated. No more stories about parties he’d been to, or nights out having fun. His youth ended as quickly and brutally as a chop to the neck from a guillotine. He poured all those dreams into me instead, and he’s always hoped I’d fulfill them.

  But he has his own life now, and I deserve to have mine.

  I sneak a look at him. Enough is enough; what’s the worst he’s going to do to me?

  As I open my mouth to force the words out, Lizzie bounces down the hall.

  “Hey, Ryan.”

  She sits on the arm of the couch next to Jude but he pulls her down on his lap instead.

  She gives him a shove. “Scootch over. I’m not sitting on you while you play.”

  He kisses her forehead absentmindedly, without looking away from the screen, where his character lobs a grenade while I take cover next to a burned out police car.

  So much for talking to Jude in private. I don’t want to air my laundry in front of Lizzie, and I’m sure she doesn’t want to be around for the fallout.

  Jude jumps over a wall and doesn’t wait for me. “Dude, you need to move faster.”

  Lizzie points to the screen. “You’re not giving him enough cover.”

  “Exactly.” I shoot a guy coming around the corner.

  “Not my fault he hesitates.”

  “So much for never leaving a man behind,” Lizzie says.

  “Why do you always take his side?” Jude waves in my general direction but is still looking at the screen.

  “Because it takes b-both of us to keep your ego in check,” I say.

  Lizzie gives me a thumbs-up.

  Screw it, I’ll talk to Jude about Eva now. Lizzie’s a good buffer, and he’ll tell her all about it anyway.

  “You guys hanging out today?” she asks me.

  “No, I have p-plans.”

  “Glad you’re living a little,” Jude says. “Is this the new girl?”

  I shoot and miss. “Yes. She’s . . .”

  “Fantastic. You brought her around.” Jude takes out two more soldiers behind a van.

  “It’s a little more c-complicated.”

  “You always overthink it. Take her somewhere. Be spontaneous. She probably just wants to have fun. At her age . . .”

  Except I never told him her age and he’s made assumptions and filled in all the gaps. God only knows how he’s picturing Eva now.

  I’m not paying attention to the game anymore. “It’s more s-serious than that.”

  “How serious can it be? You haven’t known her that long.”

  Lizzie rolls her eyes. Obviously, she has a better memory than he does about how fast Jude fell for her.

  My guy gets shot; I’m not coming out of this one alive. I hit pause.

  “Either way, I need to g-go or I’ll be late. I just came to s-say hi.”

  Jude throws down his controller and stands up. “Okay. Why don’t you come over next weekend? I’ll text you.”

  “Sure.”

  I say goodbye to Lizzie, grab my keys, and trudge to the door. My legs feel heavy, my mind exhausted.

  Jude looks away from me before the door even shuts all the way; he’s telling Lizzie they should go out for tacos.

  Chapter 18: Eva

  “We d-don’t have to do this.” Ryan is chewing on a thumbnail as he drives toward his brother’s house.

  “Why wouldn’t we? You met my family.”

  “Right.” He stares straight ahead, his mind elsewhere.

  The sun has set, and the October moon is getting fuller. It’s bright enough that I can see Ryan by its light.

  “Why are you so nervous?” I ask him, as if I’m not. I tried on four different outfits, like his brother is going to give a crap what kind of cardigan I’m wearing.

  Jude’s the most important person in Ryan’s life, so the pressure is on for both of us. It doesn’t ease my mind that Jude kind of sounds like an ass. Ryan doesn’t say that, of course. In fact, he worships the guy. But if my sister ever dated one of my exes, I would have pulled her hair out by the roots, and I’d expect nothing less from Carmen.

  He shrugs. “I don’
t know. I’m b-being dumb, I guess.”

  Or maybe it’s that Ryan and I are on a freight train together, always a little nervous someone’s going to derail it. It just makes us hold on to each other more tightly.

  I can’t imagine anyone else I’d rather be on this ride with. If there’s a man as kind, as patient, as sweet as Ryan, I haven’t met him. And when he touches me—I become like a teenager writing her boyfriend’s name in puffy letters in her notebook, outlining them in hearts.

  He takes one hand off the wheel and stretches it toward me. I squeeze it with my own, wishing we could stay joined like this, away from the pressures of the rest of the world.

  But that’s the miracle of Ryan: he doesn’t mind taking on everything that gets thrown at us. Most people I know focus on what’s missing from their life and spend their time searching for that magical thing that will make it perfect.

  Ryan isn’t looking for perfect.

  I trace the scar on his forearm. “Is this from when you got hit by that car?”

  “Yeah. I got a b-bad cut there.”

  “Matches the ones on your hip and leg.”

  “I’m going to l-look like Frankenstein soon,” he says.

  I feel like that too, sometimes, but on the inside. Like I’ve stitched the pieces of my heart and soul back together. They might be a mess, but they’re functioning, and I’d like to use them to their fullest.

  “I hope this doesn’t make you more nervous, but I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with you.” I try to say it like I totally don’t care. Like it’s no big deal. It would be more convincing if there wasn’t a ginormous tremor in my voice.

  He lets go of my hand and places it on his forehead, like he’s checking for a fever. “Now? You’re saying this r-right now?” His laugh is a little hysterical.

  I’m the queen of lists and preparation; it’s no surprise I organize events for a living. But it feels amazing to take those plans and shred them. To step out of the purgatory of guilt and failure I’ve been living in since Marco and spontaneously tell Ryan how I feel—consequences be damned.

  My hands feel shaky. “Figured I might as well add love into the mix. In case the kid and the family and the ex-husband weren’t scary enough for you.”

  “You’ve gone nuts,” he says, but his voice is tender.

  “I can’t help it.”

  He stops for a red light and then grabs my face and kisses me. It’s rushed and sloppy and eager. It’s perfect.

  “I’ve been totally on my ass for you f-from the beginning, if that makes you feel any better,” he says.

  Oh, it does.

  A horn honks behind us, startling us both. Our light is green, so Ryan hits the gas, taking us toward his brother—ready or not.

  * * *

  When Jude opens the front door to greet us, a couple things jump out at me. First, he is gorgeous. Like the kind of good-looking that makes women go stupid and twirl their hair. And the only reason I find that remotely interesting is because I wonder how that made Ryan feel growing up.

  Second, when Jude’s eyebrows glance down to Ryan’s hand clasping mine, his eyebrows disappear into his hairline. He had no idea Ryan was bringing me.

  I grip Ryan’s hand, but he’s too focused on Jude to notice my anger.

  “This is Eva,” Ryan says.

  Jude’s piercing blue eyes shift to me and it takes everything I’ve got not to shuffle my feet.

  “Ah. Hi, Eva.” Jude’s mouth opens and his teeth become visible, but I’d hardly call it a smile. He turns to Ryan. “Isn’t Brett coming?”

  “Why would you think he w-was?”

  I’ve never heard Ryan so defensive.

  “Because you said you were bringing a friend.”

  “No, I said I was b-bringing someone. You assumed.”

  “Well . . . come on in,” Jude says.

  Now that Jude knows I’m dating his brother, he takes my hand and shakes it like we’re tapping gloves before a fight: brief, fast, narrow-eyed. He’s wrong if he’s assuming I have a glass jaw.

  I try not to take it personally; no one likes to be caught by surprise. Ryan is going to have a lot of explaining to do, and not just to me by the looks of it. But first, I’m going to make nice with Ryan’s family. My wrath will have to wait.

  A woman steps up behind Jude: the infamous Lizzie—brother swapper and breaker of hearts. We met once before in passing, but I barely remember her. Now, I want to study her, catalog her, compare the two of us like we’re items up for auction. I want to do that . . . but I’m not going to, because I’m not in junior high and my mother raised me better.

  “Eva, good to see you again.”

  Lizzie leans in for a hug. I’m not one bit surprised she’s a hugger.

  “You know each other?” Jude glances between me and Lizzie.

  “Eva was Jeff’s landlord, and now she’s Ryan’s.”

  Lizzie pulls me into the house while the boys glare at each other.

  “So how’s your brother doing?” I ask as she leads me through the house to a table in the backyard. Diego would love a yard this size.

  “Happier than I’ve ever seen him. He’s working for a healthcare start-up and taking care of Sam while she slogs through med school.”

  I plop down in a metal chair with a comfy cushion. “So did Jude even know Ryan and I were dating?” I don’t see any point in tiptoeing around the issue.

  “We knew he was dating someone, he just didn’t give us any details.”

  I would have thought I’d be worth mentioning to the most important person in Ryan’s life. My face must betray my hurt, because Lizzie leans forward.

  “Things have been strained between them since Ryan got home, and I think he doesn’t want Jude butting into his business.”

  “Meaning?”

  Lizzie fiddles with a red cloth napkin on the table. “Jude would jump in front of a train for Ryan. But he has some fantasy about how Ryan should be living his life—and that includes who he dates. Ryan isn’t looking for his opinion, but Jude’s dying to give it anyway.”

  “That’s what family is best at.”

  “Oh my Lord, you should meet my Utah clan. Jude is nothing by comparison.”

  I can see why everyone likes Lizzie. She’s too genuine not to.

  “Ryan needs some breathing room,” Lizzie says, “and Jude’s not good at giving it.”

  “Thanks for filling me in,” I tell her as the boys approach.

  Ryan hands me one of the beers he’s holding and then reaches for my hand, palm up, attempting a truce. I give it to him—reluctantly.

  “So Eva, tell us about yourself,” Jude says, more as a demand than a request. “Where do you work?”

  “She’s in m-marketing, like you.” Ryan’s leg is bouncing up and down.

  Good, he should be on edge. Except he’s clearly not worried about my anger. Ryan’s focused on Jude and his approval. For a brief moment, he has my sympathy. A very brief moment.

  I throw Ryan a look to let him know I can speak for myself—no matter how rude his brother is. “I’m an event planner for Jericho.”

  “Did you grow up in San Jose?” Lizzie asks me.

  “Yes, I’m a native. You must miss your family in Utah.”

  “Oh, I do.”

  “I like having everyone close by. It’s good for Diego, too.”

  “Who’s Diego?” Jude’s voice is as cool as a winter’s night.

  Ryan’s leg has stopped bouncing and the rest of him has gone still, too.

  “My son. He’s six.”

  Jude rests his chin on three fingers and doesn’t respond, happy to freak me out with his staring, I guess.

  “How sweet.” Lizzie puts her hand over Jude’s free one, like she’s restraining him. “Do you have a picture on your phone?”

  Jude glances at the picture I pull up, his eyes softening. “Where’s his dad?”

  “Jude . . .” Ryan’s tone holds a warning.

  “We’re divorced bu
t he lives nearby.”

  “That must be a handful. Kids seem like a full-time job. A real commitment.” Jude looks at Ryan as he says this.

  I push my beer away. Somehow, it’s already empty. “Yes, they are. But Diego’s at a fun age.”

  “I remember when Ry was six,” Jude says, “He got hurt so badly on his bike that he couldn’t sleep, and Mom was up for three days straight. I got pissed because the meds he took made him threw up on my Pokémon cards, but Mom was the one who had to clean it up. She barely ever had a free second.”

  “Yes, well, g-good thing I’m not six anymore.” Ryan’s grip on my hand gets tighter.

  Jude stands up, the glass table rattling when his knee hits it. “True, you’re not. So why don’t you come help me in the kitchen?”

  Ryan shoots out of his chair like he’s spoiling for an argument, while Lizzie and I try to carry on the small talk. That looks like it’s going to be a fun conversation.

  Lizzie chatters on for a few more minutes, obviously embarrassed, so I let her wind down.

  Eventually, she sighs and sits back in her seat. “Well, this is really weird.”

  “Definitely. And I appreciate you admitting that, by the way. Pretty sure Ryan’s getting an earful right about now.”

  Lizzie sighs. “I love Jude like you wouldn’t believe, but he is so freaking arrogant sometimes. The problem is, he spent such a long time having to decide what was best for Ryan that now he doesn’t know how to let go.”

  Like any parent. That puts things into context, and my anger toward Jude turns to defeat. He’s never going to want Ryan to date a woman like me. Too much baggage, too much work. Wouldn’t I feel the same way if I were in his shoes?

  “I’m exhausted and we haven’t even eaten.” I try to smile but my jaw hurts from the tension.

  “Oh, screw this,” Lizzie says, throwing her napkin down. “How about we crash their party and get you another beer?”

  I like her more by the minute.

  We hear Ryan and Jude yelling as we approach the partially-open sliding glass door, but they’re just out of sight in the living room.

  “Why are you acting l-like such an asshole?” Ryan asks.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “You d-don’t even know her.”