Tell Me That You're Mine

by Victoria De La O

  I hold my hand up. “Whoa. I’m a long way from that.”

  “The hell you are. If Marco’s v-violent again, you have to make sure Diego’s safe.”

  He’s going to lecture me about what my job as a mother is? “That is way over the line and totally not your call. Diego needs his dad.”

  “Not if he can’t b-be a good one.”

  It kills me to admit that Ryan has a point.

  “Marco wasn’t making any sense on the phone. He said Diego hid on purpose at the zoo.”

  Ryan looks like he’s just been found out.

  I cross my arms. “Do you know something about that?”

  He pauses so long, I can’t help but wonder if he’s forming a lie—or isn’t going to speak at all.

  “When I found Diego, he t-told me he hid because he was upset we were k-kissing,” he finally says.

  The hold I had on my anger slips. “And you kept this from me?”

  Ryan stares down at the floor, where my clothes are lying in a heap. “He made m-me promise not to tell you. And I thought maybe he’d c-come around.”

  “He’s six. He doesn’t get to decide what I need to know. And neither do you. Diego is not your kid. You should have told me he was upset.”

  I don’t feel guilty for being blunt, even if the truth hurts him. He clenches his jaw, and I gear up for a fight. But then he pulls us back from the ledge.

  “You’re c-completely right. I should have told you. And only you get to d-decide what’s best for Diego.”

  I exhale and regroup. I know Ryan meant well.

  “Look, if I can convince Marco to see his doctor . . . I’d call his therapist, but they won’t talk to me because it’s confidential. Maybe I can speak to his boss.” I tab my finger on my lip, desperate for some magical solution.

  Ryan stands up. “You’re never g-going to admit, it are you?”

  He’s broadcasting defeat, his broad shoulders slumped and his eyes full of sorrow.

  “Admit what?”

  “You can’t f-fix him. Ever.”

  I don’t want to have this conversation again. I rush out to the living room as an escape. “I’m aware of that, but we don’t have time for this now. We need to get to the party.”

  Ryan follows me. “We’re way t-too late. Just f-forget about the party.”

  I glance at the clock and realize he’s right. “Shit.”

  “Things have t-to change with Marco, Eva. I don’t see how you and I c-can keep going if they d-don’t.”

  Instead of choosing to see that as an ultimatum, I think about the strain Marco has put on Ryan—all the crap he has pulled over the last couple months.

  “I know he needs help, and I’m sorry he’s been so awful to you.”

  “I don’t m-mean just that. You need to c-cut the emotional ties.”

  “I have.”

  He shakes his head.

  “So now you’re going to dictate how I handle Marco?”

  He throws his hands in the air. “Don’t turn it into that. I’m a p-part of your life. This affects m-me, too. Every time Marco f-falls, you’re the one p-picking him up. He has to find a way to save himself.”

  “I’m not trying to save him.”

  “You are. And it’s arrogant to think you c-can.”

  That feels personal. I step closer to him so we’re almost eye to eye. “I’m trying to keep my son’s family together. That doesn’t make me arrogant.”

  Ryan looks away. “His f-family?”

  When he looks back, I wish he hadn’t. He’s crushed. There’s no other word for it.

  “That family is g-gone, Eva. And as long as you h-hold onto it, there’s no way to c-create a new one. With anyone.”

  He turns and heads for the back door, slipping like sand through my fingers.

  “Ryan, wait.” I put my hand on his back. “I thought we weren’t going to give up.”

  He turns around and scans the living room. It’s filled with toys and books and evidence of my life with Diego. His gaze moves to the fireplace mantel and lands on a photo of me, Marco, and a three-year-old Diego. We were at the aquarium, watching the whale shark swim in its cavernous underwater exhibit. Diego was so enraptured he wouldn’t let us leave. It was one of our last great days together.

  I look back at Ryan. He’s staring at me like he can read what I’m thinking.

  “I love you, Eva. You and Diego are everything I’ve e-ever wanted. But there’s no r-room for me here. There just isn’t.”

  He’s looking to me for an answer—his heart and his trust on his sleeve—and I panic. I’ve lost my bearings, and now I don’t know if Ryan’s right or not. Have I really put the past behind me?

  I take too long to answer and Ryan walks out the door.

  I’m standing in the center of my living room, everything where it was the day Marco left—like a nuclear family time capsule. I may not be married to Marco anymore, but my life is still entwined with his. Maybe it’s habit, or maybe some dreams just die harder than others, but either way: I haven’t completely let go of that life.

  And Ryan deserves better. After everything he’s lost, he’s worthy of his own dream—not some pale second-hand imitation. He deserves to come first.

  So I let him walk away.

  Chapter 25: Ryan

  “Dinner’s on me,” Brett says, signaling to the waiter. “You can get it next time.”

  I order a scotch. Brett is a good guy to have at my side right now. He knows something is up, but won’t press me for details until I’m ready. Won’t question why I look as if I’ve been living under a bridge.

  We’ve been through some shit together over the years, Brett and I.

  “What are you doing for Christmas this year?” he asks.

  I’ve been trying to forget it’s right around the corner. “Nothing, I g-guess.”

  “Come hang out with me and the family.” He plays with the tines of his fork. His hands are thick and short, with fingers that go square at the ends.

  “That’s depressing.”

  “Nah. You’ll be my excuse to duck out early.”

  Brett has a big family, most of which live within ten minutes of him; three sisters, lots of cousins, and several pets. He tells me that it’s highly overrated. I don’t believe him.

  “If you don’t come, they’ll grill Daphne for hours.”

  The waiter brings our drinks and then heads to the back. It’s slow tonight, so he’s probably gossiping with the other servers.

  “You’re bringing Daphne?” Things are progressing with them faster than I realized. Brett may complain about his family, but they’re everything to him.

  “Yeah. Mom wants me to. Oh, and my sister is pregnant. Again. Jesus H, I’m going to go broke buying gifts.” He shakes his head, his curly brown hair flopping around.

  I was going to buy Diego these cool animal puppets for Christmas so we could play with them together. Now I guess I shouldn’t. That trivial, stupid thought breaks me.

  “What’s the matter, man?” Brett asks, as my eyes well.

  Good thing the restaurant’s empty so there’s no one to witness my breakdown. I wrap my hands around my scotch to try and steady myself. “Things aren’t so g-great.”

  “Because of your bro? I know you’re still fighting, but maybe you should call him and end the stalemate.”

  “It’s not only that. Eva and I b-broke up. A week ago.”

  I made good on my promise not to abandon Diego, so I’ve tutored him twice—both times like a dagger to the back. He tiptoes around me, maybe because of what happened at the zoo, maybe because he senses something is different. And Eva looks grim every time I see her. She opens and closes her mouth, like she wants to say something. But she doesn’t.

  “Dude, that sucks. She was great. What happened?”

  I shake my head. “I was fooling myself the whole time.”

  “I’m guessing it was tough with the kid and everything.”

  “Sort of, but not really.”


  Brett doesn’t look convinced. I take a sip of my drink, letting him think what he wants, desperate to think about something else. It doesn’t happen; the memory of me carrying Diego on my shoulders at the zoo is etched permanently on my brain. I should have asked Eva for the picture, and now it’s too late.

  No more holding Eva in my arms, no more family barbecues, no more outings with Diego.

  The three of us could have been so good together—if only the shadow of Marco weren’t already filling my spot. I could have helped Eva raise Diego. I could have been a dad.

  But then again, what do I know about being a parent? I’m not even anyone’s son.

  * * *

  I pull up to the house after a couple more hours of Brett nursing me through my self-pity. He managed to get me laughing toward the end, as only a really good buddy can.

  Even though it’s not that late, I don’t want to wake up Diego, or worse yet, have Eva come outside. The hurt she brings is instantaneous and dripping with regret.

  Halfway up the driveway, I hear someone coming up behind me in a rush so I turn around on instinct.

  Strong hands push me back, knocking me off balance and into a recycling bin. The glass inside it shatters as I almost fall.

  Marco is staring back at me, his eyes beyond reason.

  “You think it’s okay to fuck my wife?” he screams.

  “You don’t w-want to do this,” I tell him, backing up. “Diego is inside.”

  He advances on me. “Don’t tell me what to do about my family.”

  He takes a swing that I duck just in time. The pavement is still slick from this evening’s rain, but I keep my feet under me.

  There will be no talking him out of this. This is not the same guy I first met. I remember Eva’s story about the waiter getting his jaw busted.

  I obviously underestimated Marco and the seriousness of his condition.

  He comes at me again, but I manage to weave to the right. I will do everything I can not to hurt Marco, because he’s sick and he’s Diego’s dad. But I’m not going to let my jaw get broken, either.

  I have a slight advantage over Marco because I have a longer reach and I’m bigger. Still, he’s got insane hatred on his side. His next punch lands as I’m moving back, catching me hard on my chin, but I still manage to shove him away.

  As he staggers back, I hear Eva shout behind me. Marco and I both turn toward her voice—drawn to the same magnet. Behind her is Diego, standing there in his pajamas, staring at his dad like he’s never seen him before.

  My heart stops for him, and I’m pretty sure it shatters, too.

  Marco sees Diego and freezes. His chest pumps air like a bellows as he slowly lowers his fists. He’s visibly struggling to get control, until finally he goes limp.

  Eva turns and ushers Diego back inside, telling him to stay put.

  She runs over, probably to take care of Marco. Except she comes to me.

  “Are you okay?” She’s trembling, touching my cheek, my hair. I wince when she gets to my jaw.

  “I’m calling the police,” she yells at Marco. She’s standing in front of me, like the Amazon I’ve always known her to be.

  He puts up his hands, his head hanging low. “I’m going.”

  She takes a step forward. “You hurt him. I should have you arrested.”

  I take her arm. “Let him go. Diego n-needs you.”

  Her body sags, the adrenaline going out of her, and Marco takes that opportunity to slink away. She hustles into the house toward Diego, but I don’t follow. When she gets to the door, she turns to look at me. She wants me to come in, either to help her make everything right or reassure her that everything’s fine.

  Everything’s not fine.

  Instead, I get in my car and drive.

  * * *

  I end up at Jude’s. Maybe you always end up where you start.

  It’s the middle of the night by the time I find my way there, but when he doesn’t look surprised to see me, I know I made the right decision.

  “Meet you around back,” he says.

  When Jude comes out, he has two glasses of milk and two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches: our old nighttime ritual. We sit on the lounge chairs and eat in silence.

  “What the fuck happened to your face?” he finally says, wiping every possible crumb off the gym shorts he probably threw on in haste.

  “Eva’s ex-husband. It’s been a shitty w-week.”

  He pours the rest of his milk into my cup, and that jiggles loose some emotion inside me—something I’ve been carrying since the day we stopped talking. Not seeing Jude is like cutting off a hand or losing a kidney; I can still function, but not well.

  “I’ve m-missed you, man.”

  Jude’s metal chair legs scrape against concrete as he moves it adjacent to mine. Then he puts his hand on the top of my head and pulls me into him.

  “Tell me the worst of it,” he says.

  I do, except I leave out the part about our father. It’s hard to keep the secret, but I owe Jude that much. He doesn’t need any more rejection or disappointment from that man. Jude’s shielded me all my life; now it’s my turn to protect him.

  “How did you do it?” I ask him.

  “What?”

  “This.” I sweep my hands around the backyard. “Filled Mom’s shoes and then Uncle Rob’s. Made a h-home for us. Raised me, b-basically.”

  He chuckles. “Jesus. Don’t you remember all the macaroni and cheese? The frozen pizzas and TV? You practically raised yourself.”

  I take a long drink of milk and put the cold glass on my jaw. “No, really. The truth.”

  His sigh is heavy with memories. “What did you think was going to happen? You’d toss a football with that kid and he’d be your best friend?”

  “No.” I look up at the sky. “Maybe.”

  “Remember when you had mono in high school?”

  “Hell, yes. I was s-sick for a month.”

  “And I was trying to write papers and go to work and make you soup. I barely scraped by. There wasn’t a single day of that month I didn’t want to get in the car and leave you behind.”

  I never knew that. “So why didn’t you?”

  “Why the fuck do you think? I didn’t let that be an option. That’s it.”

  I let that sink in. There is no magic bullet, then. No special characteristic or trait that makes someone care. It’s a choice. “But I c-can never be Diego’s dad.”

  He kicks my shoe with one bare foot. “No, you can’t, but you can be better. You can fill in the gaps. The only thing that matters is that you stick.”

  “I know you h-hate Eva.”

  “It was never about her. Guess I should apologize.”

  “Lizzie t-tell you to do that?”

  He points to his forehead. “Nah, thought of it all on my own.”

  “So what is this all about, then?”

  “Look what happened to you tonight. I never wanted you to have to take all this on.”

  Only a few faint stars are visible in the inky sky. “You w-want things to be easier for me.”

  “Yes.”

  It won’t help to get defensive, so I consider what he’s said. “Do you resent being s-saddled with me?”

  His hands start tapping on his thighs. “That’s not what I meant. But I want you to have choices.”

  “Because you didn’t. I g-get it. But do you really think this f-fantasy life you created would make me happy?”

  He blows out a breath. “Probably not. You like doing everything the hard way.”

  Because that’s the example he set for me. How funny that he doesn’t make that connection. “Eva’s a l-lot like you. She had Diego at the same age you took c-custody of me. And she’s taken care of him m-mostly on her own.”

  “Hell of a way to spend your twenties.”

  I agree.

  “You better get home and get some ice on that,” he says, pointing to my chin. “And get some sleep.”

  I should
leave it there, but I need to know at least one of my relationships is on firm ground. “We friends again?”

  He punches me gently on the arm. “We’re not friends, dude. We’re family.”

  * * *

  The morning light hits my face, waking me up earlier than usual. I forgot to close the blinds when I stumbled in last night.

  Sleep has improved my outlook—or maybe that came from mending fences with Jude. Still, the other side of the bed is too cold, driving me out.

  Cereal standing up at the counter—the perfect breakfast for one. As I’m pouring my milk, something plinks against the window. I ignore it until it happens again.

  Diego’s outside, crouched in the garden throwing pebbles at the glass.

  I walk out barefoot. He’s barefoot, too. “Wanna come in?”

  He pretends he doesn’t, shrugging one shoulder nearly up to his ear, but he comes in anyway. I pour him his own bowl of cereal and we sit at the table together eating in silence.

  I take both empty bowls and throw them in the sink. “Where’s your m-mom?”

  “Asleep. She was sad last night.”

  I’m not surprised he wants to talk about what happened with Marco, only that he wants to do it with me.

  “She’s been sad lots,” he says.

  His words and his frown are killing me, but I don’t think he needs pity right now. “She’s been having a h-hard time.”

  “How come you don’t like my Mom no more?”

  I grip my spoon so hard I might bend it. I don’t even bother to correct his grammar. “I d-do like her. Lots.”

  “Is it because I ran away at the zoo?”

  I set my spoon down. “No, no. Absolutely not. I should h-have talked to you about that.”

  Except I was so wrapped up with feeling sorry for myself that I forgot to be the grown-up.

  “It’s okay you didn’t like m-me kissing your mom. But I kissed her because I care about her.”

  He puts his head down on his arms, his small body shrinking like a popped balloon. “Then why doesn’t Daddy kiss her?”

  “Because they can’t b-be together anymore.”

  “Because Daddy gets mad.”

  This is Eva’s story to tell, but I’m the only adult in the room right now and this kid needs answers. “Yes.”