No Easy Choices (A New Adult Romance)

by Cade, Trista

  “See? Now you can experience the food of my people,” I said, rolling my eyes at the limp hamburger and waving a flopped-over french fry in his direction.

  He laughed, but shot me a cringing expression before saying, “No, it is good because it is different. I don’t think it is good to eat too many times though.”

  “Oh, like aji peppers are good for you? I thought I was going to choke! Food that spicy will kill you!”

  “No, my grandmother is seventy-eight, and her mother is ninety-one. We live a long time on peppers!” He held up an arm and flexed a muscle, pretending to demonstrate how his native food builds strength. All I saw was a ripped bicep and the hint of solid strength beneath the fabric of his shirt as it pulled tightly across his chest. I caught myself staring, and didn’t care in the least.

  “Wait,” I said, shaking of the trance his awesome body pulled me into, “your numbers are wrong. If your grandma is seventy-eight, and your great-grandmother is ninety-one, she was only thirteen years old when she had your grandma?” I must have looked horrified, because Javier stared at me for a moment, confusion on his face.

  “Yes, this is true. Why?” he asked, pausing his dinner to look at me.

  “Isn’t that kind of young?” I tried really hard not to sound judgmental. I mean, it’s none of my business who his great-grandma had sex with. And at what age.

  “No. My mom has me when she is twenty, after my four brothers. My grandmother has my mother when she is twenty-five, after my six uncles and aunts. But my great-grandmother has my grandmother at thirteen, and she is first baby.” It all looked like it made sense in his mind somehow.

  “They get married kind of young in Colombia, don’t they?” I asked, trying not to sound grossed out, like there was anything wrong with his culture. All I could do was picture the kids who used to ride their bikes up and down my street back in Illinois, imaging them pairing off as couples and getting married in little midget wedding ceremonies.

  “Compared to America, yes. But in parts of Colombia the people are still together living in villages in the mountains, and it is the tradition.”

  “Wow. So everybody gets married in middle school?”

  “No, the boys are older. They have to finish school or learn a trade before they can marry a girl.”

  “So why aren’t you married yet?” I teased.

  “I am married, but my wife lives in Colombia with my mother.”

  “Oh. Wow.” I put my hamburger back down on the wrapper and let that nugget of information sink in a little bit.

  “It is another joke, Andie. I am not married.” Javier looked awfully proud of himself for pulling one over on me.

  “Very funny! You had fooled for a second there.”

  “But I think I will be married soon. I will marry you.”

  “Huh?”

  “Yes, again, it is tradition. In Colombia, we are already married because I feed you aji, and you accepted. Now, there is only the ceremony to complete at the church where the priest gives us aji plants to grow around our home to help guarantee that we have lots of children, and then it is final.”

  “Huh?” I was only kind of aware that I didn’t sound really smart during this conversation.

  “That is a joke again, Andie.”

  “You really need to stop that,” I laughed. Despite his sense of humor, I had to make myself push aside thoughts of planting peppers and making lots of babies with Javier. Instead, I rolled my eyes at his joke and ate a few more french fries.

  “But I do want to marry you.”

  I stopped chewing and looked at him for a moment, waiting for him to tell me he was kidding again. He didn’t. In fact, he stared right back at me, watching my expression. “That’s not exactly how it works in America,” I stammered.

  “I know. First I must speak to your father. I read this.”

  “No, I mean, people don’t usually get engaged on the first date.”

  “No? This is second date. Wonderful! We can get married!”

  “No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, people who are young and just met don’t usually rush things. They take their time, get to know each other.”

  “Thanks to aji, we have eighty years to get to know each other!” he laughed.

  I laughed along for a minute, not really sure how to keep from encouraging this whole conversation. I mean, there was certainly a lot of awesomeness wrapped up in the package that is Javier—gorgeous to look at, a secure family, intelligence, and apparently a sense of humor—but I was in college and not even thinking about getting married. Unlike some people I knew, my parents had sent me to college for something other than a diamond ring, and I intended to get it.

  Chapter Ten

  “So, how was your date?” Kennedy asked as soon as my flip flop crossed the threshold of the Theta house. There was no telling how long she’d been sitting there, waiting to pounce on me for any romantic news.

  “I’m not really sure,” I answered, wrinkling my forehead in confusion. “I think I’m engaged?”

  She squealed, like that announcement was somehow not only acceptable, but something to be celebrated. Her victory dance—complete with turning in little circles and repeated clapping of her hands—was interrupted by a sneering response from Quinn.

  “Oh goodie. You can be the wife of a drug lord. Our Theta founders would be so proud,” she said, sauntering towards us with a rolled up stack of papers in her hand, papers which she slapped against my chest. “You might want to check out your boyfriends a little more thoroughly next time. Turns out Javier’s family owns a cocaine plantation. His uncle is currently sitting in a Florida prison for trafficking.”

  I took the papers and unrolled them, flipping through them one by one to read the Wikipedia printout. It couldn’t be true. This had to be a mistake! I mean, de la Cruz y Garcia was a common last name, right? It was like Smith in his country! Right?

  “You have two choices, Andie. Dump the Mexican thug, or pack your things and leave the Theta house. I’m calling an emergency board meeting right now, and after what I’ve seen of your behavior, I’m pretty sure they’ll decide that the last option is the only one you’ve got anyway.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at me before turning on her heel and walking away. Kennedy looked after her, and then at me, before surprising me by putting an arm around my shoulders and leading me to our room.

  ***

  “They voted,” Kennedy said quietly, slipping back into our room several hours later from the darkened hallway, pushing the door closed slowly like she was scared that someone was standing out there. “I don’t understand.”

  “Oh, c’mon Kennedy, what’s there to understand? I never fit in with this bunch, so it would just make sense that they would want me gone. So, what, am I homeless now, or do I get to stay long enough to find a new place to live?” I asked, sitting up in bed with my knees pulled to my chest. It had been an emotional evening, not because these girls who were supposed to be my friends were downstairs voting on whether or not they ever had to speak to me again, but because a really awesome guy who may or may not be my future husband is the heir to a drug cartel.

  “No,” Kennedy said, coming to sit on my bed with a confused look on her face, “they voted to keep you.” She looked like that shook her to her very core, unnerving her somehow. I tried not to look offended at the thought that I might get to stay. “I...don’t understand what’s happening.”

  “Oh, wow, that didn’t hurt at all, Kennedy. Thanks.” I flopped back over on my side and faced the wall.

  “No, I mean, don’t take it wrong! I’m really glad you’re staying! I just, like, don’t understand. They’ve never voted to keep a sister when it comes up for a vote, especially when it’s the president who calls the vote because of her behavior.”

  “First of all, I didn’t do anything wrong except have a lovely dinner—twice—with a nice guy who happened to not tell me everything about himself. And second, there’s no way I’m staying,” I said, put
ting up a hand to hush her when Kennedy started to protest. “How can I possibly stay here when I know the others had to hold a debate and have quorum in attendance to even be my friend? I want nothing to do with friends like that.”

  “Andie,” she said, not only saying my name correctly but also saying it with something that sounded a lot like respect, “you have to stay. That’s what’s wrong with the whole system here, these girls rush a sorority because their mommas told them from kindergarten it was the only way they’d ever grow up to marry a doctor, become president of the garden society, and have a home that gets featured in Southern Living. I know, because it’s what I was always taught growing up. I even had a baby dress that said ‘Future Theta Lady’ on it, just so all the other boys at Mom’s Day Out would know they had to strive for greatness to win me. That’s sick. And it has to change, but it never will unless we can get a whole new kind of girl in here.” She ducked her head a little bit to look me in the eye. “You are a whole new kind of girl. You don’t care where people are from or what their skin looks like, you care what kind of person they are. It doesn’t matter to you that Javier works at the library, and we’re talking about a guy who only works at the library because he likes to help people, because he sure doesn’t have to with the family he’s got. But most of all, you liked him before you knew about his money.”

  “Fat lot of good it did me,” I muttered, blinking back tears of embarrassment. I had been so gullible, totally taken in by his “I own a Picasso but I’m just like everybody else” act. I had no idea someone whose family so shamelessly hurts people could put on such a squeaky-clean front. “And it doesn’t matter now, there’s no way I could go out with Javier after finding out about...that.”

  “See, here’s where my screwed up upbringing is kicking in, because part of me—the part that my Momma taught me that says it’s okay if your husband cheats on you as long as no one finds out and he buys you off with a new Mercedes—is dying to just to tell you that you’ll work it out because he’s rich.” I looked at her, horror splashed across my face, before she laughed. “Oh quit, I was kidding! Well, not about what my Momma taught me, but about working it out with Javier.” She got serious again and placed a hand on my arm, patting me softly through the sleeve of my old sweatshirt. “So maybe it doesn’t work out with Javier, but you’re still the kind of girl who’s going to only form friendships and relationships with people who matter to you, and that’s something the rest of us could learn from.”

  Kennedy pulled my in for a quick hug then got up and went over to her side of the room, pulled back the covers, and settled herself in before her voice called out quietly from the dark.

  “So, if you’re not interested in Javier, would it be awkward if I gave him a call?”

  “What are you talking about?” I whispered loudly.

  “Well, you know, Momma never did stipulate how my husband had to be rich, she just said his family had to have money! I would love to see her face when I bring home a Mexican drug lord for Christmas dinner!”

  “You are not right in the head,” I said in a fake serious tone, relieved when I heard her laugh quietly, my voice turning sad again when I corrected her. “And he’s not Mexican, he’s Colombian.”

  “That right there’s what I’m talking about, Andie. You’re the only girl in this whole sorority who would know there’s a difference, and you’ve got the guts to correct people. Please don’t leave.” She turned over on her side and I heard the blankets fluff softly as she pulled them up to her chin.

  It was certainly a lot to think about. I never really envisioned Sorority Crusader as my role in life, and it sure didn’t hold a candle to going to another country with the Peace Corps to build an irrigation system. But maybe Kennedy was right. If I could change the sisters’ perceptions and the image of college Greeks as a whole, who knows? Maybe all the Thetas would go on to build irrigation systems somewhere. That had to be important for something, right?

  Chapter Eleven

  I was prepared to keep my head held high and my will strong all the next day, right up until I got back from class and found Javier sitting on the steps of the house.

  “The say I have to wait here,” he began in faulting English, a frown creasing his face. He looked confused about why he had to sit on the steps outside like a common loiterer when only a day ago he was welcomed into the sitting room like royalty as the sisters wiped the drool from their collective, surgically altered chins. “But I am glad to know that when they say you are not home, it is true.”

  “Hi,” I said, stopping in front of him and looking down. He immediately jumped up to take my books and portfolio case from me, practically running to set those on the porch and come back, leading me by the hand to one of the wicker rocking chairs with the overstuffed, flowered cushions.

  “There is a problem,” Javier said, only he meant it like a question.

  “Yes,” I began, before realizing I had nothing else to say after that. Where would I even begin explaining the problem? This guy’s whole family stands for something inexcusable, and if he had no problem with that, I was going to have a problem with him.

  “It is the drugs, no? You have heard about the drugs.” He looked at me in a kind of defeated way, and something about the way he sat there with his shoulders sagging, a somber expression on his face, told me that this wasn’t the first conversation he’d had about this. Well, I’m not into criminal charity cases, so I was sure it would be the last conversation he ever had with me about it. I stepped around him.

  “I’m very sorry, Javier, but we don’t believe in the same things. I have to go.” I turned and raced into the house, closing the door firmly and running straight to my room before I had a chance to let his stunning but hurting eyes change my mind.

  Several times during my sob fest, a different sister would knock on the door and ask if I wanted to talk. When Kennedy finally made it back from class, she expertly fielded all of the polite—and occasionally not-so-polite—inquiries like a professional mourner at a funeral home. She answered the door with a soft voice, telling the concerned sister that I wasn’t feeling up to having visitors. It would have been hilarious if I wasn’t so miserable.

  “I really liked him, Kennedy,” I finally managed to admit. “Why did he have to turn out to be a guy who pretends to be someone he’s not?”

  “That I can’t answer, except to tell you a little bit more advice from my Momma. ALL guys are pretending to be something they’re not. If they weren’t, they wouldn’t be fit to take out in public, let alone fall in love with. It’s a universal truth that once that wedding ring slides on your finger, one hand slides in the waistband of his pants and he farts, right where he’s standing. They’re all pigs and we dress ‘em up and parade ‘em around for as long as they can stand it. The only reason a guy asks a girl to marry him is because he’s tired of dressing up and using his manners!”

  “That can’t be true,” I wailed. “Tell me there’s something good to look forward to!”

  “Nope. There’s not. Sorry.” She looked so smug and matter-of-fact about sharing her world views on all men that I couldn’t tell if it was coming from her mother’s poisonous influence or a broken heart of her own.

  Hours later, there was a good old fashioned Theta sister pity party, thrown in my honor. The sisters—well, most of them, the ones who had probably voted for me to stay—gathered in the TV room, wearing their rattiest comfy pajamas and armed with decadently stupid amounts of snack foods and dessert.

  “It’s practically a by-law,” Harper chirped when I came in, taking me by the arm and leading me to what must have been the sofa of honor. “Whenever a sister gets dumped—or does the dumping, like you, I mean—we put on our oldest comfy pajamas and fall into a coma brought on by romantic comedies and sugar. C’mon.” We plopped down on a couch as sisters squashed themselves over to make room for me. So much for being the total pariah I was just twenty-four hours ago.

  The rest of the evening is still a
total blur of tear-jerker date movies and Doritos. It was...eye-opening. They may have their flaws and their outdated ways, but this was a group of girls who could have been anywhere else at that moment, but instead, thirty or so sisters, many of whom probably cancelled plans at the last minute, chose to hang out with me instead and help me take my mind off of tall, dark, and loathsome. I noticed Quinn and a few other of the older sisters were conspicuously absent from our food-fest, until someone squealed in a high-pitched shriek.

  “OMG!” someone yelled, literally saying all three letters just to avoid taking her Lord’s name in vain, “they’re here!”

  I must have looked completely confused, because Kennedy came up behind me and leaned down to explain. “We also have this tradition called Other Fish. One of the sisters scrounges up another fish, as in, there are plenty of other fish in the sea. We go all out to see who can find the hottest, most eligible guy on campus, and present him on a silver platter. Well, you know, not like actually sitting on a platter. We’d have to polish it first and believe me, that’s a real chore and it’s the housekeeper’s day off!” she teased, poking fun at her own proper upbringing for once.

  “Because you know what they say,” Brooks began, “best way to get over one guy is to get under another one.” She smirked and winked at me.

  “Brooks Frances Langston! I can’t believe you just said that out loud!” Harper screamed, obviously shocked but laughing too hard to keep a straight face long enough to reprimand her for her comment.

  “Oh, don’t worry about Brooks,” Collins chimed in, “that’s just her daddy’s side of the family showing through.”

  “That is all very...intriguing...but I don’t think I’m ready to go get under another fish, or on top of one, or whatever. Especially one that you guys actually refer to as a fish,” I said with a laugh, hoping I wasn’t spitting on their kindness but also seriously hoping this was all a big joke and there wasn’t actually a guy out there.