by Tara West
“Uhhhh,” I answer, which is about all I can manage, because I realize I’ve been staring at her with my mouth hanging open. Oh, and I still have a mouthful of food. I swallow, nearly choking on bits of dry bread. Didn’t this restaurant ever hear of mayonnaise? I wash it down with several gulps of sweet tea. “But what about Diablo? He’ll probably smother your baby in its sleep.”
Diablo is Grace’s evil Chihuahua. I’m pretty sure the dog’s sole purpose in life is to devise a way to slit my throat with his sharp little claws.
Grace laughs out loud while shaking her head. “What am I going to do with you?” Then she narrows her eyes and purses her lips. I cringe, because I sense a lecture coming on.
“So, truthfully,” she asks as she points a fork at me, “what’s the real reason you won’t have kids? And don’t say you don’t want a family, because every time I see you, you’re either talking about Tyler or Andrés.”
I turn my attention toward my plate and pick at my sandwich, wondering why Grace has to ruin a perfectly good girl date with baby talk. Sure, I’d love to have a family, but it isn’t happening, not as long as there are rapists, druggies and heartless mothers in the world. So I will my hands not to shake as I set them in my lap, then I give her a pointed look. “I don’t want to bring anyone into this world.”
Grace rolls her eyes. “That’s a bullshit excuse.”
I square my shoulders. “Excuse me?”
As much as I love Grace, she’s really starting to piss me off. What is it with everyone and the baby talk lately? Am I not dealing with enough stress right now?
But she waves me off, as if I’m nothing more than an annoying fly buzzing around her head. “There’s another reason, and I think it has something to do with your mother.”
A punch to the gut. That’s what her words feel like. I haven’t spoken to The Spitting Cobra in six months. That woman hasn’t bothered to apologize after she admitted to listening to my dad rape me and doing nothing about it. She hasn’t even called to ask how I’m doing. Honestly, even though I’ve always longed for a hug from my mother—for any kind of motherly affection—I’ve never gotten it. She’s given me nothing but heartache my entire life. So why, why, why does Grace think it’s okay to have a casual conversation about that bitch during our lunch?
“My mother has nothing to do with it,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Good,” she says with an air of superiority, “because you’re not like her, you know. You never will be.”
“I know that,” I say, doing my best to keep my composure. I know I’m not like my mother. She’s a heartless bitch. Why does Grace assume I would think that?
“Huh?” Both of her eyebrows rise, marring her smooth brow. “You don’t sound convincing.”
“So you’re my therapist now?” I say with a smile that feels forced. “Are you charging an hourly rate?”
She shrugs. “Not until I get my master’s.”
“Well, I’ve got some bad news for you. I hate to dis your major but my psychology class is all bullshit.” I throw my napkin down on my plate of food. I’m no longer in the mood to eat. Besides, it doesn’t taste very good.
“Dis my major?” Grace laughs. “You’ve been working at that paint shop too long. What happened to my silver-spooned friend?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug as I avert my gaze and stare out the window. The young couple from the restaurant are packing their toddler into the car. They each lean over and kiss the girl’s forehead before climbing into the front seat. I don’t know why, but watching their display of family affection makes a knot twist in my chest. I turn back to my friend, who’s looking at me with an expectant gaze. “Maybe I’m changing,” I say in the most indifferent tone I can manage.
“Good,” she says to me, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort. “People change their minds all the time, Christina. In fact, I bet by the time you’re thirty, you and your Spanish Adonis will have at least three beautiful tanned children with big green eyes.”
That knot in my chest projects into my throat. It takes all of my willpower to keep from falling apart as I think about what our children would look like. Maybe we’d have a little girl with long dark hair and big green eyes. Or a brown-eyed boy with Andrés’s devious smile and thick lashes. Then I shake my head and purge those images from my mind. I can’t think about children with Andrés.
I am loathe to admit it, but some part of me worries even if we are able to shelter them from the horrors of the world, what if I turn out to be a heartless bitch like my mother? Who will protect my children from me?
Chapter Seven
Christina
The funeral is short and simple. A few of Mrs. Peterson’s bridge club friends show up to offer their condolences to Karri’s brother. He’s almost as still as a statue in his marine uniform while he stands watch over his mother’s ashes. He thanks everyone for coming, but otherwise, doesn’t say much. As I look into Jeremy’s pale eyes, I’m reminded a bit of Tyler, even though Jeremy has aged quite a bit since the last time I saw him. Worry lines frame his drawn mouth, and he’s got premature grey hair around his temple. Weird, because he’s only a few years older than me.
Andrés has his arm around my shoulder during the entire ceremony. I draw comfort and strength from his presence, and again, I feel so lucky to have him.
We stay after the service and offer to help Jeremy pack up his mom’s house, but he’s already lined up several high school chums, a moving company, and Goodwill, to help out.
Jeremy says he’s got to get back to his post for an important training exercise, one of the reasons why the funeral was rushed. The autopsy report came in yesterday. Final cause of death was an aneurysm, a blood clot in her brain, which burst. Doctors think high blood pressure was to blame.
Hmmmmm. I wonder who gave her high blood pressure?
I want to hug Jeremy when we say goodbye, but something about his demeanor seems distant. I realize he’s no longer the annoying big brother who used to sneak worms into our lunch boxes. He does ask one favor of me before I leave, a favor I know I can’t refuse. Jeremy asks me to look after Tyler.
He says nothing about his sister, and I don’t either, not when I think she’s mostly responsible for her mother’s death. I never thought I could resent Karri as much as I do now. She’s done a lot of shitty things in the past, but abandoning a loving family has to be the worst.
I only shed a few tears during the funeral. It’s not until Andrés leads me to his truck and buckles me in that I give in to my grief. I cry long and hard against his shoulder before he finally starts the engine and drives home. The Peterson family is the only real family I had while growing up. Before Karri got into drugs, before Jeremy left for boot camp, and long before Mr. Peterson suffered that stroke, they were a normal, happy family.
I remember escaping to their house while my parents drank and swore at each other. I spent most of my holidays with the Petersons. A few Christmases, I’d even gone with them on vacation. My parents didn’t seem to miss me, and I certainly didn’t miss them. Mr. and Mrs. Peterson always treated me like family and made me feel welcome, loved. Now, they’re gone, their happy home broken, and what little I had left of a normal family has gone with them.
This makes me feel broken, too. How can Andrés expect us to build a family when I don’t have a foundation to build on?
* * *
It’s a little past two in the afternoon when we get back to our apartment. Andrés leads me to the sofa and then goes into the bathroom. After a few moments, I hear the water running.
I rise on shaky legs and go to the bathroom. “What are you doing?”
“Running your bath,” he says, lighting a candle beside the tub. “I’ll make you a drink.” He stands up and begins unbuttoning my shirt. “You’ve had a long day.”
I grab hold of his hand as he’s about to push a sleeve off my shoulder. “But what about your uncle’s party?”
He quirks a brow and shrugs. “What
about it?”
Andrés is pretending not to care about this party, but his Tia has been preparing for it for several months. Actually, we’ve all been preparing for Tio’s party. How can he act like it’s no big deal?
I begin buttoning up my shirt. “It’s his sixtieth birthday. We can’t miss that.”
“He knows about the funeral. He’ll understand.” But Andrés’s words lack conviction, and I know he wants go. He’s not fooling me. In fact, he’s only making me feel terrible about keeping him from his family. Relatives are driving up from Mexico to celebrate.
“But this is huge,” I say.
Andrés grabs both my hands and pulls them to his lips. He presses a long, lingering kiss on the tips of my fingers, and my legs weaken. My gaze flicks to the bathtub, and I think how very much I’d like for him to take me in the tub and screw my brains out. We haven’t had sex since before I found Mrs. Peterson. I could sure use an orgasm to ease my tension.
He pulls away, and I silently berate myself for thinking about sex on the day of Mrs. Peterson’s funeral.
“I see them every weekend, mija.” Andrés flashes a weak smile, and I know it’s killing him to be away from his family today. “Don’t think you have to do this for me.”
Yes, yes I have to do this for him, especially after seeing mine and Karri’s family torn apart. Andrés has a loving and supportive family. I would give anything to have what he’s got, and because I love him, I won’t keep him from them.
“What else do I have to do but sit here and cry all day? Come on.” I lean into him and wrap my arms around his neck. “Feed me tamales and get me drunk.”
He smiles down at me. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I lean up and brush my lips across his. “Besides, I want to be there when Tio sees the mural.”
For the past month, I’ve been working on a mural on the brick wall that runs alongside their indoor pool. Tia asked me to paint a seascape of Tio’s beloved home town of Guadalajara for his birthday. It’s one of my best murals to date, and I can’t wait until he sees it. We’ve had to keep the pool deck sectioned off, and Tia has had to threaten Tio on numerous occasions to stay away from the area.
“Okay, but if you need to leave, just tell me,” Andrés says as he smoothes his hands down my arms.
The feel of his skin rubbing against mine sends little currents of lust buzzing across my flesh, and I wonder if he’s as turned on as I feel. As I lean into him, the bulge pressing against me is confirmation enough. Damn us both for being horny on a day like today.
I heave a frustrated groan as I rest my head on his shoulder. There’s no way I could get into sex right now anyway, so I guess I will have to settle for tamales and beer.
Although, as much as I love his Tia’s Mexican cooking, nothing can ever top the euphoria of making love to Andrés.
* * *
Andrés
“How you doing?” I squeeze Christina’s hand for at least the tenth time, my other hand on the steering wheel and both eyes on the road.
“Fine, Andrés. I’m still doing fine.”
She doesn’t sound annoyed, more amused, which is a good thing.
I wish I could feel amusement, but I’ve been nothing but a ball of nerves since we set out toward Tio’s ranch. My aunt and uncle live an hour from our Austin apartment, on several hundred acres in the Texas Hill Country. Normally, the drive doesn’t feel long, even with the heavy traffic along the 35, but I have a lot on my mind, starting with the growing pressure from my family to ask Christina to marry me.
I should be grateful Tia loves my girlfriend and Christina gets along so well with my family. I shouldn’t be bothered how they’re always dropping matrimony and baby hints. But after Christina told me she doesn’t want to have kids, I need them to back off until we can have another talk.
I’ve been thinking about what she said, and I think I know where it’s coming from. She’s afraid she’ll turn out like her mom. That’s why she doesn’t want kids. There’s no way she could love Tyler so much and not want to have kids of her own. Now all I need to do is convince her she’s nothing like that old bitch.
But I’ve got this gnawing feeling in my gut that my family won’t back off with their marriage hints. When I think about everything Christina’s been through this week, I don’t want anyone adding to her stress. That’s one reason I didn’t want to go to the party tonight.
I love my family, but sometimes I wish they’d ease up and give Christina and me a little more space. I’ve seen them intrude on other family members’ relationships. My cousin, Cesar, swears Tia was the cause of his breakup. I lost my best friend to a roadside bomb in Afghanistan, so I know the deep, dark grief of losing a loved one. After over a year of therapy, the pain of losing James is finally starting to become bearable. She’s thoughtful, artistic, and the most beautiful girl I’ve ever dated. I can’t imagine the heartbreak of losing Christina, too.
Chapter Eight
Christina
Good thing I went to the pool, or else the little girl would have drowned. I’d initially gone there to escape Andrés’s nosy aunts. No sooner had we showed up at the party than a few of them started in on us getting married. What’s wrong with them? We’ve only been together six months.
Anyway, Tia had barricaded the pool until the big reveal, so I knew it would make a good sanctuary. It’s huge, fully enclosed and heated; that way the family can use it all year round. Until recently, the brick walls framing the building were a dull grey, but Tia had commissioned me to create a mural stretching the length of the pool.
Anyway, long story short, I thought I could get some alone time by sneaking past the yellow tape and lawn chairs serving as a makeshift obstruction. As soon as I walked down the tile steps, I heard splashing and saw the little one flailing in the water. I screamed for help before diving in. Andrés’s family members were rushing onto the deck as I pulled the child from the water.
One of Andrés’s cousins took her from me and performed CPR. After a few moments that seemed to stretch for an eternity, the girl coughed up a bunch of water and started to cry. I’m pretty sure every adult in the place was crying, too.
I remembered the little doe-eyed toddler named Amelia from a summer barbeque. She was barely out of diapers and always into trouble. Always. This time she’d found more trouble than she could handle. I’m so glad I escaped to the pool in time.
So now, here I am, sitting on the pool deck, soaked to the bone and still too stunned to move. Amelia’s mother is hyperventilating as she falls to her knees a few yards away, clutching her child to her. Most of Andrés’s family is swarming the pair like bees to a hive.
I’m not sure how long I sit there before I feel strong arms wrap a heavy towel around my shoulders. “Let’s get you dry, mija,” Andrés whispers in my ear.
I silently nod as I follow his lead. He takes me through the spacious kitchen, now abandoned with cups and plates strewn everywhere. A little brown dog is crawling across the top of the long mahogany dining table, licking one plate clean before going to the next. Andrés ducks his head beneath a massive chandelier, scoops the dog up and drops him on the floor.
“Bad, Chico!” Andrés scolds.
The dog runs away with his tail between its legs while licking crumbs off his lips. I get the feeling Chico isn’t too sorry.
Andrés takes me up two flights of stairs to the third story loft, to what used to be his old bedroom. It’s a long room with a slanted ceiling on one side, and a bed in the far corner beside a tall transom window. Andrés once told me he’d picked this room years ago for its privacy.
It occurs to me I could have come here to escape his aunts. Why hadn’t I thought of it? Why had I choosen the pool instead? Even though I’m not a very religious person, I wonder if maybe a higher power had sent me to that pool. Maybe someone was looking out for that little girl. It’s kind of a comforting thought to know the child might have a guardian angel. But then I realize I’m just thinking crazy. I�
��m still in shock after watching a child nearly drown.
Andrés takes off my wet clothes, dries me off with the towel, and puts me in an oversized T-shirt and sweat pants several sizes too big. I laugh as Andrés pulls the drawstring on the pants and they still slide down one hip.
He kisses me on the forehead before murmuring against my cheek. “There’s room for me in there, too.”
I look into Andrés’s smoky gaze and a shiver steals up my spine. He’s horny. Damn horny. And I know this is probably a crazy time to be thinking of sex, but after what I’ve been through this week, I would love to lose myself in Andrés right now.
I loosen the drawstring and let those oversized sweats fall to the floor. Then I grab Andrés by the hand and lead him toward the bed. I toss back the covers and look up at Andrés as I lift the sweatshirt over my head. Andrés’s gaze bores into my bare breasts, and he wastes no time in stripping out of his jeans and shirt.
I sigh against his chest when he climbs in beside me. His large frame practically fills the small bed, and he’s so very warm. I press into him, relishing the feel of his heated skin against mine.
He kisses my face and neck as his hands rove over me. “You’re cold, mija.”
I wince as he squeezes one breast and then the other. My hardened nipples burn beneath his touch, and I have to bite down to keep my teeth from rattling.
“Yeah.” I laugh. “I thought you said that pool was heated.”
He chuckles against my throat, kneading each breast, and they gradually soften beneath his touch. Then his hands wander toward my abdomen, caressing and massaging the muscles there and around my hips before his nimble fingers travel lower still.
He caresses the globes of my ass, rubbing chilled muscles before my legs fall open. He leans over me, trailing hot kisses across my chest, stopping to suckle each nipple. As he massages my inner thighs, I completely defrost, on the verge of melting into his soft bed.