Say Yes (Something More)

by Tara West

  “I like him,” I say.

  Jenny squeezes my shoulder as her eyes light up. “You don’t know how happy that makes me.”

  I look down at her hand resting on my shoulder, feeling kind of awkward. I still don’t know how to handle all this motherly affection stuff. Sure, I’ve been on the receiving end with Mrs. Peterson, but never with anyone else, certainly not with the parents who raised me.

  I don’t know what I’m supposed to do next. Do I put my hand on her shoulder, too? Are we supposed to hug again? I clear my throat and think of something to say. Anything to break the nervous tension that shrouds me like a cloak. “So what do you do?”

  Thankfully, she releases me, and I follow her lead back toward the chair.

  “A little bit of everything,” she says as she takes a seat on the ottoman. “I’m mostly a designer.” She motions toward the room.

  “An artist?” I ask, and I wonder why it’s my painting hanging above the mantle and not hers.

  She shrugs. “Of sorts. I design home furnishings.”

  I gasp. “Like the furniture in this house?”

  She straightens and nods. “All the furniture in this house.”

  “Wow,” I breathe as I look around the room again. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Coming from you, that’s a huge compliment.” She leans over and clasps my hands in hers while flashing a radiant, warm smile. That’s when I get a really good look at my birth mother, and I compare her to the woman who raised me. Where she is soft-spoken and self-assured, The Cobra is pushy and self-absorbed. Jenny is a natural beauty, wearing very little makeup on her eyes and cheeks, and only a soft pink gloss on her lips. The Cobra had so many facelifts and injections, she looked more like a deformed mannequin than a human being. And that’s just it: I don’t think my adoptive mother was human. At least, she didn’t act like one, because humans are supposed to have souls, and I’m pretty sure The Cobra’s soul shriveled up years ago, if she’d ever had one.

  So far, Jenny seems to be far more compassionate and loving than the woman who raised me. There’s just one problem. If she truly is this wonderful person who has thought about me every day for twenty-one years, why did she take so long to tell me?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Christina

  Jenny and Doc serve up amazing pulled-pork tacos for dinner, and despite the nervous stomach which has plagued me all day long, I help myself to seconds. Her dining room is as masterfully decorated as the rest of the house. The dining table is huge. It could seat twenty people, but we only take up one little corner. I’m flanked on either side by my brothers, who have been squirming in their seats and picking at their food since we sat down.

  Gio says his rice tastes like feet. Manny doesn’t want his guacamole touching his cheese. Then they have this bright idea to dump their rice and guacamole on my plate, but it doesn’t go over so well when Gio accidentally spills his rice on the floor, nearly losing the plate, too. I grab it before the whole thing goes crashing down.

  Doc gives Gio a look as I set my brother’s plate in front of him. That look seems to be enough incentive for him to eat the rest of his dinner quietly. Manny quickly follows suit, but I notice Manny tries to copy about everything his big brother does, which means if you catch Gio doing something naughty, you can bet Manny is somewhere nearby doing the exact same thing.

  “So where’s that handsome young man who’s in just about all of your Facebook pictures? Your boyfriend is welcome to come here for Thanksgiving.”

  I nearly choke on a spoonful of rice as I look at Jenny. I grab my water and take several gulps. “Boyfriend?” I ask on an exhale, feigning stupidity. Although, I don’t know why. She already saw the proof on Facebook. Proof that I let the perfect guy walk out of my life because I’m too chicken to commit.

  I wish she hadn’t mentioned him. I was having so much fun watching my brothers get into trouble and wishing my life was as simple as stinky rice.

  “Yes.” Jenny asks me, wide-eyed and curious, not realizing that every moment we talk about him, a knife twists itself in my heart. “Wasn’t his name Andrés?”

  “Oh.” I shrug, pretending not to care, pretending the Earth is still spinning and my poor heart isn’t crumbling. “We broke up.”

  Jenny sets her fork on her plate with a clank. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

  “That’s okay.” I focus on a glob of sour cream on the tablecloth. Was that my sour cream? I make a mental note to be more careful. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “Of course.”

  She smiles at me, and I recognize that smile. It’s the same pitying smile I give to the bum at the gas station by my apartment who’s holding up a sign that says, “Let’s be honest. I need beer money.”

  “It’s no biggie,” I lie as I turn my gaze back to the sour cream blob. Her pity makes me uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. Maybe it’s because I’m not used to any kind of sympathy from my adoptive mother. If I ever showed The Spitting Cobra any sign of weakness, she always found a way to use it against me later.

  “I read in one of your posts you’re graduating this semester,” Jenny says.

  I nod.

  “Do you have any jobs lined up?” Doc asks.

  “I already have a good job.”

  Even though painting cars isn’t always easy, I’ve got a nice set of biceps and calf muscles because of all the lifting and squatting. Plus, the pay is good. Really good. After The Cobra cut me off, I managed to pay for my fall semester all by myself, plus buy groceries and make my half of the rent.

  My shoulders fall as I am struck with the realization Andrés won’t be helping me with rent anymore. And I guess working for him might get awkward after a while. I don’t know if my heart can take seeing him at work, knowing he’s no longer mine. “But I’m working for Andrés,” I add, “so maybe I should look for another one.”

  “Your work is so beautiful.” Jenny’s tone is a little too upbeat before she and Doc share subtle glances. “I’m sure you’ll find something else right away.”

  “I love my dragons!” Gio squeals beside me.

  I turn to him and smile. “Do you?”

  He vigorously nods and then puffs up his chest. “Mommy hung them in my room, and I’m not even scared.”

  I do my best to keep a straight face, though it’s hard to hide my amusement. “You’re not?”

  “No, silly.” He gives me this look like I’ve grown a second head. “They scare away bad dreams and monsters.”

  “Oh.” I slap my forehead and make a big show of rolling my eyes. “Of course they do.”

  Gio tugs on my shirtsleeve and looks up at me with pleading eyes. “Can you make me another dragon?”

  I don’t know how Gio does it, but he manages to worm his way into my heart with just one look. As I stare down at my little brother, I note how vivid his green eyes are framed by thick lashes and tanned skin. I think if Andrés and I ever had kids, they might look like my brothers. That notion swells my heart and deflates it all at once.

  “Of course,” I rasp. “I’ll paint you more dragons.”

  Manny tugs on my other shirtsleeve, looking up at me with a big, pouty lip. “I want one, too!”

  Gio reaches around me and pokes Manny’s shoulder. “You said Sissy’s dragons scare you.”

  “No!” Manny pounds his fists on the table. “I did not.”

  Ugh. Not again. An unpleasant sense of déjà vu settles over me as I’m stuck between my brothers while they taunt each other.

  “Yes, you did,” Gio taunts. “I remember. You cried like a baby, too.”

  Manny crosses his arms and his bottom lip hangs even lower. “I’m not a baby anymore!” he cries as he kicks the table leg.

  Gio points at his brother and laughs. “You still wear diapers to bed.”

  Manny scrunches his eyes as his tanned face turns a bright crimson. I’m pretty sure he’s holding his breath, too. I feel bad for the little guy.

  “Gio,” Jenny a
dmonishes her oldest son. “It’s not nice to call your brother a baby. And don’t forget, it was just last year when you stopped wearing diapers to bed.”

  “Yeah! Diapers!” Manny says as he leans forward and sticks out his tongue.

  Gio’s cheeks turn a bright crimson as he hangs his head. “Yes, Mommy.”

  “Uh, oh, guess what time it is?” Doc makes a big show of pointing to a silver watch on his wrist. “It’s bedtime.”

  “Awwww,” both boys cry.

  Gio gives his dad this look, like he’s just flushed his pet hamster down the toilet. “We didn’t even get dessert.”

  Doc snickers and wags a finger. “You had dessert. Remember those cookies you stole today?”

  “Gio stole cookies!” Manny giggles and points across me toward his brother.

  Doc glares at Manny from beneath his glasses while rubbing his bearded chin. “I saw crumbs on your shirt, too, mijo.”

  I repress a laugh at the way Manny’s mouth falls open. These kids are naughty demons, but they’re damn cute.

  “Come on.” Doc stands up and walks over to my brothers. “Time for bed.”

  “I want to stay up with Sissy,” Manny squeals as Doc hoists him into his arms.

  Doc heaves an exasperated groan. “You can see Sissy in the morning.”

  Manny squeals and leans so far back, I fear he may fall out of his father’s arms.

  “Enough, Manny!” Doc scolds.

  “But I wanna kiss Sissy goodnight.”

  Okay, whatever was left of my shattered heart becomes a puddle of goo at my feet. I rise from my chair as Manny practically launches himself into my arms.

  “Goodnight, Sissy,” he says as he kisses my cheek. Then he whispers into my ear. “I want a nice dragon, not a scary one. ‘K?”

  “Okay,” I whisper back, squeezing him tight. I hold my brother for maybe longer than I should, but for some reason I don’t want to let him go.

  I feel Gio tugging on my jeans, so I kiss Manny on the forehead and hand him to his dad before lifting Gio into my arms.

  “Goodnight, big boy,” I say to him as he wraps his arms around me.

  “Goodnight,” he whispers back before planting a sloppy kiss on my cheek. “I love you, Sissy.”

  Emotion clogs my throat as I whisper back hoarsely, “I love you, too.”

  I don’t know how Doc manages, but he takes Gio from me, balancing both boys on his hips. I turn my back and wipe my eyes as Jenny kisses the boys goodnight.

  When I hear her tell each of them she loves them, and they say it back, I feel like I’m intruding on a tender family moment. That bothers me more than I want to admit. Then it hits me: I want to be part of this family, to share the love and kisses with these adorable little boys and the woman who birthed me.

  My stupid eyes are still leaking as Doc and the kids leave the dining room. I’ve still got my back to Jenny as I grab a napkin off the table and blow my nose. I don’t know why I’m so emotional, and I’m not in the mood to assess my feelings. These past few weeks have been too much for me, filled with too many lows and highs. My poor heart doesn’t know if it should be soaring or breaking.

  “They love you already,” Jenny says at my back in a watery voice.

  I notice she’s crying, too.

  “I love them, too,” I say.

  Jenny pulls me into an embrace, and we both alternate between crying and laughing. That’s when I realize maybe this mom will be different than my old one. Maybe she’ll actually love me.

  * * *

  Jenny and I drink coffee in her spacious living room and eat the best ever pumpkin cheesecake with this delicious caramel and cinnamon streusel topping.

  Jenny smiles over at me as she sips her coffee. She’s got a look in her eyes like she wants to talk, and the cheesecake settles in my stomach like a lead ball. I hope she doesn’t ask me questions about my past. About my parents. I don’t want to talk about them and ruin an otherwise enjoyable evening.

  Doc has already claimed he was exhausted and gone to bed. I remember feeling awkward when he kissed Jenny goodnight. I don’t know what came over me, but I felt a pang of jealousy at the affectionate hug they shared, and I remember thinking Andrés and I could have created a happy home just like this one.

  But no, I’ve been a complete idiot and thrown it all away, and though the thought of having kids still scares the heck out of me, I imagine what our children would have looked like. Would they have had mischievous smiles like my brothers? Would they have my green eyes and his thick lashes and tanned skin? Would they sneak cookies and give warm hugs and big, sloppy kisses?

  “Christina, what happened between you and Vivian? Why aren’t you spending Thanksgiving with her?”

  Jenny’s direct question pulls me back to reality, and I have to work hard to swallow a bite of cheesecake that lodges in my throat. I take several gulps of coffee and set it down on the tray with a shaky hand.

  I was hoping she wouldn’t ask me about Vivian, AKA The Spitting Cobra. “We don’t see eye-to-eye on things.”

  Big understatement, I know, but I’m trying to sound upbeat, and not at all like a girl who’s suffered a childhood of degradation and abuse. I don’t need Jenny knowing about my past. Not only am I uncomfortable talking about it, but I didn’t come here to lay on a guilt trip.

  Jenny sets her coffee down, eyeing me with an intensity that makes me feel awkward in my own skin. Somehow, I get the feeling she’s not going to let this one go.

  “I have to know.” She gets up from the sofa and sits beside me, placing her hand on mine. “Was she good to you?”

  I avert my gaze. “It doesn’t matter,” I mumble as I lean back, wishing I could disappear beneath the thick padding of the oversized chair.

  I can feel her gaze boring into me.

  “Of course it does.” She squeezes my hand harder. “Your answer isn’t reassuring.”

  I think I should probably make something up, but I don’t want to lie. Besides, how can I make up some fictitious fairytale when I don’t know what a fairytale childhood is supposed to feel like? I can’t think of what else to say, so I look away.

  “I shouldn’t have let you go. I should have found a way.” Jenny’s voice is thick with emotion as she turns her gaze toward our joined hands.

  I steal a glimpse at her face and see tears cascading down her cheeks. I hate watching her cry, and now I’m getting choked up, too.

  “But you said in your letter you were just a teenager when you had me,” I say, wanting so badly to believe she had no other options when she gave me up.

  She nods and wipes her eyes. “I was.”

  “So were you a minor?” I ask, though some part of me doesn’t want to know the answer. What if she was forced? What if my dad raped more girls than just me? The thought of it makes me feel dirty inside, and not just my flesh and bones, but my very soul, tainted by that evil man.

  She smiles weakly, squeezing my hand. “I was seventeen when I got pregnant and eighteen when I had you.”

  I turn my palm up and grip her hand tightly, needing to know the answer but not wanting to know at the same time.

  “Did he…” I swallow past the lump of granite lodged in my throat. “Was it… What happened between you and my dad?”

  I can’t say it. I can’t say the word “rape” but when I see the look of pain flash in her eyes, my heart sinks to my stomach.

  “It’s a long story, sweetheart,” she says.

  The damn of emotions welling up inside me breaks open, and I feel as if I may drown in sorrow. I see it now, that look in her eyes. He raped her. I’m a rape baby. Why did she ask me to come here? Why would she want to see me, a reminder of my disgusting father?

  “Did he rape you?” I ask on a sob, but I already know. I know.

  “Christina, I….” Her mouth falls open as she looks at me with a deer-in-the-headlights expression. “Christina.” She shudders as she looks away. “It was a long time ago,” she murmurs.

  I
jump from my seat and clench my hands. Anger and shame wash over me, infusing me with a heat so powerful, I fear I may explode. “He did. He raped you.” I point a shaky finger at her. “Is that why you never called me?”

  She wipes her eyes with the backs of her hands and stands up. Her arms tremble as she tilts her chin and looks into my eyes. “I signed a contract. I wasn’t allowed to contact you, at least, not while your father was alive. I only learned of his death last year. That’s when I found your website and started talking you.”

  She still doesn’t confirm if she’s been raped, and there are other pieces to this puzzle that don’t fit. “Why didn’t you tell me last year that you were my mother?”

  Jenny lays a hand on my shoulder. “What was I supposed to say?” she asks with a sigh. “I didn’t want you to know the circumstances of your birth. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  “Tell me what happened.” I say, but she turns from me and shakes her head. She wraps her arms around herself as she walks toward the bay window. I can tell this is hard for her, but I deserve to know the truth. “Don’t worry about my feelings,” I add. “I already know my father was an asshole.” I’m unable to keep the bitterness from my voice at that last part.

  Jenny clutches the fabric of the heavy drapes with one hand while looking out the window. “My father was a mechanic. He worked for your father’s boat dealership. My father was also a drunk. We were constantly on the move because he’d go from one job to another. My mother lived on sleeping pills and anti-depressants. I didn’t have much when I was growing up. Some days, we’d have nothing in the fridge. I remember going to school hungry and cold, until I was old enough to get a job and feed and clothe myself.”

  Omigod. My birth mother had an even worse childhood than I did. All this time I thought nobody’s childhood could have been worse than mine. My parents were abusive and unloving, but I never went without food, and The Cobra bought me a new wardrobe every season. I’m barely aware of my feet propelling me forward, until I’m standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Jenny.