Carlos defines success as having women fall all over him. How long can that last? And in the end, what will it mean? If he put that effort into a job, at least he could save some money for retirement.
Maybe this is immature, but after reaching my breaking point this afternoon, let alone all the games Carlos played with my money and emotions, I felt the need to show him that although he damaged me, I am far from broken. Whenever he returns home, he won’t just find the same disaster he has for days; he will also find a note taped to a box inside the fridge.
Dear Carlos,
I tried to play nice. Time and again I asked you to leave, but you refused and gave me no choice. In light of our lease having already expired, I gave my thirty-day notice at the end of last month; thus, I am no longer a part of the rental agreement. If you do not pay next month’s rent by the tenth, you will be locked out. Maybe now you will leave.
Goodbye and good riddance.
Inside the box is a chocolate cake that says, “You’ve Been Dumped.” Carlos is not totally stupid. He will assume there is a laxative baked inside. It is a shame he will waste a perfectly good cake that is merely a decoy for the real prank.
Never mess with Bailey Kane.
As I ride off the lot, I blow a kiss back at my old life while keeping my eyes on what lies ahead.
#
Darla was definitely right; Endeara Candies is a magnet for ridiculousness! As exhausted as I am from lack of sleep and all the traveling I did yesterday, I am wide awake. I scarcely had a moment to take in my new surroundings when the fire alarm went off. Seems the morning food truck is having horn issues, so some genius thought scaring the crap out of everyone would be the best way to get their attention.
It worked.
This place is a contrast unto itself. The grey tile floor and high white walls, along with the need to keep the adjoining warehouse cool, make the place chilly and off-putting. However, the multitude of vintage-framed photos of life at Endeara throughout the decades, and the sunlight beaming through the large windows in the front wall, make it welcoming. It is kind of like how my reception desk and counter are white and bland, and the lights behind me beaming up into the Endeara logo are dull and corporate; yet the life Darla has brought to it with flowers, photos, and a bowl of our colorful confections makes me want to put my feet up. It is the perfect setting for me—welcoming yet not one where I can get comfortable and won’t want to leave.
A good-looking man in a well-fitted suit steals my attention as he walks through the front door. Darla races over, takes his arm, and leads him straight to me.
“Hi, Bailey. I’m Brandon,” he says, extending his hand. I return the greeting and we shake.
So this is the man I have heard so much about—the one who dreams of a white picket fence and a house full of kids that get drowned out by his love of music. His smile alone makes him seem so genuine I already want to set him up with someone.
Brandon’s eyes go to the crust and dust covered binder sitting on the sign-in counter. I still can’t believe the story behind it. “What’s this?” he asks. The suspicion in his voice conveys he too finds this place to be crazy and thus knows the answer will be stupid. He’s right, because that thing is proof positive Endeara is whacked. I’ve barely warmed my chair and my brain is already spinning in disbelief.
“Our formula book,” Darla says, totally casual.
Brandon’s eyes go as wide as any sane person’s should. “Formula book? That sounds valuable. Why is it sitting on the sign-in counter?”
Darla bows and opens her hand to me in a gesture to take over. Try as I might, I can’t fight the desire to roll my eyes. “The plant manager left it there yesterday afternoon and told Darla not to move it. Apparently, he needs to do some research, and things on his desk get ignored. Thus, he asked her to ‘tell the new girl’ to give it to him first thing this morning.”
Brandon opens his mouth but quickly slams it shut. After pursing his lips, he tactfully tries to ask the obvious. “The plant started up two hours ago. Why didn’t you give it … ” He looks kind of cute while searching for words that don’t imply I am an idiot.
Darla looks at him as if he should know better. I’m already thinking that myself. “Really, Wayne?” she says. “You have to ask? Tell him, Bailey.”
“I tried to give it to him, but he told me to leave it there because he didn’t have time. If it is still there at the end of the month, I’m to remind him about it again. At first I thought it was an initiation, but Darla assures me this is the way things work around here.”
Brandon flips through recipe after recipe for everything we make. He sounds incredulous. “Should this thing be left out? What if it gets stolen?”
I chime right in. “To answer your first question, no, that’s almost as risky as walking down the street while shouting your social security number. However, you’ve tasted the stuff we make here. If that thing goes, we would have to reformulate everything. Theft would be a blessing.”
“Damn!” Brandon jerks back as if slapped. “You really are Darla’s sister! Welcome to your new life, Bailey. Something tells me the transition will be seamless.”
I’m starting to think so, too.
My cell phone rings, and Brandon takes it as his cue to head for the elevator. Usually Carlos’s ringtone would make me cringe, but today it makes me giddy. I expected if he were going to freak out, it would have been last night. Maybe he is too dumb to notice I was gone.
Or he was too busy celebrating with some girl in knickers.
No, I know Carlos, which means I know exactly why he is calling.
Darla catches sight of the Caller ID and her brow scrunches so tightly I fear she may have an aneurysm. “How do you have Carlos’s new number in your phone? You disconnected his old one, right? You know, the one you have been paying for?”
“Trust me,” I say, barely containing my excitement, “that will happen in about two minutes. Knowing Carlos, he doesn’t have the balls to call just over my epic bail. However, at some point last night, he got hungry. He’s almost out of money, so he either had to mooch off of someone or raid the fridge. He wouldn’t have been stupid enough to eat the cake I left, but he would be dumb enough to defrost what he thought were undoctored leftovers.”
Darla’s eyes widen, and she smacks her hand on the desk. “No! You didn’t!”
Oh, I did. Maybe it was a bit much, but once I realized what happened with my jewelry, I hit overload.
Every little sway and bounce of Darla’s peacock-colored mane takes some of the edge off of my guilt. I answer the phone, tucking it between our ears. “Carlos! How are you?”
“You bitch! You absolute bitch! What you did is not only unforgivable, you will rot in hell for blasphemy!”
“Carlos, do you even know what that word means?”
Darla whips her head away from the phone to let out a snarf.
“If it means you dared to ruin something as sacred as chili by using a laxative instead of pure, Mexican chocolate, you are damn right I do! You whore!”
Darla cups her mouth and repeatedly stomps her foot on the ground in an effort to conceal her laughter, despite the fact we are pretty sure Carlos knows where I went. I however, hold nothing back. “I figured if you could clean out my jewelry, I could clean out your colon.”
His expletives are still flying when I disconnect the call. Darla is in such hysterics she nearly falls off of her chair. “That may have been the most amazing thing I have ever heard. Bailey, you are brilliant!”
“Hold on. It’s about to get better.”
From an account I created for this very purpose, I compose an email:
Dear fellow suckers,
We’ve never met, which is a shame because we have something in common: being the victim of Carlos Rojas’ slick words and voracious womanizing. First, you will be happy to know my STD and HIV tests came back clean, but I suggest you get checked as well. And if you have no idea who I am talking about, it is because yo
u know him under another name. To be clear, here is his photo.
I continue to fill Darla in. “Carlos is so stupid, it never dawned on him the only way I could have shown him those emails was to figure out his iPad password. Turns out, he never changed it. Before I left, I snuck in again and grabbed the address of every conquest I could find. But before I send it, I am going to include one last, very important person to the email list—his mother.”
For the first time ever, I see my sister sit dumbfounded—shaking her head with her mouth agape and totally speechless. I go on to list all of Carlos’s sins and blast them into the universe. Maybe not blind copying all those addresses and letting those ladies have anonymity was wrong, but it will be a lot harder for any of them to ignore reality once the first person replies to all and starts sharing stories. Shoot, a militia may even form.
As soon as I am done, I pull up the account settings, grab my coffee cup, and turn to Darla. “I’m headed to the breakroom. While I am gone, please change that password to something I will never guess and you will easily forget, then log me out.”
Her face contorts. “Are you kidding? Don’t you want to watch the fireworks?”
“Of course I do, but I need to spend every free moment I have on me. I am not getting tied up in drama, let alone learning more stories I don’t want to hear.”
Darla flicks her hand, telling me to vamoose as she types away. I walk off with my head high. This is the only time I have ever lashed back at someone. A part of me feels I should regret being nasty, but the pride of no longer feeling like a doormat outweighs the guilt. Now my life can truly begin a new.
Okay, universe. Bring it!
#
“Just talk to her,” Darla says as she stands, rising from my bed.
“You know more than you are letting on, don’t you?” I ask.
She replies with a smile that both raises my curiosity and fills my heart with love. “Even if you don’t think GranGran is listening, she is,” Darla says while exiting my bedroom. “Believing it can happen is the hardest part.”
Darla leaves me alone, staring at an off-white wall. The events of the last few months culminated in an upheaval that tossed me into rebirth; yet a part of me has not finished being drawn into the light of my new world. Seeing GranGran’s ghost was surreal, but hearing my sister practically speak as if she were a medium made the situation yet another ripple in a whirlpool of events. Now that I have survived the vortex, I’m ready to face the last of the life-changing events I have yet to process.
While this room the size of a parking space has a long way to go as far as decorating, the photo GranGran gave me found its home on the nightstand the moment I opened my suitcase. My touch to it is as tender as the memories I cherish, and my words are as silent.
“Just believe, huh? Is it really that easy, GranGran?”
The urban silence of dogs barking and cars passing fills the evening with a melody, yet to me, the world is silent and desperately in need of the life she brings.
Memories of when I was a teenager and GranGran would come to visit fill my mind. Regardless of being in her nineties and needing a cane, that woman drove herself all over the place, day or night. The only one who was ever able to stop her was God on the day he dictated her heart had given its last beat. Just like we did when I was younger, I sit on the edge of my bed. I am still the same person I was then—one seeking growth, happiness, and understanding of the world around her.
My eyes, accompanied by my heart, are drawn to the photo. I’ve never stopped believing in GranGran, and I again have faith in myself; therefore, I believe in us both enough to do this.
With a breath of self-assurance, I close my eyes and remember the version of GranGran who sat next to me a few weeks ago, then take Darla’s advice and start talking.
“I did it, GranGran. I picked up my self-esteem and left Carlos along with everything about my life I didn’t like. The only bad things I kept were the memories of how it felt to allow myself to get dragged along. As much as I would like to forget that happened, I think you would agree it is best I don’t.”
Tears burn my eyes, threatening to escape with my sigh. I really wish she were here. Why is it we are born to bring joy into the world, only to eventually be taken from it?
“I suppose you know I got the last laugh in,” I tell her. “You must be hooting it up over that one.”
Warmth builds on my right, bringing my senses to life the way chimes tingle in the breeze. The comfort of her approval coats my soul.
“Was it really okay?” I ask. “I mean, the email was one thing, but I did the guy physical harm. Sure, I just made it so he was glued to the toilet for a few hours but still …”
The sensation of her touch enrobes me, sending my tears streaming. Her chuckle slips in so gently that instead of jerking at the sound, my body relaxes, encouraging me to look. GranGran was always young to me because she never thought of herself as anything other than the free spirit she was. Her appearing to be my age instead of the older person I knew is off-putting. This is the first time I have witnessed her placing age restrictions on herself in any form.
She pats my leg, and although the gesture fails to make direct contact, warmth emanates with each bounce. “Bailey, honey, even with using protection, he put you at risk for far worse than a case of the squirts. Also, not only did he bang half of Toronto’s female population, one of the ways he got his women was through a dating service. You’ve already figured out he was using that to find a backup sugar mama, or even several. Who is to say he isn’t already shacked up again? He did seem more concerned about the chili than losing you. Ripping off your jewelry was the tip of a towering iceberg.”
Oh man, by not taking it further, I may have failed womankind. “Since you put it that way, I probably should’ve done a lot worse. Hopefully that new sugar mama was copied on the email I sent out.”
Tingles ripple as she slips her arm around me. I lean into the comfort while thanking God for bringing us together again. “That man got lucky in many, many ways with you,” she says. “Don’t worry, they come to see it; we just don’t always find out. Your grandfather—yes, my son—was nearly as bad as Carlos. Thank God he found sense on his own.” She looks to the sky with her head doing a slow shake. “Lord knows I wanted to smack it into him. You can raise ‘em right only to have ‘em screw up anyway. But in the end, he made me proud. My entire family still makes me proud—especially you and your sister.”
Her words cause my tears to gusher. It’s been so long since I’ve felt it okay for anyone to be proud of me. I needed those words from her. Again I thank God for my blessings.
“Now, what did you want to talk about?” she asks.
My sobs get sniffled back. Why did she have to die? Knowing she is here, yet not being able to throw my arms around her, makes my entire being ache. “Nothing really,” I barely utter. “I just wanted to be sure I actually saw you. I’ve needed you for so long.”
Her hair falls back as she smiles. “Ah, my girl, nothing about me has ever been imaginary. Of that you can be certain.” She attempts to take my hands in hers. While she may lack the physical ability to do so, the love her spirit conveys more than makes up for it. “You possess a red flag. Deep in your heart, you knew the truth about Carlos—both that he is a louse and that he is hurting. It’s not that you didn’t see the flag wave; you were too compassionate to act. More importantly, you need to know you also have a blue flag. When that one goes up, trust it. Remember that, because sometimes blue looks grey.”
“Are you saying to find the good in the bad?”
“No, I’m saying things are not always black and white. If something feels right, even if outside factors tell you to think differently, go with your gut—always.”
GranGran puts on her stern-eyed, I’m gonna school you look. “Trust me on that blue flag,” she says, “because it encourages you to believe in what seems impossible. When you were little, you loved fairy tales. Don’t let life jade yo
u so much you stop believing in magic. We focus on flowers and paper hearts, but we never think about what it takes to make your actual heart bloom. You want a real story? Think about the everyday conflict leading people to happily ever after. Cinderella went through hell to meet Prince Charming. When she did, it worked because she had endured so much, she knew how to recognize a good thing. However, we forget the prince had his own story. When you meet a man who not only makes your heart race, but with whom you can share trials with understanding instead of judgment, you both know you have found something special. From there, keep moving forward with who you are while letting him do the same, and you will have a happily ever after.” GranGran pats my leg. “You do that, and we won’t let you, or any of your friends, fall.”
“My friends?”
GranGran sucks in her lips, yet her eyes beam there is news to tell. Waiting for those lips to pop open has me on the edge of my seat. Finally they do. “Remember how I watched Darla’s friends grow up as if they were my own great grandchildren? I love those girls, so a friend and I have been dabbling a little to be sure they are happy. We are guilty of doing that for you, too.”
She has me so lost my brow hurts from raising it.
Her chuckle is robust. How she seems to be thrilled over something has me tearing again. I’ll never stop missing anything about her. “Oh Bailey! You are going to get a very interesting call from Katherine! Your new world has been colliding with your old one in the best possible way, making for one wild tale! Be sure to hold on tight.”
“What?” Suddenly my eyes feel like they are going to pop out of my head. “Oh my God, you know why she was acting so strangely, don’t you?” GranGran nods rapidly. When she starts drumming her feet on the floor, I feel ready to burst. “Tell me!”
“She and Jason are not only done, she’s had a suitor practically knocking at her door, and you know him!”
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