Hard Luck

by Sara Ney

  “He is being ghosted.”

  I turn on Gloria. “Glory, what the hell!”

  Our mother hears me and shoots over a warning the way only a mother can, pasting a smile on her face when she glances away again, giving her attention to Aunt Zoila. But I’m on her radar now, and I know one of her ears will be open.

  My sisters—who have now all congregated around my spot at the table, including Sophia, who normally hates gossip of any kind—chorus the word ghosted, repeating it incessantly until the tips of my ears turn red with embarrassment.

  “What’s ghosted?” Mariana asks.

  We all turn to stare at her. “Are you being serious right now?”

  She scrunches up her face, irritated. “Are you all forgetting I’m forty-five and haven’t dated anyone in twenty years?”

  Glory tips her head as if she’s the Queen of Spain, pardoning one of her subjects. “Fair enough, fair enough.”

  “Ghosting is when you go on a date with someone, you think it was great, and then they disappear on you with no warning or explanation.”

  “Disappear from the date?” Mariana asks. “Like, climbs out the bathroom window or something?”

  Rosaria pointedly raises an eyebrow, a trait we all inherited from our mother. “No, Mari.” She sighs. “It’s when they just stop talking to you. Block you on social media. Make it impossible to get ahold of them. Ghosting—poof, gone.”

  Mariana rolls her eyes. “And she’s doing that to you?”

  I shrug.

  “Why?”

  “She must not have liked me.”

  “What did you do to her?” Ana chimes in, biting down on a tomato she’s plucked from the salad in the center of the table.

  “I didn’t do anything! What kind of question is that?” Jesus, give me some credit. “I’m a gentleman.”

  “Well where did you take her on this date she didn’t like? Were you boring? Did you talk about yourself too much?”

  Glory snorts. “Not even.”

  They all look toward her.

  “They didn’t go out on a date,” she informs them, excited to be the center of attention and keeper of knowledge.

  “What does she mean you didn’t go on a date? How can she ghost you if you didn’t take her out?” Mariana wants to know.

  “Maybe she just doesn’t like him,” Camila reasons. “That is possible you know—he’s not that irresistible.”

  They all laugh.

  “I did not spend half my life training him to be a good man only to have a woman ghost him,” Mariana scoffs. She’s a good fifteen years my senior. Of all the women in this family, Mari spent just as much time with me as our mother did, she and my gaggle of sisters riding my ass when I did something stupid. Bailing me out when I misbehaved so I wouldn’t end up getting arrested. Driving me to my first job, driving me to practice when my parents were at work.

  Mariana and Camila helped me pick out my first condo, after I got drafted into the major league fresh out of college.

  It doesn’t surprise me that they’d be invested in my romantic life.

  It’s no wonder they all are.

  “You should take her on a date,” Sophia says, as if it’s a no-brainer. “Do you have her phone number?”

  No I don’t have her phone number. “Her brother won’t give it to me.”

  “What does her brother have to do with anything?”

  “He’s one of my teammates, and he doesn’t want me anywhere near his sister—I already asked him for her number.”

  Sophia, an attorney, has a million other questions. “When was the last time you saw this woman?”

  Sneaking out of the hotel room after we had sex. “Uh, at her brother’s wedding reception.”

  So, not entirely a lie. None of my sisters need to know the truth; they’d castrate me right on this table.

  “What did you talk about?”

  I scratch my head beneath the baseball cap I’ve got on—the ball cap my mother glared at when I entered the restaurant because she thinks it’s rude to wear a hat—any hat—indoors.

  “We talked about…” Shit, I don’t remember. “I complimented her on how nice she looked.” My sisters sigh as if I’m recanting a romantic tale. “And I asked her if she wanted a drink from the bar.”

  And True Wallace did, so I fetched her a cocktail, and we laughed and laughed and drank and drank.

  “I thought we were having a good time.”

  Sophia tilts her head. “So then what?”

  “So then what, what?”

  “After you had drinks—why didn’t you ask her out?” Sophia is holding a wine glass but not drinking from it, so absorbed in sifting through the details of this “case” to uncover what really happened and why her brother has been ghosted.

  “Then…that’s it.”

  My sisters don’t believe me.

  Sophia says, “You mean to tell us the two of you had a great time, and at a wedding, no less—one of the most romantic places to meet someone—and the whole thing ended right then and there?”

  “Did someone else whisk her away?” Camila asks.

  They all nod in unison as if to say, Good question, good question.

  “No, no one else whisked her away.”

  “Did she have to leave? It was her brother’s wedding—didn’t she stay until the end?” My sister the lawyer pummels me with one hard-hitting question after the next.

  “No, she didn’t leave—why are you browbeating me like this?!” I need her to stop with the interrogation or I’m going to end up—

  “Well what the hell happened?!” Sophia’s tone is as loud as mine was before when I raised my voice, and once again, our mother shoots the seven of us a warning.

  She isn’t impressed by her offspring’s loud behavior.

  “Shh,” she shushes from down the table, shaking her head. If we were teenagers and all going home to the same house, we’d be in deep shit.

  Fortunately, we’re all grown-ass adults and live on our own.

  Well, except Gloria, who still lives at home, but that’s because she’s young and still in college.

  “Mami is getting enojada.” Mom is getting mad.

  “That’s because she wants to know what’s going on over here.” Glory laughs. “Trust me, when we get home, she’ll grill me until she has all the details.”

  I groan. “Please don’t say anything.”

  My sisters laugh.

  They laugh and laugh, like I’ve just told the funniest joke.

  “Little brother, you come from a family of women, and you’re asking us to keep a secret?”

  They all laugh some more.

  Ana, who’s been relatively quiet this entire time, studies me. My face, my eyes.

  Narrows hers.

  “¿Te acostaste con ella?” Did you sleep with her?

  All six heads whip toward me.

  “I thought Sophia was the civil litigator here, not you.”

  Rosaria dramatically places a hand on her heart. “Oh my god, he did.”

  Camila picks up a linen napkin from the table and hits me on the arm with it. “You asshole! You slept with someone on the first date?”

  “It wasn’t a date, remember?” Gloria helpfully points out.

  “Glory!” Ana gasps. “That’s not helping.”

  “What is Mami gonna say when she finds out?” Mariana is chomping on a chip, enjoying my downfall, double-dipping in the guacamole.

  “Mami isn’t going to say anything, because no one is going to tell her!” I screech, sounding like a girl, high-pitched and panicky. I’m not afraid of many people, but my mother is one of them.

  Loretta Espinoza runs her household with an iron fist.

  “Are you serious?” Mariana laughs again. “You can’t treat women this way, Mateo.”

  “I didn’t treat her like shit! I want to see her again!”

  “Then why is she avoiding you, hermano?” Mariana has a disgusted look on her face—the same look all six of m
y sisters are giving me right now. “Have we taught you nothing? You don’t sleep with someone on the first date.”

  “It wasn’t a date, remember?” Gloria repeats, amused.

  The older sisters ignore her.

  “I don’t know what you expect me to do. I asked her brother for her phone number, and he refused. I tried messaging her on social media, but she blocked me. I can’t show up at her work because I don’t know where that is.”

  “Show up at her work?” Sophia looks horrified. “That’s stalking!”

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” I amend. “I’m not actually going to show up at her work!” How did this conversation get so out of hand? “I know that’s stalking—that’s why I’m not going to do it!”

  If they didn’t gang up on me like this, I wouldn’t be so defensive, dammit.

  “Honestly you guys, I have no idea what to do.” I really want to see her.

  “If she wants nothing to do with you, Mateo, there is nothing you can do.” Ana puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “You cannot bother her anymore. You have to let it be.”

  “I know.” That’s what I’ve been doing—letting her be. “It came up because Glory was getting nosey, that’s all. She was asking if I’m seeing anyone, but I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  Sophia’s expression is thoughtful. “There’s a paralegal at my firm who’s single…” she begins.

  The rest of my sisters groan. “NO!”

  “What! He needs to settle down and start a family.”

  “Sister, he’s barely out of diapers.” Rosaria laughs. “Besides, I have someone at the club where I take yoga—an instructor—who’s really smart and athletic.”

  “What about a teacher?” Camila puts in. “I could see him dating a teacher. Do we know any?”

  “I think Aunt Gabriella has a cousin whose niece is a kindergarten teacher…”

  “No!” I shout, overwhelmed. “No. Just stop. I don’t want any of you setting me up. Do not send a woman to my house with food, do not send a woman to the stadium to meet me in the parking lot, do not bring a woman to Easter Sunday.” All things they have done in the past, their high-handed matchmaking overstepping the bounds on more than one occasion.

  It’s embarrassing as fuck.

  They all exchange glances, and if my brain isn’t playing a trick on me, Ana actually appears…worried.

  “Oops,” she mutters as I follow the direction of her eyes as they shift to the door. At the same time, we glimpse a young woman hovering in the doorway of the Mexican restaurant, clutching a purse in her hands.

  “Oh shit,” Mariana mutters. “You’re in trouble.”

  “What?” Ana says. “How was I supposed to know?” She puts down the plate she’s holding. “Listen, Mateo, that’s Lillian. Be nice to her—she’s a sweet girl.”

  When am I not nice? I want to shout, frustration eating me up inside.

  “You invited a stranger to a family gathering!” I can’t help pointing this out—not that it matters since they’ve done this sort of thing before. It’s like my family is out to strap me with an arranged marriage, constantly throwing women in my path one way or another. No venue or occasion is off limits with them.

  No matter how many times I’ve given them my limits.

  Sisters do not listen.

  And my mother? Her job is easy with the six girls doing her dirty work. She gets to come off as a saint, idly standing by as her spawn torture her son.

  Make no mistake, if I didn’t have any sisters, it would be my mother and my aunts trying to set me up on dates. The girls make her life so much easier…

  “You should go over there and bring her back here to join us,” Ana tells me.

  “Me? I didn’t invite her!”

  “She’s your guest.”

  Oh my god—why are they like this?

  “No, she’s yours. I’m going up to the bar—I’m going to need a stiffer drink.”

  “Mateo José Espinoza, you will do no such thing!” Ana gasps, yanking me back, pulling my sleeve.

  “Why are we all so loud?” Rosaria wonders out loud, finally sitting down to fill her plate with snacks. “It’s no wonder only half of us are in relationships. We’re like heathens.”

  “Speak for yourself.” Ana’s chin tilts up. “I don’t need a relationship to be happy.”

  This earns her a snort from the youngest. “Things people say when they can’t find a boyfriend. It’s only a matter of time before Mami pays someone to marry you.”

  “Mind your own business, Glory.”

  If anyone in the room thinks it’s odd that we’re all bickering, not a single person has said it. In fact, barely anyone is paying attention to us, which just goes to show how riotous this bunch is.

  “Ana, go get that poor girl. She looks terrified,” Mariana—as the oldest and bossiest—orders. “And Mateo, just pretend to be interested.”

  That’s a horrible idea. “I’m not giving anyone false hope.”

  My sister shrugs. “Maybe you’ll like her.”

  Maybe, but I doubt it.

  Lillian Whatever-Her-Last-Name-Is appears to be the opposite of the kind of women I usually date: sweet, demure, adorable. Like a preschool teacher, or someone who works with the elderly or volunteers on the holidays.

  Lillian looks intimidated by me, continuously toying with a stray lock of hair next to her ear, hair done in a low ponytail, blonde and silky. She twirls it aimlessly around her forefinger, and I doubt she’s aware she’s doing it.

  When you’re an athlete, you learn to pick up on tells pretty quickly—especially those of a pitcher. Lots of glances to the base coaches. Shuffling their feet. Constantly stretching and loosening their shoulders. Squishing the brim of their ball cap.

  This is Lillian’s tell.

  She’s doing a great job keeping the smile on her face as my sisters accost her, berating her with interview-style questions, now the center of attention instead of myself.

  Thank God.

  She has blue eyes, and they keep looking at me. Long lashes that are definitely real. Pink lips.

  Floral dress.

  I can see she’s brought a gift for our aunt, even though she doesn’t know her and has never met her, which is incredibly thoughtful but unnecessary, and if this is the kind of woman my sisters think I want to date, I’m royally fucked.

  It is not.

  Lillian Whoever-She-Is is the opposite of what I want.

  I want the kind of girl who’s going to fuck me then ghost me.

  The kind of girl who tells me off, curses like her brothers, shoves me down on the bed, and then sneaks out in the morning without saying goodbye.

  A career in sports.

  Dark hair and darker eyes. Sarcastic mouth.

  Tall, but not taller than I am.

  Fantastic tits.

  Two brothers who would beat my ass if they knew I’d banged her.

  Like my sisters, they would most definitely blame me—despite the fact that I’ve been hounding Buzz Wallace for his sister’s phone number.

  At least let me apologize for not…for…

  Sleeping with her when I should have asked her on a date instead.

  It’s not too late to right the wrong, is it?

  I glance around, letting the sounds and smells of the restaurant and my family assail me, grateful and weighted down by them all at the same time.

  But honestly—when haven’t they helped me when I’ve needed them? Maybe getting the girls to give me advice is exactly what I need…

  Three

  True

  Captain’s log, day four: My brother is officially driving me nuts. I thought I’d have more privacy than this, considering he works full-time and isn’t supposed to be hanging around the house, but that hasn’t been the case. My brother is lurking, hovering like a worrywart, and he’s driving me insane.

  Tripp is gone today, having left for work before the sun rose. He taped a sticky note to the door of my gues
t bedroom: “Sis, be back around 7. Text me what you want for dinner and I’ll grab sushi.”

  Sushi. The thought of it makes me want to puke.

  Fishy, raw, sticky, moist sushi.

  In my condition? Blech.

  Okay fine, I’m not that far along—but that doesn’t mean my eating habits haven’t drastically changed or my gag reflex hasn’t kicked in.

  I can barely brush my teeth.

  The bump is still nonexistent, and I run a hand down my still smooth stomach, kind of wanting more to happen downtown. I mean, if I’m going to have all the symptoms and experience all the negative aspects, wouldn’t it be nice to have something to show for it?

  I check the time on my phone and see a text from Buzz.

  Buzz: Hey, one of my teammates is asking for your number but I told him my sister is off limits.

  Me: So why are you telling me about it if you told him I’m off limits?

  Buzz: Because he’s really insistent and I wanted to give you a heads-up in case he finds a way to contact you.

  Me: Who?

  The tingle in my stomach tells me I already know who, except we’re not ready to admit it to anybody, let alone Buzz.

  Buzz: José

  Me: Who?

  Buzz: Espinoza

  His name is Mateo, I want to reply, but I don’t. That would give me away and piss off my brother, and the last thing I need is to raise his suspicion.

  Buzz: I don’t know what his fucking problem is…

  I do.

  He didn’t want me to leave that morning after we slept together. He wanted to get to know me. He wanted to date me.

  I’m embarrassed, humiliated, and ashamed by my behavior, because I slept with a man I don’t even know, snuck out on him, then ghosted him completely for no reason other than I’m a chicken.

  Worse, he seems like a super nice guy.

  Worse, I like him.

  Worse still? Well. We all know how this story ends.

  Me: Thanks for not giving him my number. It’s not that I don’t WANT him to have it, I’m just not ready for him to have it.

  Buzz: What the hell is that supposed to mean?

  Me: I’m not ready to date, LOL.

  Buzz: Well no shit. And you won’t be dating HIM when you are.

  Me: Okay, cool your jets, bro. And don’t be rude to him either—he’s not a bad guy.