Hard Luck

by Sara Ney

  “Anyone marrying into this family better have a serious set of lady balls,” I declare.

  That makes my baby sister laugh.

  Which isn’t hard to do—Glory laughs at some pretty stupid shit that comes out of my mouth.

  “I feel like you have someone you can’t get off your mind and that’s making it impossible for you to date right now.”

  Ding-ding-ding—winner, winner, chicken dinner!

  She’s right.

  I met True and I have no desire to meet anyone else, and I haven’t the fucking faintest clue why. We spent one night together; it makes no sense why I want to spend a lifetime with her.

  No sense at all.

  Unless she’s my goddamn soul mate, and I’m not sure I believe in that shit.

  Something is keeping me up at night, staring at the ceiling thinking about her. Us. Something feels…off. Every sense in my body is telling me I have to get ahold of her.

  It made sense that I connected with True Wallace considering I like her brother so damn much.

  “Tell me a secret no one else knows,” she whispers to me, our second drinks in our hands.

  “I don’t have any secrets that no one else knows, and if I did, I wouldn’t be telling them to you.” We’ve only just met.

  “Aww, don’t be a spoilsport.”

  I think for a minute, digging deep into my treasure trove of memories, searching for a nugget to give her.

  “Okay, let’s see…when I was in college, I took Spanish as an easy way to ace a class and boost my grade point average.”

  Her mouth falls open. “Didn’t you have to take a foreign language in high school?”

  “Yeah, as a prereq for college we needed two years of a foreign language, and I took French but was so bad at it I barely passed. So in college, I took Spanish.”

  “Why is that a secret?”

  “Because I didn’t tell my folks. They would have killed me.”

  True is laughing at me now, eyes twinkling. “That’s a pretty good one. I never would have thought of doing that.”

  “Four years of Spanish, and I used to drive the professors nuts. Some weren’t Hispanic, so every so often I had to raise my hand to correct them.”

  “God, I would hate that!”

  “Oh they definitely hated it. Un grano en el culo—pain in the butt, they called me.”

  True takes a sip from her new glass. “Some things never change.”

  I put a hand to my heart. “You’re hurting my heart,” I tease, and she bursts out laughing. “What’s so funny?”

  “My mom always says ‘You’re hurting my heart.’ We tease her about it all the time—she makes us sound like the world’s worst children.”

  “So what you’re telling me is that Buzz isn’t the world’s worst child?”

  We both move our gazes to the dance floor, where Buzz and his new wife Hollis are moving slowly, guests joining them, swaying gently, the disco ball throwing sparkles around the room like confetti.

  I clear my throat and set down my glass. “Care to dance?”

  True looks bashful, licking her lips and dipping her head. “It’s been a long time—since prom, probably. I might suck at it.”

  My chin goes up arrogantly. “No worries—I’m good enough for the both of us. I had to take ballroom dance classes growing up.”

  I sweep True out onto the dance floor, her blush-colored bridesmaid dress kicking up around her ankles, flowing behind her like a modern-day Ginger Rogers.

  She looks gorgeous and smells amazing, and I want to see her smile at me, want her to laugh at my jokes.

  Her brother doesn’t notice us dancing on the outskirts of the dance floor, occupied with his pretty new wife, crowd filling the hardwood parquet, energy in the air electrifying. Or maybe it feels like it’s crackling because True’s hand is in mine and my hand is on her waist and our bodies are almost pressed together.

  The melody is a ballad—some cheesy love song about best friends to lovers and dirt road anthems and memories—so romantic it’s becoming difficult to meet her eyes.

  Her smile looks nervous.

  Mine feels fake.

  “Are you going to tell me what your secret is?”

  True’s face changes, lights up now that we have a topic to discuss, awkward silence between us gone. “Hmm,” she hums. “What’s a secret I’ve never told anyone…”

  I catch Summer Bellefonte’s quizzical gaze over the top of her head and pray like hell she doesn’t send her photographer over. The last thing I need is proof in print that I was chatting up Buzz Wallace’s sister. Whatever my intentions are, I’d like to keep my personal life private; my dating life in the beginning stages is not for public consumption.

  Me dating a Wallace?

  SportsCenter would have a field day with this one, and I feel Summer’s calculating gaze watching every step we take.

  “Do you solemnly swear not to reveal my secret to anyone, including my brother Buzz, as long as we both shall live, so help you God?” It sounds like a passage from a court deposition, and I’m here for this.

  “I swear.” Using the hand I have on her waist, I raise it with three fingers up, à la the Boy Scout hand sign.

  “Okay, well…” True moves in closer. Conspiratorial. “My brothers don’t know this, but…my first kiss was with this guy on Buzz’s baseball team in high school, Marshall. He used to come to the house all the time after practice and hang around the kitchen, and one day I realized he wasn’t just coming over to see my brother—he was coming to see me.”

  This is some juicy gossip.

  “Anyway,” she goes on, “my dad needed Buzz for something quick—probably loading the wood box or hauling something up from the basement, I don’t exactly remember—and when we were alone, Marshall leaned over and kissed me.”

  “Uh…” I scowl. “You hadn’t gone on a date or anything? The dude just randomly leaned over and kissed you?” That’s fucking lame.

  “It was sweet!” she protests, smiling fondly at the memory.

  “Was it a peck on the lips or full-on kissing?”

  She considers this for a moment. “More of a peck.”

  “Is a peck really considered a kiss?” I ask. “Like if I lean over and do this”—I lean forward and kiss her cheek, just beside her mouth—“would you say I kissed you?”

  “Uh, no—my grandma kisses me there.”

  “Exactly.” Satisfied, I nod.

  “A kiss on the cheek is not the same thing. And besides, it’s my memory and my secret.”

  “So if I did this…” Before I can think twice about it, I gently plant a kiss on her full, pouty lips. Pull away. Bask in her surprise. “Would you say we kissed?”

  If she’s flustered, she barely shows it, the only telltale sign I rattled her a little the shaking of her head to reset her brain.

  “No, I would not say we kissed.”

  “But you are saying Marshall was your first kiss?”

  “He was the first boy to put his lips on top of mine, so yes—even if it wasn’t an actual kiss, I still consider that my first.”

  Lame. “That’s all Marshall tried to get away with? One lousy peck? What a douche.”

  True bursts into laughter, and a few people turn their heads to look at us, smiling at the fact that we’re smiling, two attractive people spinning around the dance floor at a wedding.

  I bet we look amazing. Dark hair, dark eyes—we fit together as if planned by God.

  Whoa, Mateo—if your sisters heard the thoughts in your head, they’d be disgusted…

  “Mateo.”

  Gloria’s voice is impatient, repeating itself over and over.

  “Hey. Earth to Mateo.”

  Now she’s snapping her fingers at me across the island separating the kitchen from the living room, agitated and bossy like every single Espinoza to come before her.

  “Mateo, get the door? It’s Rosie and Mariana.”

  Estupendo. Great.

  Just swe
ll.

  My sisters overwhelm my condo, bustling through the door in waves, all except Sophia, who is with her family tonight, and thank God for that because of all my sisters, she is the most headstrong.

  “Why are you all here?” I want to know, convinced this is an ambush.

  “Glory told us you’re in love with someone and we want to know the details.”

  “Goddamn it, Gloria!” I look around the room at my sisters’ faces, most of them ignoring my outburst in favor of filling their plates with food—food I paid for, at an impromptu gathering I’m hosting.

  Hosting my own hostile takeover.

  Sooo typical.

  It’s like paying someone to beat the shit out of you. The only one who wins tonight is them.

  It’s always been like this and always will be.

  “I’m not in love with anyone.”

  “Fine,” Ana allows. “At least tell us who has you in knots.”

  Who has you in knots—what a romantic way to phrase ‘feeling fucked up inside’.

  “I had one dance and one night with a girl—that doesn’t make us in love, and that doesn’t have me lying awake at night.”

  Camila snickers. “No one said anything about you lying in bed awake at night, which means she has you lying in bed awake at night.”

  She and Rosie high-five each other across the table.

  “Knock it off you guys.” I roll my eyes, my only line of defense.

  “¡Dios mío, hermano, just tell us who it is!” Oh my god, brother…

  They’re frustrated with me? Um. What? No. “Are you out of your mind? You’ll look her up and stalk her social media.”

  Ana shrugs. “So?”

  “No. I don’t need six of you stalking her.”

  “Looking at her stuff isn’t stalking, especially if her accounts are public.” Camila rolls her eyes back at me, sticking a chicken wing into hot sauce and biting into it with her teeth. Her lips are red and her eyes are blazing—she isn’t leaving tonight without information.

  “Espera.” Wait. “Hold up.” Camila stands then, bracing her hands on the table, leaning forward toward my spot on the couch. “Did you say ‘one night’?”

  “Yeah?” So? What’s her point?

  “Mateo José Espinoza, are you implying you already slept with this girl?”

  “Oh my god, Cami, how did you come to that conclusion—all I did was say we had one damn night together!”

  “You didn’t say one date! You said night, that’s how!” She throws her hands up, disgusted. “Oh my god you guys, he had sex with her.”

  “Gross!” Glory shouts.

  “You slept with her?” Ana alleges disapprovingly. “What kind of a pig are you?”

  Oh my fucking god. “It’s not a crime to sleep with someone on a first date, Ana! Get off my back!”

  “So you did sleep with her?”

  We are all shouting at once, my sisters traumatized that their perfect baby brother is a philandering sex maniac who has no respect for women, doesn’t act like a gentleman, did not take this woman on a proper date, and what are they going to tell our mother.

  This is a nightmare, and it’s playing out in my living room—they’re shouting in two different languages, this nightmare I cannot wake up from or kick out of my house or make stop.

  “Dios mío!” someone is saying. “Rosie, this is your fault. You’re the one who acts like it’s okay to sleep with someone before marriage.”

  “What?! Don’t you dare blame me. Mami lets him get away with everything—he’s never been held accountable.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa—that is not true,” I try to argue over the noise, pointing a finger at Camila, who’s lobbing insults at Rosaria, who clearly wants to argue but also wants to eat.

  “I cannot believe you.” Ana turns her dark, judgy gaze back to me. “That poor girl. No wonder she wants nothing to do with you.”

  “Hey!” I throw my hands up. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of her since the night we met. I am not the one refusing to go out—she is. I am not the one who ghosted—she is. I am not the one who snuck out of the hotel room without a word—she is.”

  I’m breathless now, worked into a snit, confessing all my sins and worries and truths to my sisters, who have gone radio silent, that last declaration lingering in the air.

  I am not the one who snuck out of the hotel room without a word—she is.

  Awesome.

  “What the hell is her problem? Are you not good enough for her?”

  My sisters flip on a dime, their new rant an attack on True’s character, defending my honor and bachelor eligibility.

  “You are a professional baseball player!” Cami proclaims. “Women line up to date you—screw this girl! You don’t need her!”

  “Yeah!” Rosie concurs. “You were Chicago’s most eligible bachelor last year—she can go screw herself.”

  Mariana sputters. “She. Sounds. Hideous.”

  “She’s not though—not at all.” My voice is quiet, forcing the girls to listen. “Just scared and embarrassed.”

  Eventually, their heads begin a slow nod around the room, like the wave fans do at the baseball stadium, one head at a time bobbing in acquiesce to my words.

  “Some people do that, you know—run when things get too real,” Ana says thoughtfully. “I’ve bailed on a few guys who were really decent, all because I didn’t know how to deal with my own feelings.”

  “Same,” Mariana puts in. “Now I feel bad.”

  Jeez, I can’t believe these people. “Five seconds ago you were ready to tear her hair out,” I remind them.

  “We really need to help you find her,” Gloria says, her lust for all things social-media-related driving her plea.

  “I can’t let you anywhere near her, including her inbox.”

  Especially her inbox because written words are forever and easily sent to the media.

  “We’ll behave.” Ana is giving me puppy dog eyes, complete with a pouty bottom lip.

  “Please! Please, give us her name. Please, hermano, we’ll be good.”

  Good? When have they ever been good?

  Still, I do need help considering I’ve managed to fuck this up on my own. And no one has better success with this spy shit than the Espinoza girls.

  Seven

  True

  Unknown: Hey True, this is Mateo Espinoza. I don’t know if you remember me, but we…hooked up at your brother’s wedding, and I don’t know if you’re purposely avoiding me or just can’t find a way to get ahold of me? But I wanted you to have my number just in case.

  I stare at the message I woke up to this morning, reading it over and over and over throughout the day, along with the subsequent messages that followed a few moments later, Mateo’s word vomit a sure sign that he’s been thinking about me a lot in the past ten—no, eleven—weeks.

  Mateo: In case you were wondering how I got ahold of you…my sisters did some digging. They’re nosey and always in my business. And I know Buzz said you didn’t want me to have your info, but he’s full of shit sometimes so I couldn’t be sure??? I’ve been holding on to your number for a few weeks and had to be sure, you know? Fuck, True—I really thought we had a connection, not sure why you blocked me on FB. I wasn’t trying to smash and dash, I hope you know that.

  Mateo: I would like to see you.

  I would like to see you.

  I would like to see you.

  My heart beats a billion beats per minute, as if I’ve just run and crossed the finish line of a marathon—and if I wasn’t lying in bed staring at the ceiling, my legs would go weak, and I might even collapse.

  I couldn’t be more surprised if I woke up pregnant.

  Ha ha.

  Tonight we’re having dinner at Buzz and Hollis’s house as a family because we haven’t seen each other in a few weeks, my parents coming down from their place two hours west.

  I choose carefully what I’m going to wear, Tripp sticking his head in every so often, then at
last to let me know his girlfriend, Chandler, has arrived.

  “She wants to come up and talk to you,” he says at last. “I told her your news.”

  Obviously he told her—they tell each other everything. Plus, it’s been two solid weeks since he discovered he’s going to be an uncle, and over two weeks since I’ve seen Chandler.

  She’s been incredibly busy with work.

  Chandler works for her family—they’re the owners of the Chicago Steam, the team my brother Buzz plays for. Actually, she’s Hollis’s cousin, so when we get together, it’s one big happy family reunion for everyone.

  I nod, standing over the bed, staring down at the stretchy denim jeans I have set out. Beside the jeans, propped up by a set of throw pillows, is the teddy bear my brother brought home last week after an away game in Texas.

  It’s light brown with a white and pink polka dot bow on one ear, a good indication that Tripp is gunning for a niece.

  Seeing it sitting on the bed melts my heart; the gesture was so sweet, and so uncharacteristic.

  A soft knock on my door has me pulling the jeans off the bed to make room for Chandler to sit, and she enters quietly, shutting the door behind her.

  We hug.

  “Hey, how have you been?” she asks, plopping onto the mattress. It sags beneath her.

  “Good, all things considered.”

  “Sorry I haven’t been around much. I’ve been working like crazy and applying for other jobs and interviewing, so my head is so far up my own butt.”

  Hearing her say ‘my own butt’ makes me laugh, because Chandler is the most prim and proper member of this clan; I doubt she uses profanity.

  Two people couldn’t be more opposite than she and my brother, but perhaps that’s what makes it work between them.

  “Don’t worry about it—I get it. And you’ve been texting, so it’s not like you’re completely MIA.”

  She texted me CONGRATULATIONS and sent flowers when Tripp told her I was pregnant, as if it was the best news in the whole wide world.

  “I know, but still…” Chandler leans back on the bed, propping herself up on her elbows. “Don’t mind me if you have to change. I just figured we could have a few minutes before we left and had no privacy. You know—in case there was something you wanted to talk about.”