Chapter Thirteen
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The weeks passed in a slow, agonizing crawl of repetition.
Same shit, different day.
The angry screech of my alarm going off at three a.m.
A one-sided existential conversation with the pitted texture of my popcorn ceiling as exhaustion receded and consciousness settled in.
The shift of the chain gliding across the slot of the latch releasing on my bedroom door.
My door catching on the stopper while the offensive, brassy light from the upstairs hallway poured into my room, and Ma’s short silhouette—somehow large and looming—filled the threshold of my door.
The offensive clamor of her palms colliding together, communicating I needed to hurry up.
An uncompanionable silent drive to the bakery because, as her clapping suggested, Ma still wasn’t speaking to me, and when she did, it was to bark orders at me.
The familiar cage of my bedroom, once my only sanctuary in my house, still a cell. I passed my lockdown hours with Tina’s old Walkman she’d given me when she’d replaced it with the newer CD iteration. She brought me a new set of AA batteries weekly, passing the unpackaged pair to me quickly when Ma was distracted. I hid the contraband in my bra until I got home. I’d cycle through the two or three different cassettes until sleep was imminent. I never let myself fall asleep with the headphones on. That would have been a death sentence waiting to happen.
I thought about apologizing to Ma sometimes, just to get it over with so we— I —could try to move on. Expedite the conclusion of my harsh sentencing. People were released early all the time because of good behavior, right?
I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
Probably because I wasn’t fucking sorry, and every time I realized I wasn’t as remorseful as I probably should be given the circumstances, the swelling surge of hurt ballooned in my chest, and I found myself seeking an outlet.
I’d come dangerously close to cutting up the photo he’d given to me at least six times. But every time I fed the glossy edge between the scissors’ open mouth, I couldn’t commit. In defeat, I studied his blocky and untidy penmanship on the back. All of his letters were capitalized. The only differentiator was the size in which he’d scrawled each hurried letter. He lived half a mile away from my old high school, or I should say our old high school.
Then, I tortured myself a little more. I found his photo in the yearbooks. He’d had braces for his junior year photo. They shouldn’t have made him cuter somehow, but they had. In an infuriating kind of way that compelled me to reach for the scissors again to cut his picture out, but just like the offending photo that told me where he lived, his phone number, his AIM handle, and his birthday—May 18 th , 1975, which to Tina’s observation, “No wonder he’s so bullheaded and arrogant. He’s a Taurus.”— I was too weak or masochistic to go through with it.
Masochistic.
Getting off on my own pain.
I’d learned that word recently. Reading materials were scarce these days—I could hide batteries in my bra, but not the stack of overdue library books in my closet I’d already re-read three times—so I’d become well acquainted with the dictionary.
His braces were gone in his senior year photo, alongside what had been left of the boyish, youthful curves of his face, replaced by a well-defined squared-off jaw, shadowed by the dusting of facial hair and enviable, scored cheekbones.
Even in the black-and-white photo, the mischief in his eyes hypnotized me, and for a fleeting moment, I’d felt the scorn of my resentment lessen.
That was until I flipped the page to my yearbook photo in the sophomore section under the Ts. Maria’s picture sat directly opposite to mine on the right.
It triggered me to put the yearbooks away, and listen to ‘You Were Meant for Me’ by Jewel on repeat for a little while.
He wasn’t meant for me. I knew that. I’d always known that. I just needed the rest of my brain to catch up. Sinking into the sadness was a lot easier than trying to grapple with the anger of betrayal I had no right to feel.
Anger had always made me uncomfortable. I knew what to do with sadness. Bottle it up. Store it away.
January had brought more snow. February’s thaw teased a premature spring, but more snow came instead. Endless, hollowed dark days that seemed to all but drag on.
Hundreds of baked goods, the flush of white pastry boxes, waxed paper, and my fingers punching against the cash register. Smiles I didn’t register, and polite conversation peppered with details from customers about their lives I wouldn’t be able to recall the next day.
Day in and day out, it was the same thing.
Autopilot.
On hard days, when I lost control of my thoughts and they wandered too far, safely out of reach, he crossed my mind.
When the bell chimed overhead, I whipped around, silently hoping he’d be there.
He never was.
When the phone rang, I held my breath, watching Tina from the corner of my eye.
I sagged when she tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder, reached for a notepad, and repeated a cake order back.
What had I expected, really?
He’d lied to me, and I’d lied back.
Not exactly the makings of a happily ever after.
Tina bumped her hip against mine gently, coaxing me out of my pained reverie. I greeted her with a stiff smile.
Or I thought it was a smile.
The lengthy sigh billowed out of her, so maybe not. “Let me fix your hair,” Tina suggested, searching my face. Her hands reached slowly for my drooping ponytail, adjusting it with a tenderness I didn’t feel particularly deserving of. “How are you feeling?”
“Never been better,” I offered in a murmur, looking past her to stare at the door. “I only want to run away twenty percent today.”
Which was a ten percent improvement from yesterday.
Her right hand shifted carefully into my line of vision, announcing her next move. Warm, thin fingers extended for my forehead, and even though I’d known it was coming, my spine turned rigid as she shifted my bangs out of the way.
Tina’s pretty, heavily kohl-rimmed, rusty brown eyes narrowed. “This is healing nicely.”
I pulled away, giving my head a shake to rearrange the curtain, hiding my newest insecurity. Bullshit . It was an ugly fucking scar, and we both knew it.
Tina hummed with the makings of an underdeveloped idea. “How about we pull a Thelma and Louise?” She pelted me with a playful grin, but the corners waned, concealing something unspoken. “I got the new Road Atlas , so you can navigate. I’m thinking Florida.”
“I’m bad with directions,” I reminded. As tempting as that was, we’d end up in California. Or Canada. “Why do you want to run away?”
Her smile slipped. “Adventure, I guess.” Absently, she toyed with her engagement ring, offering me a half-shrug.
Translation: Tina and Justin were fighting again.
Anyone within a ten-mile radius of the bakery had heard the tail end of their argument when he’d dropped her off at work this morning. They’d also most certainly heard her tell him to go fuck himself with a jackhammer before she’d slammed the door of his work truck as hard as she could muster.
I didn’t know why she let him drive her to work sometimes. Without fail, they always ended up fighting about something, and then she stewed about it on and off all day. He loved her. That much had always been clear. But he had a unique talent for saying the wrong thing to her at times.
“What happened?”
She waved me off. “His usual shit.” Tina looked around the empty bakery. It was the calm before the lunch rush. In the next twenty minutes, the place would be full of people grabbing a bite to eat or a coffee to go.
“His usual shit can mean a lot of things,” I reminded gently. Justin was a year older than us, and while he’d been born here, he had, uh, outdated views of what a woman’s role was. His opinions were a little more in line with how we’d all been raised. The problem was it completely contrasted with the lens Tina viewed the world through, and who she was. I knew she loved him, but I’d also suspected the only reason she’d accepted his proposal was because she’d been with him since high school, and her parents liked him. No small feat. The Silvas were particular people, and like me, Tina was an only child. They had a lot of stock vested in her and who she married.
“Okay,” Tina blurted. “I have something to say.” She gathered my hands in hers, and my stomach drooped. “Or to confess.”
I paled. Oh, God. Had she finally told Justin she’d had sex with his cousin Carlos three years ago when they’d broken up for two months? Was that why their argument was more explosive than usual? I’d begged her to tell him when they got back together, but she’d outright refused, insisting she didn’t owe him that and it wasn’t cheating.
And sure, she was right, but Carlos wasn’t a stranger. If they got married…
I’d only dropped the issue because she’d snapped at me, “Mind your own fucking business, and don’t be so concerned with who I let between my legs. Are you my best friend or his?”
I was only trying to protect her. These things had a funny way of coming out. I’d ended up apologizing because Tina was right. It was none of my business, even if I didn’t agree.
And I’d most certainly kept my mouth shut when I’d learned Carlos was going to be Justin’s best man.
“Are you okay?” I asked when she didn’t say anything. Tina had a doctor’s appointment on Monday, and I’d assumed it was to renew her birth control prescription.
Birth control. Wait . I searched her eyes. Oh, God. Was… was she pregnant?
She was, wasn’t she?
Her ma was going to freak. Her dad was going to murder Justin. The community was going to talk. Their wedding was still months away, but maybe they could bump it up. I glanced quickly at the flat span of her stomach. She wouldn’t be showing for awhile…
Tina’s thumbs flounced back and forth over my knuckles, her eyes contemplative. “I’m fine.”
Okay, not pregnant. Phew . “What is it?”
“I didn’t have a doctor’s appointment on Monday.”
Oh… oh ! “You had a job interview.”
Tina grimaced, shifting in place before she committed to a weak head nod. “Yeah.”
“Where?”
“For an accounting firm as a junior billing clerk.” Her throat lurched with an uneasy gulp. “In the city.”
In the city… Boston , I gathered. Not Fall River. Which meant if she was bringing this up… “You got it?”
Tina made a noncommittal sound. “They called later that evening with an offer.”
A warmth of pride spread in my chest. “And you accepted?” When she didn’t say anything, I narrowed my eyes. She better have.
Tina confirmed it by biting down on her bottom lip. Thank God. She was getting the hell out of here.
I tugged my hands gently from hers, pulling her into a tight hug. “I’m so happy for you,” I whispered. Gripping her by the shoulders, I towed her back to admire her. My joy lessened at the unexpected presence of her tears. “T, why are you crying?”
“ He doesn’t want to move to the city, and I can’t possibly fathom ”—she spat the word— “ doing the drive every day.” She sniffled. “It’s eleven dollars an hour, Bel. Eleven-fucking-dollars-an-hour!”
My eyes bugged. “Holy shit!” I whisper-yelled. That was more than double what she was making here.
“That’s almost as much as he’s making,” she said, her button nose crumpling. “And I think rather than him being happy about it, his ego is wounded. But who the hell cares, you know? We could afford to live in the city and still save money. Buy a house in a year or two.” She rubbed her forehead, tilting her head back to study the acoustic ceiling tiles before casting her misty, hurt-filled eyes back at me. “But he wants me to stay here.” Tina’s hand spanned dramatically at the bakery. “And do this. Pop out four of his fucking kids in the next six years and be happy about it.” Her posture slackened. “And my parents agree with him.”
Jesus. “They all ganged up on me. It was a total shitshow, and I ended up leaving to go for a drive. My dad apologized to me yesterday. He sees it from my perspective.” Senhor Octavio, Tina’s dad, had a soft spot for her, so that didn’t entirely surprise me. He always came around first. “But my ma is still pissed and is mad at my dad now, too. She’s more concerned that Justin won’t want to get married anymore. That no man will want a woman with a career. But like, if she was concerned about that, why the hell did she want me to go to college for, huh?”
For the bragging rights, of course. That sounded like Senhora Nezia. Tina took a big breath.
“I guess Justin thought I’d sleep on it for a few days and see that he and my ma were right.” She folded her arms over her chest. “But they’re not.”
What a mess. I tucked her short hair behind her ears, swiping her tears away. I hated when Tina cried. Probably because, unlike me, it happened so rarely. “And what do you want?”
“I want to be happy. I want the job,” Tina said, releasing a brittle laugh. “And despite what he thinks, I want to marry that stupid, pig-headed asshole, too.” Her eyes turned earnest and glassed over again. “Why can’t I have it all? Why do I have to pick?”
“You can have all those things,” I insisted, my determined brow furrowing. “He’ll come around. He loves you too much to risk losing you. Especially over something this silly.”
Justin would get over it. He always did. And her ma would eventually find something else to get worked up over, like finalizing the menu for their September wedding.
Tina drew her thin bottom lip between her teeth, deliberating before finally freeing it with a relieved exhale. “You’re right,” she said. The set of her shoulders didn’t ease. Now what? “But…”
“But?”
“I don’t want to leave you,” she admitted in a whisper.
My chest caved, my expression no doubt conveying a silent, What, why?
Scanning her face, I sought an explanation she didn’t rush to provide. This was always in the cards, so…?
She waffled, her stance tapering. “I worry that if I do…” she peered at the kitchen.
Oh. My shoulders hunched, guilt sliding in joy’s place.
Me. She was worried about me.
Well, I didn’t want to be a reason she didn’t do this. I’d never forgive myself. “I’ll be fine,” I assured, waving her concern off.
Tina didn’t hesitate, lobbing back in frustration, “Bel, she’s a fucking lunatic.”
True, but not her problem. Which reminded me… I struggled to stifle the laugh bubbling in my chest, but it came out like a snort instead, so I cuffed a hand over my mouth.
Thoroughly unimpressed, Tina’s hands perched on her hips. Her and Ma had exchanged words after I’d gotten off the phone with Maria a few weeks back. I’d hid in the single-person washroom to cry and wash my face. But every time I thought I was okay, the tears started up again.
Then Ma, as sure as clockwork, got on my case, demanding an explanation I would be damned before I told her. But Ma was Ma. She wouldn’t leave me alone. No surprise there. She hovered over me, breathing down my neck, pursued me around the kitchen, and backed me into a corner with her arm coiled and ready if I didn’t cough up a reason she was satisfied with. God forbid I should cry without her being the source. How dare I?
Tina, witnessing the whole thing, lost her patience. “Do you really have nothing better to do than chase her around the bakery?”
“Get out of my kitchen, Cristina.”
“Why?” Tina sang, her voice sugary. “You think people don’t know what you do behind closed doors? It’s not a secret, Senhora Matilda. Everyone knows you love to hurt her.”
Seething, Ma stabbed a finger at the door. “Get. Out.”
“Nuh-uh.” Tina leaned against the metal worktable, provoking her. “I think I’ll stay. It’s about time you had an audience.”
Ma threatened to fire her. Tina laughed and invited her to do just that. She was too aware of Ma’s idiosyncrasies. Ma didn’t like hiring strangers. Not everyone was as tolerant or patient as Tina. She couldn’t afford to lose her.
For the first time, Ma walked away without hitting me. And to my shock, she didn’t collect for it later, either. More importantly, it was the only time I’d ever witnessed Ma publicly concede defeat. It was iconic.
Ma’s reaction alone—my abdomen trembled around another suppressed giggle—priceless.
Okay. Maybe it wasn’t that funny. But it was a little funny. In a fucked-up kind of way. But funny... right? Or I’d developed a dark sense of humor at my own expense. Taken too many shots to the head. I dunno.
Anyway, I was glad Tina was leaving. Relieved, even. This place was a dead-end shithole. It was better she got out now and she had my full support.
“Bel.” Tina’s thin brows crept north.
I motioned a sweeping hand in front of my face, neutralizing my expression. It took two attempts. “Okay, okay. I’m good.” My tone turned adamant. “You have to do this. I’ll be fine.” I curled my toes against the socks inside of my shoes, grounding myself. “You can’t build your entire life around other people.”
“Neither can you,” Tina retorted quickly, her chin jutting. Jeez. How long had she been sitting on that rebuttal? “Which is why…” She squared her shoulders, giving me a look I didn’t like. “When I get settled, I want you to come live with me.”
Great. This just got serious for no reason. I liked it better when I was the one doling out sage advice and encouraging her to take risks.
My face flushed hot, and my tongue turned chalky in my parched mouth. Peeling my stare from hers, I shook my head and mumbled, “I can’t do that.”
In my peripheral, I caught the impatient bobbing of her sneaker drilling against the floor. “Why?”
For one, I wasn’t really interested in living in her and Justin’s eventual newlyweds’ love nest. And two… tension knotted in my shoulders. “You know why.”
“She’s never going to change. Don’t you see that?” The statement all but slapped me. I stumbled backward, but Tina snagged my hand with hers. “And what’s worse, she treats you exactly as you let her.”
“Let her?” I parroted, sarcasm lacing the echo. Maria had said the same thing. No one let Matilda Tavares do anything. She just did.
“Yeah.” Tina’s hands squeezed tightly around mine as though to fortify her point. “ Let her.”
I freed my hands. “I don’t let her do anything, Cristina.” Insinuating otherwise was cruel, even for her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, flustered. “Poor choice of words. But”—Tina inhaled a long, regulating breath—“at some point, you’re going to have to realize that the way she treats you isn’t centered in love.” No shit. But I still flinched, gripping my elbows to stabilize myself. Tina was on a roll today. “Everyone can see that except you for some reason.”
I could see that just fine, thank you very much. Didn’t mean it changed anything for me.
Releasing my elbows, I disengaged and retreated to the other end of the counter, needing space and a distraction.
Tina rejected the social cue and pursued me. “It’s not normal, Bel.”
Normal? I rolled my eyes. Grabbing a clean cloth from the basket, I busied myself by liberally spraying the food-safe enzyme cleaner and wiping down the counter. “What is normal?” I asked flatly, scrubbing at a scuff that had been there for as long as I could remember but was suddenly the most interesting thing in the whole world.
“Wanting something different for yourself.” Tina paused, clarifying with emphasis, “ Wanting something.”
The muscles in my bicep screamed, my scrubbing growing frenzied. If “wanting” was the baseline for normal, I was as ordinary as they came. I had no shortage of wants. I just knew better than to get attached to them.
Or I had known better up until six weeks ago. I kind of hated myself for that. For still wanting him. But I’d get over it. Distract myself until I did. I replayed the conversation I’d had with Maria every night. Drilled the imagery in my head. Told myself whatever horrific story I needed to so it didn’t hurt so bad.
And it wouldn’t. Eventually.
Someday, he wouldn’t live behind my eyelids anymore, and I wouldn’t hear him in every song. I wouldn’t think of him when my fingers traversed between my legs, and the anger wouldn’t infiltrate my mind when it was over because I’d discovered, I could, in fact, get myself off. All I’d needed was the right inspiration to concentrate.
It was funny how the same person who’d hurt me this badly was also the only person who made me feel safe enough in my body to climax. Not funny “haha” but—oh, forget it. It wasn’t funny at all. None of this was funny. It was totally fucked-up.
So what I now wanted most was to get over him. Desperately. Forget he ever existed or that I’d ever allowed myself to be so fucking stupid.
See? I wanted things. Lots of things. “This is what I want.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Tina argued.
“Why?” I turned my head over my shoulder, giving her my straining profile. “You know I wanted to go to pastry school.” This was… close enough.
“And you could have had you applied.”
“Sure.” I spun around, glaring at her. “With what money?”
Her mouth fastened shut. She didn’t have a comeback. You couldn’t exactly qualify for a loan when you didn’t have a bank account, or you know, money to put into that bank account. And who was going to co-sign for me back then? Her parents? My uncle? Oh, I know. Maybe my dad!
Sike!
“This is my future.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Until she decides otherwise.” Wincing, I looked elsewhere. I hadn’t meant to say that part out loud.
Quietly, Tina asked, “Do you really not see the problem with that?”
I threw the rag to the counter, my chest heaving. “Of course, I see a problem with that, Cristina, but what do you want me to do about it?” I questioned hotly. “Run away?” Actualize what I daydreamed about when the weight on my chest felt heavy and I felt like I was drowning?
Where did she get off, anyway? The boat she was in right now wasn’t all that different from the one I was in. Our parents’ word was law. The only way Portuguese girls in this town left home was with a ring on her finger. We both knew that. That was the real unspoken reason she needed to get Justin on board. Otherwise, if she flew the coop the “improper way,” she was risking estrangement, and Tina was too close to her parents to take that bet.
“If that’s what it takes, then yes.” My expression collapsed and I gaped at her. Had she officially lost the plot? Tina massaged her forehead. “I just…” she faltered, an irritated curdling bubbled in the back of her throat. “What Maria said to you wasn’t entirely wrong.”
Had hell officially frozen over? “What?”
Tina crossed her arms over her chest, visibly uncomfortable with her alignment with my cousin. “You have options. You’ll always have options, just like your ma will always try to manipulate you into believing you’re nothing without her.”
Bewildered, I asked, “My option is to… move in with you?” The idea of leaving Ma, trusting myself, relying on Tina—shit, living with Justin—terrified me because I knew there would be no returning home with my tail between my legs if I couldn’t make it work.
“It’s one option, yes.” Tina dropped her arms to her side, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the outside of her thighs. “So is accepting a loan from me after the wedding, interest-free, if you won’t move in with me. Until you can stand on your own two feet.”
What the fuck? “Thank you, but I’m not a charity case.” I didn’t want her handout, and I didn’t want to owe her anything. I’d figure this out the way I always had: on my own.
“No, you’re not a charity case. You’re my best friend, and I will never forgive you if you resign yourself to this being your entire life.” She took the rag out of my hands when I picked it up, tossing it out of reach. “You are not her punching bag. How many more near-death experiences do you need?” My forehead throbbed. “She could have killed you.”
I couldn’t imagine… I couldn’t fathom ever not being here. I wasn’t brave like Tina. This was always going to be as good as it got, and I didn’t have to like it. It was familiar. Safe, even when it wasn’t.
“This is all I have.”
“This isn’t all you have, Belmira. This is hell inside of an underbaked custard tart. Just because it looks pretty doesn’t mean it tastes good.” She shook her head, scoffing. “I wish you’d see that.”
I did see that. Better than she could comprehend. Sometimes, I worried I might be addicted to the pain Ma brought because no matter how much it hurt, it was dependable. I could count on it to always be there.
It reminded me even if I wasn’t living for me, I was alive, however numb I was.
“And for whatever it’s worth, I really do think he liked you,” Tina said. Tacitly, I pleaded with her not to say his name because I’d avoided saying it myself. Of so much as thinking it. Agony splintered in my chest when she let it free. “Felix.”
My eyes lidded and I tensed. God, that hurt. I pinned her with a glare. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
“He should have told you. I’m not denying that, but I don’t understand why it’s so difficult for you to conceive that he was interested in more than just sleeping with you.”
That wasn’t the issue. “Because he failed to mention he’d been with my cousin first,” I reminded sarcastically. “Besides, you went on a fifteen-minute tangent about how shitty of a thing that was to do.” She’d called Maria a “slut”, too. As much as I appreciated Tina’s willingness to try to make me feel better about myself, I drew the line at insulting my cousin and had demanded she take it back.
“I reconsidered.”
“Only because it fits your agenda now.”
“Well, excuse me for wanting you to experience a morsel of happiness. My fucking bad, Bel.” Furious, she offered me her departing figure, storming to the other side of the counter. “You know, not everyone is designed to hurt you in life. But if this”—she twisted around, thrusting a hand in front of her with a flourish for dramatic effect—“is what you really want, then fuck it.” Tina threw her hands up in the air. “I’m done.”
“Why are you getting mad at me?”
“Because you don’t see what I see!” she whisper-yelled. “You steal your own joy over and over again.” I shrank, my shoulders meeting my ears. “I’ve wondered for years why you do it. Why you deprive yourself of the possibility of escaping. Of entertaining the idea for longer than a minute. But you’re an abused dog, Belmira. You think every hand is going to smack you.”
“Someone always has!”
“And whose fault is that?”
“Are you blaming me?” I accused.
Tina held out a defensive hand at me like a stop sign. “You’re not fifteen anymore,” she said thinly. “You’re going to be twenty-one this year. If you truly believe this is all life has to offer you, then I feel sorry for you.”
What the hell was her deal? “I don’t want your pity.”
She heaved out a laugh. “Yeah, that’s the problem.” Tina regarded the bakery door. The one she entered and exited at will. “Your future is right beyond those doors, and you’ll shackle yourself to this shit because you’ve convinced yourself it’s safer.” Tina fixed her hands on her hips. “But it’s not. It’s an illusion, and you’re not as na?ve as you want to bully yourself into believing. You just buy into the bullshit she force feeds you daily because you’ve convinced yourself you like the taste even though it’s poison, and I can’t make you want to save yourself.”
Scowling at her, anger vibrated inside of me. “I didn’t ask you for that.”
“You’re right,” she replied. “You never ask anyone for anything.” I tracked her as she moved for the cash register, lowering to her haunches and reaching into the open cubby hole. She pulled out an envelope, Ma’s name scrawled on the front of it.
Her resignation letter.
“You know, you might be mad about Felix’s past, but at least he has one,” she said, straightening. My head snapped back, my face going ashen. “The only reason you don’t is because you won’t even start living.”
The hinges on the kitchen doors announced her exit, and I ground my molars together in frustration.
She was right. I didn’t want to admit it, but she was right.
I just didn’t know how to fix it. It wasn’t as easy as initiating a conversation with Ma.
But then again, neither was accepting this as my fate.