21. Cin
Cin
The first store Gemma plugged into the GPS is a trendy boutique with a small selection of clothes that she digs through not finding anything to her liking.
It’s just like her to think something is bigger than what it actually is.
I follow Gemma around the rest of the store, enjoying her company, but not really the store. Their selection isn’t exactly to my… taste.
She’s carrying a few things and eventually we make our way to the checkout where she pulls out a card and swipes it for an exorbitant amount of money. I know the kids here are rich, so the ease with which she swipes her card shouldn’t be a surprise. Yet, I can’t fathom spending that on clothes in one trip, even though I have the money.
Either way, it’s not my business, so I go along with her as she grabs her bag and pulls me out the door, and down the sidewalk. It’s a cute town, with shops ranging from hardware to clothes, to restaurants, both fancy and dress-down.
I call mom as we walk, eyeing a Mexican grill for lunch. Food and I have a love-love relationship. I’m craving tacos.
“Hi, Muffin,” she answers and I can hear the speaker bounce through the car, “I’m almost downtown, where are we meeting?”
“How about La Plena Venter?” I ask, as Gemma spots the colorful place and nods.
“Oh, I’ve been wanting to try their food!” Her voice hits max volume, as if she’s screaming in the car.
“Ma, you know you don’t have to yell,” I laugh.
She joins in and I roll my eyes, but smile wide at the ease with which we communicate.
“I’ll see you two in five!” She clicks the button to end the call and I slip my phone into my back pocket.
Gemma and I find a corner to cross the street and I get a funny feeling rushing over my skin. Like eyes on my body, unwanted hands, it’s eerie and I covertly eye my surroundings. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, people are out enjoying the weather.
Couples walk down the sidewalks in both directions, shop windows are filled with wares and clothing. Nothing appears immediately concerning, still I can’t keep the hair on my body from standing tall.
Gemma rubs my arm and gives me a questioning look, I shrug because how do I explain it? Plus, I don’t want to worry her over something I can’t articulate. It’s simply a feeling .
We approach the hostess stand outside of the grill and she asks if we’d rather eat inside or out, Gemma lets me choose, and I can’t help but choose a table outside. It’s sunny, clear, and the air has a sweetness about it.
I let Gemma pick her seat before sitting down myself, so I can make sure my Mama sits beside me, not her. She tends to be a loud talker.
The waitress comes by with glasses of water and asks if we’d like to have anything else. Gemma orders soda and I order a lemonade.
Mama’s voice drifts over the patio and I feel like bursting from my skin upon seeing her. She’s in her regular jeans that fit her hourglass shape, and a tight top that accentuates her curves, in a color that perfectly compliments her olive skin.
I’ve always been jealous of her green eyes, wishing mine were more like hers.
I stand, rushing to wrap my arms around her sides and squeeze. She laughs as we collide, throwing her arms around my shoulders and smoothing down my hair.
“Muffin,” she breathes, voice catching. It feels like it’s been a long time because we hardly ever go more than a week without seeing each other. I don’t have any other family. My father walked away from us when I was two.
I don’t know much about him; other than that he left, and I have his coloring. Sometimes I find Mama watching me in a somber way. It makes me wonder if every time she looks into my eyes, I’m just another reminder of him, and the choices he made.
“You look so grown up,” she exclaims and I laugh, “what is in the food there?”
“Mama,” I laugh, kissing her on the cheek and leading her to our table by her hand. The waitress is standing there, watching our reunion with Gemma whose face is turned up in a shy smile with slightly glassy eyes.
“You must be Gemma,” Mama says, and I could melt into the concrete with the not so subtle wink she slides me.
“I am,” Gemma says, standing and offering her hand. Mama slaps it away gently and wraps her arms around Gemma’s shoulders, giving her a quick hug and urging us to sit.
The waitress asks mom if she wants anything else to drink, and she orders a beer. Something they have bottled, and I roll my eyes when the waitress asks for her ID. She offers it to the woman and once satisfied, hands her ID back and promises to return.
“So, Gemma,” Mama starts and I jump in before whatever question she starts to ask embarrasses me right out of the gate. “How are you doing at the house?” I blurt.
She eyes me like mothers do when their child does something rude, and I look away biting my lip.
“It’s great, Muffin, but you don’t have to worry about me,” she says, loading up the words. I know she’s good at her job, but it doesn’t mean I don’t worry.
“I’m sorry,” Gemma interrupts my mother and I staring at each other, “and excuse my manners for the bluntness, but I thought you’d be Latina.”
Mama laughs, “I get that a lot, her father is where she gets her gorgeous Latine coloring, afraid I’m just a southern belle.”
“My dad isn’t around,” I say instead of encouraging the line of compliments.
“Cin,” Mama reprimands.
“No, Mrs. Morgan,” Gemma intercepts, “I shouldn’t have said anything, sometimes my mouth works before my brain.”
“It’s alright Gemma, I understand the questions, we’ve gotten them from time to time.” Mama smiles at her, and Gemma beams.
“You’re stunning, I can see where Cin gets her confidence from.”
I blush, my cheeks heating and turning what I can only imagine is an awful shade of pink.
“Alright girls, give me all the tea.”
I groan and roll my eyes, of course she redirects the conversation back to Ravard. I haven’t told her much of what’s gone on. Not wanting to add any stress to her already hectic job. Gemma looks at me and I start giving her all the little rumors and harmless conversations I can think of, all while avoiding mentioning Talon.
Gemma must understand my pleading look, because she doesn’t bring him up either. We eat when the waitress brings our food and refills our drinks.
We laugh and soak up the sun’s shining rays. Time seems to pass too quickly and soon I’ve cleaned my plate of chicken, tortillas, rice, and veggies and drank more lemonade than I ever have in one sitting.
“Bathroom,” I say as I stand, holding my hands up to keep them in their seats noting how my mother immediately started to rise as well, “I can handle the bathroom alone.”
Gemma snorts and I give Mama a kiss on the cheek as I walk by.
The bathrooms are past the bar and kitchen, the lighting isn’t great back here so I have to double check the sign outside of the door before walking in.
Stalls of gray line one side of the wall and the sinks are on the opposite. It’s close quarters, but I relieve myself in one of the three stalls and flush. Unlocking the stall door I step out, into someone's back.
“Sorry,” I mumble, feeling embarrassed.
Hands wrap around my shoulders and when I look up, there’s a man I don’t recognize with a cloth coming toward my face. I struggle against the hands that grip me and crack my head on the metal of the bathroom stall.
It dazes me, my vision going fuzzy and mumblings start as I shout. The last thing I see is the man’s face, and then everything goes black.