Chapter 22
twenty-two
Dread chills my gut as I shuffle against the icy wind.
After a horrible morning fighting off Dominic’s repeated suggestions that we work together over the weekend, I was unceremoniously called out of the office by my father.
It meant missing Graham’s drop-in to sign his contract. I debated texting him to tell him where I was, but he wound up messaging me. Making sure I wasn’t home sick and asking if I was all right.
I didn’t tell him where I was going, but knowing he was worried about me helped, somehow. God knows why , but…
Dios .
I can’t… like him…?
That would be silly.
Right?
A flurry of memories blows through my brain. Graham picking non-existent lint off his arm anytime he admits that he’s wrong; taking last week’s meeting by storm with his slow-burning charisma and quick confidence. The way he reached for me when he heard me crying. The feral grin that melts my mind. His stupid velvet slippers.
Soon, I’ll know even more about him. As I round the final corner to my destination, a final text appears. Two lines. Liquid heat pools in my center as I skim them.
7 p.m. tomorrow, The Ludlow, unit 20A.
I’ll be waiting , bijou .
That nickname. When did I start buzzing every time he says it? It was annoying just days ago… wasn’t it?
I shake Graham out of my head, focusing on the hotdog stand outside the MetLife Building. Sure enough, there he is. Julio Rivera—huddled into a threadbare brown coat, bouncing on the balls of his feet as I approach.
“ Mija ,” he calls over the wind. “You keep your papi waiting so long in the cold?”
As if he didn’t drag me out here .
“I need to eat quickly,” I mutter, then glance at the hotdog cart beside him. “I’m assuming you waited for me so I would pay?”
Julio puffs his chest out indignantly. “I can pay for two hotdogs, mija . I only thought you would want to pay now that you’re working.”
His claim alludes to an old fight between us. He wanted me to go to work straight out of high school and often remarked that I “freeloaded” off his mother by living with her while I attended college and law school.
Of course, now that I pay her rent and all her other expenses, my father feels he should be entitled to a slice of my income as well.
Rolling my eyes, I reach for the twenty stashed in the pocket of Abuelita’s black trench coat. I hold up two fingers, peeved beyond words, and hand the money to the vendor. He wordlessly hands back my change and two dogs.
I duck into the covered archway at the front of the MetLife Building, seeking a bench and some refuge from the relentless cold. My father follows, shambling gracelessly behind me.
“I’m here,” I say flatly, busying myself with a bite of my hotdog. “What do you want?”
I recognize the wounded expression on his face before he starts speaking and cut him off. “Don’t bother with the guilt trip, Papi. I’m not giving you any money. I can’t believe you would even ask me to pay your girlfriend’s expenses, considering you’re still married to my mother .”
You gigantic piece of mierda .
A deep frown creases his weathered face. “We are family, mija . Your mother would want you to help your baby brother.”
The very mention of my father’s love child sickens me. I lower my half-eaten hotdog and gape at him. It blows my mind that he has the audacity to use my mother—his wife —against me in an argument about his side piece .
But then, when I really think about it, I realize he’s correct.
Mami would tell me to give him the money. She would worry about him.
Because, even after years of outright abandonment, she still loves him. This pathetic, selfish, weak man owns her heart. She routinely asks about his well-being and clams up when I mention my plans to procure a divorce for her as soon as I get her onto American soil.
If she finds out he carelessly knocked up his latest girlfriend, it will crush her.
“You think I’m going to mention any of this to Mami?” I hiss. “Hasn’t she suffered enough?”
Julio scoffs, sending a stale burst of rum-scented breath at me. “Your mami does not suffer because of me. She has her men, and I have my women.”
A burst of fury straightens my spine. “You know she has no choice,” I spit at him. “ Because of you. She never would have…” I still have trouble saying it out loud. Even thinking about it hurts . “…done those things if you hadn’t left her to fend for herself with no other options.”
My father eats his hotdog with an unbothered air. “You would like Lucia,” he tells me, as if we haven’t discussed my mother at all. “She’s not much older than you. You two could be friends.”
His pronouncement hits me like a physical blow. To my horror, tears swell in the back of my throat.
No , I roar at myself. No more tears for this man .
I vow, then and there, that he will never get another single thing from me. Not a penny. Not a look. Not one single drop of my grief.
I stand, feeling as brittle and cold as an icicle while I stare down at him. “I would never be friends with a woman who could sleep with another woman’s husband. I am leaving. Do not call me or text me again. Do not contact Abuelita. And enjoy your lunch. Because it’s the last very thing I will ever give you.”
I drop my food in the nearest trash can and stride off blindly. Fuming, chilled to my very soul, I have one inconvenient thought I can’t shake.
At least tomorrow, I’ll be with Graham .