Chapter 37
thirty-seven
I wake with a bubble of warmth in my chest.
The same feeling that simmered inside me the entire night—from the moment Graham joined me to work on his floor all the way back to Queens.
Every time I remember Graham’s intensely focused frown, his quick smiles, his very capable fingers drumming over the side of his wine glass or scratching notes into margins, I smile into my pillow like a lovesick idiot.
Like one of those insipid singing princesses.
Ayúdame Dios . I want to sing.
In fact, I have to actively stop myself from humming while I brush out my hair and apply my makeup. But the songs still play in my head, running on a loop. My foot taps while I flick through my work dresses. I choose the sunniest one—a long-sleeved yellow sheath that reminds me of Graham’s tie last night.
When I close my eyes, I see the way he stared at me before he took me against the wall. In that moment, I knew in my soul that he’d never looked at anyone else that way. The completely insane part of me hopes he never will …
Even Abuelita appears to be in a good mood. Yesterday’s upset seems like a thing of the past. She smiles at me when I come into the kitchen. “ Que linda, muneca .”
Usually, Abuelita stews for days. Much like me, her temper burns so brightly that it takes a while for the flames to die down once she gets heated. And even longer for the residual smoke to clear.
I pour my coffee and silently debate which coat to wear. A moment later, a breakfast plate appears in front of me.
Empanadas . My favorite. And not necessarily easy to make.
Surprise turns to suspicion. “Abuelita… is something going on?”
She pauses just long enough for me to know I’m on to her. “ Ack ! No thing go on!” she snaps, acting offended. “I make for you.”
I cross my arms at her. “Yesterday, you were mad at me.”
She waves a dismissive hand. “No I was.”
“Wasn’t,” I mutter automatically.
“Is what I said!” Abuelita retorts. She starts scrubbing a pan in the sink. When I look over her shoulder, I realize it’s already clean.
“Abuelita, que está pasando ?” I demand, plucking the soapy brush from her hand.
She scowls at me. “No things,” she repeats, digging her heels in. She whips a roll of foil out of a drawer and starts to wrap up my breakfast. “You has work. Vamos .”
I don’t want to leave, but she has a point. Marco can’t drive me, and my train leaves in twelve minutes. I gather my things, rolling my eyes when she changes the subject.
I spend the forty-minute ride to Midtown resisting the urge to text Graham. I don’t have anything to say, really. I just?—
Miss him .
The impossible truth makes me shake my head. No. Absolutely not.
But when his name appears on my screen a minute later, I have to bite my lip to stave off a grin. I swipe open a video, along with a text message:
Pinchao
All your fault, bijou.
The clip starts off as a shot of a bowl of cereal. I recognize the granite counter, the gray stone bowl, the gold spoon.
He’s eating breakfast , I realize, unable to stop my smile.
His phone pans over a short strip of countertop. Colors blur from white to tan. Muscled tan thighs. Then silky red. His underwear .
Specifically, the huge bulge in his underwear. My lower belly thrums at the image.
His camera flips, showing a glimpse of his wry smirk while he shakes his head, appalled with himself. Before I can squash it, I giggle.
Wasn’t I just doing the exact same thing? Shaking my head at myself because I can’t believe what he’s done to me in a matter of weeks?
I type back, dodging fellow commuters on Madison Ave while I reply.
Which part? The breakfast or the boner?
My phone buzzes in my hand.
Graham…
Calling me?
The second I pick up, he replies to my text without letting me say hello. “Both.”
The city bustles behind him and all around me. It makes me feel closer to him, somehow. A new burst of happiness shimmers through me.
“That was quite the video, pinchao . I may have to review it again later.”
His laughter warms my bones and gives me chills at the same time. “Review away, Miss Rivera.”
My heels pound the pavement, releasing some of my jitters. “So this is new,” I comment, hiking my bag up my shoulder. “I usually spend my walk to the office reading The Wall Street Journal headlines.”
“God. I knew you were the perfect woman,” he flirts. “I’m calling because I won’t see you tonight. Girls’ night and whatnot, right?”
Why does it feel like my answer holds more weight than it should?
“Ugh. Yeah. That. I’m always making plans to do fun things and then regretting it.” I pause to consider why. “I think I work too hard, and then I’m exhausted at the end of the day.”
“You do work too hard,” he agrees. “You should definitely blow Ella off and come to my place instead.”
As smooth as his boxers. No wonder my stomach keeps doing flips.
“I told you I’d make up the work this weekend,” I reply as airily as I can. “And you have the contracts you need for McAllister, right?”
A rueful edge creeps into his voice. “Work is not what I had in mind, baby. Although…”
Dios . The man makes me smile like a moron. And why do I like it when he calls me “baby?”
He’s becoming my boyfriend without permission, and I like it .
Wanting to retaliate, I shoot back, “Careful, Mr. Everett. If you make me wet, I’ll have to take my panties off before I get in the elevator.”
He answers with a growl. “Christ, Juliet. I’m going to start tracking how many erections you give me every day and then spank you accordingly. By my count, you already have three strikes against you today.”
“Three?” I laugh. “The breakfast boner and right now would only make two.”
A horn blares on his end of the call. “There was one when I woke up that I’m blaming you for, too. You spent half the night at my place and the other half running through my dreams,” he replies conversationally. “Took care of that one myself, though.”
I instantly picture him fisting his big cock. My insides do another somersault.
And I’m blushing .
On Madison Avenue?
Carajo .
My phone beeps, alerting me to an incoming call from Mami. I hesitate, but send it to voicemail just as Graham teases, “What’s the matter, bijou ? Have I finally stunned you into silence?”
“Not at all,” I shoot back. “I’m just wondering why I got a video of your cereal when you could have sent me the sausage.”
Graham laughs harder than before. “I swear to God,” he chuckles. “I almost spit coffee on myself just now. Which would be a travesty because this suit is Italian merino.”
“What color?” I ask, wanting to picture him.
“Blue. Like that suit you wore the first day we worked together. The one with the slit up the back. Goddamn it . I’m going to be hard all day, aren’t I?”
Stryker when I still believed that he loved me and would always come back for me.
Now, the word leaves me cold.
I step up to the unwelcome pair, refusing to speak either of their names. My mind won’t stop repeating hers on a loop, though, trying to attach the sunny word to the worn-down woman in front of me.
Lucia . It means “light.”
Ironic.
My father was correct. She looks young enough to be one of my friends. Young, but definitely not a typically carefree woman in her twenties.
This girl is small, with raggedy brown hair, sallow skin, and terrible posture. As I take her measure, she draws back slightly. Her hand falls to the pronounced bump under her grubby red dress.
“This is Lucia,” Papi says. “She’s going to give you a baby brother.”
The rage roaring in my ears trickles down my back, leaving my neck hair standing on end. Instead of staring at his girlfriend, I focus on him. “I told you not to come back here. You both need to leave. Immediately.”
His face pulls into a sneer. “Not without what I came for, mija . Didn’t you talk to your mami? ”
How does he know about the missed calls from my mom? And so quickly? It hasn’t even been an hour since I saw her voicemail…
Fear joins the anger and revulsion pounding through me. “No,” I grit. “Not yet. I texted to tell her I would call her after work, and she said that’s fine. Is she okay?”
He laughs . “She’s fine, mija . I spoke with her so we could catch up. We talked about your fancy job and all the money you’re making. She agrees with me about the best way for us to use it.”
It feels like someone sucked my insides out with a vacuum. “No,” I mumble. “You didn’t call her. You never call her.”
“She calls me once a week,” he gloats, as if it’s a cute thing—like a child who draws him pictures at school. “I know she doesn’t tell you. She thinks it will upset you. I usually can’t answer, anyway.”
I don’t want to believe him, but it sounds like Mami. She knows I disapprove of her abiding devotion to the man who abandoned her. And I know that my opinions have no bearing on her feelings toward him, despite everything he’s done. It isn’t hard to imagine her secretly calling him, even if he never answers or gets back to her.
“So, this time, you picked up?” I demand, crossing my arms at him. “Why?”
He tilts his head, regarding me as if I’m obviously absurd. “I need her help. To convince you to do the right thing. Once I explained Lucia’s condition, she agreed right away. She wants you to give me the money instead of saving it for her.”
It must be a lie. My mom knows how hard I work for her. I often tell her about my mission to find the right immigration experts and all the costs. I just told her about working for Graham a couple days ago, and how I’ll be able to save up much sooner than we thought?—
Did she… did she tell my dad about the fifty thousand? And offer it to him?
“No,” I insist, hearing the tremor in my voice before I feel it wrack my body. “You’re lying.”
My father’s smile turns indulgent. “Oh, mija . I knew you wouldn’t believe me. That’s why she’s been calling you, to tell you herself.”
It makes sense in a horrible way. My father is clearly desperate. After I turned him down twice last week, he went to the one person he knows he can manipulate without fail. The only person who could ever sway me in his favor.
“Well, your little plan backfired,” I hiss. “If I wasn’t giving you any money before, I’m definitely not giving it to you now that you’ve upset Mami and tried to use her against me.”
He has the nerve to act affronted. “No one is against you , Julieta,” he drawls, looking wounded. “I only told her Lucia’s happy news. And your mami decided she no longer wants to come here.”
That makes sense, too. I barely understand my brand-new feelings for Graham, but if he knocked up another woman under my nose, I would never want to be in the same room as him again. I can only imagine how I would feel if I’d loved him for half my life and spent decades believing we would somehow find our way back to each other.
For a moment, I think my chest might actually cave in. My hand flinches toward my purse; I need to call Mami immediately. But then, my father stops me in my tracks.
“She told me about the fifty thousand.”
Betrayal pricks at my throat. My brain refuses to accept the information. But my heart knows . It heaves painfully, laboring my breaths.
“I think that should be more than enough,” my father continues. “Since your mami doesn’t need it anymore, she wants me to have it. She’ll tell you so herself.”
Pleased with himself, Papi snakes his arm around his girlfriend’s waist. She, at least, has the decency to look embarrassed. Her eyes remain on the floor between our feet.
I want to scream at her. How can a woman sleep with someone else’s husband and then condone him shaking his own daughter down for cash?
She must be desperate .
It enrages me, but it also makes me wonder. How did she end up with a man like him? She isn’t a great beauty, by my estimation, but she isn’t hopeless . Why would a young girl shackle herself to a forty-something alcoholic loser?
“Do you have anything to say?” I ask her too loudly.
A man walking past shoots me a glare. Carajo . If I’m not careful, we’ll have security all over us. Including Marco.
Lucia casts my dad a lost look. “Julio said you’d want to meet me,” she whispers. “He told me we would all go to lunch.”
Exhaling through my nose, I work to keep my tone even. “He lied to you, Lucia. He probably also told you he could provide for you and that baby. I bet he didn’t mention it would be my money, not his. Maybe he also neglected to mention that he’s still married to my mother. Or perhaps he’s told you that but made it seem like you two could show up here and all would be forgiven. Either way, he’s a liar. I told him last week I would not give him a dime, and I meant it. I don’t care how much he tries to manipulate my mother. I won’t be giving you any money.”
Lucia’s chin shakes as she gazes up at my dad. “Julio?”
A spiteful expression twists my father’s face. He speaks to Lucia instead of replying to me. “I don’t know what we will do, amada. If my daughter will not help us bring her brother into the world, it might be best for us to give the baby up.”
My body jerks, physically balking. Lucia’s features crumple. “No!” she shrieks, hugging her belly. “He’s already—I already—How can you say that, Julio?”
My father pins me with a vicious smirk. “It isn’t right to keep a child if we can’t provide for him. If Julieta won’t give us the help we need to get back on our feet, I really don’t see any other option…”
Stomach seething, eyes stinging, I stagger back a step. I want to yell and stomp and rage, but at the moment, I can’t even breathe.
Lucia whirls on me with tears streaming down her face, looking every bit as horror-struck as I feel. For an awful second, our eyes meet.
I feel so ashamed and disgusted, I swear I’ll be sick. My hand flies to cover my mouth. They both stare at me—Lucia sobbing, and my father just… waiting.
Because he knows he’ll win.
I can’t even look at him. But I also can’t walk away.
“How much do you need?” I ask his girlfriend.
When he opens his mouth, I wave my hand in his face to silence him. “Not you, cerdo .” Staring the other woman down, I whisper, “ Her . Lucia, how much do you need?”
She blinks twice before catching on to my meaning. My father tries to pull her against his side again, but she stays firmly planted with her arms around her belly. “I—I don’t know. Julio said—I’m not sure how much I would need.”
My entire body shakes. I know I don’t have much time before I completely lose it. “Figure it out,” I mutter to her, “and then come find me. Not here. Come to my grandmother’s, please. Julio has the address.”
Without sparing my father another glance, I spin, blindly striding to the exit. I only make it twenty steps away before my legs give out, and I fall.