Chapter 19
Dom
I think Riley’s avoiding me. Three days have passed since she left crying, fighting back tears after the moment with the calf.
Three days, she’s woken up at the same time, as her same old routine calls for, but none of the rest has been the same—lights off by nine, no music playing, no snarky remarks, and she hasn’t been at any of the same breakfast or lunch times as me.
And there’s something about it that’s bugging me more than it should.
Who am I even kidding? It has never bothered me before.
It was a major issue with Cassandra, the lack of quality time and interaction.
I was fine at home by myself, never seeing her other than falling asleep beside her.
We went from happily married to just married, and I didn’t see it until she had had enough, snapped, and left me.
The worst of it all? I was fine with it.
Not happy, of course, especially considering I hurt her, and that was never my intention, but fine either way.
It took me a while after she left to realize I was moving through life hopeless and unfulfilled.
I had my dream job, but what about it was dreamy?
I had a wife and a house, but it wasn’t a partnership and certainly not a home.
I had more money than I could think of, but it was gone in the blink of an eye trying to keep her happy, trying to buy some of the happiness I stole when I decided to put a ring on her finger just for the satisfaction of saying I made it instead of wanting to be with her. It was all fucked up.
When everything blew up, I knew I had to start over and find myself again. I knew I needed help at the foundational level. And what better place to do it than here?
Except now, a certain girl is occupying all my thoughts.
I know it’s because I want to take things off Lilly’s plate.
I know it’s because I owe it to her parents for everything they gave me as a teenager.
But a small part of me is wondering if there’s more.
The way she broke down two days ago watching the calf will probably haunt me for a while.
Her eyes were void of light, turning deeper blue like the sea rather than the bright sky.
But then, she flipped a switch. Her sadness was replaced by a mask of happiness I’m itching to find out if I can turn into a permanent one. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this before. I don’t like it.
Not when the woman behind whatever these feelings are is out of reach and off limits.
How fucked up is this?
A call comes through on my phone in my pocket—Dad.
“Hello?” I pick up, and concern washes over my voice. He never calls. It’s usually Mom who does, considering my relationship with my father has never been great.
“?Cómo estás, hijo?'“
“Bien, ?y usted?” Usted. The most formal way of referring to someone, but the only way my family approves of. You need to show respect to your elders, hijo.
“Te estoy llamando para hacerte una pregunta.” I knew he wasn’t calling just because. He has a question, because of course he does.
“Claro. Déjame bajarme de la camioneta y hablamos. Estoy llegando a la casa.” I park the truck, get out, and walk to the porch. Whatever this conversation is about needs my focus. I was almost here either way.
“That cabin is not a home.”
Here we go.
“Are you calling to reprimand me for my choice of moving out here, or are you calling to ask me something, like you said?” Almost forty years old and still getting scolded by my parents over my life choices.
I understand they have the best marriage there ever was, the cookie-cutter American dream, if you will, but they don’t understand there’s more to life than that.
I mean, look at Oliver, my middle brother. He had it all too—the house, the job, the kid—and then his wife died, and the dream was dead.
So what if mine looks different than theirs?
I do want a life with someone else and kids and a job that fills my tank, but it didn’t happen in the linear way they were hoping for. And as much as I liked Cassandra, I don’t think I ever loved her.
“You’re right.”
That’s new.
“I am calling to ask your opinion on something. I know we have had our differences.”
That’s putting it lightly.
“But we found our way around each other, ?veldá?”
“Sí, más o menos.” Less than sort of, but sure, let’s go with it.
“I am struggling with your brother.”
“Oliver?”
“No, Lucas.”
Oh, the second golden child with all the hopes and dreams. Dad played baseball professionally. I sucked at it. Oliver is great, and so is Lucas, except Lucas doesn’t love it as much as they do. I bet it has something to do with that.
“What’s wrong with Lucas?”
He lets out a breath. “You know that best friend of his? Summer?”
Chaos child? “Yes.” Now that I think about it, she’s a lot like Riley—young, wild, free.
“She needs to move somewhere bigger. Lucas tried to do, uh, the explanation, something about her having three kids now, but she can’t pay for it, so your brother is moving with her.”
Three kids?
“What do you mean, three kids?”
‘I do not know.”
“Then why didn’t you ask him?”
I might be a man of few words, but it’s mostly because I use them all with my family. Trying to pry information out of them is exhausting.
“I did but did not understood. You know his Spanish is not good like yours, and my English is not great.”
Only when it’s inconvenient. I tell him often to just speak Spanish to us, but he says that if he doesn’t practice with us, his children, who won’t make fun of him, how is he supposed to learn?
“Okay, and what is the problem?”
“They are not married.”
“So?”
“That is not okay.”
“Why not?”
He’s getting frustrated. His tone and breathing both show it. “Because that is not what we taught you.”
That’s not what the Bible says; it’s what he really wants to say, but he knows I’m not religious. Another crater-sized wedge between us.
“You taught us to be good, smart, and hard workers. If Lucas’ best friend needs help, let him help her. Besides, they’re not dating, right?” Not that dating would be a problem by itself, but dating and moving in together would be in their eyes.
“No. He said that. Just friends.”
“Then why does it bother you so much?”
“His future wife is not going to like that he lived with that girl and the kids.”
I shake my head. I love him, but sometimes, I want him to understand that life is more than the triad he’s built in his head—the Bible, God, and the opinions of others.
“Dad, if Lucas’ future wife, if he even wants one, has a problem with him helping out his best friend in a time of need, it sounds to me like she might not be the woman you’d want for your kid. ”
“Pero—”
“Treat others how you want to be treated, right?”
“Right.”
“If I were in need, and I had someone who could help, wouldn’t you want that?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s the same.”
The line goes silent. I never know if it’s a good indication or not with him.
Growing up, silence was another tool he used to discipline us.
Other kids at school would say that spanking was the worst punishment we could get, but that’s because they didn’t know how miserable it is to be lost inside your head, wondering if you disappointed the most important people in your life.
I used to hate silence and having to guess what was on people’s minds.
It was the same with Cassandra. She would bottle things up until she would explode, and I hated it.
I might be a broody motherfucker, but I want nothing more than to be the opposite.
I don’t want to walk around life wondering what others are thinking.
I want openness and honesty. I want sunshine and happiness. I want joy.
I thought I craved the peace and quiet from this place, but I think what I craved was how there’s no job-risking bullshit to deal with.
Animals are not here to fuck with you, and they’re very transparent.
You can see it in their eyes if you truly watch.
I crave feeling like I belong, like I’m useful beyond my talents or lack thereof, that my hard work is enough because of the human I am.
I felt that way at twelve, and I feel it again.
But then why have I come to hate these past three days, where there’s a lack of sunshine and a ball of energy bouncing around? Why do I miss the loud music bursting out of the thin walls of the cabin? And why on Earth am I thinking about this now?
“Papà?”
“Ay mijo, perdona. My brain is a laberinto sometimes.”
I get that from him, I guess. “Lucas is an adult. Let him be. It doesn’t mean you failed us just because we didn’t turn out the way you expected.”
“My parents would have never done that,” he says.
“It’s also not 1970, Dad. Time moves along, and we are supposed to change with it too.”
He lets out a breath that sounds as close to a laugh as it’s going to get. “When did you get so wise?”
“Gee, I don’t know—a failed marriage, a job I hated, and starting over at thirty-four does that to you.”
“Hey, Dominic, your mother is calling. ?Hablamos pronto?”
“Si, dale. La bendición.”
“Dios te bendiga, mi hijo.”
I end the call and place the phone on the rail, holding on to it with both hands. I close my eyes, shaking my head and letting a breath out.
“You were married?” Riley’s small voice snaps me from my thoughts. I open my eyes to find her in front of me like a deer in headlights, two mugs in her hands.
“How much of that conversation did you hear?”
The mugs wobble in her hands as her eyes frantically look around for a way out. “Not much, I promise. I saw you with your head down, and I thought you could use some tea or coffee, so I made both. I didn’t realize you were on the phone, and—”
I raise my hand to stop her. “It’s okay. Come here.” I tap the chair next to mine, and she does, stretching the mugs my way.
“Coffee or tea?”
“Which one do you want?” I ask her. Something tells me if Riley has coffee now, she’s never going to go back to sleep.
“Um, neither? If I have any form of caffeine, I will be awake until noon tomorrow.” She titters.