Chapter 57 Contrite
Contrite
Somewhere in Mexico…
“Hoy fue divertida, tenemos que comprar allí de nuevo,” I hear Talia say as I
get closer to her door.
[Today was fun, we have to shop there again.]
I take a deep breath and press the doorbell.
Getting to Mexico wasn’t challenging, thanks to Genius keeping tabs on her. But getting her signature after all the shit I’ve put her through? That’s the real challenge. After two minutes, my patience starts to wear thin, so I press the doorbell again.
What’s she doing?
Another minute passes and finally, the door opens to reveal a Latina I don’t recognize. I glance past her, looking for Talia, then back at her.
She checks me out with a smile.
Another one! DJ Khaled’s voice.
Not now.
“Buenas noches, guapo,” she says, running her fingers through her dark brown hair.
[Good night, handsome.]
“Where’s Talia?” I ask, brushing her off.
“No hablo inglés,” she replies with a smile, just as I hear Talia approaching.
[I don’t speak English.]
As soon as Talia spots me, she drops her cup, which shatters on the floor. She curses loudly, surprising her friend at the door. I try to keep my cool.
“Talia,” I say casually after her outburst. She stands a bit away from me, her hair cascading over her shoulders, wearing a nude romper. She’s still cute. Bill nuh bredda.
She glares at me. “You know, I only have one question for you.”
‘Why mi deh ya,’ a that she a guh ask enuh.
“What’s that?” I respond, even though I already have an inkling, shaking those thoughts from my mind.
“Entra,” her friend says, and Talia fans herself off.
[Come in.]
I chuckle to myself; she doesn’t want me inside. But it doesn’t really matter because I’m here for just one thing.
Talia glances at her friend. “?Por qué lo llamas adentro?” she asks with an attitude.
[Why are you calling him inside?]
“?Así es como tratas a un visitante?” her friend snaps, defending me. I can’t help but smile internally; I sense she’s already developing feelings for me.
[That’s how you treat a visitor?]
Talia sighs.
“?Quién es él?” her friend inquires again as she takes a seat, examining me from head to toe.
[Who is he?]
Talia rolls her eyes. “él es mi ex.”
[He’s my ex.]
I smirk at them.
I tend to keep my thoughts to myself for various reasons, yet here they are discussing me, unaware that I understand every word. I was rude in high school, but I was undeniably smart, which is why they never kicked me out, even when I gave them plenty of reasons to.
“What’s the question?” I ask, grabbing her attention.
“Yeah, why the hell are you here?” she asks, eyeing my ring. “Leaving your beautiful wife at home.”
My smile widens.
“You don’t care about that, Talia,” I point out. Why would she be concerned about Zara?
“You’re right, I could care less. But why are you here? That’s what I want to know,” her voice tinged with bitterness and jealousy.
“I need your help with something,” I say, getting straight to the point. She shifts her weight and leans against the door. Her gaze feels like it could burn a hole through me.
“What’s that?” she asks, crossing her arms beneath her chest.
“I have a document that needs your signature,” I reply, and her expression makes it clear she thinks this is pointless.
“What do you need this document for?” Talia asks, surprised that I’m asking for her help. I can see it in her eyes.
“Talia, I just need your signature; I don’t see why you need to know,” I say, remaining calmer than I truly feel.
“Well, I can’t help you,” she says, dropping her arms and stepping back to close the door.
I place my Clarks at the door, making it impossible for her to shut it. Then I step in a bit more.
“I know you’re not fond of me right now because of my past actions, but just hear me out,” I plead, and she attempts to close the door. Realizing my shoe is blocking her way, she tries to push me away.
“Hear me out, please!” I urge her, and she pushes against my chest, stirring memories from when Zara and I broke up, and she did the same to me. Why do women always put their hands on men?
She realizes she holds the upper hand over me for the first time and is determined to use it against me.
“No, I don’t want to hear you!” she insists, trying to force me out of her house, even as she struggles. Frustrated with her grip on my shirt, I grab her throat, and she quiets instantly. This always seems to silence them.
Our gazes lock intensely.
Then I notice her friend grabbing her handbag, likely feeling uncomfortable and deciding it’s best to leave.
“Llámame,” Talia’s friend says as she brushes past us on her way out. Talia nods while glaring at me.
[Call me.]
“I’m here to purchase something, and they need your signature. I flew all the way here to get it done,” I explain.
“That’s your business,” she hisses.
I loosen my grip and look at her. “And you have to sign the document for me to get it,” I continue.
“You need to leave!” she shouts. Her neighbor pulls open her door. I force a smile as she waves and closes it behind her.
Then I step inside.
She leans against the door, visibly frustrated. I take a seat on the sofa, watching her as she leans on the door with her eyes closed. Finally, she opens them, walks to the far end of the room, and places the document on the table.
The silence is deafening.
“I don’t have a father because of you,” she finally breaks the silence.
“We both equal,” I respond bitterly, and she stares at me.
“Don’t you think your father deserved it? Of course, you’re going to say no since it’s your father,” I retort.
“Wasn’t your father someone who murdered people?” she asks. I remain silent for a moment before responding.
“Yes, but for valid reasons. Your father killed innocent people for no reason at all,” I reply.
“Are you sorry? Sorry for what you did to my dad?” she questions.
No.
I narrow my eyes at her.
“Where’s your camera?” I ask angrily.
She jumps. “I-I don’t have a camera,” she stutters. I could coerce her into signing the documents, but I can’t. If I do, she’ll report me, and there’s no way to deny it, especially since a few people saw me here. I even used my ID to enter the building.
I’m not even from Mexico.
That would be dumb.
I hiss.
And my attitude earlier probably made her even less inclined to sign it.
“Will you sign it?” I ask her in a calm tone, and she stares at me longer than necessary.
“Please?” I add softly, and her expression softens. Finally, she sits down, pulling the folder toward her. I sit beside her, and as she reads the document, I can’t help but realize that, despite everything, I’m still in love with her. I thought those feelings had faded, but they haven’t.
My mind wanders to what Uncle Orion was explaining when I caught him with my mother.
Is this what happened between my mother and Uncle Orion?
I’m not trying to hurt anyone intentionally; it’s just how things are unfolding.
I know I love Zara more, there’s no question about that.
I’ve always had feelings for Talia that I simply didn’t understand.
But my love for Zara is overwhelming. She’s therapeutic, gradually healing me from all the trauma and internal battles I’ve faced. Aside from my favorite place that brings me peace, no one else, except Zara, can provide me with that comfort.
I need her just as much as I need oxygen.
“You heard that?”
“Nickoi, your phone is ringing,” Talia says, pulling me from my thoughts. She glances at the screen, and I pick up the phone when I see it’s Zara.
“Hey, Mami,” I say, standing up as Talia disappears down the hallway, likely giving us space to talk.
“How is Mexico treating you?” she asks, sitting on the bed while fixing Zahira’s hair, her eyes focused on something in her hand.
“Everything’s good,” I smile, glancing at my daughter. “What’s she watching?” I ask, and Zara looks at Zahira with a smile while breastfeeding Zahir. I smile at Zahir, then Talia sits down.
I need to wrap this up before it causes more problems…
“She’s watching Chip and Potato,” Zara says with a smile, lifting the iPad for me to see.
I chuckle.
“I’ll call you back later because I have some things to wrap up,” I say, and she nods.
“Okay, babe, later.”
After hanging up, I find Talia still reading the documents, pen in her hand. I assume she’s okay. A few minutes pass, and it seems like she’s just staring at the paper rather than reading it. My brows furrow when she drops the pen onto the document.
“I don’t think I’m going to do this,” she says solemnly.
“What?” I ask, eyebrows furrowed.
“You heard me, Nickoi,” she replies, staring into my eyes. I look away, facepalming before meeting her gaze again.
“I just told you how important this is,” I say, and she nods. She shifts a little away from me, and I sigh. Jealousy is creeping in, all because of the phone call.
“Yes, I’m aware that you need me to sign this document, and that’s exactly why I don’t think I will,” she says angrily.
“Just because you know I need it, you won’t do it?” I ask, and she shakes her head.
“No matter all that happen, my love for you, it tells me to sign it for you. But… everything I want with you, you give to her. You cheat on me, you make babies with her, you marry her, and never, not one time, you think of my feelings. Not once… you don’t care about who you’re hurting.
We had something too… but you, you jump with all your heart into that with her, like I was nothing. ” she explains, and I remain silent.
I don’t know what to say.
Just be quiet.
She continues, “I wanted a baby with you, and you made it clear you hated babies. Now look at you… why didn’t you tell her the same?
Or were you waiting for ‘the one’? Now that I realize you need something, I won’t give it to you because I want you to understand how it feels to do something knowing how badly it affects someone else,” she tells me before taking a sip of her drink.
She smiles, a sad smile. “You know what? I’m not beating around the bush, and I don’t care if you’re going to shoot me in the head or not. I’m not doing it, and that’s final,” she says, her voice cracking.
I exhale.
“And I genuinely wanted to make you happy by signing it, regardless of what you did to me, but when I think about it, you never once considered my feelings. So why should I?” she adds.
I stare at her for a moment and accept that this is it. I’ll just call it a day and leave. I can’t say I didn’t try, right? I get up, picking up my phone and the folder. “Ah, sorry fi waste yuh time,” I say simply as I walk away.
Before closing the door behind me, I give her one last glance. She’s sobbing, looking away with her hand over her mouth. I can’t deny it; I feel guilty. And she’s right; I never considered her feelings.