Chapter 21
twenty-one
Natalia
California, Four Years Ago
“Who is Ernesto?”
Sylvia lingers by the doorway, occasionally stepping out of the way for Ramona as she carries tray after tray of food into the formal dining room.
“I don’t know, but Papa’s making a big deal out of this dinner. I think he’s some business partner. Papa mentioned him a couple of times. He’s from Arizona.”
“A business partner, huh?” Sylvia almost looks excited. “Would be a shame if something happened to Papa’s fancy dinner.”
I stop garnishing the salad Ramona made for dinner and turn to face my sister. “Sylvia. No.”
“I’m just saying. Papa never brings his work home. This must be a really big deal. We should make sure to leave a strong first impression, Nati.”
Why must she always insist on being an agent of chaos?
Wasn’t nearly dying of an overdose two months ago enough of an impression for her?
Sylvia’s bounced back, back to her normal self, but I haven’t been able to shake the pit of dread in my stomach.
Every time I look at her, I see the ashen, unresponsive version of her in the hospital.
But it’s like no one cares. Papa didn’t bother with coming to the hospital, Sylvia’s still struggling to stay sober, and I feel like the only person with half a brain.
I bite my tongue and stomp down the nasty thought, sprinkling some more parsley on the food in front of me and holding up the tray for her.
“Want some?”
She wrinkles her nose. “I don’t want that rabbit food. Why did Ramona even make that? No one here eats salad.”
“She made fresh tortillas, too.” I nod at the plate across the granite counter, stacked high with Sylvia’s favorite flour tortillas. “I could plate some up for you, if you’re hungry.”
My older sister turns up her nose, hiding her hands in the now too-big sleeves of her hoodie.
“No. I’ll save my appetite for dinner.” I don’t point out that when we were girls, Ramona used to kick her out of the kitchen for snatching the tortillas while they were still hot.
Sylvia didn’t stay in the hospital long after her overdose, but sometimes, I wish she had.
Because even though she’s back home, there’s something…
off about her. She’s drowning in her clothes.
She sleeps in my bed, right next to me every night, tossing and turning more than she does sleep.
She’s fidgety, and irritable, and usually one bad interaction from blowing up.
It’s exhausting.
But I want my sister back so bad, I keep pasting a serene smile on my face every morning, even when I’m dying for space and she follows me like a well-trained guard dog. Even when I want a moment alone with Matias so bad, I could cry.
Sylvia better quit drugs for good this time, or I swear to God I’m strangling her myself.
***
“The food isn’t this good in Arizona.” Papa’s new friend laughs, deep-set wrinkles taking over his face. He runs a hand across his paunchy stomach, leaning back in the chair and nodding. “I have to visit more often, Hernandez.”
“You’re welcome in my home whenever you want. Eres bienvenido,” Papa replies, a matching smile on his face. Sylvia and I glance at each other surreptitiously, wondering where Papa pulled out this bro from.
Ernesto Cepedas is like my dad in too many ways to count.
I don’t like it.
I reach for a tortilla in the center of the table and falter, cursing Papa for getting this gaudy-ass French dining table no one can reach across. Ernesto follows my gaze, grabbing the plate himself and reaching across the table to hand it to me.
“Here you go, honey.”
“Oh. Thanks.” His eyes gleam as he gives my hand a good squeeze before letting go.
Oh, gross.
Sylvia catches the exchange, her brows creeping into her hairline as she nudges me under the table.
“Nati, I think you’re the hot one now.” She murmurs under her breath, a ghost of a smile flashing on her face when I kick her under the table. Something about the way my dinner curdles in my stomach makes me think this isn’t funny. At all.
A loud clatter echoes outside the dining room. I pause, straining to make out the raised voices until the glass double doors swing open.
I drop my fork when I see him.
Something about the way Matias and I always find each other in a room should be studied. We watch each other for a fraction of a second before he comes to stand in front of Papa.
“You got a second?”
Papa’s gaze narrows. “We’re having family dinner, Rojas. This is important, can’t you see?”
Matias glances around the room, looking at everyone except me. He pulls out his phone, presses a couple of buttons, and then holds it up to Papa’s face.
“Yeah, well. So is this.”
I bite my lip, stomping the urge to crane my neck around the table to see what they’re watching. Sylvia, however, doesn’t bother. She swings around the table, only leaning back into her seat when Papa swats her away like an annoying fly with a quiet curse.
What are they looking at?
Whatever it is, it must be serious. Papa takes the phone from Matias, swiping through whatever is on there for a long moment.
Ernesto barely pays us any mind, filling up his plate laden with a third serving.
Sylvia finally takes this opportunity to take a couple of bites of the food on her plate, quietly pushing rice back and forth with her spoon.
No one is paying us any attention, and that’s the reason why I stare at Matias so openly. He’s got dark circles under his eyes, his frame is a little leaner than I remember him.
Is he not eating?
Would it give me away if I offer him some food?
I open my mouth to say something when he swings around to look at me, his gaze hard and unblinking. He’s so good at keeping up pretenses.
I look around the room again.
Everyone is too caught up in their own world to see me offer him a soft smile.
Which is great, because no one notices what an ass I make of myself when he doesn’t return it.
Matias is mad at me.
Well, not mad. But things between us aren’t right.
He wants to leave. He wants me to go with him. But…I glance at Sylvia and press my lips into a thin line. She hides her hands in her hoodie so no one sees the way her hands shake, but I see it.
The hollows under her eyes make her look cartoonish, and I know that if I leave now, I may as well be kicking her back into the drug habit. She needs stability. She needs someone she can count on.
I can’t leave yet.
Matias understood. He does what he can to stay, but Papa is getting impatient with him. It’s always more, more, more with my father. And there’s only so much Matias can give, considering he’s really just a contractor who’s in too deep.
I wish I got to spend time alone with him like I used to. My classes finished just in time for Sylvia to get released from the hospital, and I didn’t fight when Papa said I wasn’t allowed to walk the stage for graduation.
Between Sylvia and his late nights, we’re lucky if we get a few minutes in the hallways on a good day.
The moment is broken when Papa hands Matias the phone.
“When?”
“This afternoon.” Matias answers calmly, walking around the table like he’s about to leave.
“Where are they now?”
“Van Nuys, I think,” Papa humphs at whatever that means, but I’m too busy controlling my breath when a warm hand strokes my waist.
I take a bite of my food, pasting a bored expression on my face as Matias strokes me ever so gently.
“Can you handle this?” Papa asks, waving a hand at Matias’ phone.
“Sure, but it’s going to cost you.” Papa rolls his eyes.
“Of course it is.”
“Or you can go deal with it yourself…?”
“Fine.” My dad is too busy cursing under his breath to notice the way Matias’s hand snakes up, playing with my shoulders, stroking the back of my neck, turning my face beet red without anyone having a clue.
Heat radiates off of him, and even in my chair, his warmth seeps into my blood. My hands itch with the urge to touch him, but by the time I muster up the courage, he’s gone.
“That boy is too bold.” Ernesto says once Matias is out of the room, pointing with his fork. “He kills a couple people and thinks he runs the world. Hmph.”
I hate this man, I decide on the spot.
“He’s overstayed his welcome.” I swing my head to look at Papa.
“What does that mean?” I blurt out without thinking, stuffing a bite of food when Sylvia turns to look at me.
“I’m done with him.” Papa replies without looking, nodding at his friend. “Ernesto here is going to take over supplying.”
“That’s right. I’ve got crates coming in from Arizona in three weeks. The way I move my stuff is pretty neat. It’s taken years to perfect it, but no one really suspects the refrigerated trucks if you dress them up right.”
“But…”
“But what?” Papa stops to look at me, arching a brow. “You have opinions? Got a college degree and think you’re going to tell me what to do?” I don’t like the way Papa is looking at me. Like he’s got something to prove. He’s worlds away from the smiling man who played with me as a girl.
I shut my mouth and push food around on my plate.
“This is why you need to have a firm hand with girls.” Ernesto butts in, nodding to himself, completely oblivious to the look I level at him. “Don’t worry, Antonio. I’ll teach her.”
Her? Her?
My head snaps up. “Excuse me?”
Ernesto glances between Papa, Sylvia, and I, his gaze faltering.
“I haven’t told her yet.” Papa supplies.
Sylvia leans forward. “Told her what?”
“Antonio and I made a deal. I’m marrying your sister.”
Sylvia laughs. “That’s a good one.”
The rest of the table is silent.
Sylvia’s smile fades, her neck craning to stare at our dad. “Papa, what the fuck? What is this, the eighteen-hundreds?”
“Your sister and I talked about this.” Papa says stiffly, avoiding my gaze.
“The fuck you did! Nati, say something!”
Blood rushes in my ears, drowning out all of the words fighting to escape my lips. How could Papa just auction me off to this…stranger? He’s the only parent I have left. He’s made comments like this before, about marrying me off. But I never thought he’d stoop to this level.
“I’m not doing it.” I’m surprised when the words are low and quiet and calm. My voice sounds ominous. Dangerous.
Maybe a handful of kisses in the dark isn’t the only thing Matias has given me. Because I don’t feel an ounce of fear standing up to Papa.
“This isn’t up for discussion. You got your little class, didn’t you? Now it’s your turn to compromise.”
“You compromised on five months of my life, that doesn’t give you the right to dictate the rest of it!”
Papa slams his hand on the table, the glass beside me rattling.
“I have the right to do whatever I want as the man of this house! I have fed you—both of you. Paid for everything the two of you spoiled brats have asked for! A silver spoon for both of you, and never asked either one of you to lift a finger. Contributing to this alliance is the part you do to be a part of this family, Natalia. Everyone pays a price to be here.”
Growing up, I always went out of my way to be a good daughter for my father. Even when he didn’t deserve it. Even when he was wrong, and stubborn—he was never cruel.
I did it because each time I thought of rebelling, of making his life harder than it had to be, I remembered Papa on the day of Mama’s funeral. Crying over her grave like a child, begging her to come back.
He grieved alone. A part of him died with Mama, and I did everything in my power to bring him back to life by molding myself into the version of me that most resembled my mother.
By making Papa’s life as easy as possible, by doting on him every chance I got.
He’d never been a perfect father, but he showed up for us even when his life fell apart—and I always loved him for that.
But this?
I don’t recognize this man.
I don’t recognize the anger flashing in his eyes. The ardor in his voice. I spent my life bending over backwards to ease his grief, to keep the peace between Papa and Sylvia, and this is what I get?
“Sylvia, let’s go.” I push my chair back, satisfaction coursing in my veins when it scrapes violently against the floor. I hope it ruins the fucking Persian rug he spent a fortune on.
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Natalia.” He says on my way out the room, and I can’t help but pause right next to him, look him in the eyes, and say:
“Mami would be rolling in her grave right now. She would be so ashamed of you.”
It’s the right—and wrong, thing to say. Because Papa springs up with a speed I’ve never seen before, his hand rearing back and striking me hard across the face.
Sylvia catches me before I go down, a flurry of inelegant curses flying from her lips. I can’t make out what she says, though, because my ears are ringing from the blow.
My face burns, something throbbing, and I can’t focus my vision—my eyes are blurring too hard. I don’t know if the tears are coming from the pain in my jaw and eye, or the deep crack in the middle of my chest.
I look up at Papa through teary eyes.
No, not Papa.
This man isn’t my father anymore. I don’t know who he is.
I steady myself just in time to catch Sylvia screaming, swiping Papa’s drink and plate off the table. The loud crash echoes through the room so violently that my ears hurt, but I don’t have the energy to say a word.
Papa hit me. Something warm trickles down my face. Am I bleeding?
I open my mouth when Papa swings for Sylvia next, but we all freeze when she reaches for the carving knife next to the chicken and points it at Papa.
“Don’t do something you’ll regret, girl,” He growls, chin held high. But he doesn’t take his eyes off the knife. Sylvia is impulsive enough to swing the blade. And they’re both too alike—too equally stubborn to end this situation peacefully. They’re going to kill each other.
“Sylvia. Sylvia, stop.” I force out quietly, tugging on the sleeve of her hoodie. “He’s not worth going to prison for.”
It takes her a long moment, but eventually, Sylvia lets the knife fall to the dining room table, fixing Papa with a scorching look.
“I hope all your stupid fucking drug money is good enough to keep you warm and fed when you’re old and senile.” She spits out. “Because you just lost the last person on this planet that ever gave a fuck about you.”
Papa’s gaze slides to me. He knows who Sylvia is talking about, and it sure isn’t herself.
“Let’s go to bed, Sylvia. I want to get this blood off my face,” I say quietly, staring Papa in the eye—and looking right through him.
“Yeah. It fucking stinks in here.” She says loudly. “Of people who are dead to us.” And for once, my big sister leads me out of a room, and our roles suddenly reverse. And I have to wonder when she became the stronger of the two of us.
And if this means she’s finally strong enough to stand on her own.