Chapter 39
SARINA
Something I learned early on when dealing with narcissists is that if you make something about them, they will engage with whatever it is. And if it’s to apologize for something? Forget about it. They will move mountains and rearrange their entire schedule to be there.
Knowing this, I used these sad truths to my advantage and called my dad under the guise of needing to talk to him and apologize because I knew it would be the only way I could get him here, even if apologizing is the furthest thing on my mind.
Nerves flutter in my stomach as he walks through the entrance of Luxe.
Disinterest and disgust capture every inch of him as he nears me. There’s no hug. No “hi, how are you?”. Nothing in his demeanor that would even indicate that we know each other, let alone our paternal connection.
Observing the emptiness around us, he settles his gaze on the bar. “This place open or what?”
“If that’s your way of asking if you can get a drink, help yourself.”
“Isn’t that the bartenders job?” he huffs, insulted.
“Technically Luxe is closed today, but the new owners let me come in anyway. Like I said, help yourself.”
My dad scans the liquor options. With all the disapproving noises he’s making, I assume nothing is to his liking. He finally settles on a bourbon, reaching for a glass that he polishes with his suit jacket before pouring himself a generous amount.
A few seconds pass by before he seats himself across from me with a wry grin smeared on his face.
I inhale, trying to ignore how smug he looks as I collect my thoughts. “Thank you for coming.”
He takes a swig of bourbon, swishing it around in his mouth before swallowing. “Tastes like shit,” he murmurs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Anyway, I appreciate you being the bigger person and realizing you have not only a lot to apologize for but to be embarrassed of.”
All poise I attempted to maintain flees from me. “Excuse me? What do I have to be embarrassed of exactly?”
For someone who claims the bourbon tastes like shit, he sure has no problem draining his glass all while ignoring me.
“I asked you a question,” I press him.
He sucks in his teeth, once again mumbling under his breath. “I should’ve known.”
My patience is wearing thin. Years of repressed anger raises to the surface as he continues. “The fact that you don’t see your behavior, and quite frankly, your perpetual need to disrespect me as embarrassing is in fact embarrassing all on its own.”
Before I can say anything Tomás appears in the doorway. I nearly forgot that I asked him to meet me here as well. I left out why, but unlike my father who needs extensive reasoning and his ego stroked, if I say I need Tomás, he’s there, no questions asked.
My dad turns his head to the squealing hinges as the door closes.
“Great, this guy.” He doesn’t bother keeping his voice low this time.
He makes his disdain for Tomás loud and clear.
I know that his hatred isn’t at Tomás himself.
Whoever I chose to be with who was observant enough to see how I’ve been treated all these years, who was caring enough to want to help give me a voice to stand up for myself, would be on my dad’s shit list. Still, I’m tired of the disrespect, and all of that ends here and now.
As Tomás approaches the table I correct my dad. “That guy is my husband.”
“Sure, whatever you say,” he grumbles.
I knew inviting him here wasn’t going to be pleasant. It wasn’t meant to be. What it was intended to be was me severing all ties with him for once and for all, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. It just so happens that it’s happening sooner into the evening than even I anticipated.
Despite Tomás having every right to hate my dad, and I know that he does, he still is a gentleman, even if my dad doesn’t deserve him to be, and extends his hand for him to shake. As expected, my dad refuses to shake his hand or even acknowledge him, and I can feel my pulse throbbing my temples.
Enough is enough.
Tomás is my husband.
He’s my home.
And I’ll be damned if anyone, let alone this scumbag I share DNA with, is going to disrespect him any more than he already has.
“My husband said hello to you.”
“I heard him,” he says chewing on the ice remaining in his glass.
“Ahh, okay, so you chose to be a dick on purpose?”
“Language, Sarina.”
I square my shoulders forward, resting both elbows on the table. “Fuck. You.”
My dad stares at me with such disappointment you’d think I stabbed him.
“You know what you fucking…”
Whatever he was going to call me remains a mystery as Tomás walks behind my father’s chair.
He rises to his feet mumbling about how he came here to be apologized to and not disrespected.
Tomás slaps his hand on my dad’s shoulder and pushes him down.
“I don’t think my wife is done talking to you yet. Sit.”
To my surprise my dad stays put, likely out of fear, but I’ll take it.
“Thank you, mi amor,” I say to Tomás as he stands guard behind my dad,
“You’re breaking your mother’s heart, you know.”
Here we go with the guilt-tripping.
“Mine too,” he tacks on as if breaking a heart that doesn’t exist means something to me.
Nothing.
That’s what I feel.
Absolutely nothing.
I’ve suffered through years of this.
Being manipulated, talked down to, made to feel guilty when I haven’t done a fucking thing aside from exist that warrants it.
And that all ends right now.
“Spare me your guilt tactics, Michael. You’re going to need to switch things up. That song and dance is getting played out.”
He stutters his words and my hand raises stopping him.
“It’s okay. I won’t keep you much longer, and as much as it pains me to disappoint you yet once again, I should admit that I lied.
I didn’t call you here to apologize or stroke your ego with all the things you want me to say.
And I certainly have no interest in feeding into the illusion you like to maintain that you are a good father, because you’re not.
You are a horrible father, an even worse person, and the source of more trauma than you even realize. ”
His fists pound down on the table as he turns back to face Tomás.
“Is it this prick? Is he filling your head with lies about me?”
This time when he tries to rise from the chair, he’s met with more than Tomás holding him down. My brothers appear from the back room they’ve been standing idle in, swarming the table and surrounding us on all sides.
“That man you insist on calling a prick is the best thing to ever happen to me.”
My dad scoffs. “I doubt that. Do you even know who you married? I did some digging, and do you know he was arrested for disorderly conduct?”
I don’t flinch.
“Yes, I do. We’re a team. We don’t keep secrets.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
“Why don’t you acknowledge my husband’s presence and ask him about it yourself instead of jumping to conclusions and using it as ammo.”
Tomás chimes in, digging his palms into my dad’s shoulders as he does. “You’re a fucking piece of work. You, a wannabe mobster, is going to try to paint me the bad guy for getting arrested in college for having one too many drinks?”
“Sorry, asshole, last I checked, having one too many doesn’t lead to a disorderly conduct charge.”
“You’re absolutely right. And I regret it.
But when it was the one year anniversary of your father passing —the man who was everything that you’re not as a father and a human being, by the way— and you don’t know how to cope, and some douchebag picks a fight with you because he found you crying out on the stoop of your building, so you fight him back, sadly, it can lead to that. ”
My heart breaks hearing the story again.
“But this isn’t about me and you. This is about you and your daughter who you fail to see value in.
I’m fine with being the asshole in your story, because if me being an asshole is the influence and push your daughter needs to stand up to the bully that helped bring her in this world, then so fucking be it.
You don’t deserve her in your life, and the saddest part of all is that you are incapable of grasping that. ”
Pushing down the tears that are hellbent on falling, I point to my grandmother’s ring.
“I know you consider yourself a religious man, and I hope you know that she’s looking down on you for what you did to me and to all her grandchildren.
Changing my last name to Ramos from Tesoro was the final tie I had to you and despite how you feel about it, I want nothing to do with you. Or Mom for that matter.”
“Seriously? After all your mother and I have done for you?” I tune out as he goes on to list the essentials that parents like him choose to hang over their kid’s head.
Like food, shelter, water. He’s right. He did provide those.
But a house without love isn’t a home and unconditional love with conditions isn’t unconditional, it’s superficial.
“Are you done?” I interrupt him.
“You really are a cold bitch, aren’t you?”
My brothers lunge toward him in unison, and I can tell it’s taking everything in Tomás’ power not to flip the chair around and punch him. All three of them stop themselves and look at me for direction on how to proceed.
Sure, he deserves all three of their fists. But I don’t want violence. I want to be heard.
“What can I say? I guess I learned from the best.” I rise from my chair and motion for Tomás to come to me as I look to my brothers. “They’ll let you out.”
Hanging on to what little dignity he has left, he warns, “I hope you know, this is your last chance to apologize to me for all of this.”
With Tomás’ hand in mine, I look my father dead in the eye. “The only thing I’m sorry for is not telling you all of this sooner. Have a nice life, Michael.”
My brothers grab him and walk him out, and neither come back in, likely assuming Tomás and I need some time alone.
Tomás immediately asks if I’m okay.
“Yes,” I respond, tears streaming down my face.
“You sound relieved, but you don’t look it.” He brushes his thumb against each stream, catching and wiping them away.
“These are happy tears, I promise. Fuck, I need a drink.”
“Already on the bar waiting for you.” Tomás points to the bar where my usual drinks wait, all in a line.
“You’re disgustingly perfect you know that?”
“Odd way to compliment me, but I’ll take it.” Tomás shrugs, bringing me in for a kiss.
“You know what I mean,” I scoff.
We make our way to the bar and we both go to speak at the same time.
“You first,” Tomás urges.
“I didn’t call you here just to witness my official no contact get out of my life notice. I called you hear because I wanted to give you something.”
My hand becomes lost in my cleavage as I fish for the gift I have for him.
He turns to glance at the door. “You know, I like where you’re going with this, but your brothers will be back inside any...”
Once he swings his head back to my direction and I have his gift pinched between my fingers he is rendered speechless.
“Dame tu mano.”
He gives me his right hand.
“No, silly, this one.” I help myself to his left hand and slide his present onto his ring finger.
My heart swells seeing that the band fits him perfectly.
“Now, it’s official,” I tease.
Tomás grabs me, pulling me in close to him. “I didn’t need a ring to make it official. I’ve been yours since the moment you seduced me into that mirrored room.”
“Don’t act like you didn’t want it.”
He grins. “Oh, I did. I do. And I always will.”
“You promise?” I ask, voice shaky. Like a ton of bricks, it hits me just how fortunate I am that our paths crossed in this very place at random that night. I’ve never felt a love like this. I never thought I deserved a love like this either.
“Of course.” He seals his promise with a kiss. “But you know…”
“Yes?”
“Since I’m the new co-owner and you decided to close for the night, I wouldn’t mind being seduced again.”
There’s an innocent charm to the way he’s staring at me now. Always full of want, of desire, but always wanting to act on what I want first.
“I think I can do that.” I hum playfully. “I mean you are co-owner, since you and my brothers so graciously threatened the previous owner with a lawsuit since he was actively mistreating dancers for standing up for themselves.”
I grab hold of his tie, yanking him closer to me. “And of all the things I have done and plan to do to this body of yours, I’ve yet to grind on your lap.”
“You’ve grinded those hips on me, don’t lie.”
“I meant to say that I haven’t while being fully clothed.”
He tosses his head side to side. “Ehhh, I’m not sure that’s accurate either.”
I sigh. “Tomás! Do you want a lap dance or not?”
He nods his head with an enthusiastic yes.
“Yes please, wife.”
“I like being your wife.”
“Good, because I love being your husband.”