Chapter Twenty
Cece
I’m so fucking stupid.
That’s the thought that keeps circling while I stand in Mami’s kitchen pretending I’m not waiting for a man who said he’d be here an hour and a half ago.
Stupid for believing him when he looked me in the eyes at the track and promised he’d show.
For letting that promise settle somewhere soft in me like it meant more because it came from him.
And for thinking maybe Revel was different enough that I could stop waiting for the part where wanting me became inconvenient.
But the worst part is, I didn’t even question it.
I believed him.
By eight-thirty, dinner is cold. Not we can toss it back in the oven and pretend nothing happened cold either.
The chicken has gone dry around the edges, the rice is starting to clump, and the sauce Mami spent half the afternoon making has that thin little skin forming across the top.
I’m standing at her kitchen counter with a dish towel in my hand, wiping down the same spot for what has to be the third time while she rinses plates at the sink.
Qué vergüenza.
My phone is facedown beside me, but I flip it over again anyway.
Eight thirty four.
Nothing comes through.
My screen stays stubbornly empty—no missed call, no text, not even one of his stupid memes or a quick running late, mama from the man who usually answers me so fast I’ve accused him of having no fucking life.
I stare at it a second longer than I should, then lock the screen and set it down harder than necessary.
Mami glances over her shoulder. “Cece.”
“I’m fine.”
“Ajá.” She looks at the counter, then back at me. “You’ve cleaned that same spot three times.”
“Maybe I want it clean.”
“Mija, you hate cleaning.”
“I hate dirty counters more.”
That earns me the look.
The mom look.
The one that somehow digs through every layer of bullshit without her having to say a word.
I turn away before she can get too far.
“He probably forgot.”
The second it leaves her mouth, my chest aches.
Mami dries her hands slowly and leans back against the sink.
“Do you really believe that?” I ask.
“No. I’ve told you, that man looks at you like you hung the fucking moon, mija. He sounded happier about dinner than you did.”
My throat tightens. Mami reaches over and squeezes my arm.
“Whatever happened, forgetting you was not it.”
And somehow that hurts even fucking worse.
Because I know she’s right. Revel doesn’t forget. Not when it comes to me.
He remembers stupid shit I say once and never bring up again. He remembers how I take my coffee, what candy I like, what time I need to leave, and what side of the bed I sleep on. He remembers every little thing like it matters.
And today, he looked me in the eyes and promised he’d be here.
I reach for the towel again, mostly because I need something to do with my hands, but Mami catches it before I can start wiping down the same spotless counter for the fourth time.
“Mija.”
“What?”
She takes the towel from me and sets it aside. “Stop trying to keep yourself busy so you don’t have to feel this.”
A laugh slips out, dry and completely humorless, but my throat is already tightening.
“Feel what?”
Her expression softens in that way that somehow makes it worse, because now she’s looking at me like she knows exactly what I’m trying not to say.
Absolutely fucking not.
We are not doing this.
I grab one of the containers off Mami’s counter and start shoveling rice into it because apparently if my hands are busy enough, my brain can’t spiral.
It can.
I snap the lid onto the container harder than necessary. “He knew what this meant to me, Mami. He knew it mattered.”
That comes out quieter than everything else, which somehow makes it worse.
Because it did matter.
Not because I’ve been secretly dreaming about introducing some man to my mother like this is a fucking Hallmark movie.
I don’t even know what Revel and I are.
That was kind of the whole point.
I let him into something real.
Dinner at Mami’s house. With my family, you know, normal shit.
The boring shit Revel stood in that hotel room and told me he wanted.
Then the first time I actually give it to him, he doesn’t show.
The ache behind my ribs turns sharp enough that I have to look down at the container in my hands.
This is why I didn’t want to do this shit with him.
I know how this story goes.
I knew what was going to happen when Revel came flying into my life with that stupid fucking grin, chasing me. Like I was the only girl he wanted.
Apparently I’m pendeja enough to believe him.
My eyes start burning.
Nope.
Mami notices anyway because mothers are invasive like that.
“Baby.”
“Don’t.”
She comes around the island, and I immediately step away because if she hugs me, I’m fucked.
“I just feel stupid.”
“You are not stupid.”
“Yeah, I kinda am, because I knew better.” I fold my arms. “He promised he’d be here.”
“I know.”
“And he isn’t, so please stop trying to make me feel better about him.”
“I’m not making you feel better about him. I’m trying to stop you from comparing him to your father after one bad night before you even know what happened.”
I laugh once. “Mami, I literally told Revel my biggest fucking fear was that he’d chase me until he got me and then lose interest. I handed that man the instructions on exactly how to hurt me.”
My voice shakes, and that pisses me off even more. Mami’s expression softens. Ay, no.
“He said he wanted the boring stuff too, and I believed him.”
There it is.
The actual fucking problem.
I believed him enough to stop waiting for the catch.
A tear slips down my cheek, and I wipe it away immediately.
“Fuck.”
Mami reaches for me again, and this time I let her take my hand.
“You’re allowed to be mad.”
“I am.”
“But trusting him wasn’t stupid, mija.”
I look away. “Feels pretty fucking stupid from where I’m standing.”
My phone is still sitting on the counter.
Dark.
I check the time.
Nine.
For the first time all night, the anger shifts enough to let something colder underneath.
Where the fuck are you?
Revel doesn’t do silence.
The man treats being ignored like a personal fucking challenge. If I leave him on read, I get another message. If I tell him to fuck off, he sends a heart. If I disappear for an hour, suddenly there’s a selfie, a picture of whatever he’s eating or some dumb question about whether Guac misses him.
Months of trying to get that man to leave me alone, and now I suddenly can’t get a fucking text?
I grab my phone and call again.
Straight through to voicemail.
Mami’s brows pinch. “Still nothing?”
“No.”
“How many times have you called?”
I look away.
“Cece.”
“Four.”
“Maybe something happened.”
“Nope.”
“Mija—”
“I’m not doing that.” I shove my phone down onto the counter. “I’m not sitting here building excuses for a grown-ass man who could’ve sent two words if he was running late.”
“I didn’t tell you to make excuses.”
“This is how it starts. Traffic. Dead phone. Lost track of time. Then suddenly I’m doing emotional gymnastics while he gets to do whatever the fuck he wants.”
Mami goes quiet for a second.
“Not every man is your father, Cece.”
“Could’ve fooled me tonight.”
“And I still don’t think Revel is.”
I snort. “You talked to him for five minutes.”
“And he spent all five practically vibrating because I invited him to dinner.”
Despite myself, my mouth twitches.
“That boy is crazy about you.”
“Great. Apparently not crazy enough to read a clock.”
My fingers find the little gold necklace at my throat before I realize I’m touching it. My eyes sting all over again.
Mami pulls me against her before I can stop her, and suddenly I’m crying into her shoulder like I’m sixteen instead of a grown woman who knows better than to lose her shit over a man missing dinner.
Except it isn’t dinner.
It’s Miami. The ocean. Skydiving. Takeout in bed. His stupid shirts. The necklace. The way he told me pieces of himself nobody else gets and somehow got me to hand him mine in return.
I kissed him in front of everyone today.
Me.
I did that because I trusted him.
“I hate him.”
Mami rubs my back. “No, you don’t.”
“I fucking want to.”
“I know.”
“It would be easier.”
“I know, baby.”
Eventually I pull away, wipe my face and grab my phone.
Fuck crying.
Anger I can work with. I unlock my phone and bring up my message thread with Revel.
Me: You know what? Don’t bother coming.
Send.
Me: This is exactly why I didn’t want to do this shit with you.
Another.
Me: You chased me for months, got what you wanted, and the second we get back to real life you can’t even fucking show up when you say you will. Qué sorpresa.
My fingers shake over the keyboard, anger and hurt mixing into something hot enough to make me reckless.
Me: I should’ve known better than to believe all that pretty-boy bullshit.
I stare at the screen for half a second, jaw tight, then type the one I know is going to hurt.
Me: Lose my number, Papi.
Send.
My stomach drops the second it goes through.
Puta madre.
Mami exhales beside me. “You didn’t have to do that tonight.”
“Yes, I fucking did.”
“No, you just wanted to hurt him because you’re hurt.”
“Bueno. Mission accomplished, then. He deserves it.” I shove my phone down onto the counter. “I’m going home.”
“You can stay here.”
“No thanks, Mami. I want my bed and my cat.”
She studies me for a second before coming over and cupping my face.
“You are allowed to be angry with him, but do not turn trusting him into something you should be ashamed of.”
My throat tightens again.
“If he didn’t deserve what you gave him, that is his failure. Not yours.”
I nod because speaking feels dangerous, kiss her cheek and grab the leftovers she packed for me.
The second I step outside, the warm night air hits my face and I stand beside my Honda for a minute trying to get my shit together before climbing in.
Then I see them.
Two empty water bottles sitting in my cup holders.
His.
I stare at them for maybe three seconds before something inside me snaps all over again.
“Are you kidding me?”
I grab both, roll down the window and whip them straight into the trash can beside Mami’s driveway. One hits the rim, bounces once and falls in.
“Fuck you and your stupid fucking hydration.”
Petty?
Absolutely.
Do I feel slightly better?
Also yes.
I start the Honda, turn my music up loud enough to shut my brain up and pull away from Mami’s house.
The whole drive home, I tell myself I’m done.
Done waiting for a text or checking whether he’s read mine.
Done believing anything that comes out of that pretty fucking mouth just because he looks at me like I’m the only woman alive.
My phone stays buried in my purse on the passenger seat.
I don’t touch it.
Even though every fucking part of me wants to.