Chapter Eleven #2
“If you were my son…”
He stared at the glass doors his niece and sister-in-law had disappeared through, shadows from the snow casting against his profile. Clearing his throat, he changed course, the fine lines near his eyes depressing when he fixed his death stare on me. “Do that again with my niece before you marry her”
—he bowed his long frame my way, his tone turning to sharp grit— “and I promise you, I’ll kill you myself.”
“Already planning on it,”
I deadpanned. He narrowed his gaze, mouth opening to unleash a verbal tirade. Shit. That had come out wrong. Before he could detonate, I clarified, “The marriage part.”
My determined hands contracted at my sides. Withdrawing, his mouth snapped shut, his thick, skeptical brows stooping. “I’m marrying her.”
Everyone else just needed to catch up and get with the program. Her ma included.
John blustered, undoubtedly not anticipating the response or my audacity. Heaving a stiff exhale, he studied me with an unrelenting suspicion that would have extracted a false confession out of a weaker person, waiting to see if I’d break under the pressure. I didn’t.
“This isn’t a game, boy.”
“I know that.”
“ She’s not a game,”
he stressed, holding out a threatening finger at me. “You’re not going to have her in and out of the back seat of your car like one of your other girls.”
Of course, he’d bring that up. Couldn’t blame anyone but myself for that one, either. I deserved it. When I didn’t respond quick enough, he flicked me between the eyes. “Do you hear me?”
Massaging the ache, I nodded, rocking my jaw. “I hear you.”
He had no reason to trust me. I’d messed up. But I hoped he remembered he’d told Belmira I was a “good boy.”
Although I was certain he was sincerely regretting that now. “She’ll see the four walls of a church before she ever sees the inside of my car.”
He conceded with a brief nod. “Then you better start praying her mother lets you.”
John hooked his thumb weakly to the ballroom. “Your parents are looking for you. Get back to your table.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice.
My parents had greeted me with folded arms and matching unimpressed glares. It reminded me of when I’d got caught sneaking back in the house the night of my seventeenth birthday. Thought I was real slick coming in through the basement window. Joke was on me. They were waiting for me at the top of the basement stairs.
Ma smacked my arm with all the force she had when I sat down. “I could kill you right now, Felix.”
“John might beat you to it,”
I muttered, shaking off the dull throbbing.
Felicity’s nose wrinkled, her hazel eyes chockful of disdain. “You’re such an inconsiderate asshole. You’re always thinking with your dick.”
“ It’s not like that,”
I argued. Not this time.
Pedro, her fiancé, struggled not to laugh. My sister redirected her ire at him. “Mind telling me what’s so funny?”
That shut him up.
Dad leaned back in his seat, running his fingers along his thick mustache with contemplation. “I don’t have to remind you that you know better than that.”
Yeah, I knew better than that. I’d given into the carnal temptation of Belmira’s mouth, how good she smelled under her ear, and her mouthwatering pus—I stopped the runaway train. Grinding my molars, I nodded, not meeting their eyes.
“Of all the girls at this party…”
Ma’s attention worked the room, some stares still lingering on our table that she acknowledged with a stiff smile. “It had to be her ,”
she gritted.
I reached for the bottle of sparkling water, pouring some into my glass. “What’s wrong with her ?”
Ma sputtered, her shock taking over. “It’s not her I’m worried about.”
“It’s her mother,”
Dad supplied.
I sipped my water. “And her dad?”
“Never you mind about him.”
Ma made a fizzing sound with her mouth, her wrinkled nose mirroring Felicity’s. She dusted her dress with her palms. “It’s best you get this idea out of your head.”
Since we were all playing coy… “ What idea?”
Ma regarded Dad, willing him in silence to translate her concerns into words, to back her up, but he shrugged, chuckling. “You can’t entirely blame him, Esmerelda.”
He played with the end of his tie. “ She grew up to be a pretty little thing.”
Dad was always trying to make light of shit.
Ma’s face reddened . “José.”
She hissed his name like a threat, shifting with discomfort in her seat, no doubt realizing people hadn’t gotten bored of us yet. “You’re not helping.”
“What do you want me to do? He’s almost twenty-three. I can’t get him to remember to take the trash to the curb. You want me to tell him who to date?”
He broke out into a broad, shit-eating grin. “But, you know, nothing would make us happier if you and Maria ? —”
“Yes! Maria!”
Ma jumped in, relieved. “You like her, don’t you?”
Great. This subject again. My gut clenched. Like I needed a reminder about another one of my transgressions. “Nope.”
Ma sagged. “Are you sure?”
She touched her mouth, craning her neck to peer in Maria’s direction, who was deep in a conversation with her parents, hands moving as she spoke, face marred in a scowl. “She’s very beautiful.”
Maria’s beauty wasn’t the issue. Never had been. But in their minds… my hackles stood up. “Not. Interested.”
I willed them to drop it.
“Fine. He’s not interested, then he’s not interested,”
Dad said, flicking a breadcrumb in Felicity’s direction playfully. I got my lack of impulse control from him. He was such a kid. Irritated, my sister shot it back at him, the crumb ricocheting against his cheek. Pleased by her aim, he swiped it off his lap, then patted Ma’s hand. “Leave it alone, minha vida .”
Dad leaned back in his seat. “He wants the one with the mother who’s”
—he pointed at his temple, twirled his index finger in a circular motion, gesturing for ‘loopy’ with a low whistle. “So it is what it is.”
He dropped his hand, appraising the line up at the bar. “Does anyone want another bottle of wine?”
Ma shook her head, calming at the change of subject. “You’ve had enough. It’s not good for your blood pressure.”
“You’re right. We’ll get a bottle of red.”
He moved to shove his chair back.
“Your blood pressure!”
“My blood pressure is fine. Red is good for you.”
Dad waved her off. “Besides…”
He flexed his bicep under his suit jacket. “Strong like a bull.”
Lord only knew what the hell he was quoting. He watched too much television. “It’s my snoring you’ll have to worry about.”
That was the end of that. Or it should have been.
“That’s it?”
Felicity accused. “He humiliates you both, tarnishes her reputation, and you two are…”
Her hazel eyes pinged between them. “Debating red over white?”
Fuck off, I mouthed at her. Why was she making this worse? I wasn’t trying to humiliate anyone or tarnish Belmira’s reputation. I was gonna fix it. If she’d let me.
Felicity sneered and flipped me off with both fingers.
“ Felicidade ,”
Ma chastised, mortified. Yikes. Portuguese first name territory. “I don’t know what is with you two tonight.”
Felicity ignored Ma, her expression souring . “Papai.”
She was out for blood. She only called him ‘daddy’ when she was trying to get him to sway her way. “What if I had done something like that?”
All the humor in Dad’s mood vanished. “What do you mean if you did something like that?”
I imagined he was mentally peeling Pedro’s skin back from his bones, layer by layer, with a meticulous fatherly precision,
I shot Felicity a look, communicating, Way to go, genius. Tell on yourself.
Pedro, on the other hand, frantically reached for his beer bottle, tipping the contents back, wanting to be left out of this entirely.
While our parents were “relaxed”
by Portuguese immigrant standards—meaning at almost twenty-five years old, Felicity’s curfew was a very generous nine p.m., and I came and went as I pleased with nothing more than a called-out warning from Ma to ‘juízo na cabeca’ —use your head. Advice I so rarely took. Our parents still had the same fantasies the rest of their community did about their adult children.
My dad’s version of the “talk”
with me had started with a stick of deodorant and a demand I wear it, followed by, “Your voice is changing. You’re probably noticing girls now.”
He’d been a little late on that front. “But don’t do anything with them until you’re married. No matter what the chourico in your pants wants.”
That had been one way to ensure he didn’t have to fight me for the last piece of Portuguese smoked sausage for a couple of months.
Why Felicity insisted on dragging this out like I wasn’t an integral part in preserving the charade of her virtue was a mystery. We both knew our parents would have lost their absolute, ever-loving minds if they discovered my sister and her betrothed were not picking out their playlist for their wedding in the basement because they wanted it to be a “surprise.”
It was me who redirected Ma when she considered opening the door to steal a listen. No one needed to hear their backing track to that Bryan Adams song.
“Something you want to tell me?”
Dad inquired.
Shielding herself, Felicity crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re missing the point.”
“What is the point?”
He squinted at a restless Pedro, who was subtly shaking his head at my sister, imploring her to drop it.
“You wouldn’t be so calm if I did that.”
“But you wouldn’t do that”— Dad’s dagger-like scrutiny intensified, and sweat glinted against Pedro’s brow— “isn’t that right?”
“You tolerate a lot of things from Felix you wouldn’t me.”
And then, in English, she added, “It’s a double standard.”
I scrubbed a hand over my jaw. Could always count on her to show up for a debate, especially at my expense.
“I don’t understand.”
Ma leaned into me, whispering, “What’s a ‘double standard’?”
I opened my mouth to explain, but Felicity beat me to the punch. “It’s when you treat two people differently for the same thing.”
Offended, Ma gasped . “We don’t treat you differently, Felicity. How can you say that? We love you the same.”
“Oh. My. God. No one is saying anything about love!”
Felicity hissed. She held out her fingers, folding them back as she rhymed off my infractions with the finesse of a cop issuing a ticket. “He doesn’t have a curfew.”
Dad held up a hand. “What’s wrong with your curfew?”
“Nine o’clock? I’m twenty-five. None of my friends have a curfew.”
“Not yet, you’re not,”
Dad reminded with a dry laugh. “Two more months.”
He paused, then added, “And it’s because your friends don’t have curfews that they run around with that one.”
He kicked his chin at me.
…For fuck’s sake. One time. I slept with my sister’s friend. One. Fucking. Time. And he wouldn’t let me live it down. But I guessed that was all it took to lose people’s faith in me.
“That has nothing to do with me. I’m a grown woman.”
Dad waved her off, releasing a terse ‘pfft’. She’d always be a kid in his eyes, even when she was out of the house.
Felicity held her ground. “ He’s always with a different girl.”
My chest tightened, the stiffness setting in my jaw and neck. Tell us how you really feel, sis, I thought.
“Like I said, it’s because those girls don’t have curfews,”
Dad chimed in, delighted she’d furthered his point. “What else?”
“ He never does his chores.”
Alright, I’d give her that one. Never was a stretch, but I got distracted easily. It was a long journey from my bedroom to the curb. But last week, I’d found the Mortal Kombat Pogs I’d thought I’d lost six years ago in the garage, so a win was a win. Plus, I still drove the trash to the waste management site when I realized we’d missed the truck.
“You give me crap if I’m one minute late, even if my key is in the door. I’ve been with Pedro for three years. And I never forget to do anything.”
She held an accusatory finger at me. “All he has to do is not get someone pregnant, and you two are fine.”
I angled my body away from the table. She was starting to really piss me off. And sure, she was right about a lot of things, about me, my inattentiveness, and my past, but she had this situation with Belmira all wrong.
“Felicity.”
Ma frowned, knitting her hands together. “I don’t know why you’re getting so upset.”
“Hmm.”
Dad pitched an elbow on the table, perching his chin on his fist, his smile returning. “Maybe no more wine.”
Ma nodded, murmuring, “I think that’s a better idea.”
Irritated, Felicity huffed, threading her fingers through her hair. “This is ridiculous.”
Dad tilted his head with consideration. “We treat you like our princess. Isn’t that better?”
“I don’t want to be treated like a,”— in my peripheral , she made air quotations— “‘princess’ . I want to be treated like an adult.”
“Well, if you have daughters someday, you can do it your way,”
Dad suggested with a shrug.
“I will ,”
Felicity shot back.
“Good. Until then...”
He knocked his knuckles against the table with the declaration of a gavel. “It’s our way, princesa .”
She clenched her teeth, and I wondered if she was going to push it. “Keep it up,”
he dared with a tease, reading her mind, “and your new curfew will be eight-forty-five.”
She unleashed an annoyed sound from the back of her throat. “You can’t do that.”
“I’m your dad.”
He grinned. “I can do anything.”
Her chin jutted sharply, and as she geared up to go on another rant, indifferent to his empty threats, I silenced my family with five words.
“I’m going to marry her.”
My movements in my chair were slow and languid as I adjusted my posture, finding my sister’s stunned, speechless expression. “And I know that doesn’t make any difference to you right now because you’re right.”
Her brows crawled to her hairline. I rarely agreed with her so easily out of principle. That’s what little brothers were for. “They do treat you differently than they do me, and it sucks, and I’m really sorry.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, choosing each word carefully because as much as I hated she’d used me as a boon to get a point across, she only did it because she had to abide by the same constructs Belmira did, and it wasn’t fair. It never had been, and in a lot of ways… “I never considered I was flaunting my freedom in your face and how upsetting that would be.”
I finally understood.
Caught off guard, Felicity slumped. “It’s… not your fault…?”
The response slid out of her like a question. She blinked, the awed confusion stumbling into skepticism. “Wait. Rewind for a second.”
Her spine hooked toward the table. “What did you say about marriage?”
“Belmira. I’m gonna marry her.”
I’d decided on it hours ago, so I might as well spread the good word. “She deserved better than that tonight, and I’m not proud of it.”
My foot bobbed under the table. “I’m not proud of a lot of the things I’ve done.”
Or the long list of who I’d done and the public knowledge of it. It was me. My issues. Self-loathing thrummed in my veins. It was about time I admitted it. “But I’m all-in on her.”
I studied the table, absorbing the varying degrees of shock.
Ma’s eyes had glossed over as she cupped my shoulder. It was hard to determine if she was welling up out of pity or because she was genuinely moved.
Dad looked like he’d just witnessed the second coming of Christ.
Pedro studied my sister, hunting for a social cue, and then mirrored her popped mouth.
“Okay…”
Felicity drawled, flustering. “ Serious question. How much have you had to drink tonight?”
Two beers and a mouthful of Belmira—which was an inadequate amount. I was looking for a lifetime more of it.
Once their surprise had worn off, and days shifted into weeks, Dad attempted to let me down gently. “I told you, that girl’s mother isn’t all there. You need to think long and hard about this.”
I wasn’t budging, so he changed tactics. “You’re a good-looking man, Felix, and I’m not saying that just because you’re my son and you look like me. Your ego doesn’t need the help.”
He laughed at his own joke, but when I didn’t join in, he sighed. “You have better odds of convincing a nun to climb into bed with you. Her mother isn’t going to change her mind. You’ll find someone else.”
I didn’t want anyone else. I wanted her . He patted my bicep gently. “Let her go, okay?”
He settled in his recliner, turning the television on with the clicker. “After all ”—the blue light bounced off his face as he settled in for a Family Matters rerun—“ this is your fault.”
I deflated under the needle of his reminder. Thanks, Dad.
Sprigs of optimism dared to sprout inside of me when he’d called out “hey”
as I moved to leave the parlor room. I waited on bated breath for him to drop words of wisdom from a man in his mid-fifties, something—anything—to keep fanning the flame. Instead, “Can you get me some of Mommy’s beer nuts from Christmas before you go upstairs? And a little port wine.”
He patted his middle, groaning. “I ate too much at dinner.”
It felt like they weren’t taking me seriously anymore—if they ever really had, especially since I hadn’t taken myself seriously either up until that night—and maybe that was part of the problem. Dad was stating the obvious. It was my fault, and every day that passed, the more apparent that got and the worse I felt.
But if I’d already decided she was mine, why did it matter so much if I’d acted on it? Why was it such a big fucking deal?
This was why, stupid.
Rather than having the chance to pursue her properly—to take her to that movie, date her slowly, win her Ma over—I was in Cambridge, face-to-face with her cousin like some kind of lifeline, hoping she had a secret key to a door that I was certain had been barricaded by her aunt.
I didn’t really think Matilda cared if I begged for her daughter’s hand. I’d pissed her off in the most unimaginable, irredeemable way, and Belmira had gone ghost consequently. So, I was stuck in limbo, the memories from that night haunting me.
The breathy pitch of her voice and her musical laughter.
Each contemplative stroke of her tongue running along the inside of her lip.
The resting part of her lips, housing teeth slightly too big for her mouth.
How soft every part of her body was from her shapely rosy lips right down to the dark curls between her legs.
Her unmistakable fear. Palpable and impossible to ignore.
And I was responsible for it.
I looked for her in rooms I knew she wouldn’t be in. Listened for her in public spaces. Added, removed, and re-added her to my AIM Buddy List. I entered chat rooms in the unlikely event she might be lurking in there, too. You never knew. Then, I sent her the most underwhelming and forgettable greeting of all time.
ComicBookGuy75:
Hi
LOL. So original, Felix! I’d been going for calm, cool, and collected. We’d ignore I’d nearly broken my fucking ankle running up the stairs when I heard the instant message alert tone shortly after.
It wasn’t her. It never was.
Didn’t stop me from feeling optimistic every time I logged on that today might be the day she accepted the chat request.
I never turned the channel when Daria came on.
I held onto stupid signs from God or whoever when I heard a Backstreet Boys song. Not my music of choice, but it was hers, and I was developing a palate for it.
Everything and anything reminded me of her. The velvet table runner Ma had laid out even though it wasn’t the right color, but I couldn’t help but drag my fingers along when I passed.
Actually, now that I thought about it, maybe God was pissed I used his house as a potential ‘fancy seeing you here. I didn’t at all plan this’ and was, in turn, punishing me for it.
… Was God, by some horrific happenstance, besties with Matilda Tavares?
So yeah, short of a lobotomy or being thrown from a horse and losing my memory like Michelle Tanner had in Full House —wholesome guilty pleasure—I wasn’t forgetting her any time soon.
I knew what I’d felt. That couldn’t have been it between her and me. This was once in a lifetime, and if she just gave me an opportunity to make it right…I’d do anything.
“Earth to Felix,”
Maria called, waving a hand in front of my unfocused eyes.
Shit. I’d spaced out. Uncomfortable, I shuffled in my seat. “Sorry.”
Her full, contemplative sigh wafted out of her. She didn’t have to say what she was thinking out loud. I heard it as though she’d screamed it. “I’m fucked, aren’t I?”
My gut dropped at the sight of Maria’s version of pity. Here we go. “Truthfully?”
No, please blow smoke up my ass with the finesse of a budding Harvard-educated-lawyer-to-be. I nodded.
Her expression turned illegible. “Then…yeah,”
she declared. “You’re fucked.”
Well, there we had it. Everyone had told me that in their own unique way. Now, I heard it from the mouth of someone who shared DNA with her. Didn’t get any clearer than that.
“I did warn you.”
“Yeah. I know,”
I clipped.
An uncompanionable quiet settled between us.
“But…”
Maria’s profile turned pensive, and, dare I say it, confident. “I’ve also never seen you stay the course this long, either.”
The hint of her smile returned when she looked at me again. “So, I’ll call her, see where her head is at.”
That fleeting smile collapsed, her eyes growing serious. “But don’t get your hopes up, okay?”
Sure. Okay. Whatever.
We’d pretend hope wasn’t all I had left.