Chapter 16
Bianca
“The media is ripping your baby daddy apart,” my brother says, a little too cheerfully, as he strides into my bedroom and tosses his phone on my bed.
I pick it up and glance at the screen, noting the gossip blogs that speculate why Niko was in Valencia earlier this week and if he’ll be benched for more than one game.
Sighing, I pass the phone back to Luca. I don’t have the energy to care about Niko being benched when my entire life is literally imploding.
“What?” I snap after my brother watches me for a beat.
He shrugs. “I thought you’d have something to say about that.”
“Nope.”
Luca lifts his eyebrows. “Have you heard from him?”
“Niko?”
“No, Santa Claus.”
I flip him the middle finger. “He calls once, sometimes twice, a day. Today, three times already!”
“Oh. That’s good, isn’t it?”
I shrug.
“B, what the hell is going on?”
Sighing, I fist my hands and press them against my eyes. “I don’t know. I’m just…I’m stressed out. Overwhelmed.”
“Okay,” Luca says slowly, sitting down on the chair in the corner of the room.
“I need to tell Chris I’m not coming back to work. I mean, how can I? I have no fucking plan, Luca. I still haven’t found a doctor here. I’m just…paying rent in New York for absolutely nothing. But…”
“But?” Luca leans forward, his eyes on me as I pace around the bedroom.
“If I give it up that means all of this is real!” I yell at Luca. The room. No one in particular. Myself.
Understanding washes over my brother’s face and even that pisses me off. “Bianca, this is real,” he says quietly. Firmly.
“I know that!” I wail, throwing my arms in the air. Then I clap my hands over my face as I fucking sob.
I mean an uncontrollable, shoulders shaking, snot running from my nose, sob.
“Merda,” Luca swears. In the next instant, his arms are around me and he holds me against his chest.
I clutch at his shoulders, fisting the material of his shirt, as I cry. “What the hell am I going to do, Luca?”
“Shh,” he soothes. “You’re already doing it. You’re growing your baby.”
I shake my head, dragging my forehead against his shoulder.
“I’m giving up my career. My apartment. Everything I worked toward.
Everything I hustled for. I’m giving it all up.
” I hiccup. “And I know it’s the right call.
I know that. But it still feels like a fucking letdown,” I admit.
Stepping back, I wipe my tears off my face. “It feels like I’m failing.”
“What?” Luca frowns and shakes his head. “B—”
“I’m throwing away my career and my life in the city to move back in with my big brother because I can’t hack shit on my own. And it’s because I am pregnant with a baby from a one-night stand. And the man doesn’t live in the same country as me. Tell me again how that’s not screwing up, Luca?”
He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Fine. If you asked me if I’d prefer that you were having a baby with a guy, a partner, who you were dating and in love with, the answer would be yes.
But the fact that you’re having a baby with a guy who seems to truly care about you and your baby and is trying to show up and be supportive isn’t the end of the world, B. ”
I step away, shooting daggers at Luca. “You’re taking his side?”
Luca chortles. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m taking Niko’s side over yours.”
I snort, knowing I’m being ridiculous.
“All I’m saying is that he seems like a decent guy, B,” Luca continues.
“Don’t be gutted over your career. I know you love it.
I know you love your life in the city. But this doesn’t define you, Bianca.
This doesn’t mean that you’ll never have a fast-paced, exciting career again or live in New York.
And, to be honest, I’m happy you’re back in Valencia.
It’s selfish, I know, but I love getting to live close to you again.
I’m happy Carla and I can help support you through this and be here for you. ”
“Argh,” I complain for no reason. “Stop trying to make me feel better.”
Luca snickers. “Do you feel better?”
“Slightly.”
“What can I help you with?”
“I don’t want to ask you for any more help. You’re already doing too much.”
“B, we’re family. C’mon. Tell me.”
I swear and rake my fingers through my hair, twisting it back into a bun before releasing it. Resting my hands on top of my head, I admit, “I need to break my lease.”
Luca nods. “I’ll see what I can do. You call Chris and have an honest conversation with him.”
“Fine,” I agree, reluctantly.
“And then…” He pulls out his phone and glances at the screen. He taps it and a moment later, my phone dings. “Call this OBGYN. She guided Marlowe through her entire pregnancy and Ale and Mar swear by her.”
I let out a slow exhale knowing I hit the jackpot by having Luca as a big brother. “Grazie.”
“Prego.”
“I couldn’t do this without you.”
My brother’s eyes soften and he squeezes my forearm. “You could, B. But I’m happy you don’t have to.”
Niko
Honeybee, you good?
You haven’t answered any of my calls.
Are you sleeping?
I wake from my nap and squint at my phone’s screen. Shit. Two missed calls and three text messages from Niko.
Bianca
Sorry, I fell asleep.
He replies immediately.
Niko
No worries. How do you feel?
Like shit, I want to write. But I don’t.
Because that will only make Niko feel bad and there’s nothing he can do about it. There’s nothing anyone can do about the fact that I feel so exhausted and drained and…angry.
I’m angry all the time and that makes me feel guilty.
I exhale, feeling strands of my hair fly away from my face before settling back over my cheeks. I yank my hand over my head to push them away and flop back onto the pillow.
I hate that Niko is checking in, concerned, because I’m the flighty woman pregnant with his baby and not responding to his calls.
I hate that he’s off in Germany, living his dream career, and I’m here, in Spain, about to blow up my life and the career I worked my ass off for in New York.
I hate that I’m living with my brother and Carla, newlyweds, while I’m a single, pregnant woman without my own place.
And I hate, abhor, that I am furious at all the above things.
“Argh!” I holler at the empty room.
“B, you okay?” Carla pokes her head through the door a moment later.
I debate chucking a pillow at her head but note, logically, that that would be immature. “Fine.”
Carla snorts. “No, you’re not. You’re fucking pissed.”
I toss my forearm over my forehead and glare at the ceiling. “You’re right; I am.”
Carla steps into my bedroom and stares at me for a full minute before she claps her hands together.
I moan at the intrusive sound.
“Get up,” she orders.
“What?” I glare at her.
“Up, up, up.” She pulls my comforter off my frame and tugs on my arm until I’m in a seated position. “You’re going to Abuela’s.”
“You can’t just push me onto your grandmother for babysitting,” I sputter, exasperated.
“Watch me.”
“Carla!”
But Carla’s already pulling her cell phone out of her back pocket and pressing it against her ear. A moment later, she rattles off rapid Castellano and nods sagely while staring at me with compassion. Compassion I don’t want. Or need.
I sit on the side of the bed like a lump on a log.
Carla ends the call and grins. “Abuela would love your help today. She’s heading to the Ruzafa market in a little bit and then baking ensaimadas.”
I nearly groan at the sound of the coiled, buttery pastries I adore. “Ensaimadas are my favorite.”
“We know,” Carla replies, conspiratorially. “Get dressed. I’ll drop you at her house on my way to the pitch.” She claps her hands again and I wince. “Chop, chop!”
Once Carla leaves, I begrudgingly stand from my bed, dress for the day, and mentally prepare myself for baking, a difficult conversation with Chris, and making my first doctor’s appointment in Valencia.
“?Hola! ?Como estás, carino?” Abuela asks, kissing my cheeks. “Tell me on the way. We have to leave right now if we’re going to have enough time before the market closes for siesta.” She passes me the handle for her rolling grocery bag and I fall into step beside her.
Glancing over my shoulder, Carla waves at us. “I’ll swing by to collect you later.”
“I’m perfectly capable of getting myself home,” I remind her.
She laughs, knowing that being micromanaged is one of my pet peeves.
“Ignore her,” Abuela says, patting my hand as we wait at the corner for the pedestrian light to turn green. “How are you feeling, really?”
I glance at Abuela and note the open curiosity and quiet mischief in her gaze. She has a larger-than-life presence and is the matriarch of the García family, holding everyone together with her sharp wit, thoughtful advice, and hilarious antics.
For a moment, a pang cuts through my chest that I’ve never had this—and will never have it—with my own mama or nonna. At least, not as a woman on the brink of motherhood.
The first time I learned I was pregnant was mere months after we received the prognosis for Mama’s cancer. I never told her about the baby. Sometimes, I wish I had. But it wouldn’t have changed anything.
But now, oh, my mama would be overjoyed by my pregnancy. She would love my baby more than life itself and it breaks my heart that she’ll never know my children.
“That bad, huh?” Abuela infers after my beat of silence.
“I feel stuck, Abuela,” I admit. “My life in New York was all energy and vibes. Fast-paced, exciting, urgent. And I was finally standing on my own two feet, by myself, supporting myself.”
“And now, you feel like you aren’t?”
“I’m not,” I confirm, snorting with exasperation. “I’m living with Luca and Carla, shacking up in their guest bedroom, with no employment, no income, and no boyfriend or husband or partner.”
“The baby’s father isn’t interested in being a father?” Abuela’s head whips toward mine.
“No,” I sigh. “I mean, no, that’s not it. He is interested in being a father. He messages and calls constantly to check in on me. It’s infuriating.”
Abuela chuckles. “And you’re mad because it’s easy for him, to make the phone call, while he’s living his life and you feel like you’re giving up yours.”
“Yes!” I agree, emphatically. “How did you know?”
“I have lived many years, hija. I have seen many things.”
“And then, I feel guilty for being angry at him when it’s not his fault.”
“It’s not your fault either,” she states as we enter the market. She points toward a fruit vendor and we walk in that direction. “It just is what it is.”
“I feel like I’m already failing,” I admit quietly.
Abuela stops walking, turns her sharp gaze on me, and clucks her tongue.
“The fact that you feel like that tells me you’re not.
You care too much to fail. Besides, you already built a life on your own once.
You can do it again. Only this time, you will have a little helper who calls you máma, and that will change everything.
” She stops in front of the fruit vendor and grins at the elderly man leaning forward in his stall.
“?Buenos días, guapísima! ?Qué le pongo hoy?” Good morning, gorgeous! What can I get you today? the frutera asks with a wink.
Abuela gestures toward the apples. “Lo mismo de siempre. Las manzanas más dulces…como tú, claro.” The usual. The sweetest apples…like you of course.
I snort, biting my bottom lip to keep from laughing outright as I watch their exchange.
The frutera places apples into a bag. “?Ay, si todas mis clientas fueran así, cerraba la tienda feliz!” Ah, if all my customers were like you, I’d close the shop a happy man!
Abuela waves a dismissive hand. “No digas tonterías, que te lo crees y subes los precios.” Don’t talk nonsense—you’ll start believing it and raise your prices.
The frutera cackles with delight. “Algo más?” Anything else?
Abuela shakes her head and glances at me. “You can tell how sweet life will be by the fruit you pick, carino. Don’t rush. Choose well. In this case, José is the winner. He picks the best fruit.” She passes him a twenty euro note.
As she waits for her change, I place the bag of apples into her rolling bag.
Then, I follow Abuela from vendor to vendor, watching her flirty, playful, open exchange with each.
She discusses current events with the butcher, skincare products with the vegetable vendor, and stops to admire a photo of the newest grandchild from the women selling eggs.
Abuela is fully engaged in life in a way that strikes me. Because it’s familiar and simple and…honest. And while the energy of being among people and engaging with them is something I’ve been missing lately, it’s a different vibe than New York. It’s quieter and more…sincere.
I relax into the rhythm of the market, letting the colors, scents, and sounds wrap around me. And for the first time since I landed in Valencia, I take a cleansing breath and let some of my anger go.