23. September 17th
Rafael
Today was a rare morning where I got to spend most of my time diving into spreadsheets and figures like I used to. Normally the small team of finance employees that works under me at Define are the ones producing the reports, but with two of them out on vacation this week, I’ve been able to dig my fingers in like the old days.
Financial math has always clicked for me. I like how I can find answers to real-life problems through it. Struggling to make ends meet? Look at your spending and adjust. Maybe that means cutting back on the amount of food you DoorDash to your best friend’s cat, or maybe that means getting a second job.
In this case though, it looks like Define’s misfortune has turned around. Ever since our company was hit with that lawsuit and we lost clientele, we’ve slowly but surely made our way back into the community”s favor it seems. Based on the figures on my screen, I’ll be able to let Cora know we can hire more staff for the increase in business we’ve accumulated. I’m excited to tell her.
I’ve been working my ass off here—partly to prove to Cora that she made the right choice in hiring me, but also because I took over during a tumultuous time for Define. I took over from a well-seasoned CFO and I needed to prove that I could do it. Taking this job was a huge step up in my career, and even now, with good news for the company on the horizon, I still manage to feel like I’m not doing enough.
Will I ever?
There’s a soft knock at my open office door. “Hey, did you bring gym clothes today?” Jay asks, leaning against the frame. We’ve been working out in the small office gym together a few days a week during our lunch break recently. It’s usually a quick thirty-minute run on side-by-side treadmills, just enough to keep up my cardio during rugby season between practices.
I quickly look at my watch. “Oh shoot, is it that time already?” I ask, standing up and collecting my phone, wallet and keys. “Sorry, I can’t today. I have to make a quick trip over to Chestnut Street to talk to the contractor. Joaquín can’t be here and they need approval before installing the kitchen counter tops.”
Jay chuckles, “Oh yeah. What is this, the third time they’ve tried to install it now?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know,” he muses. “I think you should have kept the pink marble they tried to give you the first time.”
My trip to the property proves successful and worthwhile. The countertop installers had the right lightly veined stone this time and did a perfect job.
This house is starting to grow on me. I was considering selling it after a couple years, but now that the floors are in, the casework has been renovated, a new roof, the kitchen is almost complete and the bathrooms totally overhauled, there’s a soft spot growing in my heart for it. Joaquín knows what the hell he’s doing, that’s for certain.
I have a few more minutes before I need to drive back to work, so I take the opportunity to look around at each room. Even through the heavy thumps and bangs from the crew working inside the house and scraping cadence of the masons working on the exterior, everything falls away as I walk through the top floor bedrooms, envisioning my babies in here. Angie sent me several articles saying even if the space is available, keeping twins in the same room helps with anxiety for both the parents and the babies.
But what I see even clearer is her.
Here.
I see her in my bed after we’ve finally put the twins down to sleep, both of us exhausted beyond belief but happily curling into one another. But then I remember she won’t be in my bed and I won’t be in hers, and somehow that feels utterly wrong. I know living together is the right move for us and our family for now. Between her comfortable bed and comfortable body, I’ve fallen into a comfortable pattern with her, just like I’ve always done with Angie. Everything about her is my comfort zone—even when we’re trying some new kinky fantasy involving me pretending to be a duke with a penchant for tavern wenches tying me up—even then I find comfort in her attention. Comfort is not something I have ever found with sexual partners.
I think about her more as I walk down the refinished stairs. Maybe this arrangement between us will end like we agreed, but I cannot let her move out. I want her to stay. I want her to want to stay.
When I reach the main floor, the light pouring in from the sunroom on my right catches my attention. Whenever Angie comes over, she gravitates to this space. So far, there hasn’t been a plan for it other than a new floor and windows, but as I stare at the blank walls, an idea comes to mind.
There’s enough space for that,I think to myself, then shoot off a text to my brother with the change order. Right as I hit send, a call comes in from Angie, her picture lighting up the screen. She says it’s the worst photo ever taken of her, but I think it’s hilarious and perfect. It’s a candid shot of her vulgar gesticulation on the sidelines of one of my games years ago. It was taken by our team photographer and it makes me smile every time I see it. She looks more like a fuming coach rather than a spectator.
“Hey, what’s up?” I answer.
Her audible groan sets me on edge. “Ugh. I’m about to call a tow truck.”
Even though she is talking to me and sounds safe, my heart plummets as I think of her mom. How can I not? We’ve been spending almost every night reading her journal entries since she got them. We read about the love she had for her family and her life. But as soon as I imagine a tow truck, it’s only Zofia’s death I picture, and this time, Angie’s in the car.
“What happened? Where are you?”
“I’m in the parking lot at work,” she says casually. “I tried to leave for lunch but my car wouldn’t start, and when my coworker gave me a jump, it turned on, but before I could even get to the road, it started smoking and died again.”
All I can envision is her car aflame as sweat begins to form all over my body. “Is it currently smoking? Are you inside it?”
“I’m walking back into the building right now,” she sighs, unaware of my turmoil. “Yeah, it’s still smoking.”
I sag in relief and I’m already running out of the house and hopping into my SUV. I’ve had enough of that piece of shit car of hers. “I’ll be there fifteen minutes, Angel. Just stay inside and rest. I’ll call the tow truck,” I say, but when an idea pops in my head, changing my mood, I smirk.
“What? No. You have work. I can handle this.”
“Ang,” I deadpan. “Last time you called a tow truck they tried to charge you fifteen hundred dollars to tow it five miles.”
“It’s not my fault I didn’t know how much tow trucks are supposed to cost.”
“I’ll come get you, I’ll take care of the tow truck, and we’ll get some lunch. I haven’t eaten yet either. I’ve already sent a text to Cora letting her know what’s going on and that I might be gone the rest of the day.”
“The whole day?”
“Don’t worry,” I soothe. “You had an office day today, right? No patients?”
“Yeah,” she drawls, and my plan solidifies.
“Can you take the rest of the day off? We’re buying you a new car.”
I called the tow service and had them haul her hunk of junk Ford Fiesta to the scrap yard because no dealership would ever take that flaming pile of garbage. She tried to tell me over lunch that it was probably a simple fix. But when I reminded her she’s had several major fixes in the last year, and then showed her my handwritten calculations on the back of the diner’s paper place mat, she relented. In the last year she had spent three times what it would cost to have a new vehicle.
“How about this one?” she asks, walking away from the big SUV I was just pointing to, wearing a casual white and blue striped dress and sensible flats. I know her feet are starting to hurt carrying the extra weight and I can see her ankles swelling a little from the heat—further fueling my desire to get this over with and get her home and resting.
She bellies up to a ten-year-old Impala and tries to look inside, placing her face against the window and blocking the sunshine over forehead.
“You remember you’re having twins, right?”
“You remember my budget, right?”
“Ang, come on. We need something bigger than a sedan.”
“You have your Range Rover and I’ll have a car. It’s what I can afford, Raf.”
“Let me help you with the cost.”
She cocks her head back like she’s rubber-necking next to a traffic accident. “Excuse me, no. I can pay for my own vehicle, thank you very much.”
“I just mean… You’re having my babies too. I want to make sure the cars they ride in every day are safe.”
As she turns around to face me, her posture immediately changes into something rigid, her shapely eyebrows pulling together. “Are you thinking about what happened to my mom?”
“Kind of, yeah.” I admit, coming to stand next to her and leaning my hip against the front driver’s side door. I want to smooth a finger over the crease above her slender nose. Instead I sigh. “I’m not saying her death could have been avoided by having a safer car. I’m just saying I’d like to make sure that box is checked. I want you in the safest vehicle possible, not the safest for your budget.”
Her eyes narrow and she considers me for a long moment before saying, “Maybe. How about I contribute what I planned on paying monthly? Like how I’m paying for living with you.”
Oh. You mean the money I’ve been funneling into a high yield investment account for you?I think to myself. Instead I say, “That works.”
“Hey there, folks,” a slender white car salesman waves, walking up to us with that customer service grin you know he’s required to have. “What can I help you find today?”
“My car died,” Angie says and I want to cut her off and whisper in her ear to not look so desperate. He can smell the sale. “It’s time to replace it.”
“Oh no,” he replies, putting his hands in the pockets of his khakis and rocking on the balls of his feet. “Alright, well, I can definitely help you find the right vehicle. What color are you looking for?”
Angie goes still and I watch her mouth slowly drop as she twists her head to face me. Her eyes are wide, a little crazed even, and I know exactly what she’s thinking before she even says it.
Get him, Ang.
She turns to him and crosses her arms. “Why is that the first question you ask me?”
“Um,” he drawls.
“Would you have asked him that question?” she asks with a nod in my direction.
“Probably?”
“I don’t think you would’ve,” she whispers. “So why don’t we start over and you don’t pretend I know nothing about cars and I don’t pretend you asked me that sexist question?” Her cheshire grin has made its way to my face now.
“Yes, ma’am,” the salesman swallows.
“Good.”
When there’s a pause in conversation, I offer him some help. “She’s looking for a safe vehicle. The newer the better.”
“Oh, yeah. We have lots of options, sir.”
“You”re not selling to me,” I say. “You’re selling to her. Talk to her.”
“Of course. Sorry,” he stammers. “Ma’am, if you’ll follow me I can show you some options.”
Angie humors me and test drives an enormous Expedition, but when she turns down a tight street, she white-knuckles the steering wheel. “No, Raf. Hard no. This is way too big, and we’re not even in the old part of Philly where the streets are smaller.”
“Ang, we’re having big kids,” I say from the passenger seat as she leans forward trying to get a better look of her surroundings and pushing past parked cars on the street. “Between the giants in your family and mine, there’s no way our kids will be small. We need the big one.”
“I’m not pushing out NBA players, dude. They don’t need much space until they’re older, and by then we’ll have different cars.” She looks in the rear view mirror at our salesman, nearly sideswiping a BMW. “Are you gonna sell us our next car, Brian?”
“Sure,” he winces, holding onto the oh shit handle.
“Good. I’m turning back and we’re gonna try that Subaru instead.”
Apparently Brian can’t handle a little aggressive driving from Angie, so he lets us take the next car by ourselves. I’m surprised at how spacious this one is for the size and after reading through the safety accolades online, I give her the thumbs up. This is a good choice, a good middle ground between a small city car like she’s used to and a school bus—her words—that I originally wanted.
When we pull back into the parking lot, I ask, “Do you want to negotiate or do you want me to do it?”
Angie puts the car in park and turns it off. “Knock yourself out,” she says with a smile.
Brian and all his nice guy energy came to a screeching halt the moment I told him we were ready to pull the trigger. I know for a fact this car is listed two grand over market value, but he’s not budging a cent. In fact he’s added costs for bullshit like documentation fees. I’ve never been dicked around like this while buying a car. Do I have the money to pay for this car outright? Yes. But as a matter of principle, I will not pay more than this car is worth. I don’t want to leave here without a car for Angie though—I mean we’ve been here for four hours already. Ang had a pizza delivered for Christ’s sake.
“I’m sorry,” Brian shrugs. “That’s the best we can do.”
I take a deep breath while gritting my teeth. “I’ll be right back,” I say, turning on my heel and crossing the showroom floor to find Angie sitting in a chair with a slice of pizza in hand. “If you wanna take my car and go home, I’ll meet you there. I’m gonna be a while longer. He’s not budging.”
She swallows her bite. “Really?”
“Yeah,” I huff. “I don’t know what his deal is, but if I have to stay here after closing I will.”
“Let me try,” she smiles, then stands up and stretches her back. “Stand about ten feet away when I talk to him and keep looking like this,” she waves her fingers in front of my face.
“Like what?” I grumble, following her.
“Like you’re on the verge of hulking out.”
“What are you—” I start, but she presses her index finger to her mouth to shush me.
My best friend walks over to Brian who’s talking with another sales guy and interrupts them. I can barely make out what she’s saying. With one hand still holding a slice and the other caressing her large baby bump, she coos, “Brian honey. Do you see how pregnant I am?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you have any idea how tired I am?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Very,” she smiles. “I want to go home. I want to go home with a car tonight, but if you don’t give it to me for the fair price he wants,” she gestures to me, “then we’re not buying it. And we’re not gonna buy from here ever.”
“I understand, but—”
“Brian, he’s about two minutes away from having a breakdown. Numbers are his thing. If you can’t make the numbers work, then I’ll just keep driving around in my unsafe tin-bucket of a car that smoke billows out of and he’ll keep barking at me to get a new car.” She looks down at her belly, causing his eyes to follow hers, and then I think I hear her sniffle. “Maybe if he sees that I have my shit together,” her voice cracks, “then he’ll want to marry me.”
I’m frozen in awe of her. She claims I’m dramatic, but this is Oscar-worthy.
“You’re not married?” he asks, genuinely concerned.
She shakes her head. “No. I’m carrying his babies and he won’t put a ring on my finger.”
“Oh my god,” he says as his lip curls in disgust when he looks over at me.
Then, as if there’s a dial to increase the size of doe eyes, she peers at him from beneath her lashes and pouts. “Do you think you could cut me a break, Brian? I could use one.”
“I… I think we can make something work. Dave?” he asks his manager next to him.
“Whatever she wants,” he nods, and I’m floored to see tears welling up and a frown he can’t seem to remove.
“Thank you,” Angie beams. “Can I go eat the rest of my pizza now and Raf can settle up with you guys?”
“Oh, sure! Yes, please go ahead and eat. We’ll take care of everything,” Brian says.
Holy. Shit. She just swooped in and out-negotiated me in less than five minutes. I didn’t even know this side of her existed. Where did she learn to buy cars and act? Did she study at the school of Glengarry Glenn Ross? How many times has she watched The Wolf of Wall Street? Based on the chub I’m tucking away, maybe I should consider financial domination after all. What’s the equivalent for getting off on good negotiation?
“You guys are the best,” she says and then makes her way back to me with the same smile. “Alright, close it up.”
“That was fucking hot,” I whisper. Seriously my cock is becoming a problem. She may have appeared to be a damsel in distress, but I knew the truth: she used his sexist mindset against him. I know she doesn’t think we have to get married just because she’s pregnant—but he doesn’t know that.
“I think I have a lady boner,” she whispers and shimmies her shoulders, giving me a smirk as she saunters past and sits back down. She takes another bite of pizza and arches an eyebrow. But my eyes land on her unadorned left hand.
It would look better with a huge fucking ring on it.
“Mr. Jimenez?” Brian says, derailing my train of thought and I turn in his direction. “We’ll take the two thousand off.”
“Why are we here?” Angie asks, stepping out of her running car in a park outside the city. It’s been an hour since we’ve signed all the paperwork, and she followed me in her own new car where I know traffic wouldn’t be an issue.
“Don’t you remember our new car tradition?” I ask, shutting my door and locking it. Her expression tells me she doesn’t. “We gotta 1ghost ride the whip, Ang,” I say with a shit-eating grin.
She buckles over in a low laugh, “No.”
“Yes,” I reply, opening the passenger side door and sitting down. Connecting my phone to her dash, I then peer up at her standing on the other side. “Get in, Angel. We’ve done this for every car purchase since we were sixteen and we’re not stopping now.”
She climbs back in and stares at me. “I think our circumstances have changed,” she says with wide eyes and a nod to her belly.
“We’ll do a modified version,’ I say, pressing play on the touch screen. “Put it in drive and head back to the road.”
“You’re insane,” she giggles, but quickly slams the door and makes her way to the vacant street. She stops and checks the mirrors. “How are we supposed to do this? I can’t stand on the roof of the car while it’s moving.”
I open my door. “Just put it in drive, let it idle, and walk on the street with the door open like this,” I say, before boosting the volume to a terrifying level and jumping out onto the pavement.
Angie’s giggle tells me everything I need to know. She’s bursting with excitement as the lyrics hit us like a memory and the beat guides our steps. There isn’t another car in sight as we belt the tune and swagger our way through the street next to the car, dancing like idiots.
“This is entirely the wrong kind of car to ghost ride,” Angie hollers at me. “It’s a mom car!”
“Yeah, but it’s a cool mom car!”
“No, it’s not. It”s a Birkenstock-wearing, dog-owning, cross country skiing, farmers market-loving, mom car!”
“You love all of those things,” I laugh. “This car was made for you.”
“Ghost ride it!” We both shout when the chorus hits, unable to refrain.
It’s then that another car comes into view, and we quickly hop back in with a fit of laughter as it drives past us. The look on her face is the one I think of when I think of Angie Johanssen.
Pure silly bliss.
Laughing so hard she can’t breathe.
Unable to look directly at me in fear that she’ll pee herself.
That version of her fills me with pride because she shares that side of herself with me, and there’s no better feeling than when I’ve made her happy.
1.Ghost Ride IT by Mitsah F.A.B.