33. October 12th
Angie
After living with Cora for a week, I’m ready to talk to Rafael. I’ve been taking my time going over my plan, weighing my emotions and trying my best to be logical. I’m grateful for Marco and Jay as sounding boards because bouncing my plans off another pregnant woman didn’t always yield the best results.
When I suggested we all start a commune, kill Rafael, and bury him there, Cora was the one who suggested we get pigs and feed him to them so there’s no evidence. She’s very smart, my best friend.
Marco put a stop to it when we started looking up property for sale. Killjoy.
Cora hasn’t said anything about what he’s been like to work with this last week, and I haven’t asked. I don’t want to know if he’s content, looks tired, or comes to work crying because I needed this time to figure myself out without his influence.
It’s futile though. Every time the babies kick, I think about him and how much he’d love to feel what I’m feeling. Then guilt gnaws at me for taking these moments away from him and I cry some more because that’s all I’m capable of as a human incubator.
As I walk through historic Rittenhouse Square Park, rays of sun shine through the old tree-lined sidewalks and scatter over everyone in its wake, just like the autumn leaves. I wanted to go for a walk to give Cora and her husbands some alone time, but I also wanted to be in the right mood when I send Raf the text I know he’s been waiting on.
Taking a seat on the edge of a fountain, I type.
Angie: Thank you for giving me space. I’m ready to come home tomorrow and talk if you are.
His reply comes only a few moments later.
Raf: You needed it and I understand. I’m ready when you are. I have so much to tell you too.
What does he mean by that?
No,I stop my train of thought. I need to stick to my guns.
I need to tell him moving out is the best option. He’s not going to like it, but I have a plan for that too. Since he and Joaquín sold that apartment building in DC a while back and purchased three more homes in the same block as the Chestnut Street house, I’m going to ask to move into one of those.
Rafael showed them to me last month, and the one looks to be in decent-enough shape to live in. This way, he’ll live close but we’ll live separately. It”s the right choice for all of us.
Rafael
It’s a bye week for our team so my father coming to town works out perfectly. Since the city is packed because of The World Series, we agreed he would come to my place, which I’m both nervous and excited for him to see. It’s been a while since he’s seen how I’m living. Sure, this townhouse was only ever temporary, but I hope he’s proud of what I’ve made for myself.
I’ve stocked the place with his favorite beer and organized everything. Not that it was a mess before, but just in case he looked in my kitchen utensil drawer, I wanted to make sure that was presentable.
Smiling to myself as I shut the drawer, I think of Angie and her nesting habits. I guess I’m no better.
When my phone lights up, another text comes from her, and I snatch it from the counter to read.
Angie: Ok smiley face emoji> I’ll see you tomorrow.
I might not know what she’s thinking, but that emoji lifts my spirits. It’s the first real sign of our connection again.
“Razzle, buddy,” I sing, looking over to him lying in a sunbeam on the rug, totally unfazed except for a flick of his tale. “Mama’s coming home tomorrow. Are you excited? You’re right. We should celebrate with tuna tartar tonight.”
Before I can unpack this news and what it means, there’s a knock at my door and I spring into action as Razzle does the same to hide.
“?Hijo mío!” my dad bellows with a smile as large as his personality and dimples that match mine. José Juan Jimenez is a loud, jovial man with endless stories and giver of unsolicited advice. But I couldn’t care less if he does or doesn’t give it right now, because it’s been five damn years since I’ve seen him and I’m not wasting a moment. I mean shit, the last time I saw him was at my abuela’s ninetieth birthday in Mexico.
I laugh to myself when I notice we’re wearing damn near the same outfit—jeans and white T-shirt.
“Papá,” I grin and lean in for a long and tight hug. “I missed you. How was your trip?” I ask, then break away and pat him on the back. “Come in, tell me everything.”
“Well, airplane seats are getting smaller,” he says as I lead him to the kitchen island to have a seat on the stool. “And my knees are getting stiffer, but it’s all worth it for the game, right?”
Cracking open the longneck, I hand him his beer and start on opening my own. “I think those seats at the stadium are going to be even smaller,” I chuckle. “So what’s going on with you?”
“Ah, same old stuff. Working hard, playing hard,” he winks.
“Oh yeah? What’s playing these days?”
“Oh, you know, got a few different ladies in the mix,” he smirks, and my stomach goes a little sour.
My eyebrows flick up briefly. “I see. And do they know about each other?”
“Hell no,” he huffs. “Not my style. You know me.”
Do I?I think to myself. He looks the same, talks the same, carries himself the same, but after all these years I’m starting to wonder if I ever really knew my papá. I know what he presents to me.
“Are they long-term type or…” I trail off.
“Nah. I’m just having some fun, you know?”
I guess I do know. I’ve always known he’s a perpetual bachelor and he’s always made it seem cool. It made him seem suave to me. But for some reason I see him differently today. He’s still cheerful and outgoing; he looks to be living his best life, but suddenly, I think about how sad it is. Doesn’t he want someone special to go through life with? He has a group of guys he’s friends with down in Dallas, and I know he sees them regularly, so he’s not hurting for friendship—but doesn’t he want something more meaningful?
“You ever think about settling down again?” I ask, then take a swig of the hoppy carbonation and immediately realize I’m drinking alcohol and freeze.
“Now why would I want to do something stupid like that?” he laughs. Deciding to swallow my one sip, I then lean over the sink and empty the bottle. “Something wrong with your beer?”
“No,” I say. “I just forgot I’m not drinking out of solidarity with Ang.”
“Come on,” he scoffs. “One beer isn’t going to kill you.”
“I know,” I reply, then lean my forearms on the counter facing him. “So no marriage on your setting sun horizon?” I quip.
“Was that an old man joke?” he chuckles.
“It was,” I smile. “I think there’s a nursing home here called Setting Sun. Maybe I could get you a good deal by signing you up early.”
“You know, now that you say that,” he drawls, giving me an even stare and a smirk. “Maybe I should talk to my lawyer and make some adjustments to my will.”
As we catch-up for the next hour or so, everything he’s talking about is surface-level bullshit. I mean, I didn’t expect us to dig deep, but every time I try to ask something a little more meaningful, he sort of floats back to small talk or a funny anecdote about one of his buds or work. I’m his son… Shouldn’t we be able to talk about what’s going on in our lives and how we feel? When I tried to bring up Joaquín, he excused himself to the bathroom and when he came back, he had another meaningless story to tell me.
I know our time is coming to end and he needs to leave for the game soon, so when he ends another story about his friend, we both know it’s time for him to go.
“Whatever happened to Carlos, by the way?” I ask as we make our way to the front door. “Why did he have to sell his ticket?”
For the first time this whole visit, he looks disgruntled. He groans, “It’s his granddaughter’s quincea?era today and his bitch wife is making him go.”
All at once irritation bites at my stomach and I’m a little stunned. I don’t know Carlos and I don’t know his wife, but if I ever heard my father say that about my Angel, I would lay him out in a split second.
And Carlos’ wife is right. A quincea?era is a huge deal and should take precedence over fucking baseball, even the World Series. Hearing him say that tears me apart. Has he always been so crude?
I want to lay into him, but that generational respect barrier is struggling to hold me back.
“Alright, son,” he sighs and brings me into a hug that feels uneven in its exchange. “It was great seeing you. Come see me soon, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say despondently, but force a smile.
When he turns to leave for his parked rental car, it all hits me.
He didn’t even ask about Angie.
Or the babies.
Or how I’m doing. He didn’t ask how I’m feeling about becoming a dad, about my job, about my business, about the family—none of it.
He didn’t even ask about Angie.
“Hold up, Papá,” I holler, making my way down the front steps where he stands waiting for me. My body thrums with nervous energy. I can’t believe I’m about to do this. “Angie’s doing great by the way.”
He turns his head to see if anyone is coming down the sidewalk and then back to me with a pinched brow. “Yeah? Okay.”
“Yeah,” I huff indignantly. “The babies are too. Why didn’t you ask about them?”
He cocks his head back. “Uh, it was a short visit, son. I don’t know. There was so much to talk about.”
“You couldn’t be bothered to ask about my best friend and our babies?”
“Watch your tone,” he warns, but the barrier is dissolving slowly—just enough for me to speak my mind, but not enough for me to yell.
“I’m going through the biggest changes of my life and you haven’t asked about them.” He crosses his arms and looks away, but I continue. “I started a new job this year, my business has grown, but most importantly, I’m going to be a father. You’re the fucking king of unsolicited advice and you haven’t given me a word?”
“It’s your own damn fault for knocking her up,” he bites out as chills run through my body. “You had a good life before this, son. She’s going to take everything from you, and I’m not talking about your money, which she will. I’m talking about your freedom.”
“What are you talking about? Papá, she is my freedom.” And it’s the truth. I’m never freer than when I’m with her. I’m exactly the person I want to be—never having to hide a single part of myself. Free to explore. Free to dance. Free to feel.
He sighs. “Then you’re making your own bed.” He turns on his heel and walks away but says one more thing before opening his car door. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Everything in my body screams at me to mend the strife I just created between us, but I don’t want to take back what I said. What if I carved my own path without him? Would my life be that much different?
I imagine what my life would look like if I didn’t listen to him. If I didn’t care about pleasing him or earning his love. Oh my god. Have I been avoiding deeper relationships because I think they’re exhausting in the same way mine is with my dad?
I think about Angie. If she’s right—that I’ve been treating her like a wife all these years—then why would I think having a deeper romantic relationship would be work? Our friendship, our relationship, is anything but.
And then it clicks: she loves me and I’ve never had to earn it.