Chapter 18 #2
“I don’t know them that well,” he responds before taking a sip of his water. I study his profile for any sign of sadness or discomfort. “My father calls sometimes, but I never pick up.”
I’m falling in love with him .
I glance at my mother, catching the way she looks at our joined hands, her eyes tracking as he leans toward me to kiss the side of my forehead.
He’s comforting me because I’m sad for him .
I wonder if he’s been to therapy.
I wonder why the thought of that turns me on.
“Well,” she starts before clearing her throat, her eyes leveling with his, “as long as my daughter is taken care of, you have family here.”
What the fuck is this dropkick to my chest?
She glances over at me, and I tilt my head, my lips pressed together and my eyes watering. Wordlessly, she puckers her lips to toss me a kiss before turning to Papi to lean on his shoulder.
Their love has always felt so steady to me, like something I could take to the bank. I hope whatever happens, my baby feels that, whether I’m with someone, or it’s just us.
Everyone goes back to talking, and under the noise of it, I lean into Quintin, speaking softly.
“I never knew about your family.” My words are heavy with the shame of never having asked, not even when he asked about mine.
He listened to me talk about being afraid to tell my mother about my pregnancy, all while he never got to meet his.
He never made me feel trivial or annoying; he just offered perspective and advice after asking me if that was what I needed.
“It isn’t important.” He lifts our hands to kiss the back of mine. “You know the important things.”
“Like what?”
“Like the fact that I want to be a part of your family.”
Bitch, I’ll cry.
Before I can respond, my papi clears his throat from the end of the table and gestures to Quintin.
“Come with me,” he says, standing. I watch as he grabs two beers by the necks and heads down the hall toward what he calls his man cave. Quintin presses another kiss to my forehead as he excuses himself, not asking any questions.
“Don’t worry,” I whisper, not knowing what exactly my dad has in store for him. He’s always been level-headed, so it isn’t like he’s going to fistfight him and make him marry me or something. Still…
“I’m not,” he tells me with a smile. He follows my father, and I try not to look at his ass in his slacks, but I fail. Miserably.
I’m gonna ride that ? —
One of my cousins screams, scaring me out of my filthy thoughts.
As the table is cleared and the alcohol is poured in the dining room, I tiptoe past my little cousins, who’ve gathered around the TV in the living room to watch a Christmas movie.
I make it down the hall in time to hear my papi speak. Peeking around the doorframe, my eyes settle on the two men.
“Daniela is emotional. She has high standards, and she lives in her head.” He lifts his bottle his lips and takes a drink. Quintin remains silent, his back facing me, waiting for Papi to continue. “I always knew she’d meet someone, but I knew he’d have to be a really good man.”
“I would love that someone to be me.”
Papi smirks, nodding for a moment before he speaks. “I’ll know if you are. And then I’ll let you know if you are.”
Levelheaded doesn’t always mean tactful. I shake my head with a sigh before turning around.
In my attempt to sneak away, I bump into my mom on the way back to the dining room.
“ Averigua ,” she chastises as she glances toward Papi’s mancave, a small smile flirting with the ends of her lips.
“Is it nosey if they’re talking about me?” I ponder aloud, giving her a smile in return.
“You don’t need to know everything, mija . All these thoughts in your head, no wonder it’s so big,” she says with a laugh before licking her thumb and wiping something from the side of my mouth. “My beautiful girl.”
“What do you think of him?” My question is quiet, the weight of its importance filling me with worry. If she doesn’t like him…this is going to get even more complicated. It’s honestly too soon to tell, but I can’t help but ask.
She shrugs. “I only just met him, but you seem happy. I’m happy until you aren’t.”
Silently, she places her palm on my stomach, just in time to feel the baby kick. Her smile widens, and I watch as she tears up.
“ Estoy muy feliz, mi vida. El bebé de tita, ay dios te bendiga. ”
I’m very happy, too.
For the first time, I really am.
It’s late, and I want to go home, if only because I can’t take full advantage of Quintin in my childhood bedroom, not with my mother in the house, keeping a watchful eye on us.
Plus, I’m too pregnant to have sex without having the ability to roll over and go to sleep. Spontaneous sex outside of my apartment has officially lost its luster.
But Quintin could probably still talk me into it.
Watching him interact with the people I love is the strangest foreplay I’ve ever encountered. I’m sure my hormones are at play as well, their potency making it hard not to pull him into the bathroom and have my way with him.
But my pregnant ass is far too tired.
I sit on the couch, staring down at my sleeping cousins sprawled out on the floor before me. Their parents are all drinking, having migrated to the kitchen, Bachata music filtering into the living room.
Quintin finds me as I wince, stretching my arms up toward the ceiling.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his brows drawn as he sits next to me.
“My back hurts,” I tell him.
He leans me forward, one of his hands traveling down my back, pressing as it goes.
With a grateful sigh, I stare back at him. My tired eyes are nearly half mast as I observe him in such a personal space. This is where I used to dream, play, and learn. This is where I had crushes and was subsequently crushed by them.
And now, he’s here.
“I like you like this, even if it’s just for show.” His words are quiet, like he knows my mother has supersonic hearing, even through the music playing.
But I don’t like how his words make me feel. All of this feels real, like we could be like this for the rest of my life.
“Am I not affectionate enough otherwise?” I wince again as he rubs a particularly sore spot on my lower back. He takes note and lightens the pressure, his other hand stroking the back of my neck. I wait on his answer, not knowing how to feel about the ways I realize I haven’t shown up for him.
“You’re just out of practice,” he murmurs, his hazel eyes cast downward as he gives his full attention to his ministrations.
“I…never really had this before.”
At my words, he pauses a moment, his hands stilling, as if he’s absorbing what I just confessed. Telling him doesn’t feel the way I worried it would. It doesn’t feel like my vulnerability makes me weak. It feels like it makes me understood.
“No?”
I shake my head in response to his question.
“Well, I’m honored to pop your cherry.”
“Everything comes back to food, huh?” He doesn’t see the grin I try to hide as I turn away.
“Food is universal pleasure. It sustains, it fuels, it turns strangers into neighbors?—”
“And neighbors into lovers?” I jest, looking back at him, unable to help the way I’m drawn to him.
“You can call me whatever you want, as long as you know I’m not going anywhere.”
Oh, fuck. We’re doing this here? Now ? I press my eyes shut, too afraid of how sure he feels. If I leave right now, it’ll hurt less than if I rely on him and he disappears.
“I’m having a baby,” I whisper, feeling the heat of tears as they threaten. I turn away again. “I can’t afford to fall into something uncertain.”
“I’m certain about you,” he whispers back, moving his hand to press a kiss to the back of my neck. “I’m falling in love with you.”
Why does he have to feel this good? Why does he have to feel so familiar?
I don’t know much about romantic love, but I know romance is fickle. I know men come and go, and I know babies are forever.
The thought of sharing forever with Quintin is scary.
Just not as terrifying as the potential of forever without him.