25. The Way Things Used To Be
25
THE WAY THINGS USED TO BE
Dahlia
The Present
New York City
A lejandro drags a hand down the length of his face and closes the last folder Morales brought with him. The FBI agent glances out the window, making sure half his face is concealed by the curtain as he examines the street. Either he’s paranoid or hyper observant; can’t tell.
“Well?” I ask.
For the first time, Alejandro speaks of Rian without animosity or resentment, only deeply felt sympathy. “I can’t believe Huang would do this to him. They’ve been friends their entire lives.”
“So it’s true then? Li is trying to set Rian up?”
“It’s more than that.” Morales moves away from the window and joins us in the parlor. “Seems like he’s been planning to turn on O’Neil for years.”
“But…why?”
“Resentment. Jealousy. Greed.” Morales lists motives like he’s reciting ingredients from a recipe. “O’Neil is ridiculously wealthy and as Huang’s main investor, technically in control of the majority of Huang’s capital. When the DEA was closing in on him, he figured Narvaez would be an easy scapegoat but must have thought better of it when he realized O’Neil’s family branch in Barcelona relies on the Narvaezes for support. The O’Neils lose their business in Barcelona, they lose a substantial portion of their wealth which would endanger Huang’s financial stability. His problem was solved when O’Neil swooped in and bought the shipping company but Huang resented his friend having that much power over his finances.
“All those documents, emails, bank statements, audio transcripts from phone calls, everything in there proves Huang was planning this all along. He always intended on O’Neil taking the fall for his narcotics ring if he ever got caught, and with enough incriminating evidence, O’Neil would get put away for life and Huang would swoop in; taking control of their businesses and all of O’Neil’s money just like he always wanted.”
“Does Rian know?” Alejandro asks. He holds up one of the folders. “These are photocopies. Not originals.”
Morales’s gaze drops to the carpet and he pauses before giving a curt nod. “I stopped by his place first.”
I bolt upright in my seat. “How did he take it?”
“I’d suggest leaving him alone for a while.”
I resist the urge to reach out for my phone and call him but what good would that do? The most important person in his life has just betrayed him and over something as trivial as money when Rian has been nothing but exceedingly generous with Li. My heart breaks for him but I doubt I’m who he wants to hear from right now. Morales is right; he’ll come to me when he’s ready. Until then, it’s best he’s left alone.
Well…maybe not completely alone.
I reach for my phone and type a quick message.
Me: Rian’s going through something. I think you should go see him.
Sasha: My brother doesn’t need a babysitter. He has our mother for that.
Me: Sasha, please. It’s serious.
A few seconds pass before his next text.
Sasha: How serious?
Me: What you told Alejandro, about your suspicions a few weeks ago…you were right. Rian just found out today.
Sasha: Okay.
I trust Sasha to take care of Rian. Contrary to what everyone else thinks, he isn’t entirely heartless or indifferent toward his brother. Their history is layered and complicated but Sasha cares about Rian in his own twisted way. He won’t abandon his brother when Rian needs him most.
“What do you want? In exchange for all of this?”
“A blank check,” Morales replies swiftly.
Alejandro shakes his head. “Absolutely not. If you want a favor, ask for it now. I’m not hanging out a blank IOU.”
“Notice how some of the information in those documents are redacted? Yeah, you’re welcome,” Morales retorts. “It was all the shit that implicated you and your family’s company in Huang’s narcotics ring. I didn’t do it out of the kindness of my heart.”
Alejandro’s eyes flare to life and he rises from his seat. “I?—”
“Morales, I owe you one.” I get up and usher him out of the parlor. “Alex, we’ll be back.”
I don’t give him time to argue. With Morales at my side, I snatch a coat from the coat closet on the way out and slam the front door shut behind me.
“What kind of favor?” Morales says once we’re outside. “Hopefully not a sexual one. I’m not really in the mood?—”
“Fuck off, Morales.” I dig into my pockets and find a pack of my herbal cigarettes and a lighter inside. I immediately put one between my lips and light the end. “Alejandro won’t give you what you want, but you know I’m good for it.”
This piques his interest. “And what are you willing to offer in exchange.”
“Information.”
“About what?”
“What do you want to know?”
M orales and I walk for about a half hour. We pass a bakery during our stroll and I make him pay for the apple pie and bread I want because I left my purse in the house.
The last year has been a whirlwind for me but that doesn’t mean I’ve been twiddling my thumbs in New York. I’ve spent this whole time surrounded by wealthy, powerful people and with that experience comes information. A favor from Alejandro would’ve been valuable but not nearly as much as a favor from me. No one is as deeply entrenched in the underbelly of this city’s organized crime system as I’ve been this last year. Morales must hammer me with a hundred questions by the time we get back to my place but I promised him thirty minutes and that’s all he’s getting.
“Wait, so does that mean you know where Sanmartín?—”
“Morales.” I stop at my front stoop and drop my cigarette on the concrete, putting out the lit end with the tip of my Rene Caovillas. “Your half hour is up.”
“I should get an extra five minutes for the small fortune you made me spend in the bakery.”
I dip my hand into the bag and reach for the receipt. Then tuck it into the front pocket of his coat and give his chest a little pat. “Write it off. Call it a business expense.”
“Dahlia—”
“Technically my tax dollars paid for it.”
His eyes narrow a bit. “Do you even pay taxes?”
I cast a smirk over his shoulder as I make my way up the front stoop and open the front door. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Morales says my name again as if to reprimand me but I swing the front door shut with my hips and flip the lock. A few seconds later, I watch him let out a frustrated huff in the cold before taking off down the street.
Coat abandoned in the foyer, I make my way to the kitchen. Music plays from the speaker on the marble counter and the window is open to help alleviate the heat radiating from the stove. Lyss is arguing with Alejandro, waving a cutting knife in front his face, while he gives her a confounded look, repeatedly gesturing toward the potatoes she must’ve been cutting. Do?a Ana eventually swoops in to take the knife and resumes cutting instead.
“All I’m saying is they were perfect cubes.”
“It took you that long to cut a bunch of potatoes?” he says.
“Excuse me for trying to make dinner a little aesthetic!”
He just keeps staring at her like she’s spoken a language he doesn’t understand. “It’s ajiaco.”
“Ignore him,” I tell him Lyss. “He doesn’t know what an aesthetic is. He once mistook having a follower count as me being in a cult.”
He turns on me. “What other conclusion was I supposed to come to when you said you were ‘losing followers’ and wanted to ‘boost’ your following, how does that not sound like a cult?”
“You also thought Facebook was American slang for passport.”
Lyss lets out an abrupt howl of laughter. She doubles over and has to grip the edge of the island to stay steady.
He lifts a finger. “ That was lost in translation. English isn’t my first language.”
Lyss continues to laugh and her minor fit brings her to her knees. Do?a Ana’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as she tries to keep a straight face while cutting potatoes.
“English isn’t your first language?” I echo, mimicking his accent.
Alejandro isn’t easily flustered or embarrassed but I don’t miss the way his cheeks heat and color. His accent isn’t heavy or prominent. In fact, it’s subtle enough to be difficult to discern. Anyone listening will immediately know he isn’t a native English speaker but it’d be hard for anyone who wasn’t a native Spanish speaker to pinpoint his accent correctly.
I bite back a smile and drop the pink box on the counter. “I brought dessert.”
Previous remark forgotten, Alejandro’s hazel eyes narrow to slits.
“You did not just bring a store-bought pie into my kitchen.”
“It gets worse.” I wave the baguette in the air. “Store-bought bread .”
Lyss tries and fails to catch her breath. “Be careful, he’s going to pop a coronary.”
“Ay, Dahlia.” Do?a Ana tsks and shakes her head at me.
Technically, we have a dining room upstairs but it’s not often in use outside of parties and formal gatherings so I turned one of the downstairs dens into an informal dining room. Since the space bleeds seamlessly into the kitchen, it makes setting the table for dinner almost effortless. Do?a Ana puts out plates and utensils while Lyss gathers up bottles of wine and several glasses. I guide Alejandro through the cabinets in search of serving dishes and with so many people running between rooms, the house descends into chaos.
Lyss knocks over a shelf in the pantry, Alejandro almost sets fire to his apron, and I think Do?a Ana got the regular spoons mixed up with the serving spoons because next to Alejandro’s plate is a utensil almost the size of his palm.
Alejandro forces everyone to sit down so he can serve us but not before Do?a Ana takes a moment to say Grace. Lyss sets up the speaker on the credenza with her phone attached. Everything from seventies classics to Salsa hits and modern pop songs fill the room but it matters very little. Not much can be heard over all the shouting and laughter. Without meaning to, we all fall into deep conversation and never re-emerge.
“And the necklace just poof! Lit up!” Lyss exclaims while tugging on the pendant around her throat. “It was the coolest thing ever.”
“What else can it do?” Alejandro asks.
“If you’re trying to find someone you can use an app on your phone to make the pendant sing, vibrate, or ring.” I explain and tug the necklace out from under my turtleneck. “It’s actually pretty cool. Only problem is, it won’t work if you forget to charge it at least once a week.”
“Dahlia once forgot to charge hers for a month and when she did, she must’ve used the wrong wire because when she plugged it in, the outlet burst.” Lyss gives a firm nod. “Almost electrocuted herself, mhm. Can’t bring her anywhere.”
“Hey!” I wave a finger at her. “Not my fault. I hadn’t finished renovating the kitchen yet and those outlets were old.”
“That’s nothing compared to the time she almost burned our house down.” Alejandro says.
“What do you mean she almost burned the house down?” Lyss shrieks.
I groan and cover my face with my napkin, sinking deep into my seat with one of Alejandro’s arms wrapped around me as he laughs. “I specifically told her not to leave the rice unattended.”
“Okay but I didn’t!” I whine in protest.
Alejandro ignores me. “I’m maybe two floors up in my office on a call with my grandfather when all of a sudden this horrible smell starts filling the halls.”
“He’s exaggerating,” I announce to the table. “It really wasn’t that bad.”
“Dahlia, corazón,” Do?a Ana says gently. “Podían olerlo quemándose en China.”
Lyss descends into a fit of hysterical laughter as Alejandro continues the story.
“So I go downstairs and of course, no one is in the kitchen. Why?” he pauses for dramatic effect. “Because someone thought it would be a good idea to take the lift up to the third floor.”
“Wait!” Lyss wails between laughs. “The haunted one?”
“And she got stuck. Thank God the lift only took her a few feet in the air because Diego and I had to pull the car down ourselves. It’s over a hundred years old.”
“Everyone at this table is judging me because you are forgetting one very important detail.”
Alejandro smiles at me as he asks, “And what’s that?”
“I made sure to turn down the heat on the rice before taking a ride on the haunted elevator!”
“Yes, I’m sure you did, mi amor.” He brings my face forward and kisses my cheek in a gesture so natural I almost forget he shouldn’t. “You were very responsible before getting into the death trap.”
“You know what, I refuse to be disrespected in my own house.” I pick up the knife and cut into the apple pie from the bakery, ignoring Alejandro’s homemade flan. I use my fork to take a massive bite. “This is way better than your flan.”
He groans as if shot and makes a dramatic show of leaning over the chair, clutching his chest and the imaginary bullet wound I left there.
“Que exagerar.” I roll my eyes.
“Oh!” Lyss jumps up from her seat. “We need more wine!”
I reach for my water and take several deep gulps to help push down the dry, flavorless pastry. This pie cost thirty dollars and tastes like someone dug it out from the bottom of a kindergartner’s lunch box.
“Just admit it,” Alejandro says. “Mine is better.”
“On principle, I’m going to stick with my terrible apple pie. Your ego is ridiculous.”
“Almost as ridiculous as that disgrace of a baguette you bought. If someone tried selling those in Paris, they’d get put to the guillotine.”
“Parisians will put anyone to the guillotine. Don’t threaten them with a good time.”
“Are you? Having a good time?”
I don’t answer right away. I hadn’t realized how close we’d gotten. “I’d have a better time if you weren’t so close to my face.”
His smile hasn’t faded all night. I can tell it’s real by the way the skin around his eyes crinkle slightly and one corner of his mouth rises a little higher than the other. The way he looks at me makes my skin heat. A blush blooms across my cheeks as his gaze focuses on the details of my face; eyes, nose, lips. It lingers like a physical touch and the intangible weight of it makes my bones ache.
“Are you done staring?”
“No.”
“You look like a lunatic.”
“That’s all right.”
“You better not kiss me in front of everyone again.”
Alejandro leans forward and presses his lips against mine. I regret the moment he pulls away.
“Any other requests for this evening?” he asks quietly.
I swallow the lump in my throat and give a weak shake of the head.
“Alex?” I whisper.
“Sí, mi amor.”
“I…I think I’m a little drunk.”
His nose crinkles. “It’s fine. Me too.”
“Don’t let me do anything stupid tonight.”
A flicker of light dances across his eyes. “Okay.”
Alejandro
A fter a final—fatal—glass of merlot, Lyss is carted off to bed by a diligent Do?a Ana who then helps clear the dining table. She insists on doing the dishes but I can tell that after a rare evening of wine and good food, the exhaustion is starting to weigh heavily on her so I send her off to bed with a glass of water and an Advil for tomorrow morning.
A few minutes later Dahlia stumbles into the kitchen and leans against the archway. Hiccups burst from her lips and she gasps, smothering her mouth with both hands which does nothing to cease the jumping of her shoulders.
“One too many?” I ask.
She giggles through the hiccups. “Don’t be—ridiculous. I c-can hold my—liquor!”
“Yes, but oddly enough not your wine. I’ve never seen anyone who can consume tequila at the rate you can, be taken down by a few glasses of merlot.”
She waves a finger at me. “Cheap kind too. Never underestimate the power of a good grocery store wine!”
I can’t exactly disagree. The last time my head was this fuzzy after an evening of drinking, I was a freshman in college. Either my alcohol tolerance has gone to hell or Lyss must really be on to something with her choice in grocery store wine.
Dahlia makes her way around the kitchen island and just as I’m about to put a container of leftovers in the fridge, she catches my wrist and pulls me toward her. I abandon the Tupperware on the counter and wrap my arm around her waist, drawing her into the circle of my embrace. Her breathing becomes unsteady and I can practically hear the way her heart races as I graze my lips against her temple.
“Say my name…” Her voice catches at the end. “Please.”
The request surprises me. “Your name?”
“My name.”
“Dahlia.”
Her entire body trembles. “Again.”
I press a kiss against her temple. “Dahlia.” Then the corner of her jaw. “Dahlia.”
She drags her hands up my arms before clenching her fists against my chest.
A single kiss at the base of her throat. “ Dahlia .”
“You say it…the way you used to.”
I’m not sure what she means. I lift my head to ask her but can’t focus on anything beyond the tears gathering in her eyes, unshed by sheer force of will. Her eyes are so amber they burn like real fire whenever she looks at me.
She whispers my name but can’t seem to get another word out. A swallow works its way down her throat and it’s like the tighter I hold her, the more she shakes and tremors like a leaf in the wind.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m a little drunk.”
“That’s okay.”
“Do you still love me?” She blinks and her lashes are wet. “Like you did before?”
“Nunca dejé de amarte. Nunca .”
“I…I’m still so angry. I can’t let it go.” She squeezes her eyes shut and I drag my thumbs across the apples of her cheeks, drying whatever tears cross my path. “But…tonight…I don’t know. I remembered how things used to be.”
This is as close to a confession as I’ll ever get but I’ll take it. She may not be brave enough to come outright and say it but I can read between the lines.
Dahlia still loves me and I don’t think she ever stopped.
When I press my lips against the side of her neck, she lets her head fall back, exposing more of her skin to me and I’m aware of how tenuous her consent is. At any moment she could retreat to the safety of her impenetrable emotional fortress and all I’ve wanted to do since coming here was take a sledgehammer to the walls around her. I want my Dahlia back and if it means tearing through flesh and bone to get to the heart of her, then I will. I won’t stop until the two of us are completely undone.
Dahlia’s breath catches and she pulls away. Before I can say or do anything, she presses her fingers against my lips, silencing me.
“ No .”
She untangles herself from me and leaves the room without looking back.