Chapter 18
SARINA
The two worst ways to wake up? With a pounding headache or having a pounding headache and a voicemail from my dad.
For the entirety of my commute into work, I’ve debated if I should listen to it or not.
My gut is telling me to ignore it. He rarely calls, and when he does it’s never to see how I’m doing.
It’s always to lecture me or find a new way to tell me what a disappointment I am to him.
I already feel like shit from the drinks I had last night, I don’t need him to add to it.
If only ignoring him were that easy.
No matter how much I try to, and know that I would be in my every right to, there’s a part of me that clings onto how he used to be.
There was a time, brief as it was, when he was happy —loving, even.
It didn’t last long but it found its way into my core memory and has taunted me since, giving me false hope that the man I knew is still there. And maybe, just maybe, one day, by a goddamn miracle, he’ll reveal that part of himself to me again and act like a father.
It's delusional, sure, but it’s all I have left of what our relationship once was. So, because of that, I go against my better judgement and press play, regretting my decision within the first two seconds of the audio.
“Hello, Sarina, it’s your father, in case you’ve forgotten since you’ve decided to run off to New York and think you’re some damn hotshot.
Anyway, I trust that your sister filled you in on the slight shift in her and Chloe’s wedding.
I hope that won’t be a problem with you being able to get time off.
Oh, and how can I forget, your date. Whatever his name is, I forget.
Either way, I’m so looking forward to meeting him.
That is, if you’re still bringing him. I can imagine with such short notice of the wedding being moved up that it could cause some complication.
Anyway, if you decide to call back, I’ll talk to you then, if not, see you at the wedding. Take care.”
“That motherfucker,” I say through gritted teeth as I close out of my voicemail, half tempted to chuck my phone on the floor.
I’m so fucking angry at the insinuation he threw in there at the end. Acting as if I wouldn’t have a date with such short notice. If I show up with no one, he’s never going to let me live that down. I refuse to give him any more ammo than he already has to make my life miserable.
“Rough day already, Ms. Tesoro?” Grace, Tomás’ secretary, asks timidly.
“Shit,” I whisper under my breath, trying to snap to and get my wits about me since I’m now standing in front of Grace’s desk.
I take a deep breath and shove my phone in my purse. “Yeah, you can say that.”
She nods. “Must be in the air.”
I quirk a brow.
Grace’s head tilts in the direction of Tomás’ office. “Mr. Ramos has been very,” she pauses for a moment, settling on, “Flustered this morning.”
My gaze flashes to his closed office door. “He’s here?”
Grace picks up on the surprise in my voice, and for some reason it causes her to smile.
“Yes, Mr. Ramos, excuse me, Tomás,” she singsongs his name.
“I forgot he told me I don’t need to be so formal.
But that’s beside the point, yes, he’s in today.
” She lowers her voice and leans forward as if she’s about to spill some gossip.
I haven’t been here long enough to be invested in any potential gossip, but if tea is what she’s serving, who am I to refuse it? “You seem surprised.”
“That he’s in the office? Yeah. He’s barely been here since…”
“You started working here.” There’s that smile again. I don’t know what she’s trying to get at, but I keep my poker face on until she changes topic. “Anyway, he’s here today and in a mood already, so maybe seeing you will cheer him up.” She winks.
“Thanks for warning me,” I tell Grace, bracing myself as I head to Tomás’ – or our – office.
The door barely opens when my ears are met with his naturally deep vibrato sounding a bit edgier than usual. “Good morning,” he huffs, his attention on the sea of papers spread out on the small desk across from his.
“Is it?” I joke, closing the door. “It looks like a crime scene in here.”
He glances up at me, and as our eyes meet, the tautness in his hands and jaw loosen, barely, but enough that I recognized the shift in his demeanor. “It is now.”
A flutter cracks through my chest. Now I know why he hasn’t been coming into the office.
Being around each other feels good. Too good.
The kind of good that makes working together feel impossible.
I’m already sifting through my day’s task list, trying to figure out how I’m going to get everything done with him here.
“Don’t mind me, you can do what you need to do.” I hear what he’s saying but it makes me wonder if he’s being sarcastic since his mess is all over my desk, not his.
“And where would you like me to do that?”
He looks up at me, dumbfounded. “Umm, at your desk.”
“Is that a question or a joke?”
“Neither.” He points to his desk. “Your desk is waiting for you.”
It’s too early and I’m too hung over for this shit. “How is that my desk when it’s yours?”
Storming over to what I know to be his desk, he points at the computer. “Yours.” And then the chair. “Yours.” And then the surface. “Also, yours.”
I’ll be damned. This man works quick. All of my belongings I kept at my desk have been transferred to his, even the soy candle I had is there —lit.
“How early did you get here?”
“Two hours ago. I meant to have Grace tell you that you could use my desk and I’d have my stuff transferred to yours, but it slipped my mind. And now that I’m finally—”
“Here, and not avoiding me,” I interrupt him, not bothering to hide the flirtation laced within my words, but it works, and he looks relaxed again.
“I haven’t been avoiding you.”
“Liar,” I tease.
Just like that he grows stern again. “You have to understand how difficult this is for me.”
“Oh my god with the dramatics. You act like you’re the first person in all of history to accidentally hook up with their sister’s best friend.”
He winces, staring at the door.
“Calm down, the door is closed, no one heard. Although I’m pretty sure Grace thinks there’s something between us, so if she did, she’d probably be clapping.”
“That’s not the problem.”
“Then what is?”
Calm as can be, he walks over to where I’m standing in front of my apparent new desk.
There’s barely an inch separating us, and with the way he’s licking his lips, gently biting the bottom one while staring me dead in the eye, it feels as though we’re on top of each other.
“I don’t regret a single thing I made you feel that night. Or last.”
It takes me a minute to figure out what he’s referring to.
Horror must paint my face since he is now clicking his tongue at me. “Don’t be embarrassed. I could think of worse things than to hear a beautiful woman, such as yourself, moaning my name on repeat to come.”
I really am a hazard to my damn self.
What is the matter with me? How do I keep accidentally calling and FaceTiming people?
A lump lodges itself in my throat and my pulse feels like fire in my veins. “Then what’s the problem?”
I know he wants to respond but words have escaped him, forcing me to step up and fill in the blanks.
“You’re such a rule follower,” I say it like an insult, but it’s not. I love that he has awareness and morals he wants to uphold. Though I’d be lying if I said that the complexity of our situation and how badly he is forced to behave himself isn’t turning me on like it is.
To my surprise, his reservation cracks as he breaks the stoic barrier created between us. He takes another step closer, causing the edge of his shoe to brush against my heel.
My knees buckle as he takes my chin into his palm, tipping it upward causing his lips ghost over mine, barely brushing, but the faint contact has me reeling. “Only when I have to be.”
A knock at the door disrupts our moment and the smooth air he had about him shifts as he flees back to the mess he has on my old desk, sitting at it. “Come in,” he calls out, and Grace opens the door with a manilla folder.
He thanks her and dives into whatever she gave him, as if that moment between us didn’t happen.
Curious as to what has his attention —and admittedly jealous because I want his attention where it belongs…on me—I walk over to see.
At first, words clumped together in dense paragraphs jump out at me.
There’s so much to take in, my eyes are having difficulty choosing one thing to settle on.
It takes a few seconds, but eventually I settle my stare on a picture of what appears to be an abandoned baseball field.
Or at least what I think is one. If I squint long enough, I can make out a worn home plate, though the rest is covered in unkempt grass and vines sprawling their way up the chain-link fence.
“Baseball fan?”
“I am.” There’s a faint crackle in his tone. He clears his throat to try to speak again, but it’s still there. “Goddamn it, today,” he huffs out. “Yes. I was.”
“Was?”
He lets out a sigh that tells me all I need to know before he begins to elaborate.
I remember Lorena telling me one day in passing how she hasn’t been able to watch baseball since their dad died. It was his favorite sport, and something is telling me that the field Tomás is looking at has a story linked to their dad there.
I may not have a strong, loving attachment to my dad, but I know how much Lo and Tomás loved and admired theirs, so if rubbing his shoulders to help ease the tension stiffening them is what helps him get his feelings out, I’m going to do it.
Sure enough, the moment I begin rubbing his strong, broad shoulders, the words pour out of him.
“Baseball was my dad’s favorite sport, not only to watch but to play.
I’d meet him here often and we’d catch up on life while playing catch.
And here.” He points to the photo. “Is where I decided to turn my life around.” The words become caught in his throat.
I continue rubbing his shoulders and a few seconds later, he continues.
“My dad told me, in this very spot, that he was dying. I swear, I replay that day in my head far too often. And once he passed, I haven’t had the courage to go back there.
Now I wish I would have because all the memories I have tied here are about to be gone, since a developer wants to turn it into condominiums. Exactly what the area doesn’t need. ”
“I’m sorry,” is all I’m able to say, wishing I could say or do more.
“Don’t be, it’s not your fault. It’s theirs.” He lifts a piece of paper with a familiar logo on it.
I motion for him to give it to me.
“What is it?”
Shame grips me as I reply, “It’s my dad’s.”
“What is?”
I point to the logo.
“No, that’s impossible, he isn’t listed under the owners.” Tomás proceeds to bring up another document to tell me who is, but I beat him to it, saying my mom’s name. First and last, with it being her maiden name, not Tesoro.
“For tax purposes he put the company in my mom’s name, but rest assured it’s also his.”
“Of course he would own this. He’s been nothing but a fucking thorn in my side since Ralph put me in charge of securing him as a client. No offense.”
“None taken. That’s all he knows how to be. Looks like he ruined both of our mornings. I know what I’m about to say is going to sound fucked up, so please know I don’t mean it to be, but I envy how much you miss your dad. I think the only thing I’ll feel when my dad’s time comes is relief.”
“Why is that?” he asks, his voice nothing but sincere.
“That’s not important. I’m not going to burden you with my problems.”
“It’s not burdening if I’m asking you. I want to know.”
“I don’t even know where to begin.”
“How about with whatever he did to you this morning?”
I laugh, dry and sarcastic. “Oh, you mean when he left me this?” For reasons unknown to myself, I grab my phone and play the voicemail my dad left for me. An instant regret because the way Tomás’ face looks reminds me how it did when we were at Luxe, when he was defending me against James.
“Yes, you do,” Tomás says as I stash my phone in my back pocket once the message ends.
“I’m not following.”
“I’ll be your date.”
“Why?” I ask, not used to someone wanting to be nice without wanting something in return.
“Because,” he starts out, though just as quick as the words pour out of his mouth, he pulls back, as I’ve noticed he has a habit of doing. Forever caught between a push and pull battle within himself. “Because I feel most useful in life when I’m able to help others.”
For some reason his honesty travels straight to my heart, and it’s making me feel a sense of vulnerability that I’m not used to.
Wanting to get rid of this feeling immediately, I deflect.
“But what will Ralph say?”
Tomás lets out a sigh. Clearly not thinking this through but then it dawns on me.
“Actually, scratch that. Ralph will be ecstatic.”
“I fucking doubt that.” Tomás goes on to remind me about the extensive fraternizing rule.
I wave my hand at him. “He doesn’t need to know it’s a date. Just my parents. And this way my dad will be forced to give you the time you need to deliver whatever business pitch Ralph has tasked you with.”
He sits considering what I’m telling him, for longer than I was expecting. This should be a no brainer. A win-win, but he doesn’t seem convinced.
“It’s going to work,” I reassure him.
“It’s not, because I can’t in good conscience do business with your dad. Not after that.”
“After what?”
He motions his chin to my phone. “After the way he spoke to you.”
I want nothing more than to downplay how my dad spoke to me like I have for the entirety of my life. Always excusing his poor behavior. Justifying it somehow.
Tomás goes on. “With all due respect to you, I knew your dad was a dick, but hearing the way he speaks to you? I don’t think I’d be able to bite my tongue around him, let alone deliver a business proposal.”
“Then don’t, just come as my date and we can tell Ralph it’s to meet with my dad.”
“Fine. I’d rather be there to help you anyway.”
We leave it at that and get back to work since there is a closing we both have to attend in a few minutes. Though, just as we’re about to leave, our phones ping in unison from the group chat.
Lorena
Salsa night is tonight!
More texts come in from the rest of the group, but Tomás pockets his phone, moving to his office door to open it.
“We can discuss the details tonight at Hummingbirds?”
“Yes,” I breathe, waiting for him to open the door.
“Good. I look forward to dancing with you.”
His message in the group chat from the other day pops in my head.
“You were serious?”
“About dancing with you? Of course, I’d be a fool not to be.”