Chapter Three Bianca
Chapter Three
Bianca
Bianca tapped on the dressing room door, handed the woman a larger size of her outrageously popular blue jeans with the pearls down the sides and fringe at the bottom.
“Ooh girl, these are perfect, Bianca!” the woman yelled over the dressing room door.
“The fourteen works, then?” Bianca asked.
“Yes. So cute. I want both styles.”
Chic Threads was Bianca’s baby, a place where she proudly sold a blend of her own designs as well as her unique finds and vintage treasures—clothing, jewelry, and shoes.
She’d built a very loyal clientele. Situated right in the French Quarter, Chic Threads had started as a small consignment shop and quickly grown into an insanely popular boutique in just a few years.
A vase filled with fresh, white southern magnolias rested on the countertop.
The gentle smoky, spicy fragrance from candles burned in each corner of the room, and the romantic sounds from Phillip Lester’s Spanish guitar oozed from the speakers, serenading customers in a spalike vibe.
Spanish colonial furniture and vintage hand-painted cabinets gave the place its rustic charm.
The sun shone brightly through the front picture window.
Bianca’s phone rang and she pulled it out of the back pocket of her jeans.
She glanced at her daughter’s face on the screen.
It was almost as if she was staring at her own reflection in the mirror, except Mila’s hair was a much lighter brown, with a purple streak in the front—the part she could see anyway; the top of her head was covered in a tan knit winter toboggan, as if it weren’t summertime already.
Her lashes were much longer than Bianca would ever dare, though her own style had always been bold and unique.
Bianca was still young at heart. She still tiptoed on the edge.
“Can you wrap those up for her when she’s ready?” Bianca asked, lightly touching Amelia’s arm. “I need to take this call.”
“Of course.” Amelia gave Bianca a smile.
Bianca made her way to her back office and shut the door.
Her office was beautifully decorated in orange and yellow hues.
The desk she used was situated in a feng shui position at the center of the room, diagonally opposite the door.
She was just as concerned about how energy moved through her space as about what she put into her body.
Eating and living clean had become a way of life for her.
She slid her finger across her phone’s screen. “Hi sweetheart.”
“Mom, what’s this about Napa? And a winery?”
“You finally got around to reading my text.” Bianca chuckled.
“I’m going to Napa Valley with Remi to help get her winery up and running.
Zoe’s going, too, and I thought you might want to come along with us.
I know you’d love to catch up with Zoe. You two haven’t spent much time together since Thanksgiving, and with Gerard gone, I’m sure she could use a friend. ”
“I feel terrible about Uncle Gerard. That whole thing is so messed up. But Napa …”
“Maybe you could delay your summer at the cabin with your dad by a couple of weeks.”
“Mom, that’s not really fair to him. And besides, we’re not going to the cabin this year; we’re going to Maine for a few days right after my finals.”
“What’s in Maine?” Bianca asked.
“Mom.” Mila said her name as if warning her not to ask too much.
“What? What’s in Maine?” she asked again.
“Dad wants me to meet Jen’s family—her parents and siblings. Not that it matters to you, but he’s going to propose to her.”
Bianca was silent for a moment. She felt as if her heart had dropped into the pit of her stomach.
She’d always held on to a small glimmer of hope that she and Harry might someday reconcile—as silly as it was.
Her heart ached as she repeated Mila’s words in her head: he’s going to propose to her.
She eased down into the leather chair. Her head began to spin.
It was as if the breath had left her body.
“Mom, are you there? What is going on with you?” She was becoming increasingly impatient with Bianca. She always had been. Most of the time their conversations were strained.
“Yes, I’m here.” Bianca wanted to change the subject—quickly. She tried to recover from the blow she’d been dealt. “How are things going? Classes? Did you pass your first final?”
“I won’t know until later.”
“That’s good. I’m sure you did well.” Bianca twirled around in her chair, reclined as she glanced out the window and watched as a street musician blew his saxophone for a group of tourists who had gathered in the French Quarter.
“Dad bought me a ticket to Maine, so as soon as I’m done with my last exam this week, I’m headed there.”
“Okay, I see.”
“Maybe after the proposal and everything he has planned; I can ask him if he minds if I fly out there for a few days … to Napa. I’d really love to spend some time with Aunt Remi and Zoe.”
No mention of spending time with her. She tried not to let it bother her, but it did.
“That sounds like a wonderful idea. I’ll send you a ticket.”
Mila sighed heavily. “Mom, let me talk to Dad first, make sure he’s cool with it, and I’ll let you know.”
“So, you’re going to get permission from your dad to spend time with your mother?” She felt fury at the thought of it. She blinked her eyes rapidly and clenched her jaw.
“Mom, you know I spend my summers with Dad. We go through this every year,” Mila said softly.
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t spend your whole summer with him.
I mean, you’re old enough to make your own choices, but I haven’t seen you since spring break.
And even then, we didn’t really spend any time together—you were gone with your friends …
” Bianca sighed, trying to recover from the thought of Harry proposing to his much younger girlfriend.
She composed herself. “I don’t want to fight. ”
“Mom, you always want to fight when it comes to Dad. And I just really … I have to go. I have to get to class.”
“Call me later,” Bianca said.
“I’ll try to call you tonight.” Mila ended the call much sooner than Bianca was ready for.
She sat there for a moment, clutching her phone, contemplating making a phone call to Harry. What would she even say? She had no right to quiz him about his marriage proposal, though jealousy raged through her veins. He wasn’t hers anymore, and soon he’d be someone else’s.
Her mind drifted back to the day he asked for the divorce. He said it with no emotion and without any hesitation whatsoever.
“I’ve had the papers drawn up, and I would really like for you to sign them. You can keep the house. I don’t want to uproot Mila. And you can keep your Mercedes truck. I’ve made provisions for Mila’s tuition and I’m leaving you with a nice settlement.”
She’d felt a physical ache in the pit of her stomach when he said it. She hadn’t expected that. She thought they would talk, that maybe counseling could help. They’d discussed trying it and making one last attempt at saving what was left. But instead, he handed her a manila envelope.
“I’ll leave these with you. If you’ll just sign them, it will save us both a lot of time and energy … and money.”
The coldness in his voice cut through her like ice. This man, who had once adored her, who used to hang on her every word, was now distant—detached. He treated her like she was a stranger.
“We’ll work out the details of custody.”
“Custody?” she asked. “Of my daughter?”
“You don’t want to fight me on this.” Harry gave her a pointed look that told her he was up for a fight over Mila.
He was right. She didn’t want to fight anymore.
It seemed they had been fighting relentlessly, and it was exhausting, not to mention unhealthy for their daughter, who was sixteen and completely heartbroken that her parents were falling apart.
He had already moved out of their uptown New Orleans home and into the Roosevelt Hotel.
He had given Bianca a life she’d never dreamed of having.
The daughter of Cuban immigrants, she’d grown up in chaos.
Her father had fled back to Cuba when she was twelve to avoid arrest, and her mother soon followed—leaving Bianca and her younger brother, Antonio, to be raised by their grandmother.
Her tumultuous childhood was the reason she moved through life so cautiously and guardedly.
It taught her to keep secrets close and trust no one.
She’d grown up feeling disposable and unwanted.
She acted out in school and landed herself in trouble more times than she could count—the juvenile detention center had felt like home because she was there so much.
But then she met Harry.
It was at Xavier University that their paths had crossed.
He was an ambitious investment broker with a quick wit and a dazzling smile.
He didn’t quite take her breath away, but he was solid, and he grounded her.
They married in secret at the justice of the peace barely a month later, much to the dismay of her grandmother, who had begged her to finish school first. And if she had to marry, she should have a proper Latin wedding, not some rushed courthouse affair.
Still, her abuelita came around. Eventually, she grew to love Harry and began to see that he was good for her granddaughter.
Bianca had loved him. A part of her still did. If Harry showed up on her doorstep tomorrow and asked for a second chance, she’d say yes without blinking. She had held on to hope for so long that one day he’d forgive her—that they’d rebuild their family.
The news that he had a girlfriend totally blindsided her. But hearing that he planned to propose? That had shattered her.