Bad Sons

by Isla Cristeon

  Earlier, while Rome read Jewel’s journals to catch himself up on our tangled past, I gave her a brief tour of the school. I complained about the lackluster effort of Rome’s secretary, along with the impending job change he would spring on her later.

  “Do you have a replacement yet?” she’d asked.

  I shook my head. “We do have a list of other candidates that looked promising. I have to go through their files tonight.”

  She looked up at me with a sweet smile I knew all too well. “Can I call in a favor?”

  I shot her a look. She should know I’d do anything in my power for her. After all, she’s the mother of my child. There’s nothing too great she could ask of me.

  “Of course. Anything.”

  “I know someone who lives in the area looking for a job.”

  “Do they have secretarial training or experience?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Immediate availability?”

  “Yes.”

  Glancing at my watch, I checked my schedule. “I could meet for an interview today. Anytime. Technically I was free to go after lunch. I just stayed here for moral support.”

  She graced me with one of her lovely smiles. “You’re sweet, Nando, and that’s why I love you.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Go on. Tell me more. My ego could use a good stroking. In fact, I have a large number of things that could use a serious stroking.”

  A shout of laughter burst from her, then dissolved into breathless giggles. “Oh my God, me too.”

  Amusement glimmered in my eyes. “I think you’ll be getting plenty of stroking as of tonight. Like I told you, I’m fairly certain he’s never dated anyone else.”

  Sadness turned down the corners of her mouth. “Part of me regrets waiting so long, but when I look at everything he’s accomplished, I know it was the right thing to do.”

  I had to agree. Sometimes, the absence of a loved one can push a person to a higher plane of existence. We’re constantly forced to move beyond our comfort zones and grow. I experienced that myself.

  Regret took a bitter root inside me for close to a year. The day Hero convinced Aida to grab the box of cookies from the top shelf of the pantry will forever be a day I feel shame over. I overreacted. I poured my own inner turmoil out on her.

  That box of cookies was mine.

  When Hero was first diagnosed with the wheat allergy, our home became a guaranteed safe zone. I had a hard time understanding the severity, while Jewel ensured not a grain of gluten would cross our threshold. For a while, I complained so much about the cardboard tasting gluten-free shit that Jewel eventually loosened her stringent standards and allowed me to buy whatever I wanted as long as I kept it up high.

  I underestimated how much Hero wanted to try one of her papi’s special cookies, and what lengths Aida would go to in order to build a relationship with my daughter.

  But those cookies should have never been in the house. My stubbornness brought them inside, and as a result, my stubbornness is what hurt Hero. The way I spoke to Aida, calling her irresponsible, reflected my own guilt. And then minutes later, her own world came crumbling down when Abram arrived. I understand now that it was all too much for her to bear.

  They’d been waiting for us when Jewel, Hero, and I returned from the hospital, the siblings curled together on the sofa. Aida rested against her brother’s chest, and he had one arm around her shoulders. Grief was written on their faces, dried tears streaking their cheeks.

  Abram told me everything while Aida laid her head on the armrest and wept silent tears. I sat in numb understanding as I listened about my own father’s death.

  I needed to return to Virginia to be with my mother. They needed to leave and bury their father. His death wasn’t reported, and the only people who would miss him or knew were his children.

  Once Aida gathered her things, Abram called a cab and waited outside with their bags, smoking a cigarette. My fingers itched to call my mother, but I also needed to focus on Aida for a moment. At the door, I held her in a tight hug for several minutes, running my hand over her hair as she shook in my arms.

  I had no idea I wouldn’t see her again. If I’d known, I would have never loosened my hold. I would have told her how sorry I was for my words; I would have told her I loved her. But all I did was hold her.

  Jewel and I put our numbers into her phone, and we programmed hers into ours. I felt so sure we’d get through this difficult time of losing our fathers in tandem, and emerge on the other side together.

  I was wrong.

  And so I let her leave with her brother, confident in the knowledge that I’d see her the next day when I flew into Virginia to be with my mom to help arrange my father’s funeral.

  I texted her soon after she left, and the message bounced back to me as unsent. I didn’t think much of it, because the mountains are notorious for poor reception, so I tried texting again a couple hours later. Same thing. Then I tried calling, and got an error message. At first, I thought I got her number wrong, but confirmed I had the right number when I checked Jewel’s phone. But Jewel couldn’t contact her either.

  Denial remained my middle name for many days afterward, believing Aida made an error when putting her number into our phones, and that she had our numbers and would reach out to us once she and Abram buried their father. I held on to my miserable hope for a couple weeks. And then gradually, it burned away, fading from sparking flames into dust and ash.

  I thought about her every day. I prayed for her wellbeing and happiness every day. And every day, I was forced to accept that she chose to walk away.

  Three years later, and it hasn’t gotten any easier. After a year, I did try dating, but every woman was a single match held up against the conflagration of Aida Prospero.

  After pulling into the coffee shop parking lot, I grab my phone and check for a message from Jewel. Nothing.

  Climbing from my car, I grimace at the wave of heat. Ever the business man, I grab my suit jacket from the back and shrug it on before heading into the air-conditioned shop with my bag slung over my shoulder. While I stand in line, I scroll through my phone, checking email and social media. On Instagram, I use the search button, and hit the first name that pops up for my search history.

  Okay, look. I’m not a stalker, but one day, I’m confident she’ll open a social media account. As it stands, I only search her name once a month. Twice, tops.

  My world freezes as I see the name Aida Prospero pop up. Holy shit. This is happening.

  I click on her account, and thank the stalker gods she hasn’t made it private yet. Feverishly, I click on the first picture. Aida’s hand holding a pen to a page in a journal.

  Caption reads: The never-ending journey. Working on me. #selfhealers

  I scroll through a few more pictures, one of a cat, another of her bookshelf, one of a sunset. The last photo, posted fifteen minutes ago, is a cliché latte shot. A pretty pile of foam with a heart poured in.

  Her caption reads: Excited for new beginnings. #newleaf #matchalatte

  I smile in the knowledge that she is well and living a good life in whatever town while enjoying a latte in a coffee shop. My finger hovers over the Follow button then moves to the Message button. Thinking better of it, because I’ve learned impulsivity doesn’t always end well for me, I slide my phone into my pocket and step up to the waiting barista.

  “What can I make for you today?” she asks with a bright smile.

  “Iced Americano.”

  “For here or to-go?” the barista asks.

  “A to-go cup is fine.” I insert my credit card to pay.

  “Your name?”

  “Fernando.”

  “Okay, it’ll be ready at the end there.”

  I meander to the end of the counter and lean one elbow on the wooden top as I pull out my phone again. Jewel still hasn’t responded, so I call her. It rings several times before going to her voicemail. I smile listening to the same voicemail greeting she’s had for
four years, which also includes Hero’s little voice.

  My gaze lands on a woman sitting by herself in the corner. She wears a simple, button-up white blouse and navy-blue pencil skirt. Her long, bare legs end in a pair of suede blue stilettos. My mouth goes dry as the phone beeps in my ear, signaling me to leave a message. I end the call instead, continuing to stare in disbelief.

  “Fernando!”

  A barista sings out my name and slides a cup on the counter beside me. In the corner, the woman’s head whips up, and we lock eyes. Time stops as the coffee shop blurs into nothingness, and all I see is her. I don’t bother grabbing my drink. In five strides I reach her table.

  “Is this seat taken?”

  She swallows, staring up at me with those luminous amber eyes. “Um, not yet.”

  I pull out the chair and settle myself into it, resting my elbows on the edges of the table and feeling my suit stretch across my wide back.

  “Aida,” I say softly, the word like a prayer.

  Her tongue darts between her lips to moisten them. “Fernando. Hi.”

  My chest rises and falls with agitated breaths. I’d imagined seeing Aida so many times. In stores, the flash of a tall, dark-haired woman would pass in my periphery, and I’d turn into a creeper, peeking around each neighboring aisle in hopes I’d see her. While jogging around the neighborhood, a car would pass, and I’d swear I saw her profile. My longing for her made me delusional many times over.

  Ignoring the coffee shop around us, I extend my right hand palm up, waiting, silently begging for her to reciprocate. Her lips tremble as she stares at my hand.

  I can wait. I literally have all day.

  Several seconds pass before she pulls her lower lip into her mouth, pressing her teeth in. And then she places her left hand in mind. Her eyebrows furrow as she keeps her gaze on our connection. A single tear falls from her eye as she exhales a muffled sob.

  I close my hand around hers and run my thumb over her fingers. My body pulses with primal need, to toss her over my shoulder and take her back to my cave so I can make her mine.

  Would it be bad form to invite her over tonight? I can’t imagine any scenario where I leave this place without her.

  Unless …

  Quickly, I flip her hand and examine her fingers. No ring. Good. And frankly, I don’t give half a fuck if she has a boyfriend. A husband would be trickier to overcome, but I think we’d manage.

  So many questions whirl in my head. Where have you been? Why didn’t you call me? Do you still love me?

  All of those would be stupid to ask now, so I settle on something even stupider.

  “I love you, Aida.”

  My chest tightens with trepidation, but feels lighter at the release of those necessary words. Now it’s up to her.

  Her eyes gleam with tears. “Fernando, I’m sorry I disappeared like that. I felt like a horrible person for the role I played in harming Hero. And then to find out my dad went back on his word that he wouldn’t hurt your father or uncle.”

  “Look, I know—”

  “Can you let me get this all out first?” she asks softly.

  I nod, damming the stream of words I want to say.

  She continues. “I’ve been working hard at healing my inner wounds. I learned love is a fear trigger for me. The ones I love the most have been taken from me, or like my father, he outright chose to leave me. And so I left you before you could leave me. Because I knew I did something stupid. And I knew every time you saw me, you’d see my father. I couldn’t bear your anger or disappointment. So I disappeared.”

  Compressing my lips, I digest her words, the admission of her fears. And I understand. Had the roles been reversed, I’d feel the same.

  I tighten my hand around hers. “There is nothing you could do, short of causing intentional hurt, that would make me not love you, Aida. And I should have told you that day when Hero got ahold of the cookies, that it was actually my fault. Jewel had a strict no-wheat policy in the house, but I ignored it. I’d buy my own snacks and put them up high, thinking Hero couldn’t reach it.”

  “She’s a smart kid, though.”

  Laughing, I nod. “Conniving, more like it. I had no idea she’d trick someone into getting them for her.”

  “How is she?” The smile fades from Aida’s place, replaced by a look of curiosity.

  “Good. She starts second grade in the fall. And actually, she had a food challenge two months ago, and has grown out of her severe allergy reaction to wheat. We still avoid it though.”

  “I know,” she says, then rapidly amends. “I mean, I’ve been in touch with Jewel over the years.”

  My eyes narrow. Why wouldn’t Jewel tell me?

  Aida squeezes my hand. “Please don’t be upset with her. She was respecting my wishes. I wasn’t sure when I’d be ready to face you again. But she’s been encouraging me to reach out. I swear I was going to. Soon. Anyway, she helped me get an interview for a new secretarial job.”

  I blink twice. “Come again?”

  “That’s why I’m here. I’m waiting for someone.”

  Lowering my head, I chuckle softly.

  Jewel. Of course.

  I look up, seeing flecks of the afternoon sun shining through the window and dancing off Aida’s eyes. “Well, we better get started then. Can I have your resume?”

  The ambience of the coffeeshop hums around us. Aida raises her eyebrows. “What?”

  Sighing, I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. “Jewel sent me here to interview her friend. I’ve been texting and calling her asking for the name and physical description so I’d know who to look for, but she’s not answering me. She set us up.”

  “Oh my gosh.” A smile blossoms over Aida’s face. “She knew I was too chicken to actually call you myself. Is there really a job?”

  I nod. “Yeah. You’ll be working for Roman. He just saw Jewel for the first time this afternoon.”

  “Wow. Nothing but reunions today.”

  Reaching behind the chair, I pull out a stack of papers from my bag and a pen, then hand them over to Aida. “Start filling this out, and let me look over your resume. It’s just a formality. Clearly you have the job. Just don’t tell anyone about us.”

  Pausing her perusal of the form, Aida glances up at me. “What about us?”

  I press my lips together and fold my hands. “The university has a strict non-fraternization policy in place. I never even mentioned it to Jewel.”

  “So … As long as I work there, we can’t be together?”

  “Look, I didn’t say that. We just have to be discreet.”

  She sets the pen on the table and rests her forearms on top of one another. “This job is important to me.”

  “Rome won’t fire either of us, but we can’t be flagrant about it.”

  “Or, we just control ourselves. It might be good for us to learn restraint when it comes to one another.”

  A heavy sigh leaves my chest as my hands grip the edges of the table. Restraint? When it comes to her? Like hell.

  I clear my throat. “What if you just don’t apply for the job? What if you let me take care of you?”

  The look that flashes from her eyes lets me know that was the wrong thing to say.

  “I’ve been there, done that. You want a ladybird? A little pet waiting for you at home with a hot dinner on the table, greeting you with open arms and spread legs?”

  “Aida. It’s not like that, and you know it.”

  She leans forward. “I need to pave my own way in life. I need you to understand why that’s important to me.”

  Clenching my jaw, I release my hands from where they’re nearly imprinting the wooden table. She can’t possibly mean what I think she means.

  “So you’re saying we can’t be together.”

  “Friends,” she says, her eyes burning with conviction.

  A bitter laugh erupts from me. “There is no universe in existence where I can ever be only your friend.”

  “Just for now,
Nando. We’ll talk to Rome and see if he’ll consider changing next year's contract to remove the non-fraternization policy.”

  “A year? You expect me to see you every day for a year and not want to bury my face between your legs at every turn?”

  Pink climbs up Aida’s neck as someone at the table next to us clears their throat. We’ve been so embroiled with one another, we didn’t even realize anyone sat nearby. The elderly couple beam smiles in our direction, and the silver-haired man lifts his coffee cup in a silent toast.

  A loud laugh escapes me, and I throw my head back, enjoying the feel of pure joy rushing through me. My eyes gleam with amusement as I pick up the pen and return it to the bag.

  “If you’re going to sign it, you’ll do it tomorrow after you meet Rome.” I push away from the table and stand, shouldering my bag.

  “What? You’re leaving already?” she says in a small voice.

  “We’re leaving. I haven’t seen you for three years, Aida. If you’re signing that contract in the morning, then by God, you’re coming home with me tonight.”

  To be continued …

  Read the conclusion of the Verona Saga in No Evil Angel but Love, a modern retelling of Shakespeare’s Love’s Labour’s Lost

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you so much to my beta readers. Kailyn, your eye for detail amazes me. Geornesha, thank you for loving these characters as much as I do. Katie, thanks for saving my butt with your eagle eye. Anja, thank you for your enthusiasm and support.

  I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to convey the immense amount of appreciation I have for the bloggers and readers who create stunning edits, share cover reveals, teasers, leave early reviews, or ANY review! Madi, Ana, Sybil, Anastasia, and Anja, I loved your edits, so had to give a special shout out. If I forgot anyone, yell at me, and then forgive me!

  The Verona Saga has been such a labor of love, and reviews help these stories be more visible. If you think someone else would enjoy reading these modern Shakespeare retellings, then please take a few moments to leave an honest review. Even a few sentences is enough. Until next time …