by RH Tucker
By the time Debbie comes back and drops his soda off, I still have no idea what to say.
He takes a sip of his drink and finally breaks the silence. “Okay, well, I’m going to lead with the worst part first. Then, hopefully, you’ll let me explain.”
“Worst part?” I curl a lip, my gaze locking on his. “It gets worse?”
Squirming in his seat, he gazes at the table, nodding. When he looks back at me, his eyes are unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The same dark brown as mine, but now they’re almost hollow. Like he’s not sure who he is anymore. Even as pissed off as I am, I can’t stand to see him that way.
“I cheated on your mother when we were in college. Twice.”
My world stops.
My head drops, hanging between my shoulders, and I slump forward, catching my face in my hands before it hits the table. “Twice? You can’t be serious?”
“I am. I’m sorry.”
I try to respond, but I can’t. My mouth’s open, but the sounds are incoherent. Why? How? What for? So many things I want to know, but I’m not even sure where to start.
“You know we went to the same college. We had all our whole lives planned out when we graduated high school. And, for almost our entire freshman year at the university, it was all going to plan.” I’m finally able to bring my head up and look at him, but he won’t meet my gaze. Instead, he’s staring at his drink, twirling the cup with his fingers. “Freshman year was almost over. We’d been invited to a party, but your mom couldn’t make it. The night started off like any other party; music, beer pong, shots.”
“You drank?” I ask. As long as I’ve known him, he has never drunk alcohol.
“Back then I did.” He nods, still not making eye contact. “I don’t know when it happened, or how it happened, all I remember is the next morning. Waking up in my friend’s bedroom, some girl with her leg over me, and a pounding headache.” He finally looks up, and I swallow down nerves, not knowing if I want to hear any more. “Are you sure you want to know this?”
Right as I’m taking a deep breath, Debbie comes by with his plate. “Micah, you sure you don’t want anything?”
Staring back at my dad, I answer them both. “I’m sure.”
He waits for Debbie to leave, flicking at the fries on his plate, then continues. “I told your mom immediately. I didn’t even go home, I went straight to her house, and confessed everything, knowing it was going to be over. Maybe I could’ve hidden it, but I didn’t want to. Your mother, she’s always been it for me, Micah. From that first day I saw her, sophomore year in high school, I knew I was going to marry her one day. So I told her, she slapped me across the face, tears rolling down her cheeks, and told me she never wanted to see me again.”
He takes a long breath, and I’m not sure if it’s to regain his composure or for me to regain mine.
“I begged her. I pleaded with her for the entire summer. I waited outside her house. I practically stalked her, sending her flowers and candy and anything else I could think of so she’d give me another chance. I begged and begged and begged, and then finally—somehow—she took me back. It wasn’t easy, and she’d check in on me every day. Asking who I was with, where I was. Any and every detail I could, I gave her. And then I screwed it up again.
“It was the summer leading up to our junior year. A week before the semester started, we went to another party. This time she came and everything was fine. But I was drinking again. She tried to tell me I should stop, but it was the last party of the summer. I told her there was nothing to worry about. When she wanted to leave, I told her I’d get a ride from someone later. The last thing I remember that night is the worry and hesitation on her face. It doesn’t matter the outcome that you know now, Micah. I’d give anything to go back to that night and just listen to her. Because she was right, and I almost lost it all.”
He takes a bite of a fry, staring aimlessly at the plate, with more regret on his face than I’ve ever seen on him. But I’ve seen that look of disappointment before. On Lana’s face.
“I woke up the next morning …” He lets out a disbelieving, almost disgusting, laugh at himself. “God, I still hate this. I always will. I woke up the next morning, and your mom was pushing my shoulder. My head was pounding, but I still wanted to hold her. I pulled at her arm, trying to hug her, and she yanked herself away in disgust. Appalled. She motioned next to me in the bed. Turning around, I saw a girl beside me. Looking back at your mom, I could literally see her heart breaking.”
I lean over the table, putting my head in my hands again, unable to stop the disgusted tone from leaving me. “I can’t believe you …”
“I know, Micah. I don’t know how I even passed junior year, but somehow I did. I’d see your mom around, and the first couple months I didn’t even attempt to talk to her. I knew it was over. But October rolled around, then Thanksgiving. We missed our little Christmas tradition. And just knowing that was never going to be anymore, I couldn’t take it. Not because of certain days, but because of all the days. I wanted her every single day for the rest of my life, but how could I make up for everything I’d done?
“I did everything I could, and nothing worked. The year went by and junior year came to an end. Over that summer, before our senior year, I made a promise to myself. I was going to make sure I did everything possible to show her I’d never do anything like that again. I stopped drinking and focused on building a life I had every intention of sharing with her. All the while, I continued to call her, and she still hung up on me. I’d show up where she worked and she’d tell someone to kick me out. Seriously, she could’ve had me arrested for how I was acting. But she never did.
“When senior year started, she finally seemed to at least acknowledge me. I can’t explain it, but I knew there was still hope for us. Just by the way she’d say hi some days, or by a look. Who knows, maybe if I didn’t get that feeling and she had completely given up on us, then I’d be some lonely hermit somewhere. Thankfully, that’s not what happened.
“Midway through senior year, during our winter break, I went to visit her at her house. Your grandfather was still alive then, and he’d already threatened to break my fingers, but I couldn’t stop myself. We’d missed our tradition the year before, I wasn’t going to miss it again. Christmas day I headed over there with our little paper tree, and knocked on the door, fully expecting your grandpa to smash my face in. Instead, your mom answered the door.
“There are a few moments in my life that I know I’ll never feel happier. One was the day we were married. Another was the day you were born. But the third is that day she answered the door. I lifted up our paper tree, hoping against hope she’d at least take it and not throw it in my face. She smiled through tears, wrapped her arms around me, and kissed me.”
He smiles. For the first time during his entire explanation, it’s a genuine smile. Growing up, I always wondered why we had the paper tree tradition. It’s something my parents have always done. They cut out a paper Christmas tree out of construction paper and tape it to something upright. Then, we all write down something we’d like to give the other person, but it can’t be something you can buy. It has to be something intangible. We still do it, and last year, I wrote to my mom I’d make sure she always had a smile and laughter. I asked once why we do it, and my mom said it’s because no matter what happens, no matter how little we have, we can still give one another our love.
“I proposed the very next week. She said no of course, but I just keep telling her whenever she was ready. I wasn’t ever going to make the same mistake I did. I may do some dumb stuff, but I’d never hurt her like that again. And I haven’t. We got married a few months after we graduated. You came along a couple years later, and … now you know. People make mistakes, Micah.”
People make mistakes. There’s that phrase again, and now it takes on an entirely new meaning. I’m still coming to grips with this entire story, and maybe if he didn’t say those last words, my anger might be gone, but it’s
not.
“Mistakes? Mistakes, Dad? What you did was more than a mistake.”
“I know.”
“So that’s why Mom’s kept telling me about Lana. Because she thinks anyone who cheats on someone and screws somebody else, deserves chance after chance.”
As soon as I say it, he recoils, hurt across his face. I swallow down my anger, feeling a pang of remorse, the same I got when I threw Veronica’s words back at her.
“Your mom just wants you to be happy, Micah. And yes, she saw a lot of us in you and Lana. And she saw what you two were like in high school. She loves you and just wants you to be with someone who makes you happy.”
“I was.” I push away from the table, standing up. “And guess what? I think she was cheating on me, too.”
Even as I say the words, I don’t believe them. I’m sure everything Veronica told me is the truth, but I’m still pissed off at my dad. Anger and words never mix well.
Without waiting for a reply, I leave the diner.
“Micah!” he calls out to me.
I get in my truck, slamming the door shut.
He knocks on the window. “Micah, please.”
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, and finally roll the window down. “What?”
“Son, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.”
I shake my head, not wanting to tell him that I don’t really think it’s true. “I know.”
He leans closer, putting his hand behind my neck. “I’m sorry about everything and that I’ve let you down. I never wanted to tell you, not because I wanted you to think of me as perfect, but because I’m embarrassed, Micah. I’ll always be ashamed of what I did. There are times I still think about it, and out of the blue, I’ll ask your mother for forgiveness because I honestly don’t think I’ll ever deserve it. And now you know, and I never wanted you to look at me how I look at myself. Like I’m not worthy of your mom’s love. Or of yours now.”
Facing him, I’m taken by surprise. Tears run down his face. He’s never been a hard man—always kind and gentle with me, even when disciplining me—but I’ve never seen him cry. It breaks through every piece of anger inside. Getting out of the truck, I wrap my arms around him, tighter than I ever have.
“Don’t say that, Dad. I’ll always love you.”
“I love you, too, son. And I’m sorry.”
Chapter 34
Veronica
“Vero, hand me my cup.” Miguel’s words are loud and clear, but I ignore them. “Vero?”
I stare at my cards, acting like I can’t hear him. Cindy sits next to me. I can feel her gaze on me, but I don’t care. I didn’t even want to play our traditional Go Fish game. She begged me, hoping to get me back into some kind of normalcy.
“You can’t ignore me forever, V,” Miguel says, and it’s all it takes for me to snap my eyes to his.
“Watch me.”
“It’s been weeks,” he laments. “I’ve apologized over a dozen times. What more do you want?”
Dropping my cards, I grab his cup. “What more do I want? Really? You screwed everything up!”
“I didn’t screw anything up!” he yells back.
Tomás gets to his feet. “Okay, guys, you need to calm down.”
“She’s the one who needs to calm down,” Miguel responds. “If you had just told Tim to beat it, I wouldn’t have had to call Micah in the first place. It’s your—” He stops himself.
My eyes squint, knowing what he’s going to say. “Say it.”
“Nothing,” he grumbles, lowly.
“Say it, Mike. Tell me it’s my fault. Say it!”
“It is!” he yells at me, and I hurl the cup at him.
He ducks out of the way, and it crashes into the wall behind him. I knew it was empty and it’s plastic, but even if it were glass and full, I probably still would have thrown it at him.
“Are you crazy?”
“V,” Cindy whispers, grabbing my arm, but I pull it away.
“No!” I yell at her before turning back to Miguel, Tomás now standing between us. “You don’t think I know that? You don’t think I wish I could take it back? I do. But even if everything with Tim happened and Micah wasn’t here, I would’ve told him. I wouldn’t go back to Tim, and I would’ve told Micah. But, no! You had to text him and act like some overbearing protector and put that on him, didn’t you? You’re such an ass!”
I’ve heard the whispers between the boys. They don’t know everything that’s gone down between Micah and me, but they know enough. Javier stares at everyone, still sitting down at the table, unsure what to do. Miguel, as usual, comes down from his overbearing brother persona and now looks like he wants to apologize. It’s been the standard split personalities he’s been displaying for the past two weeks. And Tomás is in the middle of it all. He watches me carefully, while still standing in front of Miguel.
Spinning around, I head straight to my room and collapse onto my bed. I don’t know how to fix this. Micah walked out the door, and I haven’t heard from him. I’ve debated sending him a text message. It starts with ‘I’m sorry,’ and I am, but then I delete it. While I am sorry, Micah jumping to conclusions and not believing me makes the anger inside rise, almost to the levels of my sorrow. Then I begin to ask if we can or should talk, but I delete that, too. What can I say? What can he say?
“Knock, knock,” Cindy says lightly, opening my door. “You okay?”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I sit up, pulling up my knees. “I wish people would stop asking me that.”
“Sorry. Did you want me to stay? I could go get us ice cream, and we could veg out for the rest of the night.”
I shake my head. “I think I just want to be alone for a while.”
“Oh, okay.”
I hear the door click shut and wish I could go to sleep, but I know if I try I’ll only toss and turn. Getting up, I cross my room and find a picture I printed out of Micah and me. We visited the street fair a few more times, and the picture is one he took of us sharing a milkshake. Probably something we’ll never do again.
After a small knock at the door, it cracks open. “Cindy, seriously, I don’t want to do anything.”
“She left.”
Looking over at the doorway, I see Miguel standing there, an anguished expression across his face. “Oh.”
“Vero, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter. I know it’s my fault and I’m sorry. I wish I never would’ve told Micah. And I didn’t do it because I thought something was going to happen between you and Tim, I just did it because I knew you wouldn’t listen to Tomás or me and I wanted that jerkoff out of our house. After what you told us he did, it took everything in my power that day to not punch him as soon as I opened the door. So I texted Micah, knowing if anyone could get rid of him, Micah could. I’m sorry for everything.”
Putting the picture back on my desk, I pull out my chair and lay my head down on the desktop. “It doesn’t matter, Mike. It’s over. Everything’s over.”
“Don’t say that.” He walks over to my chair, resting his hand on my shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you as happy as you are with Micah. And you’re a pretty freaking happy person.”
Even as tears fall, I let out a giggle. “Thanks.”
“Just give it time. Me and Javi will drag his ass here if we have to.”
“Don’t.” I squeeze his hand, trying my best to smile. “Please, don’t. This is bigger than just Tim being here.”
“Okay.” He nods and leans over, wrapping his arms around me. “I love you, sis.”
“Love you, too.”
For the rest of the night, I constantly check my phone, continuing to debate with myself about texting him. Ever since the Tim fiasco, I’ve decided it’s better not to post any quotes or heart-wrenching love-song lyrics. And then finally, I fall asleep, wishing everything was a bad dream.
One thing I have been doing is helping Tomás out with payroll for
the company. He doesn’t seem to mind, even if he is just letting me help knowing I’m trying to keep my mind occupied. He’s out, going over an estimate, and I’m filling out paperwork when Yesenia comes into the house.
“How’s it going, Veronica?” she asks in her usual bubbly way, so I know she’s not asking for the same reason everyone else has been.
“It’s fine,” I acknowledge her, stapling some papers together. “Just finished a stack. You know, Toto never told me how many people work for Papá. It’s a lot.”
She laughs. “Yeah. When we started dating, he loved to act like a big shot. He’d tell me how he was in charge of this or that and seemed so proud. Now, I think he’d do anything to have one of your brothers join the business to help him out.”
I join in on the laughter, but it quickly dies out. I remember when they started dating, but only bits and pieces. Miguel always makes fun of how in love he says Tomás was. But thinking about them being in love is the last thing I want on my mind because it only reminds me of Micah. My gaze breaks away from hers.
“So, I know it’s none of my business, and we don’t really talk much about this stuff, but like I told you before if you need to talk, I’m here.”
I nod, getting up from the table and walking to the kitchen to open the fridge. “I know. Thanks, Yessi, but there’s nothing to talk about.”
“Are you sure? I might be able to help.”
Help? Right. Because she obviously knows something about being heartbroken, and trusting someone, when she’s been with Tomás for the last six years, and been married for four of them. The thought makes the anger boil over, and I can’t stop from snapping at her. “No offense, Yessi, but you really couldn’t.”
“Tomás told me what he said.”
I slam the refrigerator door, clenching my eyes shut to fight back the tears.
