Unfortunately, gorgeous brown eyes, sexy abs, and good table manners only go so far. He barely worked and when he did it was only one or two days filling in on a construction gig. After six months of staying at my place and not contributing in any way, I told him he had to man up, grow up, and start helping with the rent and chores. That was when he decided it was better for our relationship if he didn’t practically live with me. Eventually, I stopped asking when he’d be back from an out-of-town day job because he usually stayed and mooched off his buddies after the job was done, which meant he wasn’t mooching off of me.
The bottom line was if Chad had any idea how much money Gil and I had, he would have tried to put a ring on my finger to get a piece of it. He would be able to maintain his slacker lifestyle and never have to face his parents and admit he was wrong. Life would be a dream for him but a nightmare for me.
Tiffany and Sam were the only ones in my life who knew about the money. Tiffany, because she was there when it all went down; Sam because when things got tough at the diner, Gil and I offered to help bail him out. He wouldn’t take the money, but it solidified us as family in Sam’s eyes.
“No. He’s working a construction job in Fort Lauderdale.” I walked to my room, doing my best to disengage Tiffany from further Chad discussion. Lately, most days I could take him or leave him, so whether he called me on my birthday or not didn’t really matter. When he did come back, he’d most likely bring me some cheap flowers from the corner store and pour on his charm. I wish I could resist him in those moments, but at the end of the day it’s nice to have someone around to cuddle with and buy me flowers. It gets lonely when the only family you have left is in Italy.
“Here, these are yours,” I said, returning from my bedroom with a pair of pajamas for Tiffany. “Oh, and I brought you a nail file.”
“Um . . . okay. Why did you bring me a nail file?” Tiffany asked.
“You’ve got a nick in your left thumbnail. You’ll want to file it before it tears off,” I told her. Tiffany lifted her hand to her face and examined her thumb.
“I don’t know how you do that.” Tiffany shook her head and got to work.
“Time to get our movie on!” I declared.
I dished out some of Mrs. Vasquez’s black beans and rice into two bowls and grabbed two cans of generic soda from the fridge while Tiffany pushed the coffee table out and threw a tablecloth over it. We sat on the floor, leaned our backs against the couch, turned Netflix on, and searched for sappy movies that carried no hope of ever becoming reality for either one of us.
By four in the morning, we had eaten the whole apple pie and half the carton of ice cream, watched a Rachel McAdams and an Audrey Hepburn movie, and spent the night sufficiently laughing and crying. Tiffany cozied herself up on the couch with a pillow and her favorite of my blankets, and I tucked myself into my queen-size bed.
When Gil left for Italy, I moved my picture of him from my tall, five-drawer dresser and put it next to the one of Mom and Dad on the night table. I looked at both photos, feeling desperate because I missed everyone in them. I said good night to the silver-framed photo of my parents, as I had every night since they died, and then looked at the calendar that hung above the small wooden desk I’d had since middle school. It was officially Sunday, which meant I was due to get an email from Gil that night.
Over the months he’s been gone, I’ve lived for that Sunday email. Gil told me about seeing the Colosseum and Trevi Fountain, and how the research was hard but he knew it was going to pay off in the end. It was exciting and I was so happy for him.
I woke to the delicious smell of coffee and bacon. It was a rarity that someone else was cooking for me. I lay there in bed relishing in the luxury of it. After a few moments, I stretched and twisted my body then dragged myself to the kitchen.
“What is all this?” I asked. The pale yellow kitchen walls felt neon to my morning eyes. The sun streamed through the window.
“This is your birthday breakfast,” Tiffany answered, handing me a cup of coffee. Still in her pajamas, her hair was in a messy bun on top of her head. “Cream and three Splendas, right?”
“You know me so well.” I yawned and nodded sleepily as I took the first sip. “Mmmm, this is good. Thank you, Tiff. This is so sweet of you. What time is it?”
“It’s a little after two,” she answered. “I figured if we served breakfast all day at The Clock, then we could have breakfast at two in the afternoon if we wanted.”
“Good point. And when is breakfast ever a bad idea?” I chuckled. “I don’t remember, are you working tomorrow? Somehow I got today and tomorrow off.”
“Yeah, I’m on for the closing shift tomorrow, but I’m all yours today, baby,” Tiffany kissed the top of my head and returned to egg-scrambling duty.
They smelled heavenly, the cheese melting on top like molten lava, and I couldn’t wait to dive in. Gil used to make breakfast for me every Sunday morning our first year here. He would read the paper, and I would read novels I’d check out of the library. I used to think those were activities we did because we enjoyed them. After a while, I realized that we both read because we didn’t know what to say to each other—terrified we’d mention Mom or Dad and one of us would fall apart. Sometimes talking seemed like a dangerous venture. But each day became a little easier, and one day Gil said he read something Dad would have found funny and neither of us cried.
“Do you want to go window-shopping at Aventura today?” Tiffany asked. Window-shopping was mostly all we did at the mall, although Tiffany tried to convince me on several occasions that the sales were of apocalyptic proportions and important enough to break out the debit card to the settlement money. If I wouldn’t use the money for a car that was younger than me, I certainly wasn’t going to use it for a great price on a pair of Prada shoes neither of us had an excuse to wear—even if they were totally badass grommet, suede, peep-toe booties.
“Sure. And maybe we can have dinner at The Cheesecake Factory,” I suggested. “Gil usually takes me there for my birthday. Just because he isn’t here doesn’t mean I can’t still go.”
“We’re going to have a perfect day!” Tiffany squealed.
After enjoying my birthday breakfast, I checked my email to see if Gil had written yet. It was usually in my inbox around noon—but I had no new messages. Maybe he was waiting until tonight to send it at the exact time I was born. Last year, he held out and didn’t say anything about my birthday until exactly nine forty-two at night.
I tied my hair on top of my head and took a quick shower. It wasn’t much, but the slate blue paint on the walls, the scented candle, the knock-off version of the expensive shampoo and shower gel, and the rain showerhead Gil gave me for Christmas last year made my bathroom feel like a spa.
Tiffany pulled an outfit from the extra clothes she kept in my closet, and we got ourselves as swanky as we could get for the upscale mall. Dressed in the designer jeans from the consignment store and some trendy costume jewelry I found at Versona, we transferred our things from our junkie purses to the knock-offs we bought at the flea market last summer and drove to Aventura.
We tried on clothes and acted aloof with the store clerks. I used to feel badly, but they seriously treated you like you were Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman if you didn’t. Well, I suppose all the stores weren’t like that. We hit Hot Topic, where Tiffany bought an ironic boy band shirt.
When we walked through the makeup and fragrance section at one of the high-end stores, Tiffany, of course, told one sales clerk that it was my birthday.
“We normally only do partial makeup to feature products from our line, but you have to let me do everything!” The girl, not much older than me, clapped her hands together in excitement while I rolled my eyes. Tiffany gave me a shove and told me to sit down and enjoy being taken care of.
“Fine, but I better not look like one of those Real Housewives when you’re do
ne,” I said with a laugh. I never dressed up or went anyplace nice, so I rarely wore makeup. Sometimes Chad and I went to a movie, but I usually cooked dinner for us at my place. I may have rolled my eyes as the makeup girl started, but it actually felt pretty good to relax and let her wave her magic brushes over me.
When my face had been thoroughly blended with foundation, my cheeks made rosy pink with blush, and my eyes detailed with shadow, eyeliner, and mascara, she turned me around to face the big mirror.
“Oh my God, Vic! You look phenomenal!” Tiffany said with wide eyes.
I did. My naturally tan skin glowed under a light powder of blush. And my brown eyes, which I always thought were just plain brown, popped with the eyeliner she used. To round out the picture, my long brown hair fell over my shoulders and framed my features in a way I had never seen before.
“It’s a shame I can’t afford to buy all of this,” I whispered. “Thank you. It was definitely a treat.” An inner voice that sounded an awful lot like Tiffany’s spoke up. You can afford it, Vic. You just choose not to. I just couldn’t use the settlement money to buy something as frivolous as makeup. In fact, I couldn’t imagine using the money for anything.
“We’re having our free-gift-with-purchase promotion right now. Maybe you can get just one or two things and then you’ll get a whole loot of goodies! I would suggest getting the foundation powder and the eyeliner. This one just really made your eyes pop.” The sales clerk held up the two items in my color palette with a huge grin on her face. “The free gift is eye shadow, lip color, our famous moisturizer, and a cosmetic bag. What do you think?”
I did the math in my head and realized the bill would come to fifty dollars. I hadn’t spent that amount on makeup in all the years of my life combined.
“C’mon, Vic. It’s your birthday,” Tiffany encouraged. “Ray gave you fifty bucks last night. You should use it! And you’ll get all the other stuff for free.” She smiled at me warmly and I knew that this wasn’t about stuff. It was about Tiffany wanting me to do something nice for myself because I never did.
I twisted my mouth and looked down at my fidgeting fingers for a moment before glancing at myself in the mirror again. “Okay, I guess . . . I mean . . . it is my birthday, and Ray told me to buy something nice for myself.”
Tiffany threw her arms around my shoulders from the side and pressed our ears together, forcing us to look at our reflection. “You look unbelievable!”
“Whatever,” I said. I leaned my head in toward her and closed my eyes. I treasured Tiffany. She was like family, and if anything ever happened to her or Gil, I didn’t know what I’d do.
We had just left the store when I noticed two guys following us. With broad shoulders and thick, wavy hair, they could have been attractive had they lost the gold chains and creepy thin mustaches, or whatever the fuzz on top of their lips qualified as, but they both looked like total jerks. And having already seen one of them fold a twenty-dollar bill over a stack of ones told me that no makeover was going to change their scamming ways.
“Hello, ladies,” the short one said. “How are you today?” His slight Cuban accent revealed itself with the way he rolled his R’s and the way he lingered at the end of the word today. “We were wondering if you were already under representation with a modeling agency. We’re with a premiere modeling agency from New York and we’re here scouting out beautiful women like yourselves.”
Oh, please. I looked at Tiffany, and we both rolled our eyes.
I gave them the once-over. “You’re modeling agents?” I asked. The taller one cocked his eyebrow and nodded while the short, creepy one gave a resounding “Mmm-hmmm.”
“Really? Who have you worked with?” I asked with a smile as I played along.
“Let’s just say that we’ve worked with one of the most famous Victoria’s Secret models out there,” the tall one said.
“Wow. That’s impressive. Which one?” I challenged.
“We’re not at liberty to share client information,” the short one said.
“Oh sure. I totally get it. So you’ve got, like, a card you can give us?”
They patted the sides of their linen pants before reaching into their matching jackets, pretending to look for something that all four of us knew wasn’t there.
“We seem to be all out. But if you give us your numbers, we’ll be happy to call you from our office and set up a meeting.” The shorter of the two raised his brows at me expectantly.
“Go away. Neither of you is even carrying a wallet. I watched you fold a stack of ones under a twenty and shove it into the inside pocket of your jacket,” I said to Señor Creepy. “Not to mention, both of you are wearing gold chains—and I use the word gold loosely—that are literally turning your necks green. And don’t get me started on the Bruno Magli loafers you’re wearing from three seasons ago.”
I grabbed Tiffany and left the Mario Brothers standing in the middle of the mall, completely befuddled by my response. Mission accomplished.
“How do you do that?” Tiffany asked. “I mean, how did you know that about the wallet and the money? Hell, I didn’t even see those guys before they approached us!”
“I’m just observant. They were standing in that small hallway where the restrooms are outside the store,” I told her. “I saw one of them fold the money and put it in his coat pocket. I could see the outline of the money, too.”
“And the shoes!”
“You can take credit for that. Having a shoe whore for a best friend has finally paid off.”
“I can’t help it. An evil fairy cursed me with expensive taste and no money.”
We walked and laughed and window-shopped all the way to the restaurant. I knew it was dumb, but it felt kind of nice having a bag in my hand as I walked through the mall. Not that I never shopped. I just usually found my necessities at Target. But this was a bag filled with things that I didn’t really need, and it felt pretty good. It even made me think that maybe enough time had passed and Gil and I could start using the money for things other than his tuition. Getting out of our apartment would be the first thing we would do, that’s for sure. But I quickly lost my resolve, and my mind went back to the place it always did when I thought about the money: profiting from my parents’ death was not only disrespectful, but gross.
The Cheesecake Factory with Tiffany was really great. Half the fun was flipping through their twenty-five–page menu and figuring out what we were going to gorge ourselves on before we dug into two huge pieces of cheesecake. I hadn’t done a birthday dinner with her since before my parents died. I had kept it just Gil and me because it seemed so strange not to have Mom and Dad there. This time, though, I felt like I had taken a baby step into a place where special days didn’t feel so empty without them.
“Oh, mija!” Mrs. Vasquez swung her apartment door open just as we reached the top of the steps upon returning home. “I forgot to give you something!” She reached inside her apartment and pulled a box through the dingy doorway. As she handed it to me, I noticed a small red line on her wrist. A burn, the third one this week. “This was delivered for you yesterday. I knew your brother wouldn’t forget your birthday.”
I turned the box around and examined the package. It was wrapped in brown paper, my name and address written in Gil’s chicken-scratch handwriting. And there were red and blue stamps with Italian words. The corners of the paper were rough and frayed from its journey.
“I told him not to get me anything. He doesn’t listen,” I said, laughing as I tucked the shallow box under my arm. “Thank you for rescuing the gift. I don’t know what’s in it, but I’m very thankful you kept it safe.”
Tiff and I entered my apartment, and I dropped my bag on the table by the door before we flung ourselves onto the couch, both stuffed beyond reason. It was getting late and I could see myself surrendering to a food coma any second. But opening Gil’s gift trumped everything e
lse.
“What is it?” Tiffany asked eagerly.
“He said he would send me something from Italy since he wouldn’t be here for my birthday, but I told him not to worry about it.” I rolled my eyes as I tore the paper wrapped around the shallow box. “I have no idea what it could be.”
“Well it sure ain’t a pair of Prada shoes straight from Milan,” Tiffany laughed.
I let the paper fall to the floor as I removed a small gift box. I shimmied open the lid and found one of Gil’s leather-bound research journals.
“Oh, that’s sweet. He sent you a diary,” Tiffany said in a sappy tone.
I felt my eyebrows scrunch together. Gil knew I wasn’t into journaling. I picked up the book and felt the smooth faux leather in my hands and let my fingers trace the embossed design. I opened the cover to see if Gil had written a note—but what I found made my blood run cold.
“Oxblood,” I whispered, reading the single word written in bold letters across the otherwise empty cover page.
I examined the emblem on the cover again and walked into Gil’s room.
Screw his rules, I thought and picked up one of the journals off his desk. The designs were exactly the same. Why had he sent me one of his journals?
I flipped through the pages of my gift and searched for an explanation. They were filled with his handwriting, but none of the few sentences I skimmed made sense. My heart was pounding inside my chest as I lifted the front and back covers up like a bird, shaking the book with hope that some kind of note would fall out telling me why Gil had sent me something he explicitly told me never to touch. But nothing fell from the pages.
“Something terrible has happened,” I whispered. “Gil is in trouble.”
Chapter 2
Oxblood Page 2
