“Are you really thinking of coming home at some point or is that something you’re telling your mom to appease her?”
This was the part of the conversation when my dad transformed into “we’re about to process your shit” social worker mode.
I lifted a shoulder, unsure of how to proceed in the conversation. I didn’t want my dad to think I didn’t want to come home because of any other reason than I felt like I needed to make my own way. “I just don’t want you guys to think I don’t love being close to you.”
He put his arms around me and tugged on one of the curls on top of my head. “Julia del Mar, why would you say that? We know that. But you know what I love? Seeing you talk about a job you’re passionate about and building community out here, baby. Our people take chances, we cross oceans to go after what we want. Having to get on a plane and fly across a few states to see you isn’t the end of the world.”
I looked down at my feet, still unable to fully shake the embarrassment I felt when I thought about how I ended up here. “I came here running after Matt, and like an idiot got dumped within weeks. I hate the idea of being stuck in a situation because I let some asshole uproot me from my life while the whole time he was cheating on me.” My father made a very unkind sound at the mention of Matt, which was as pissed off as he ever got. But it did help a little in making me feel less like a loser. “I just want to prove to myself that this wasn’t just about him.”
“But you’re not trapped, mija, you’re in control.” He waved his hand around my apartment. Pointed at the full bookshelves, the art on the walls. “Matt didn’t do any of this, you did. He didn’t get you the job. He didn’t find friends for you.”
“No, but—” I didn’t even know what I was going to argue with him about.
He shook his head and smiled at me. “You’re a fighter like your viejo and your mom. You do what feels good for you, for your life. If you’re happy, we’re happy.”
That was what I needed to hear.
The blessing I was hoping for, to let me know this was okay. That I wasn’t just delaying the inevitable or fooling myself in thinking I could make it out here on my own. Which only made the feelings I was slowly developing for Rocco that much more of a bitch.
I wanted to be here and I wanted him too.
Those two things were going in opposite directions, and no matter how supportive my parents were, my chasing after another guy was going to worry them. Worse, it would disappoint them. I would never risk doing that, not after everything they’d done for me.
“Thanks for saying that, Papi,” He squeezed me in another hug and after a moment gestured in the direction of my small kitchen. “The vote of confidence matters. Let’s get something to drink.”
He followed me from the couch and took the bottle of beer I offered him. After taking a long drink, he winked at me before leading the way back to the living room. “You’re fine, nena. I know you’ll figure things out. Now tell me what we’re going to do about your mother and abuela, because their plan is to make a meal that can feed twenty people and I don’t know if I can handle that level of stress tomorrow.”
Chapter Sixteen
Rocco
I was standing at the executive parking lot at Sturm’s after getting back from the program visit and all in my head thinking about Dani’s words from last week.
Could I really leave New York? Take my sister and Blue with me? Leave our parents and all that drama behind? Risk losing the security of a job I had seniority in, a job I was good at?
“Wasn’t that something?” I snapped my head in the direction of Muffy’s voice and saw her and her sister walking over to me. They looked delighted and with good reason.
“Phil has been trashing the program all week. He thinks because our little brother has let him run the IPO show that we’re going to just let him mislead the board.”
“I’m glad you felt good about the visit.” There was no fucking way I was getting caught giving an opinion about Phil or Duke.
“Julia was with you at the baseball game,” Muffy informed me teasingly, but my panic was too intense to tell what she was getting at.
Were they joking? Or were they fishing? Fuck.
“Yeah. She was.”
There was a weird pause, as if they were expecting me to fill them in on exactly what was going on between the two of us. Not happening.
After a very heavy pause, Mitzy leaned in and whispered, “Let’s make sure Phil doesn’t figure that out.”
Fuck.
Her voice was pleasant and her eyes kind, but still this was so not okay. Mitzy must have figured out I was dying inside, because she squeezed my arm and smiled. “Don’t worry, he won’t get wind of this from us. We’d never give him an excuse to say the consultants are compromised, not now that we know you’re not trying to fuck us over.”
The coughing fit started before I could help it, and I knew I was red in the face.
“I would never make a recommendation that would jeopardize my client.”
Muffy flicked her hand at me, dismissing my comment.
“We know that. It’s why we can keep this little bit to ourselves. We trust that you will not play fast and loose with the way that we’ve always done business at Sturm’s.”
Mitzy angled her head toward the hallway. “Phil and Duke can’t wait to get us out. So they can run amok giving themselves Fortune 500 CEO salaries.”
She was not wrong. If it was up to those two, Sturm’s would be one more corporation trying to slash costs and line the pockets of the executives without any regard for employees or their community. The issue was, I wasn’t sure if there was a way to keep that from happening—at least in part—if they did go public. My job was to get them there though, and no matter what feelings I was feeling, there was no deviating from that. Maybe I’d finally give Julia a reason to hate me and I could move the fuck on.
“All I can promise is that I will do my job.”
“We know.” Mitzy pointed at the Porsche SUV in the lot. “We’re headed home. The only reason we even came in was because of the visit.” I couldn’t blame her for sounding annoyed. “But first, let’s pretend we’re just your nosy aunties.”
These two looked cute and innocent but their gossip approach worked: the urge to spill my guts was strong.
“Tell us. What’s going on with you and that beautiful woman? You certainly only had eyes for her today.”
Oh, God.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” I felt like Judas, denying what I was feeling for Julia like that. Dismissing her. But I could not let the twins get the wrong idea.
Matching eye rolls came my way in unison. “You’re no fun. Do you have any plans for Thanksgiving?”
I shook my head and tried not to look too much like a loser. “I think I’m going to take the day to relax.”
Muffy nodded while Mitzy fished for something in her bag. “We’ll see you on Friday for the barbecue right?”
“I’ll be there.” The Sturm twins threw a Thanksgiving Friday BBQ that was apparently a famous occurrence in Dallas high-society circles, and my Queens-born-and-bred ass had a formal invitation.
“Great. See you then, and if you change your mind about tomorrow, just come by.”
I needed to keep some kind of proper distance, so I just waved them off without a definite answer.
As I headed up to the office, I saw my phone flashing on my desk. When I looked at the screen, my stomach lurched with the dread I always felt whenever I saw one of my parents was calling me. I couldn’t ignore them, in case something terrible had happened, but I also knew there was no chance it could be good.
“Hello.”
“You weren’t even going to bother to call? Your mother’s been crying all day.” My father was slurring, so this entire conversation was going to be a fucking mess. This was what it was like every
holiday. My father would start drinking days before and made everyone miserable. Because in his house, if he was unhappy he made damn sure everyone else was.
A few years ago those words would’ve gutted me and had me booking a flight home, but now I knew that I had to prioritize my own well-being. And today I was not putting up with it.
“I’m sorry she’s upset, but that’s not on me to fix. Not that anything I do would make you happy.”
“You could call and ask how we’re doing. So fucking ungrateful.”
I didn’t need to listen to this.
“I’m ungrateful? I pay for your utilities every month. Pay for your prescriptions so you don’t fucking die. I’m still waiting for a thank-you.”
The scoffing sound that came over the phone made my face feel hot, anger and resentment filling me. This was me with my parents. It took seconds to undo years of learning to manage my emotions of keeping myself under control.
“That’s the least you can do after we kept you fed and clothed. Now that you’re making six figures working for some Wall Street assholes, you think you’re better than us. Brito turned you against us.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. Not this again. My father hated Coach because when I couldn’t deal with being in that house anymore, he’d helped me out. My father resented that Coach had encouraged me to play baseball. To stick with it so I could get a scholarship. It was like it bothered him that despite all his efforts to break us all down, I’d made something of myself. And I hated that whenever he called me all that anger bubbled right back up.
I closed my eyes and remembered Coach Brito’s words: “Where you came from matters, but where you’re going matters more.”
“I have to go, Dad. Have a good Thanksgiving.”
I ended the call, the phone gripped tight in my hand. I felt drops of sweat trickling down my back. My head was a fuzzy mess too. Everything out of control, just from a one-minute conversation. From so far away my family could still do this to me. Again, I thought about Dani’s suggestion to settle here. But what did it matter if my father could still do this with a call? If I made Sofia come, they’d do it to her too.
Maybe I just had too much baggage for fresh starts.
* * *
My phone woke me up at 5:30 a.m., and a smile lifted my mouth as soon as I saw the number.
“Hey, Coach.”
A gruff laugh came from the speaker and once again it occurred to me how few people I had who cared about me enough to check on me on a holiday. “Boy, I haven’t coached you in anything since you were seventeen years old. Unless teaching you how to do your laundry is considered a contact sport.”
I laughed because even though I hadn’t played for him since high school, he’d been coaching me through life since day one.
“Uh-huh. You up before dawn getting that turkey ready on the DL?”
He gave a pained groan and I smiled, thinking of him in his Queens College sweatshirt silently preparing the turkey before his wife woke up and tried to make it.
“You know it. Juanita will be up any minute and I need to get this bird in before she does. I love that woman more than my life, but she might end up killing me or herself if I let her try to roast a turkey again. She has a lot to give, but she can’t cook.” We both laughed at the fond resignation in his voice. “I don’t have you around anymore to keep her distracted.”
The years I practically lived with them, Coach and I prepared dinner for the three of us whenever I stayed over. He and Juanita never had kids themselves, so having me around gave him a companion in the kitchen.
“Maybe next year.”
He made a sound that sounded like a “you better,” then whispered into the phone, “You heard from your folks?”
“Billy called last night to let me know I was an ungrateful little prick.”
A heavy sigh came over the line. “That man will never change, but that’s not who you are. I’m proud of you, son.”
I grunted in reluctant agreement knowing he would hammer that in until I registered in my brain that I wasn’t my father.
“Are you doing anything today? You get anywhere with your Queens girl? I hope you’re not messing up with her.”
My face got hot again, and this time I really did sputter. I’d mentioned her in passing once to Coach and that was enough to get roasted.
“There’s nothing to mess up. I’m going to stay home today, relax, and she’s doing the same. Tomorrow I’m going to a cookout that the women who own the company I’m consulting for are throwing.”
I heard some more shuffling and a crash, which made Coach bite back a curse.
“All right, son. Take care. Call us on Sunday. Don’t be dense. Buy a pie and bring it over to that girl if she’s home alone too.”
I smiled at his pushiness. “I’m sure Julia can get her own pie.”
“It’ll be sweeter if you bring it to her though.”
I didn’t know about that, but I gave him a very tentative “maybe” before hanging up.
I lay in bed staring at my ceiling for a bit wondering why I’d chosen to be here instead of flying to New York and spending the day with Coach and Juanita. I could’ve done something with Sofia and the baby, and yet here I was for no reason.
And that was a big lie too, because I’d stayed hoping that Julia threw me a bone. But unlike me, she wasn’t trying to wreck her life. The friends, the nice older ladies inviting me to barbecues at their house, that shit was all transitory. This wasn’t my real life and I had to start acting like it.
Chapter Seventeen
Julia
I’d done some early morning yoga and was enjoying my second cup of café con leche and some toast my grandmother had delivered and stealing a little alone time in my guest bedroom—since my own was occupied by my parents—when I heard my sister’s yelling.
“Ayo! There’s a hot sweaty guy with a dirty cat outside!” Paula was so freaking loud.
Also, what the fuck?
“What the hell are you talking about, Paula?” I hollered, and stayed in bed, because clearly she was talking nonsense and I was not nearly caffeinated enough for any of it.
“Niña, language!” I had no idea where my mom even was, but I was convinced she had a sensor that deployed the Voice of God over any of us if we used any “nasty” words.
Sighing, I took one last sip of my perfectly sweetened milky caffeinated drink and got up to go see what my sister was talking about. When I came out to the living room, I almost ran back to my room. Standing in my doorway was none other than Rocco Fucking Quinn holding a half-dead furry thing. I glanced over to the kitchen and saw that my mom, grandmother, and sister were all sipping coffee and watching the scene unfolding in my apartment. My dad was already making conversation with our unannounced guest.
“What are you doing here, Rocco?” I sounded a lot more exasperated than I was, but I was having a significant Twilight Zone moment. Rocco lifted his head from talking to the thing he was holding and I bit back another curse.
My dad turned around, probably to remind me that we “are always polite to guests,” when I held up my hand.
“Sorry.” I walked up to Rocco and when I looked at him I could see he was freaking out. He kept swaying from side to side as if he was trying to rock what I realized was a gray kitten. And the thing looked like it was one more sudden movement from shuffling of his mortal coil.
“Uh, is this your cat?” There was a lot to unpack around what was happening in my house at that moment, but I was trained in crisis intervention, so I kept to triaging the situation.
“I found...her.” Rocco didn’t sound too sure about the gender assignment as he looked down at the kitten—which, after closer inspection, seemed to just be a very dirty white—and then back at me, his dazzling blue eyes pleading. “I didn’t know what to do. Is there a vet open on Thanksgiving? I’m not e
ven sure how I ended up here.” Rocco let out a shaky breath and he looked pale. He was really panicking over this.
“I found her under the car next to mine at the gym parking lot. There were only like four cars there, so I figured if I left her she probably wouldn’t make it.”
He was speaking in a very low, soothing voice, obviously trying not to startle the cat, and I knew right then and there my defensive walls were in imminent danger of going up in flames. I needed to get it together or Rocco and this cat were going to end me.
“Okay, and you figured I’d know what to do?” I tried hard not to sound rude as I desperately tried to put up some kind of boundary. Of course, this elicited multiple disapproving sounds from the Afro-Caribbean Peanut Gallery. I gave my dad the “give me a second” look and he backed off, but stayed close enough to intervene if I didn’t live up to his hospitality expectations.
I was startled by the things happening to my head and my body at the sight of Rocco standing in my door on Thanksgiving morning looking like I was his last best hope. I knew I needed to not get caught up in this, just as I knew I was for sure going to.
“Rocco, I don’t have any pets.” I’d also told him how I felt about them. “How do you figure I’d know what to do in this situation?” I made a circular motion in front of the area where he was standing with the cat. He blushed immediately and with every word I said looked more like he regretted ever coming here. Yes, my parents were going to give me shit for being an asshole, but I was barely refraining from fully taking on Rocco and his cat as my new life’s mission.
“Mija.” That was my dad. How he managed to convey “I am disappointed in your lack of empathy and care for this poor man and defenseless animal” into a four-letter word was a skill I hoped to master one day.
Still looking at Rocco, I noticed a shiver run through him, and that’s when I realized he was only in a tank top. He’d wrapped the kitten in his sweatshirt.
That was the precise moment when it really sank in Rocco was about to wreak havoc in my life. Because this gorgeous, softhearted mess of a man had literally taken his shirt off his back and given it to a stray cat. I would’ve laughed if I wasn’t actively trying to assess how close my parents were to inviting Rocco for dinner and making me go with him to the vet. That was when the cat let out the saddest, most pitiful sound ever, and Rocco jumped like two feet in the air.
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