Grinning, she called to her dogs and headed into the house.
***
Nausea rolled in Zita’s stomach as she rode the elevator up to Carly’s penthouse apartment that night. It was silly. All they were doing was going over the few old photos they had from their time in El Salvador and talking about their father.
A couple of months ago, during the Day of the Dead celebrations, she’d discovered her father hadn’t died in an accident at work like she’d thought. He’d been murdered while helping someone in their village. She’d been upset to learn the truth, and in her state she’d blurted out the secret she’d kept her whole life.
She didn’t remember her father.
It was ironic, since she was the only one who’d taken after him in appearance. Carly and Bridget both resembled their mother, with dark curly hair and darker skin, though Bridget had inherited their father’s height as well.
Zita supposed she should be pleased she had something to remember him by, that she only had to look in the mirror, but it was difficult. She knew nothing about her Irish roots and her appearance meant she didn’t physically fit in with the Hispanic community. She’d spent years dressing traditionally for any events, in order to feel like she was part of them.
The elevator doors opened and she knocked on Carly’s door. Bridget opened it with a glass of wine in her hand. “You’re late.”
“Traffic,” Zita explained, kissing her sister’s cheek and walking in.
She hadn’t been here since Evan had moved in and she smiled at the easels set up in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room.
“Dinner’s arrived,” Carly said, motioning to the boxes of Chinese food on the dining table.
“Great.” She was starving. She took a seat and grabbed the nearest container. “Where’s Evan?”
“He and Jack went to the movies,” Carly said.
“I know we’re here to talk about Papa,” Bridget said as she dished up some food. “But first, I want to hear about your date with David.”
“I’m not sure I want to,” Carly joked, putting her fingers in her ears.
Zita smiled at her sisters. “Not much to tell. We had dinner, he showed me his book collection and I went home.”
“He took his book collection to the restaurant?” Bridget asked.
“No, I went back to his place.” Her face heated. She regretted that she usually told her sisters all the details of her dates.
Bridget raised an eyebrow. “That bad, huh?”
“No! I mean, it was fine— nice. Nothing happened.”Feck.
Carly studied her and Zita offered her the carton of food to distract her. “Where did you go to dinner?”
“The Wooden Spoon.” She stuffed some food in her mouth.
“Holy hell! That’s like the best restaurant in Houston,” Bridget said. “Someone was out to impress.”
“Or just has a lot of money,” Zita countered, annoyed.
“True. Does he have a trust fund?” Bridget asked.
“I don’t know!” Zita glared at her sister. “And I don’t care. I’m not dating him for his money.”
“But you are seeing him,” Carly said.
“Yes. No. It was one date.” Her sisters didn’t normally rile her this much.
“Got another one planned?” Bridget asked.
“No.” It wasn’t a lie. They hadn’t planned what they were going to do next Saturday.
