“It wasn’t for me to tell.”
“You’re as protective of Micah as he is of you. You still love each other, and yet I can see you’re fighting it.”
“Mick and I will always share a special bond, but anything more between us isn’t possible. We’re not the same people we once were. We live in completely different worlds. It wouldn’t work.”
“Bah. That’s your fear talking,mi hija, not your heart.”
“It’s not just for me,” I say. “I’m doing what’s best for him, too.”
She pats my hand. “You also thought that fifteen years ago.”
I drive back to Chicago with thoughts of Mick scratching beneath the happy hum of seeing Mama T again.
She nailed it. I am afraid. I fear that Mick’s professions of love stem from his guilt. I saw him with another girl…I lost his baby…I likely won’t ever be able to conceive again. I heard Mick crying when he thought I was asleep. He blames himself for my miscarriage. He pities me for the way I lost my mother. Mick’s a fixer and an honorable man. Wanting to make it all better is how he’s wired. But love that’s born out of a sense of obligation is a burden. I wouldn’t want that for myself…or for him.
And if that’s not roadblock enough, he’s a celebrity. I could never fit into that world or be what he’s used to. I detest how inadequate that makes me sound, but it’s the truth. He dates flawless supermodels. I have battle scars from years of warring with my weight. Our lives aren’t just miles apart, as they were in high school. We now exist on different planets. I wouldn’t just be the fat girl dating the local basketball star. I’d be the fat woman dating Micah Peters, a national phenomenon.
He sneezes and it makes front-page news. Any word of him having a significant other—especially, a plus-size significant other—would bring the paparazzi out in droves. I’ve seen what the tabloids do to large women—the kinds of unflattering pictures they publish and the debasing captions they write. The negative attention would be humiliating for both of us.
In the distance looms a rest stop off the highway with several fast-food restaurants. Overwrought, I come close to exiting. Most days, it’s a struggle to eat what I need for nourishment and stop. Under stress, it’s even harder to resist a binge. The urge to feed those empty places in me is constant. I didn’t tell Mick that when my mother was in one of her dark moods, I would eat to comfort myself. Or that every time I was sent away, I compensated for the hurt and loneliness with an overabundance of food. Or that anytime I feel anxious, the craving in me stirs. Therapy has helped, but the compulsion is still there. Always there.
When I arrive at Victor’s, I’m not nearly as together as when I started my journey this morning. As nervous as I was about facing Mama T, at least I knew she’d be welcoming. Victor is an unknown.
I climb out of the car to the drizzle of rain. Orange ribbons of sunset can be seen painting the horizon. On legs of jelly, I make my way toward the large Tudor house. It’s in an upper-middle-class neighborhood and is surrounded by a manicured yard and lush trees. A nice place to raise a family. Two modest sedans sit in the driveway, and a basketball hoop is mounted above the garage door.
I press the bell and wring my hands.
A dog barks, followed by a male shout for quiet and then approaching footsteps. I want to bolt, but I stay there waiting, sweating it out, while the lock turns and the door opens.
An instant later, I’m standing face-to-face with my foster brother.
From his appearance to his demeanor, Victor looks every bit the cop. Military-style crew cut. Long, wiry body. And ebony eyes, sizing me up with an unreadable expression.
“I’m sorry to just show up,” I say in a rush. “I was hoping we might talk if you had a moment, but if it’s a bad time or you’re not ready to see me, I understand. We can do this when you are,” I ramble on, my fingers numb from how hard I’m squeezing them. “But Mama T invited me to Maria’s on Sunday, and it would probably be better if we did this before then. Not that it has to be today.”
His expression softens. “It’s not a bad time. I’m just taking it all in. You look great.”
Relieved, I lick my dry lips and loosen my grip. “You too. You cut your hair.”
“Yeah, when I joined the police force.” He runs a hand over it in a gesture that reminds me of Mick.Brothers of the heart.“Come on in,” he says, stepping back.
The brown-and-white bulldog growls low in his throat and starts forward. “Stay!” Victor orders.
“It’s okay. You must be Rufus,” I say, recalling his name from Mick’s interview. I bend down to let him sniff my hand. Voices sound from the back, and the smell of chili wafts through the foyer. “Am I interrupting dinner?”
“No, it won’t be ready for another twenty minutes. Can you join us?”
Is he just being polite?I straighten and look at him. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“Family doesn’t impose, Dee.”
The tears start. “Mama T told you everything?”
Victor shakes his head. “Mick beat her to it. He called at the crack of dawn, threatening to kick my ass if I said anything to upset you.”
That only causes me to cry harder.
“I’m sorry for my judgment, Dee, and for the hell you went through.”
