“Olivia?” And speaking of, my mother’s voice drifted from the hall as she knocked on my inside door. I laughed to myself, thinking of when I’d lived upstairs as a teen and in my early twenties, trying to cover up all I’d done with a boy the night before. I hadn’t come home from doing anything with anyone in a long time, and my kiss with Tyler was too public to attempt a denial.
I guessed odd news traveled fast.
“Hey, Mom,” I breathed out when I opened the door. My mother pursed her lips as she looked me over, her brow almost reaching her hairline while she leaned against the doorjamb.
“Looks like it was some wedding.”
“You could say that.” I sighed, dragging a hand down my face. “I was about to get into the shower. I’ll come upstairs and fill in all the blanks from whatever Helen already told you if you’d like.”
“How about coming upstairs for dinner later, and we can talk—or not talk—about anythingyou’dlike?”
What was there that my mother didn’t know? I spent the night with Tyler, and we were seentogether—you didn’t have to be a genius to figure out the rest. There was more to last night for me, but I wasn’t ready to say it out loud. My mother’s warm gaze soothed my turbulent soul because she already knew those parts of last night too.
“Sounds good, Mom.”
She squeezed my shoulder, and I smiled at her.
When I stepped into the shower, I let the hot water pound on my scalp and thought about my mother’s story of falling in love with my father and how rejection could seem more terrifying than simply being hated.
She was spot on because I’d gladly take “antichrist in heels” over just a woman Tyler knew but didn’t want.
SIXTEEN
OLIVIA
“Here, take this upstairs.” My abuela shoved two tin trays of food into my arms.
I kissed her cheek, then looked at the pounds of food almost burning my hands.
“There are only five of us today, unless you know something I don’t,” I teased, cracking up at the dirty look she leveled me with.
“Ah.” She waved me off, peeling off her peacoat and draping it over the coat rack in the hallway. It was chilly for late September, but both of my grandmothers always dressed as if they’d just gotten a tip about a blizzard at the slightest breeze.
“Go, Livie.” She pushed me in between my shoulder blades, which was about eye level for her. The big joke was always how a big man like my father came from a tiny thing like her. “The food will get cold.”
I shook my head and rushed up the stairs as fast as I could with two heaping trays of food. Today was my parent’s anniversary… or should’ve been. My grandmothers and Helen came over last year and spent the day reminiscing about their wedding while taking turns laughing and crying. Mom was drained by the end of the day, but they’d left her with a wide smile on her face. I guessed they were making it a tradition, and I was glad, especially since I was here tonight if she needed me after they all left.
I appreciated the sentiment, but reminiscing about my father was still painful for me. I remembered him every day, all the time. I missed how we used to hunt for the best restaurants or how he’d tease me about whatever Yankees player I had a crush on that year while we watched games together. He was probably a big reason I took up this influencer foodie side gig and usually dined alone. Being solo let me remember him quietly. The joy of finding something delicious, chuckling to myself when I learned a popular dish didn’t come close to the hype. It was almost as if he was with me, breaking apart what was great or not so great about it.
Everyone would leave sad today but content in sharing their love for all things Javier Sanchez, but I would be just as angry and guilty because he should’ve been here. I’d head downstairs and relive my last birthday dinner, recalling the inkling that he wasn’t feeling well yet letting him blow us off. I’d dissected that night a million times in my head.
There were too many what-ifs for me to accept anything.
“Wow—looks like both of us won’t be cooking this week,” Mom said before scooping the trays from my arms and bringing them into the kitchen.
“I doubt I’ll be eating much this week after today,” Helen told me over her shoulder as she scrubbed a dish in the sink. My eyes fell to the drainboard and my parents’ wedding china.
“We’re using the good dishes today?” I asked, the sting at the sight of the dishes taking away the heart drop of seeing Helen for the first time since Donnie’s wedding. None of us had talked about what happened, including Tyler and me. We hadn’t spoken in two weeks, even though I’d started and deleted about ten texts.
Stirring the pot with Tyler was easy. Reaching out to him as a friend, or at least someone who he didn’t despise anymore, just to see how he was—that seemed complicated as hell. I’d never had this issue with other men. Shyness was not me, and I was annoying myself at how immature I was by trying to appear aloof. Maybe he thought I was the same brat as always and that night didn’t mean anything to me. But it did. And silly me wanted to know that it meant something to him too.
I’d half hoped having sex with Tyler would get him out of my system, but I was smart enough to know that never worked. A taste of something you knew you’d never get again only made you want more of it.
“Helen and I stumbled upon them in the closet just now, and I thought, what are we saving them for? I didn’t want fancy dishes, but your grandmother and aunts thought they were some kind of a necessity when you got married. In over thirty years, we used them three times.” She chuckled to herself, shaking her head. “Today is a celebration, sort of.”
“Absolutely,” Helen chirped as she dried her hands. “Good to see you, Olivia.”
“You too, Helen.” I went over to the sink and gave her a hello hug. She squeezed tighter for a moment before pulling back. I was sure my grandmothers would be all over me today too. No one acknowledged how I was struggling out loud, but the looks and the long hugs were both a comfort and a torment. I appreciated the extra love but had a hard time truly believing that I deserved it.
