“Those are your insecurities and fears talking. Besides, with an attitude like his, I doubt he’ll be meeting anyone else anytime soon.”
I couldn’t help my smirk. “What about his wife?” I asked. “I can’t compete with the mother of his child. He could compare me to her. Expect me to be like her ...”
“Stop that. No one’s asking you to compete with her or to be anything like her.” She scratched above her brow with the tip of her French-tipped nail. “I mean, are there times when I compare Deke to Lew? Yes. But my therapist told me that was natural and that I shouldn’t feel guilty about it. And Javier could think of comparisons in his head, but as long as he doesn’t try and change you or bring things she did into your conversations to intentionally make you feel ashamed, it shouldn’t matter.”
Hmm. I guessed she had a point.
“Deke always used to say he never thought he’d live long enough to see the day Javier moved on,” said Davina. “That says something. To me, it says Javier trusts you and that he mustreallylike you. He may not know what he wants from this whole thing with you right now, but from what I’m hearing, hedoeslike you. Hell, he crashed your date! Literally cut off the chance for another man to have you. If that doesn’t scream it, I don’t know what will, girl.”
I blinked at her a few times before lowering my eyes to the thin cake slices on my plate. “So ... what do you think I should do?”
“I think you should just let things happen. Let life do its thing.” She popped another piece of cake into her mouth. “And I tell you this from experience, sis: trying to run from something that brings you joy, even if you feel like you don’t deserve it, won’t save you. It’ll ruin you and make your life miserable.”
And yet ... I was still terrified of that, because joy wasn’t an emotion that walked alone. Sorrow lingered right behind it, ready to storm in and sweep you away when the slightest crack formed.
Twenty-Five
Javier
“Headphones? Check. Water cup? Yes. Barbie with pink hair? Check. Oh, shoot!” Octavia cursed under her breath as she shuffled through Aleesa’s overnight bag. “No, come on.”
“What is it?” I asked as her frown became more evident and her hand went deeper into the bag.
“I forgot her bedtime books.”
“It should be fine. She will be okay for two nights without her books, Octavia,” I said.
“She begged for those books, Javier. Once she realizes I don’t have them, she’ll flip.” She pulled away from the bag and folded her arms. “Youknowshe will too.”
I looked from Octavia to Aleesa, who was currently occupied with a flavored-water juice box and Cheez-Its in a snack pouch. Her iPad was already set up on the back of one of the private plane seats, and her seat belt was clicked into place. She was all ready for takeoff and perfectly content now.
But Octavia was right. Once bedtime rolled around, she’d have an episode when she realized her favorite books weren’t there.
Aleesa was not a fan of sleeping in new places. She loved our home and especially her bedroom. Most times when we traveled, she had ahard time adjusting to new settings, so those little comforts like bedtime books and Barbies mattered.
“You are right.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “We will make time to stop by a bookstore before her bedtime.” I craned my neck to look out the door that revealed the tarmac. “Where the hell is my sister?”
“I am so glad there is wine,” my mother said, waltzing from the back of the plane with a bottle of pinot grigio.
I shook my head. “Má, it is twelve in the afternoon.”
“This is needed!Hijo, you know I get way too anxious on these things you call planes. You are lucky I am even here for this.” She placed the bottle down on a nearby table.
“I never asked you to come. You invited yourself,” I reminded her.
She scowled. “Do not get smart with me.”
Octavia huffed a laugh as she tucked Aleesa’s bag under her seat.
“That is funny?” I asked, folding my arms.
“A six-five giant getting told off by his petite five-foot mother? Comical.” Octavia chuckled. “It’s good to know you still fear her.”
She was right. Ididfear my mother at times. Any sign of disrespect toward her and I knew to expect a shoe to smack my head.
“I am just saying, you should not be back there, Mamá.” I put my attention on my mother again. “Let the flight attendant do her job. I am sure she does not mind helping.”
“The flight attendant is taking too long.” My mother ducked off again, only to return with a mechanical bottle opener. She got to work opening the bottle right away as Margery, our flight attendant, appeared.
