“Yup,” I say, and then all the ladies rush to hug me. Nadia and Sky in particular squeeze so tight, I feel like the wind is slowly being knocked out of me. “Jesus, women,” I grunt. “It’s just a fifteen-minute drive!”
When we all pull back, everyone’s wiping their eyes. “Shut up!” I look at the cloudy sky so that the tears can go back in. “Stop crying!”
“You stop crying,” Nadia tells me while sniffling. “Here.” She shoves a small wicker basket in my hands.
I wrinkle my nose. “What the hell is this?” Inside are weird, dry-looking black things. I would say it’s dried herbs, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen Nadia let an herb rot before it was dried.
“Seeds,” Nadia tells me. “I had a dream and Iknowyou need them.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m not really annoyed. Latine women, we’re always telling each other about our dreams, our feelings, ourknowings—to check in, to warn, or even just as an excuse to reconnect. It’s a blessing to be loved in this way. Only a fool would think otherwise.
“What in the…” Sage says, looking in the basket, and then she grins. Soon that smile turns into a laugh. “Oh my God,no way.”
“What?” I glance around. “What in the world?”
Sky shrugs. “I know about as much as you.”
I about stomp my foot. “Will someone tell me what’s going on?” As the only response, Nadia is now laughing with Sage.
“We better get going,” Tenn tells me. He gives Sage a kiss on the mouth and runs a hand over her still-flat belly. “I’ll meet you at work.”
“See you there.” Sage is still laughing, and no matter how many times I ask, neither she nor Nadia will say what these ugly, weird-smelling seeds are.
I can’t stay and berate them until they tell me. Nadia and Sage and Tenn all have work, and Sky has a job interview at St. Theresa’s, the church Nadia practically raised us at. Carter’s got a one-hour window between jobs in which he’s expecting me, so he and Tenn can help me get my boxes in his place.
I climb in the truck and wave at my family. “Text me as soon as the interview’s done,” I call at Sky, who shoots me two thumbs up.
And then we’re off. I don’t let myself cry, or think, or even speak on the way to Carter’s. I don’t wonder about his mysterious abode I don’t know a damn thing about, even though Sky has been waxing on its beauty pretty much nonstop since the wedding. I don’t think about how that address he texted me last night—2848 Sea Green Boulevard—is now my new home.
I just keep telling myself as soon as we find my mom, I’m going to be fixed. I’m going to be whole again. And after that, eventually…I’ll end up being wanted, too. The way Nate wants Fern, or Tennessee wants Sage.
Eventually, someone will want to marry me for real.
When Carter said he livedin the community called Sunset View Cabanas, right next to the beach, I assumed his house would look like all the rest—cookie-cutter with beige side paneling and yards covered in lime green European grass up front, with the backyards butting up to the sandy beginning of the shore. The people who live here give their homes a “unique” feel by shopping at Kirkland’s and Home Goods, leaning virtually identicalWELCOMEplanks next to their front doors, hanging up artificially distressed beach décor proclaimingSandy Toes and Salty KissesalongsideHOME IS WHERE THE BEACH IS.
But Carter’s houseisdifferent. Its siding is deepwater blue, for one. The front and back yards are framed by what appears to be a legitimately distressed, tall fence—chipped turquoise paint revealing the warm wood beneath. There is no beachy-themed signage full of cliché ocean proverbs over the tiny porch noranywhere on the entrance, for that matter. Flanking the camel-colored wood of the front door are massive terra-cotta planters filled with herbs—cilantro, mint, Cuban oregano, and Mexican tarragon. That’s it.
The door opens as Tenn and I walk up, each with two boxes in our arms. Carter stands there, looking like he can hardly believe we’re here. “You made it.”
I want to ask,Did you really think I wouldn’t show? Am I that unreliable?But instead, I raise my eyebrows and smile and say, “Yep,” before hauling my ass inside to deposit the boxes in the front hallway.
It takes us only two more trips to get everything in. I’m catching my breath as Tenn and Carter do that weird man-hug thing where they slap their hands together and then each other’s backs as they lean in. Tenn turns to me and pats me on the head. “Congrats, y’all.” He lowers his voice as he kisses my cheek. “Anything goes down, you can come stay with me and Sage anytime. Day or night.” I can’t help but smile at the offer. I don’t think anyone thinks I’m in danger with Carter—unlike when I was still with Johnny—but it feels good to know that people still care about me like that.
And then Tenn heads out. He’s gone so quickly, I wonder if it’s because of how awkward things feel now that I’m here. I put my hands on my hips and survey Carter, who then shoves his hands in his pockets and clears his throat in my direction.
I feel like he wants to say “Welcome” or “Here we are,” but he holds back, keeping his expression a really weird mix of uncertain and stormy. He inclines his head past the front hallway, indicating for me to go first. When I do, my jaw drops.
The living area is this wide-open floor plan, the back of whichis stuffed with a series of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the misty beach. The floors are hardwood, the kitchen open and off to the side, full of smooth, shiny cabinets in aquamarine framing slick, stainless steel appliances that look brand new and untouched. There’s an island nook with barstools, a little dining table between that and the couches and love seats that surround a cast-iron fireplace. A large flatscreen is mounted on the wall. The furniture is modern yet rustic, stylish yet comfy.
“Jesus, Carter,” I say. “You own this place? Like, not-renting-actually-ownit?” Even renting would seem impossible to afford.
Carter’s jaw tightens. It’s driving me crazy that he won’t give me anything right now. After I kissed his neck at our wedding, he’s been acting so distant and dumb. Is this how it’s gonna be? Me trying to act normal while he acts like he hit his head and any kind of relaxed, joyful emotion just fell out of his body? “I bought it myself. With cash.”
My jaw drops further. “Your grandmother gave you your money already?”
If he clenches his jaw any more, he’s going to get TMJD in the next minute, I swear. “I bought it myself. Abuela Erika hasn’t paid me yet.”
My jaw drops once again, or maybe even further. Carter…he’s never been rich, has he? Notthisrich, at least. He’s been working since he was a teenager, making sandwiches and rice bowls, serving at a swanky restaurant uptown, bartending at Lost Souls, and now he works full time at Cranberry Rose, doing what, I’m still not sure.
