He responds with,Did you get to?
I did. Just after you, I think.
How was it?
I lie back and smile. I almost type that I fantasized about him coming, and that’s what made me lose control. But I’m afraid he’ll think that’s too personal or something.
So I write back instead,It was really, really good. I’m still trembling a little.
We chat a little more about this and that—the busy days wehad, how we hope both of our tomorrows will be better. And then he says he feels like he’s about to pass out, so we both say good night.
I squeal to myself after I turn out the lights for bed. Lame, I know. But…wow. Even if just virtual…that felt like arealconnection with someone. Someone who really found me to be worthy of desire.
I swear, as cliché as it sounds, I fall asleep with a smile on my face.
15
I know it’s silly, butI am in the absolute best mood the following morning. I choose my favorite outfit for work—a well-tailored, knee-length pastel blue dress with cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, paired with black leather Mary Janes and the fancy black handbag Teal and Amá Sonya forced me to get last year. Teal called it a “carryall” and insisted I needed something like that for my new job.
While Teal has, like, fifty handbags, I’m pretty sure Sage only has one—an old, stained leather belt bag from the dirty work she does at her job. I guess that would make me somewhere in the middle of the two, with five handbags. The carryall is the nicest, but I have a decent little collection of Coach, Louis Vuitton, and Anthropologie.
Before getting in my car, I send @tryingsomethingnew a message—just a simple, standardGood morning. I then blast Olivia Rodrigo on the way to work. Not even thinking about my sisters can bring me down right now. Sex endorphins—even without actually having had sex—are powerful as hell, I’mbeginning to realize. People don’t need family, all they need is lots of awesome sex. I’m sure that’s a very unhealthy conclusion, but it’s what I’m telling myself right now, simply because it makes me hopeful for my future.
I pull into work and immediately say, “Oh fuck.”
Turns out, there is, in fact, something in my life strong enough to render any bonding hormones useless, and that would be the sight of my grandmother, dressed like she’s just returned from a service at the Vatican, leaning against her Bentley in enormous Chanel sunglasses, looking for all the world like she would rather be anywhere else in said world.
So whyisn’tshe anywhere else? Why does she have to bother me here, at my place of employment?
I force a pleasant expression on my face after I park my car, grab my bag, and approach her. “Amá.” I lean and air-kiss each cheek. She barely makes the effort to do the same to me. “I wasn’t expecting you this morning.”
She makes a sour face. “And why would you? You refuse to respond to my texts. My calls. I may as well not even exist for all the respect you pay me.”
I nod. “Well, yes, but also, I’ve been busy—”
“Busy nada.” And then she snarls and begins to, I assume, curse me out in Spanish.
Sage knows the most Spanish of all of us. Teal makes out okay if people speak slowly. But me? I really missed out when I disappeared for eight years. I felt like speaking English again was an adjustment, and I sadly lost all the basics for Spanish in that time frame. And honestly, right now, I’m not unthankful for the lack of skill. Amá Sonya certainly isn’t singing my praises, from the snarl on her face and the way she keeps fisting her hands like she’s five seconds away from punching me out.
When she finally stops to take a breath, I ask, “Would you like to come inside? My planner is in there. We can make an arrangement like you’ve been requesting.”
She puts her hands on her hips and says nothing. I’m afraid she’s going to tell me off again, so I quickly add, “My boss is in there. She might be wondering why we are so emotional out here.”
This straightens Amá out like nothing else I could have said. Amá Sonya hates the idea of appearing anything but the epitome of perfection. She’s convinced that everyone is watching her all the time, just waiting for her to show all her flaws (flaws she claims don’t exist), so the whole town can gossip about her behind her back.
It strikes me again that this is why Amá Sonya has shown virtually no interest in me since my return, except to make sure my wardrobe is reflecting well on her. And now, obviously, when she suspects I may be entangled with the most beloved man in town. In general, she’s embarrassed to be seen with me. I’ve long suspected it, but it may as well be a foregone conclusion now.I’membarrassed I didn’t conclude it sooner, is all.
What if that’s another element to why my family happily ignores my existence? Are they all embarrassed of me, too?
“Let’s see your planner, then,” Amá Sonya says as she straightens her back and gestures for me to lead the way.
Inside, Amá Sonya is the essence of sweet Southern charm as I introduce her to Anise, all smiles that don’t quite reach her eyes, all compliments on Anise’s outfit, which, to be fair, is glorious today—a brown tweed A-line skirt paired with a white silk blouse and pumpkin orange blazer. But as soon as we get in the elevator, Amá’s mask drops, and her regular expression—the one that screams unimpressed witheverything—returns. “What is this?”she asks, gesturing to the elevator. “They can’t provide you with something that isn’t about to implode? One day you’re going to get stuck in this abomination and no one will know for weeks!”
“Careful, Amá Sonya,” I respond as the doors squeak open. “You almost sound like you care about my well-being, there.”
“Of course I care,” she snaps back. “What kind of abuela would I be if I didn’t care about my youngest granddaughter?”
The elevator doors creak and shake open, and her nose scrunches as she takes in my floor. I know that she sees nothing but dark, germ-covered books collecting dust every which way. She’s probably thinking to herself how bad it would look for her if I really did get stuck down here and no one noticed. So I try and distract her from making any more commentary about my workspace by leaping to my desk and grabbing my planner. “So. How does next…Friday morning work for you? Shall we get breakfast to catch up?” I grab a pen on my desk and hold it up, acting like I am just so eager to set up an appointment with her. When probably she knows just as well as I do that I’m actually eager to get her out of here so I can get to work in peace.
