The three words make my skin burn. What kind of psychopath gives their dead brother’s ex-girlfriend a pet name? And I’m not hiding from him.
Detective Johnson had helped me as long as she could to track down my true identity, but dead ends were discouraging. I’d heard from her less and less. Then Nan died, leaving me nothing but a car on empty, her loaded shot gun and a grumpy old tabby cat.
“Alma, I called the Federal Detention Center recently to inquire about Efren’s stay, and it turns out he was released over six months ago,” Dr. Verduzco admits.
“He was?” I ask, thinking back to the face I’d seen in the crowd the other night.Those eyes.
“I need to know if you feel threatened by his release in any way.”
“I don’t know,” I confess, because I don’t know what to feel when I think of Efren.
I can only remember what he said to me that night.
“You woke up, you heard a noise, and then you found him like this. Do you understand me?”
“What about the nightmares about Nan?” Dr. Verduzco asks. “Still none since she died?”
“No, nothing,” I reply.
“Great! That’s progress,” Dr. Verduzco says.
I hate that word.
Progress.
Like trading nightmares about Nan for ones about my ex-boyfriend’s brother is something to celebrate.
_______
After therapy, I head back to the apartment and take a nap. Something furry meows in my face until I’m forced to open my eyes and face him.
“Don Cheetos,” I mumble and pull the orange tabby cat into me. He lets out an annoyed meow. “Amargado.You just want me to feed you, huh?”
He’s a grumpy old cat, but he’d also been Nan’s, so it makes sense he only tolerates me. I stretch out on the bed and reach for my phone. Once I realize it’s barely 9:00 p.m., I settle back into the comfort of my bed.
The champagne room I’m working tonight won’t open until 1:00 a.m., and I’ll be the last to perform around two in the morning. There’s plenty of time to doom scroll.
The wallpaper on my phone makes me smile. It’s a picture of me and my friends, Thalia and Mireya. It was taken the last time we were all together at the Calavera Hotels Halloween party. The last time we felt like the close knit trio we’d been before our lives became chaotic. At least in their chaos both of them found their soulmates. A concept I’ve given up on. It’s hard to find love when you don’t even have a basic identity.
I remember that night like it was yesterday. Mireya was dressed as a very pregnant bride of Frankenstein, and Thalia as the sexiest Harley Quinn I’d ever seen. I wore my stage costume for the night, but convinced everyone I was a character from a book. As always, they accepted everything I said as truth. The sweet and innocent Alma, the girl they knew, would never lie.
But we were all three lying about our lives to some degree. In the picture, we stand by the rail at the top of the VIP section. Thalia has a drink in her hand and an arm wrapped around me, our fake smiles aimed at the camera. That wasthe first night that unraveled so many secrets that Thalia had been keeping from us, including the fact that Lucia was her daughter.
I could have taken the opportunity to confide in her about my own secrets, but I didn’t. Something always pulled me back from telling them the truth. It doesn’t stop me from laughing at the reactions I imagine when they find out I’m a midnight ballerina. Mireya would for sure die of shock to know she was living with me the whole time, and I’d kept it from her. Thalia would cheer me on. Hell, she’d probably ask me to give her pole dancing lessons. But I couldn’t risk telling them about my mother or my lack of identity.
Don Cheetos lets out another aggressive meow, and I respond with a sigh. Before I can get up, I hear the opening chords from the room next door. Larix must be home still. I rise and get Don Cheetos his food. The sound blaring from the closed door becomes familiar as the lyrics play in my head.
I took my love, and I took it down.
Missy’s voice echoes inside me. It was her favorite song and a trustworthy memory. One I hadn’t repressed. We’re in the car, and she’s singingLandslideby Fleetwood Mac.
“This wasn’t the right place for us,” she says.
Fleetwood Mac karaoke became a ritual for us with every move. Missy would play it on repeat while she chain-smoked Newports, and we drove into a new chapter of our lives. Swallowing hard, I stare at the closed door where the melody plays, and the song feels like lime in my wounds. Larix doesn’t know my past, but I hate her all the same for the reminder.
The floor creaks beneath me as I make my way back to my bedroom and search the top shelf of my closet. It takes me a minute, but I find the old keepsake. A shoe box of memoriesI’ve carried with me through every move. My breath shallows, and my hands tremble lifting the worn lid.
I find the matchbook Missy kept, the one with the Calavera Hotels logo. The logo has changed since then, but the lettering and address are still the same. It’s what led me here. I rummage through the items—a keychain from a gas station we’d stopped at that one time the car overheated, a dozen faded polaroids of Missy and me, letters, and other items. My hand settles on what I’m looking for.
