Stand up to him.
“Earth to Sarina,” he mocks as my brother’s close the doors to the cocktail hour room before they come over and stand on either side of us.
“I’m only going to say this once, you have five seconds to get the fuck away from my wife or…”
“Or you’ll what? Huh? Punch me like you did James?”
Tomás laughs, dry and sarcastic. “And fuck up my hand again? Tempting, but no.”
“Exactly what I thought.”
“But I’ll tell you what I will do. I’ll share this-” Tomás takes out a small tape recorder. “Evidence of your involvement in the altering of your mothers will…”
My hearing fades. I had a sinking feeling he was involved, but to hear that my own dad was responsible, reduces him to a new low, and it’s hitting me harder than I thought.
“Oh please, do you know who I am? You think anyone will pursue charges? If anything, you’re the one that should be afraid. All it’ll take is one call to the bar association, letting them know that after you are ruining the second chance given to you. You can kiss your career goodbye.”
I don’t know what my dad is referring to with Tomás, and quite frankly, I don’t give a fuck.
This man who gave me life, who burdened me with his last name, and all the hell that comes with it, isn’t a father. He’s a bully.
“How could you?” I step away from the shield Tomás has been providing me with. I know Tomás wants to run to my rescue, but instead he stands at my side, offering me support like I’ve never experienced before. “How could you do that? You know how much Grandma meant and still means to me. How could you be so cruel?” I squeeze Tomás’ hand for moral support.
My dad remains unfazed. “Please, it was a fucking piece of cheap costume jewelry. It wasn’t even anything valuable she left you.”
“It is valuable, because it came from her. Did you even listen when she shared the story about how papa gave her that ring when they had nothing? Or about how sentimental it was to her?”
It’s useless, it all goes in one ear and out the next with him. “Are you done?”
“No, I’m not.”
Years worth of repressed anger rise to the surface through my words, all of it painful, so much so that speaking them into existence feels too heavy for me to bear.
There’s so much I want to say, that I need to say, but I can’t.
I become frozen, by the reality that this will likely be the last time I ever see or speak to my dad, and as needed as that separation is, it comes with a level of grieving that no child should ever feel when staring at their parent.
Sensing the overwhelm I’m experiencing Tomás brings my hand to his lips, placing a kiss on it before pulling me into him. His lips at my ears, he whispers. “It’s okay. I can take it from here, if you want me to.”
“Yes,” I manage, barely. “Please.”
The look of horror on my dad’s face is priceless as Tomás fishes for something in his pocket. My grandmother’s ring. He slips it onto my finger.
“You can’t do that,” my dad protests.
“Actually, I can. Make no mistake, she may beyourdaughter, but she ismywife. She’s mine to protect from monsters like you. Mine to hold on a pedestal, one that she’s been made to believe her entire life she’s not worthy of. Mine to love for as long as there is breath in my lungs and if an afterlife exists, then as well.”
As Tomás continues, all the unease I’ve felt begins to wash away. I don’t care that my dad is shooting daggers at us with his eyes, or that everything Tomás is saying to and for me is being heard by my brothers and any lingering onlookers there may be.
“I’ll admit our marriage was abrupt, to say the least. We didn’t plan on barreling into each other’s lives like we did. Our time together has been nothing short of a whirlwind, but a much needed one. But I’d rather exist in the consequences of your hatred, than go a day without the love your daughter makes me feel.”
“Fuck,” my brother Noah shouts, completely ruining the moment. But the comedic relief is welcomed. “That was fucking beautiful.”
“It was,” I whisper, staring at Tomás, feeling every emotion under the sun. Gratitude above all, but the part Tomás mentioned about living within the consequences has me. No one knows more than I do the levels my dad will stoop to when he feels he’s been wronged.
I know Tomás doesn’t care about the firm signing my dad on as a client. But I also know what he wanted to discuss with my dad when it came to the abandoned field. And now that opportunity is ruined, and I can’t help but to feel it’s my fault.
Tomás may say it’s not, but after years of being told everything is my fault, it’s not so easy to unlearn or stop believing that.
