On a wide yawn, I flop my face into the palm of my hands. “Thanks again for letting me sleep here last night, Papi.”
My father gives me a sarcastic scowl. “Tu eres mi hija. This is your casa, Meena. No matter how old you get or how much of an adult you become, you’re always welcome.”
I try to smile despite how foreign it now feels.
With the way my chest aches, it may never happen again.
“You know that.”
“Si, but with the house already being so full with Mario and his friends-”
“Friend. The other one took his daughter home about five minutes after you left.” Papi has a sip of his coffee. “Him, I liked. He had manners. He was respectful. He-”
“Wasn’t hitting on your youngest daughter?”
My father grunts, “Voy a poner su cabeza en una caja y enviarla a ella como un recordatorio de por qué no se permite la datación.”
His graphic imagery receives a short snicker. “Papi, she’s sixteen. She’s definitely dating.”
He grits his teeth in aggravation.
“Did they spend more time together last night?”
“No, gracias a Dios. She went to spend the night at her friend’s. The girl with el nombre extraño.”
“Wren.”
“Si.”
Wren is probably the only friend she has I actually don’t mind. Her parents are a bit eccentric and the rules they have are quite lax, but she has a good head on her shoulders. She has a way of reminding my baby sister there is more to life than selfies and trying to sign her soul away to the devil. Typically, when they hang out they get into teenage trouble I approve of. Stupid online quizzes. Crappy teen movies. Late night swims in her parents’ hot tub. Unlike the time she spends with Hil, I don’t have to keep the phone pressed to my ear in fear I’ll need to help call her an uber to get home if I can’t get there in time.
“So,” my father’s hands wrap around the cup in his hands, “¿Quieres hablar de por qué estás aquí?” When I don’t make an attempt to answer he lightheartedly comments, “Not to sound desagradecido about having a hot taza de café. It’s a pleasant, change.”
Another small snicker escapes at the same time I shake my head.
“Meena,” his voice takes a more serious approach, “what’s wrong?”
My fingers slide into my thick, tight curls as I casually confess, “Just time to move on, Papi. It happens. It always happens.”
The expression on his face becomes skeptical. “Yesterday you were loving on those children so hard, I was convinced they were actually yours, but today they mean nada?”
“Of course they don’t mean nothing, Papi.”
They’re everything.
Them and their selfish bastard father I would rather pour hot coffee on than ever make another cup for.
“No entiendo.”
“Los amo. I really do.” The words continue to clog my throat. “But…love is a fleeting thing, Papi. There always comes a moment when it’s time to move on from it. Time to move forward. Time to let go of something that never had a chance of lasting.”
“And why didn’t it?”
“Because love like everything else in life, doesn’t last. It’s not any more permanent than the bills you get in the mail or the groceries you stock in the house. It comes. It goes. It never stays, so why bother getting attached to it?”
The taken back expression on his face is unexpected. “Ángel, you can’t possibly think that’s true…”
“Why wouldn’t I think that’s true?” I bitterly bite. “I’m the oldest. I remember seeing how happy and in love you and my mom were before the bad outweighed the good. Before you stopped telling each other how much you love each other all the time. Before you stopped arguing until it lead to you kissing. Before breakfast was only filled with condescending reminders instead of poorly cooked eggs.”
“Excuse you,” my mother’s voice invades the conversation. “My eggs were always cooked to perfection.”
Papi pulls her into his lap. “Mi amor, they’re always a little runny.”
“Carlos!”
“¡Qué! Yo como la comida, anyway!” His arms wrap around her. “Because I love you.”
“More like because you’d starve otherwise.” Mom snips but leans into his grip.
Seeing the two of them sends images of Holden and me at our table with our kids.
No.
His table.
With his kids.
I’m replaceable.
After all I’m not their mother. I’m just the help.
Tears cling to my vocal chords and I drop my gaze back to the table.
“Meena,” my mother’s tone beckons my attention back up. “The good still outweighs the bad.”
“Does it?” My snip receives two pairs of darted down eyebrows. “Because I’m not like the rest of my siblings. I don’t have tunnel vision for just my life. I see the love lost between you. I don’t even blame you for continuing to fake it until the last kid is out of the house. I get it. I’m-”
“Completely wrong.”
“Completamente,” my father echoes.
“Just because your father and I aren’t breaking things anymore or making out like teenagers every other five minutes, doesn’t mean we don’t love each other. And just because our days are often spent trying to figure out how to keep ourselves from drowning in debt doesn’t mean the woes are winning. It just means we have to fight a little harder to stay together through them.”
“Meena, love is what gets you through all the other mierda. Love is what keeps you together when your three children are starving and you’re not sure you can feed them. Love is what gives you the energy to work those extra four hours of overtime or pick up a second job. Love is the tie that binds us. True love is a permanent state hija, because it’s not just in your mind. Está en tu corazón. Tu alma. It’s the only thing truly left behind after the dust clears and life settles.”
A tear tumbles down the side of my face.
“I’ve never known you to get this upset or worked up about someone,” my mother says sympathetically. “Which is why I’m guessing you are in love with Holden.”
I shouldn’t be.
His asshole nature. His complete disregard for my feelings. His chomp at my ankles now, kiss them better later tactics are infuriating.
I hate him.
I love him.
I hate that I love him even after he said what he did yesterday.
“¿Tengo que poner la cabeza en una caja también?”
“What!” Mom shrieks so loudly the both of us can’t help but chuckle.
Leaning back into my chair, I drop my hands into my lap. “No. I already called dibs.”
His grin grows as he winks. “Esa es mi chica.”
“Hate to foil plans of murder,” my mother says uncertain if we’re joking, “but remember this, Meena. Every time something goes wrong, it is not your cue to find the exit to run away.”
Her accurate accusation stiffens my lip.
“If you want a real relationship, a husband, a family…you can’t leave the moment someone says something you don’t agree with or something that pisses you off. You have to be willing to stand your ground. To fight. To get through the troubles and back to the things that make the troubles worth wading through.”
My father leans over and places a kiss on my cheek.
I run because it’s less painful this way.
Because I don’t ever have to risk losing a piece of myself again.
But how can I be pissed at Holden for being terrified of the same thing? How can I be pissed he has a harder time opening up considering he has two children to account for?
He shouldn’t have panicked yesterday. He should’ve trusted me. He should’ve known I would die before letting something happen to them.
He needs to apologize.
I need to apologize.
I’m not their mother no matter how hard I wish I was. There are still boundaries he needs respected. Limits that need to have the chance to expand without being pushed too hard.
“Hable con él sobre lo que ha molestado.” My father instructs. “Give him a chance to listen. Give yourself a chance to really love someone outside of this family.”
His advice sends a few more tears down my cheeks paralyzing all other capabilities aside from nodding.
My mother checks the phone in her hands with an increasingly worried expression. “Before you head home, do you mind stopping by Wren’s and checking on Mia?”
“Why?”
The unsure look remains. “They were supposed to go the mall this morning, but she hasn’t texted me yet. I made her swear she would text me when she got there.”
“She probably just forgot,” Papi brushes off.
“She is sixteen….”
“Maybe,” Mom sighs her discontent, “but Mia always text me back regardless of where she is or if she’s pissed I stopped her from kissing someone.”
“Did she try to kiss Mario’s friend?!” Papi aggressively snaps. “Lo voy a matar!”
“Calm down,” she instructs. “Why do you think I let her go to Wren’s? That poor boy tried to resist, but there’s something in our genetics that makes us irresistible.”
My father doesn’t bother arguing.
Ha. I’m sure Holden wouldn’t disagree either.
“Besides, if they were already at the mall, I would’ve gotten the money text.”
“For make-up?”
“Or a dress. Or a shirt. Or a coffee…”
“She needs a trabajo,” Papi mutters loudly.
“No. She needs to get better grades,” Mom corrects.
“I’ll stop by Wren’s and see if they’re there,” I volunteer, hoping to prevent the conversation from taking an ugly turn. “If they’re not, I’ll check her favorite spots at the mall. I’ve pretty much got them blueprinted to heart.”
“Thank you,” she sighs in relief. Afterwards, she asks, “Want some breakfast before you head out?”
“You’re not making eggs, are you?”
The joke gets a good hearty laugh out of Papi, but he receives a slap to the arm for it. He pleads his apologies in Spanish, several of the compliments more flirtatious than I can recall them being recently, proving their previous proclamations about still being in love.
I want that.
I want something that isn’t easy to walk away from.
I want Holden Reiss and all the havoc it seems to bring to my heart.
I just hope after we hash some shit out, he still wants me.
That I’m still a 1 instead of a 0.