Chapter Eleven
Now that it’s over, I know I should go home. Crawl into my bed, listen to sad songs, and spend the rest of the day mourning the relationship we never even got to have.
Instead, I go to the bakery.
Francesca starts to smile when she hears the jingle of the door bells, but her pleasure stalls when she spots me—probably especially because it’s clear from the state of my face that I’ve pretty much cried the whole way here.
“Mia,” she says, in that trailing off way like she’s not sure what to say.
“Why did you have to do that?” I ask, figuring she can piece together what I’m talking about. “If you didn’t want to risk it, you didn’t have to hire me.”
Francesca sighs, glancing over her shoulder, but no one else is around. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Mia. I just… I know my brother, and I wanted to see if there were any skeletons in your closet, anything he might take issue with. I didn’t expect to find anything.”
“I didn’t do anything to wrong your family in any way. I did the opposite of that—I kept quiet, despite human decency. I kept my mouth shut; I could’ve hurt Vince anytime I wanted to, for literally any number of infractions. Do you know how many times he broke into my house? Twice. I couldn’t have been better, and still I lose?”
She truly does look sympathetic, but inexplicably, her sympathy makes me feel worse. If she’d only been trying to come between us, if I had someone to blame, someone’s bad intentions… but she shouldn’t look so sympathetic. She broke us up.
“I know it seems so unfair,” she says, coming around the counter so she can stand closer to me. “I know it’s hard, and you’re so young, and you shouldn’t have to deal with any of this. I truly didn’t mean to hurt you.”
The helplessness is the worst of it. I feel like a puppet on a dark stage, dancing for an invisible audience. “Why won’t anybody consider that maybe your brother would see how good I’ve been, and he would be okay with me and Vince?”
Concern flickers through her sympathy, not the sad kind, but the kind laced with fear. “Because he wouldn’t, Mia. You’re not wrong—you did do everything right. But I promise you, even in the best of scenarios, this is not your happily ever after. Even if Mateo saw how good you’ve been, even if he didn’t…. hurt you… You’re too young to get trapped in this life.”
“But it wouldn’t be trapped if I chose it.”
“It wouldn’t be worth it,” she states, implacable. “Take it from a woman born to this family, Mia. I would sell my soul to get away from it—and it would be far worse for you.”
Chills move over me, not just at her words, but at how sincere she seems as she says them. I swallow, not sure how to respond to that.
Patting me on the shoulder, she offers me a sad grimace. “You want to take a cupcake?”
I shake my head no, certain I couldn’t eat right now if I tried.
Francesca walks back around the counter and pulls out a small handbag. A moment later she holds out a fifty dollar bill. “Take what I would’ve paid you today, for your trouble.”
I want to leave it there, on principle, but I’m too damn poor. I feel nothing as she hands it to me, but I push out a wooden, “Thanks.”
“I wish you the best,” she tells me. “I know Vince really liked you.”
That only makes it worse. If I could at least blame him, maybe I’d feel better. Maybe I would be angrier, bitter instead of sad. He took my virginity and then ditched me—what a bastard.
But no.
We both have to be sad, because everyone thinks his cousin is the big, bad fucking wolf.
---
Tuesday drags by in a depressing crawl. Vince gets to our class together early enough to reclaim his old seat, and when a confused Cody drops into the seat next to me instead, I have to fight back tears.
It’s like we never even happened.
I have to pick up both kids after school, so I’m holding onto Casey’s hand as we wait in the hallway at Allan’s school. My tired eyes scan the parents for the investigator again, but of course he isn’t there.
Once I have them both and we’re on our way home, I realize I’m too exhausted to cook. I know it’s unwise, but I put a dent in my $50, ordering a sausage pizza from the place Vince took me to.
I have to pick all the meat off and still listen to Allan complain about any potential sausage residue, but the worst part is, I can’t even eat it. I pick at the sausage with a lump in my throat, thinking of Vince, already missing him.
Bedtime brings the relief of silence, the cover of night, but I can only lie there, wishing Vince would sneak into my room again. I’d welcome him, even now, even after dumping me, even if it didn’t mean anything. Even if it was just one more night.
Those fantasies lead to more tears and no more sleep, so come Wednesday morning, I’m a puffy eyed zombie.
I take a long shower and try to mask my sadness with makeup, but I’m so tired that I feel nauseated. I have to get some sleep tonight. I can’t go three days with only a few interrupted hours to keep me going.
The whole morning, I debate skipping the class I have with Vince, but the part of me that still wants to see him overrules it. I was too sad to deal yesterday, but today I want to see how he looks. Of course I don’t want to be forgettable, but I hope he doesn’t feel as hopelessly sad as I still do.
It seems like he has enough sadness without me adding to it.
I approach our mutual class with the same tired anticipation as a reluctant junkie approaching my dealer. I’m disappointed when he’s not there yet, but he arrives before Cody and sits away from me again. I understand he wanted to end things between us, but I don’t see why he can’t even sit next to me anymore.
When class ends, he’s out the door before I am, and he doesn’t even look at me.
Maybe it is easier for him.
After that class, I completely bomb my French test. Studying in the courtyard during lunch didn’t do any good, because I haven’t done the reading for the past two nights. I have an A in that class anyway, so I guess I can afford it, but I’m still not looking forward to getting that grade back.
The school day finally ends. I don’t have to pick up my siblings today, and I’m so glad. My body feels like it weighs 800 pounds, which is really not helping me bounce back from this break-up. I need sleep so my stupid brain can start to function again. I might actually try to take a nap, since the house should be quiet and empty when I get there.
I wish I had the car today. I’m too tired to walk all the way home. Technically, I could probably ask Lena for a ride, but things have been so weird between us lately that I don’t.
I nearly make it to the end of the school’s sidewalk when a blue car slows to a stop beside me. I don’t even look, figuring they’re slowing down for the stop sign, until the window rolls down and I hear, “Get in.”
Frowning, I look over to see Cherie in the driver’s seat.
“What?” I ask, not sure I’m understanding.
“I’ll give you a ride home.”
I want to tell her no thanks, but I’m too tired. Sliding into the passenger seat, I give her my address and sag against the door. “Thanks,” I murmur.
“Vince wanted to get you a car, but he didn’t have time,” she tells me.
Pain twists in my gut, but I don’t respond.
I expect her to say something on the short drive to my house, to address our break-up, since she obviously knows about it. But she doesn’t. She leaves me alone, turning the radio on at a low volume and humming along as she drives.
She pulls into my driveway, looking at the charred house beside it. I can’t tell if she knows anything about how it happened.
Flashing me an almost smile, she says, “If you ever need a ride, just let me know. I know we don’t have to be friends now, but…”
That’s honestly so nice of her, and I’ve been such a bitch to this poor girl. I realize if Vince does end up with her, I can’t even pissed about it. She’s kind, and he deserves that.
Impulsively, and more because I need one than because she does, I lean over and hug her. “Thanks, Cherie.”
She’s understandably surprised, but she offers a smile as I open the door and climb out.
Fishing my keys out of my bag, I climb the porch steps.
A car door flies open behind me. “Mia,” Cherie calls out.
I turn back to see what she wants, but when my eyes land on her, her face is a mask of fear as she runs for me, a phone to her ear.
“What?” I ask, perplexed.
She knocks into me, grabbing me, standing way too close—for a second, I get the very confused feeling she’s going to kiss me. “Get back in my car, Mia.”
I can’t grasp what’s happening, but I look back at her car.
Into the phone, she says gravely, “You need to get here right now.”
Fear surges through me and I consider bolting, running into my house. “Who is that?” I ask.
I try to pull away from her but she grabs me, hustling me back to her car. She’s small, but surprisingly strong.
“Cherie, what are you doing?” I demand as she throws open the car door.
“Adrian’s here,” she says, like that’s supposed to mean something to me.
“What?” I ask, confused. She shoves me into the car, but doesn’t leave my side to get back in the driver’s side. “Cherie, what the hell?”
She isn’t looking at me. I realize then she wasn’t talking to me, either, but to the person on the phone.
“Who’s Adrian?” I ask, wishing I knew what the hell was going on. Is Cherie a good guy or a bad guy?
“I’ll do what I can,” she says into the phone. “Hurry, Vince.”
Relief pours through me when she says his name, and a spike of exhilaration hits when I realize he must be coming here.
It drains immediately when I realize there’s only one reason he would have to.
“Mateo?”
Cherie meets my gaze, with far more trepidation than I’m comfortable with.
Then she nods. “Mateo’s here.”