Selfish.
That’s what last night was. Completely, unabashed, selfishness. The complete opposite of how I was raised, of how I helped raise my siblings. But fuck me…because I would do it again, without hesitation.
It’s been almost a decade since I initially met the one and only Holden Reiss. The ‘nerd’ who would eventually turn into a whispered legend. The ‘nerd’ who reminded an entire college campus just how powerful the so-called computer geek sitting beside you could be. I’ll never forget the unmistakable feeling of having my heart beat in my throat when he first offered me a smile. We were both freshman at Clover Rose. Both clearly out of place. Both with high hopes of being more than where we came from. The connection I felt, the connection I swore he felt too, unfortunately didn’t take much time to sever. He looked to his left and just like that, it was gone. He was hers. She was his. And me? I was nothing more than a friendly face until their first child was born.
I zip up my red suitcase and roll it out of the so-called guest room of my parent’s one story home.
The only ‘guests’ they ever get are their children who always have a million excuses for needing a place to stay, all of which are never their fault. Being the oldest of seven has given me and my bank account more grief than gratitude over the years.
Leaning the suitcase against the old, comfortable beige couch, I give my father a sweet smile. “Buenos dias, papi.”
He looks up from the pile of bills he’s obviously been mulling over. “Buenos dias, hija.” His hand attempts to push away the stress while his face strains to offer me a grin. “You sleep well?”
Incredible, actually. It was the first solid night sleep I’ve had since I set foot back in this country. And if I have it my way, which I intend to, last night was not only the first of many peaceful slumbers, but the first of many post orgasmic ones from the hands of the world’s sexiest computer nerd.
“Can’t complain,” I coyly reply as I sit in the seat across from him.
My father’s hand clutches his chest overdramatically. “Paz a mis oídos. At least I have one child who doesn’t.”
“Is this in reference to the only one still currently in the house?
“Si.”
I nod slowly. “And what’s Mia upset about now?”
He rolls his eyes and begins to pour us each a glass of orange juice. “Todo y Nada.”
“Sounds like Mia.”
At sixteen I had no such luxury. There wasn’t time. There wasn’t energy. Helping make sure everyone had their backpacks and lunches, making sure everyone had clean clothes and breakfast, making sure no one missed the bus because there was no alternative way to school was exhausting. I barely had the brain capacity to remember the answers to a history test. Who was dating who? Who asked who to prom? Who called who fat in the courtyard? Not even blips on my radar.
Before I can question more about the cause of the comment, it comes stomping into the living room larger than life.
“Eres el peor de los padres!” Mia screams at our mother who lately looks less and less like the woman I remember from growing up.
Raising seven children definitely takes its toll. Once upon a time both of my parents seemed filled with so much life. So much love. My father looked like something that should’ve been in movies. He had a powerful presence, striking smile, and a large, muscular frame from years of working outdoors. Women found him irresistible wherever he went, which included my mother who was quite beautiful with her dark brown skin, dark brown eyes and petite, perky figure. They used to go on and on about how they knew it was love the minute their eyes locked. How it was this feeling you couldn’t deny, this feeling if you ever felt it you wouldn’t want to deny. They’d read us fairy tales about princes and princesses before telling us they had found their happily ever after with each other. It’s how I knew what the feeling was when I first met Holden. However, they never bothered to mention that sometimes the feeling doesn’t have a choice in being ignored. They never mentioned how the feeling doesn’t have to be a two-way street. They left out the little footnote that not everyone gets a happily ever after or that their happiness with someone else might just be temporary. After watching them deal with drowning in debt for years, struggling with keeping this house, and feeding my siblings along with their grandchildren, I came to the conclusion, love, like money, like health, like joy, like the happily ever after bullshit in those books is transitory. Love has no problem moving on, abandoning you and leaving heartache in its wake, so why try to hold onto something so ornery and temperamental?
Our mother lets out a heavy sigh, “Mia-”
“No!” She shrieks, flipping her long black hair over her shoulder. “This could be my big break, mom!”
“But-”
“This could be my moment!”
“Sweetie-”
“This could be my ticket to Hollywood or New York or Paris!”
As someone who has been to each of the places she just listed, I want to intrude in the conversation just to inform her, she’s not ready for any of those places or the criticism they have no problem raining down on young women trying to make it in the entertainment business.
“Imagine how much help this could be for us if I get paid to model or act!”
“You’re not letting some stranger film you, Mia.”
Her tiny foot stomps the dingy carpet.
Tiniest of us all and definitely the most defiant. Strangely enough, out of all my siblings we are the two who look alike the most, despite being furthest apart. We’ve both got thick black curls we typically keep straightened, lighter colored skin, and strikingly bright brown eyes, but where I’m thick, she’s thin. While I choose to keep things tight with yoga, Zumba, or salsa classes, she chooses the fad diets and pills she doesn’t think my parents will find. Our parents have reiterated numerous times we’re both dangerously beautiful. Unlike her I actually understand what that means and the consequences of carelessly flaunting it.
“Let it go, Mia,” I try to encourage kindly, catching a glimpse at our father’s blatant, building rage.
“Don’t do this, Meena!”
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t take their side! Necesitas ser una buena hermana!”
“I am being a good sister.” My face tilts to the side sympathetically. “Trust me.”
She continues to plead with her eyes for me to defend her.
This is the problem with being the parent yet not being one. Being wedged in the middle of battles you don’t want any part of. It’s hard wanting to protect my baby sister and wanting her to grow into a person at the same time. I want her to chase her dreams. I want her to be better than my other sisters who can’t stop sucking at the parental teat. I want her to be confident in her own skin, show the world there is beauty in diversity, but I don’t want her to become a victim of stupidity. Another young actress or model who sucks dick to get her big break. I don’t want to reveal to her how cruel the real world can be, but I don’t want her to think I’m callous either. This Shakespearian battle to parent, or not parent is the foundation of both my personal and professional life.
In a low, displeased tone, our father states, “Dije que no. Hoy no. Mañana no. Fin de la discusión.”
And the infamous ‘no speech’ makes the predictable appearance.
Mia squeaks her outrage. “Estás arruinando mi vida!”
“Eh, get in line,” my father grumbles between sips of his orange juice.
She throws her hands into the air and storms off the way she came.
After her door slams shut, mom turns to him and snaps, “Really, Carlos? The dictator approach?”
He lifts his blue eyes up and over her direction. “Mi casa. Mis reglas.”
“No,” she argues, approaching the table with increasing frustration. “Our house. Our rules.”
“Tamara-”
“I understand not wanting our daughter filmed, but photographed? By a professional? Remind me again why that is unacceptable? Why do we have to kill her dream? Why can’t we refrain from discouraging when it is clear she needs encouragement? Why can’t we let her be hopeful and passionate?”
“About viejos y pervertidos?!” His large arms fold firmly across his chest. “I don’t want pictures of mi niñita with her tetas coming out of her shirt and culo hanging out of her jeans. She needs to value her body, not place a value on her body.”
Mom’s hands curl around the back of the empty wooden chair. “Carlos-”
“Fin de la discusión!”
Ah. My father’s signature. Those words have reverberated more times in this house than any other. The problem is, it’s one thing to announce them to your children, but another to your wife. I wasn’t raised with one alpha parent, but two. Growing up, I remember when those were spoken to my mom, it lit her fuse, which then lit his, and the fireworks that would occur afterward would leave remnants in the form of broken glass or furniture, along with scratches or hickeys. Their fighting taught me one valuable lesson I swear by. Passion is the only thing permanent in life. You fight with passion. You fuck with passion. You live with passion. If there’s no passion then there is no purpose and it does nothing but waste your time.
“You know if you have the name or card of this photographer, I could have my new employer check it out,” I casually suggest hoping to the cut the tension. “He does investigative activities for a living.”
It takes both of my parents a moment longer to break their stare and turn their attention to me.
Mom smiles brightly. “You got the job?”
“Of course she got the job. Have you ever known Meena not to?”
A crooked smirk comes to my face. “He knew a great opportunity was knocking on his door.”
And then coming on his fingers.
“Besides, having worked for him in the past made his decision even easier. We had a good relationship then. I can only imagine it’ll be even better now that I’ve had more experience.” My thighs unconsciously drift closer together.
Then it was strictly professional no questions asked. He was married. He was unavailable. Now? We’ll be doing more than your basic mixing business with pleasure. We’re going to meld until we create an all-consuming Helix that threatens to destroy us both.
“I’m excited to be caring for his children. They feel like great kids. Lynk seems to have grown up pretty well. His soccer obsession will be easy for me to deal with since it’s quite similar to Marco’s.”
“Is the other child also a boy?” Mom asks.
“No. It’s a little a girl. Her name is Sage and she reminds me of when Mara was four. She has the same love for music correlation. My guess is if I can sing it, she can learn it.”
My mom smiles yet my father less than subtly pressures, “All these nanny jobs are good preparation for when you decide to finally have your own.”
I swallow the sadness slithering up my throat. He doesn’t know. Why would he? “It’ll be a live-in situation, like the others, so your guest room is all free once more.”
He frowns his disapproval. “Married?”
“Widowed.”
“Thought you weren’t going to take any more single father jobs?” Mom questions quickly. “Thought you didn’t want to risk the rumors again.”
“This is an exception.”
The definition of Holden Reiss. He’s the only man I’ve ever met that gets my pulse racing, and unknowingly begs me to reconsider the carefree lifestyle I’ve cultivated.
“And, people are going to talk, mom. It’s what they do. I don’t have to listen if I don’t want too. He’s not like the others I’ve been nannying for. He doesn’t have the paparazzi waiting outside for him to flash his handsome mug.” She attempts to counter when I cut her off. “This’ll be a good fit. Holden needs someone reliable and that he can trust. He’s had a shitty string of luck with caregivers since his wife died. I think I can do some real good. I think I can make a real difference…”
Papi nods. “And the pay?”
“Perfect,” I reassure with another smile. “More than enough to continue to help out around here.”
“Meena,” mom drops her hand on top of mine, “that’s not for you to worry about. We’re the parents in case you’ve forgotten. We’ll figure out something. You don’t need to keep sending us money.”
Pride. The biggest emotion next to passion they both possess and the one that didn’t fall upon me. Just because I chose to go out and live my life rather than stay nestled close to home in case everything fell apart, doesn’t mean I don’t care about them or their well-being.
“Mom, it’s fine. I don’t mind helping.”
“You shouldn’t have to help,” Papi grouses. “A man should be able to take care of his familia. He should be able to provide everything they need. He shouldn’t have to rely on his niños to keep food on his goddamn table.”
My mother slides to the side and gives his shoulders a good squeeze. “Things will get better, Carlos. They always do.”
They don’t. But when you’re a parent there’s an instinct inside of you to at least pretend. Between his hours being cut then randomly increased at the post office and her continuously being passed over for a promotion that would be a huge pay increase rather than just random bonuses, they’re always in a constant fluctuation of income. At least with my help, it eases the burden of deciding whether to pay a bill or buy groceries.
“It’s fine, really,” I insist warmly. “It’s full time work. Weekly pay. Room and board covered. Plenty of income to spare.”
“Aren’t you saving for your own place?” My father pushes again. “Your own future?”
“More of a one day at a time kinda woman. A total appreciator of living for the here and now rather than the mysterious future…You know that, Papi.”
Mom’s arm embraces him in a shoulder hug. “Our hija with wanderlust…”
Their daughter with a fair understanding the world is a constantly changing place. What’s the point of clinging onto anything when the reality is, it’ll either be ripped away or walk away? This second chance with Holden is no different than anything else to cross my path. I’ll enjoy it, I’ll make the most of it, but I won’t get attached. I never do.