King

It’s been one month since Holland and Juliette were reunited, and I’m no closer to convincing her that everything I did was to keep her alive. We’ve been staying in Puerto Rico for two weeks, and she has all but ignored me every single second since we stepped off the plane. I’m not complaining, really. She’s building a relationship with Juliette, learning sign language, swimming with her, watching movies, playing games . . . I just wish they would include me once in a while. It’s torture living in the same house day after day, seeing her in her sexy bikini, smelling her perfume on the cushions of the couch long after she’s gone to bed, and watching her absentmindedly run her fingers through her hair when she concentrating.

How could I have been so wrong? It’s so easy to see now that this is where she belongs, raising our daughter and living under my roof. She seems to have come to life these past few weeks. She laughs often her skin glows, and I’m always catching her humming. I’ve even heard her play her violin for Juliette. She’s fascinated with the instrument. She may not be able to hear, but she loves to touch it, pluck the strings and feel the vibrations when Holland plays for her.

I find Sebastián drinking coffee on the terrace.

“Morning,” he says, lifting his cup. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please. Retirement agrees with you, old man.”

“Thanks.”

“Where are the girls?”

I pull out a chair and sit across from him under the perfect, warm Puerto Rican sun. He points toward the beach, where Holland and Juliette are building a sand castle. They stop occasionally to sign to one another, and my heart melts.

“I have to take them to Houston.”

Sebastián stares quietly as Juliette dumps water on Holland and Holland shrieks and sprinkles sand in Juliette’s hair.

“She’s never going to let it go, King.”

“I know.”

“Then why the trip home?”

“I have to keep trying. I love her. Now that I’ve seen how it should have been, I can’t give up on us.”

Sebastián sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

He thinks it’s hopeless, but he hasn’t seen the glimmer of our old love in her eyes. He doesn’t know that sometimes she stops to watch me before she enters a room. I can feel her there. He doesn’t know her tells, but I’ll never forget the way she rubs the side of her neck or how she puts her finger on her bottom lip when she’s thinking about me.

“It couldn’t hurt to make sure things are running smoothly at Ecstasy I guess,” he says.

“We could stay a night or two in the apartment and a few at the house.”

“Why did you keep that club, anyway?”

“Sentimental reasons. I couldn’t sell the place where I met her.”

He lifts his eyebrows skeptically. “I don’t think she’s going to go for that. She’ll never let Juliette stay in a dance club, King.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. We will go to the house then.”

“I’ll call Candy and tell her to stay in Houston with Leo. She was planning on coming back tomorrow, but this will save her a trip. Does she know?”

“About Leo and Candy? No, I feel like she’s had enough to process lately. It can wait.”

“She’s going to be pissed when she finds out Candy was in on this.”

“Another reason not to say anything just yet.”

“King, Candy’s my wife now. You can’t keep avoiding her. Holland is going to find out about Candy’s involvement as soon as she talks to her.”

“Then she won’t talk to her for a while. I need time.”

He shakes his head and takes a drink of his coffee.

“Forever isn’t long enough for her to forgive you, King. I’m sorry, but I think the sooner you accept, that the better off you’ll be.”

“Never. If it takes forever, then I’ll spend forever convincing her that I love her.”

He stands to leave and rests his hand on my shoulder.

“I admire your tenacity, son, but I’m not sure what you’ve done is reversible. Some damage is permanent.”

He squeezes my shoulder and leaves me alone to watch my girls . . . my girls, as in both of them. They’re mine . . . I will never give up.

* * *

“Why can’t we go together, Daddy?” Juliette signs.

“Because Daddy has to go tonight to get some things ready, and Mommy doesn’t like flying in our plane.” I sign back to her.

“Why doesn’t she like our plane?” she signs with her adorable brown dimpled hands.

“Mommy likes people, she likes to be with lots of people when she travels, and she likes big planes.”

It’s not true. She prefers the jet, but it’s the first thing that came to mind when she asked, so I went with it. Holland doesn’t want to fly in the jet because of me. She said she couldn’t stand to be in such a small space with me for that long because she hates me that much. She agreed to go, though, so I didn’t argue about it. I just need her in Houston, in our old house, so she will remember how it was before I destroyed her life. I wanted to go back ahead anyway to make sure the house is in order, and a few special things are waiting for her when she arrives.

Juliette’s bottom lip sticks out in a pout. She’s not used to being separated from me. Whenever I have traveled in the past, she has come with me, but Holland refuses to allow her out of her sight. She still doesn’t trust me. She sleeps in the same room as Juliette every night. She even goes so far as to lock the door when they go to bed.

Sometimes I think Sebastián is right. She’ll never forgive me if she can’t even trust me not to take Juliette from her bed in the middle of the night.

“I have a surprise for you there. I have to go first so I can get it ready,” I sign, trying to make her forget about traveling separately.

“A surprise? I want a surprise,” she signs with excitement.

“Okay, then Daddy has to go tonight, and you and Mommy will come tomorrow.”

She nods her head up and down and her eyes sparkle with anticipation. I’ve tried not to spoil her with material things like my father—or I guess I should say Arturo—did with me. I keep the gifts down to a dull roar unless it’s a birthday or Christmas, so a surprise is a big deal for her.

I kiss her on the nose and then each cheek. She hugs me tight and signs, “I love you.” I sign that I love her back, and Holland guides her into their bedroom without a word—no goodbye, no safe travels, no fuck off, dickhead, nothing. I’m not sure what else to do to win her back. I’ve sent her flowers—lame, I know. I’ve left her gifts of jewelry, trinkets, electronics, music. She returns them all to the floor outside my bedroom each night. I’ve pledged my love and loyalty. The only thing I have left in my arsenal is something I don’t want to give to her.

I kept a journal every single day we were apart. I wrote down all of Juliette’s milestones and her daily activities, from how many times she burped to what day she learned which color of the rainbow. At the end of each entry, I wrote her a love letter—not a note, but a letter—every day. Every feeling and experience I had for three years is written down in those books.

It’s a double-edged sword. If I give it to her, she will see how much I thought about her and that I never stopped loving her for one second, but she will also know everything she missed, everything I took from her.