Walking into my house, I quickly pass Miguel, yelling out, “Miguel, it’s okay if I use your car again, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” he calls back from our dining room. I’m hoping to grab my clothes and head over to Micah’s before any of my brothers see me because I’m pretty sure I look like I’ve been crying.

I was so close to telling Micah how I feel before Cindy came over to us. I wasn’t sure what he’d say or how he’d react, because how do you tell someone you love that you don’t think you’re good enough for them? And even thinking that it just makes me feel pathetic. Shallow. Because all I’m basing that on is appearances. And he’s never, not once, told me I need to or even should change.

Maybe if can I can get it out and in the open, I can digest and work through it, and not feel like every other girl out there would be a better fit for him, only because I don’t like the way I look.

It was on the tip of my tongue, but once the moment passed, all of my reservations returned and I don’t want to think about it, much less tell him. I’m already fighting the urge of not going over to his place. Fighting the thoughts of texting him and telling him I’m going to stay home. But I don’t want to do that. I need to work past this. And that’s only going to happen if I remain comfortable around him. Who knows, maybe I’ll find the courage to tell him tonight, and I can finally start to work past my insecurities.

“Hey, Yessi is making tamales tonight with Mamá,” Tomás calls out, following me to my room. “I was going to text you. I thought you were hanging out at the beach.”

“No,” I answer, grabbing my bag and heading to my closet. “I mean, I was, but we changed our minds. I’ll just be at Micah’s.”

“Invite him over.”

“What?” His invite makes me pause. I turn and stare at him because he still hasn’t been very receptive to Micah. “Really?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. It seems like he isn’t going anywhere, so I guess I better try and—” His words cut off. Turning his head to the side, he narrows his eyes, staring at me. “Were you crying?”

“Oh, no.” I quickly turn around, grabbing a shirt.

“Your eyes are red.”

“It’s nothing.” Zipping my bag, I try to rush past him, but he blocks my doorway.

“Vero, what happened?”

“It’s nothing, Toto.”

“Then why were you crying?”

“Who’s crying?” Javier asks and walks over to my door.

“No one.” I grind my teeth at Tomás. “I’m fine.”

“Vero, if you don’t tell me what happened, I’ll have to make assumptions which are only going to lead me to want to punch Micah.”

“It wasn’t Micah, okay?”

“Then what happened?” he asks.

I’d do anything to get out of this situation, but it makes it that much more difficult because now Miguel is standing behind them, staring at me.

“You guys, stop it. I’m fine. Tim was—”

“That’s it,” Miguel interrupts me, “I’m taking that fool out.”

“No!” I shout, and they continue to stare at me. “He didn’t do anything. It’s just … it’s complicated, okay? Micah thought I was cheating on him when he saw us hugging.”

“You were hugging that prick?” Javier shouts.

“So this is about Micah.” Tomás eyes me suspiciously.

“Okay, okay. Enough,” Yesenia calls out to the boys and shoulders her way through them. “You,” she points at Javier. “You were supposed to go to the market for me, remember?” Javier stares at her a moment, before looking back at me. “Now.” She moves his chin. “Go.”

“Fine, fine.” He shakes his head, but backs away and leaves.

“And you,” she pushes Miguel in the chest with a stiff finger, “keys.”

“I’m not giving her my keys now.”

“Keys!” she shouts at him. He grumbles but reaches into his pocket, pulling out his keys, handing them to her. “Thank you.”

Muttering under his breath, Miguel turns and walks away, and Yesenia stands in front of Tomás, her back to me. He hasn’t broken eye contact with me yet. “Tomás, I need your help in the kitchen.”

“With what?” he asks, still staring.

“The masa is drying out.”

“My mom knows how—”

“No,” she cuts him off and puts a hand to his cheek. He finally breaks his gaze with me and looks down at her. “I need your help.” He rolls his eyes, but nods, and walks away. She turns around and gives me a smile. “Boys.”

“Yeah, especially when they’re your brothers.”

She dangles Miguel’s keys in front of me. When I reach for them, she quickly wraps her fingers around them, not letting go. “Everything okay, Vero?”

Cindy and Izzy have always been like the sisters I’ve never had, but we’re all the same age. When Yesenia came into our lives, she became like a big sister to me. She’s two years older than Tomás, another joke Miguel liked to make early on when they started dating, calling Yesenia a cougar.

I drop my head, looking down at my fingers, playing with my cuticles. “Yeah … everything’s fine.”

“Really?”

Lifting my gaze back up to hers, I muster up a smile and hope it seems authentic. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Okay,” she says with an endearing smile, handing me the keys. As I start to take them, she places them in my palm but wraps her fingers around my hand. “Just remember, I’m here. Okay? Your brothers love you, but I know they’re boys. If you need anything or just want to talk, just let me know.”

“All right,” I say, offering her another smile. This one feels more genuine. “Thank you.”

Walking out of the house, I can feel Miguel and Tomás’ eyes on me, but I try to ignore them. As I get into Miguel’s Honda Civic, I still feel like hiding away in my room, telling Micah I can’t come over, but if I stay my brothers will no doubt keep hounding me all night.

I’m hoping once I get to the apartment, the worries will have quieted and the rest of our day can have some semblance of what we’re used to. Unfortunately, nothing like that happens because as soon as I walk in, I see the couch. It doesn’t look any different than it has any other day I’ve been here, but it’s the last place I saw Lana.

“I got some tacos on the way home,” Micah says, breaking through my thoughts. “You hungry?”

“Um, okay.” I head to the kitchen, trying to ignore the couch and feeling stupid that I’m letting my thoughts run away with me again.

We eat on said couch, and I continuously inspect it, as if I’m going to find some trace of her here. He asks how I am and we both give each other a nervous smile at the awkward question since we just came from the beach.

“I think I’m just gonna go lay down.” I motion to the bedroom.

“Really?” He frowns for a moment before pulling out his phone. “It’s only six o’clock.”

I nod. “Yeah, I know. I think I’ll just watch something or read.”

“Oh, okay.” He stands up from the couch, picking up the wrappers. “I’ll throw this stuff away and clean up, and I’ll be right there.”

“I can help.” I move to grab my cup, but he gets to it before me.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“All right,” I say, looking around, still feeling out of place.

Taking a deep breath, I get up from the couch and head to the room. I don’t know if he’s expecting something tonight, but I didn’t bring anything enticing, or even cute for that matter. A baggy pink shirt that hangs off my shoulder and the shorts I usually wear is my usual, and I grab them, heading to the bathroom to change.

Undressing, I stare at myself in the mirror. My fingers run over my stomach, and I push my index finger in a little. He’s never seen me completely naked. His hands have been everywhere. So have his lips. But just me, bare to him with nothing else on, he’s never seen. And that won’t be changing tonight.

I lean in closer to the mirror, bringing both hands up, and pressing them into my cheeks. Chubby. Pudgy. Whatever you want to call it, it’s fat. And even if I’ve lost some weight, my face still looks the same. My cute, little chubby cheeks, I remember Mamá telling me all those years ago. But I don’t want to be cute and chubby. Lana isn’t cute and she damn sure isn’t chubby. I want to be sexy for Micah. He’s called me that, but looking in the mirror, I don’t see it.

I have to tell him. It’s the only way to get over this. He needs to know why I’m shying away so much. I’m not sure what will happen once he knows, but at least he’ll understand why I’m acting like I am.

Pulling the shirt over my head, I take a deep breath, resolving to finally let him know. When I open the door, Micah’s standing there, bobbing slightly from side to side.

“Sorry, babe.” He whisks by me. “I really gotta pee.” He laughs before giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. He starts to close the door but stops midway. “I think I’m gonna take a shower real quick, is that cool? You done in here?”

“Oh, yeah,” I answer with a nod and a smile.

“Cool.” He shuts the door.

Okay, that felt normal. Maybe this will be okay. He can take a shower, I can turn on the TV, and calm down a little. When he comes out, we can talk this out because this needs to get talked out. I need to fix this. I desperately want to get back to that spot I was a week ago, in his arms, feeling warm and loved. Feeling like I was enough for him, instead of these insane feelings like I’ll never be good enough.

I switch on the TV and browse for a show to watch, all the while mentally preparing myself for our conversation. But when he opens the door, everything I wanted to say gets tossed aside. All of my insecurities form a brick wall, blocking the words. Micah’s as much of the problem as anything. And I hate myself for even thinking that right now.

He’s in low hanging shorts; his light caramel skin still shimmers from the shower, as he dries his hair. A few beads of water slide down his chest, over his stomach, and before this week I’d want to tackle him where he stands. But now, a lump of inhibition sits inside. It’s not just Lana and every other girl that look so much better than me, it’s Micah, too.

He’s gorgeous. Why in the world would he be with me when Lana’s still throwing herself at him? He gave her a second chance before, how long will it be until he thinks he should give her a third chance? Or what of the other million women out there, taller and skinnier than me? I know Tim apologized today and said he was wrong, but that doesn’t change the fact that it happened. Whether he was just competing with guys or not, he did it. And he did it because I didn’t look as good as the other girl. How long will Micah be able to hold out?

“Did you find something to watch?” he asks, kneeling on the bed, wrapping the towel around his neck.

“Oh, um, yeah.” I look away, hitting the remote control.

The description screen pops up, and Micah raises his eyebrow, staring at the screen. “Real Housewives?”

“Oh, wrong one.” I try to hide my embarrassment with a laugh and back out to the menu, finding a different show, then press play.

I feel him staring at me a moment longer, but don’t dare make eye contact. Any normalcy we had in that split-second, briefly passing each other in front of the bathroom, is gone. My guard is back up, and I don’t know if he’s looking at me, but I feel like he’s doing nothing but trying to decipher what’s going on in my head. Letting out a sigh, I sink deeper into the bed and stare straight ahead. He throws the towel off to the side, wraps his arm around me, but doesn’t say a word. And that’s how we spend the rest of the night.