Say Forever (12 page)

I savor the flavors as long as possible before begging for more. Andrés and I share the rest of the meal this way, and morning sickness be damned, I eat until I can't fit in another bite. After I take a quick shower and get dressed, I find Andrés in the kitchen, cleaning the last of the pots and pans. I feel bad I didn't get to help, but I doubt I can work at his speed anyway. It is as if life is in slow motion, and I don't have the energy to do much in the morning.

Andrés hands me another steaming cup, and this time I smile in relief when I smell the aroma of roasted almonds and vanilla. I take a deep drink, savoring the richness as if it's the last cup of coffee I'll ever drink.

Andrés watches me drink with this expectant look in his eyes, and the nervous energy roils off his skin in waves. My chest tightens and my heart starts to race. It's present time!

He wordlessly reaches for my hand, and I follow him into the living room. My last thought before we sit beside the small tree sitting on top of a side table is I hope Andrés likes what I got him. But before I can give him his present, he pulls a small box, wrapped in red velvet and topped with a gold bow, from behind the tree. I gasp as I take it from his outstretched hand while looking deeply into his warm eyes, swirling with amber and honeyed gold flecks.

"I hope you like it," he says in a low raspy voice.

I bite my bottom lip as the warmth of his words coats my senses like rich, maple syrup. "I'm sure I will." I untie the bow and peel back the paper.

I gasp when I open the box. Inside is a bracelet and matching earrings. Each has the same diamond and emerald flower pattern as my engagement ring. I don't even have to ask if these are real; I know they are. I hold up the bracelet and the stones sparkle as they catch the reflection from the tree's glowing lights.

"Andrés. These must have cost a fortune."

He runs a hand down the side of my face. "You're worth it, mija."

I lean into him, relishing the feel of his touch as it sends ripples of pleasure across my skin. I'm so very tempted right now to postpone opening the rest of our presents and drag him into the bedroom. If only my mom wasn't expecting me.

After Andrés helps me put on the earrings, and I lavish him with many, many "thank you" kisses, we open less expensive presents, like jeans and scarves. He bought me a Spanish tutorial CD for the computer, and I can't wait to learn enough to have a conversation with him, even if I'm not able to master the accent. I love that smoky look in Andrés 's eyes when he opens the black lace nightie, that is technically a present I bought for myself, but more for his enjoyment. Finally, comes the last present, the largest one, and the one that makes my gut twist with apprehension. This present cost me my entire last paycheck, so I hope he likes it. If not, I've saved the receipt.

Andrés's face lights up when he opens the box, a collection of bronze pots and pans. The guy at the upscale culinary store told me it's what the professional chefs use.

He lets out a low whistle as he reads the words on the box. "You bought me bronze, mija? These are expensive."

He looks lost in thought as he stares at the box. He must be thinking I've spent too much, but his present couldn't have cost more than mine. Besides, he's such an awesome cook, he should have nice cookware.

"Your food deserves the very best. You should have been a chef, you know," I add, thinking he'd be more accepting of my gift with a little boost to his ego.

My heart sinks to my stomach as his face contorts into one massive frown.

"Don't you like them?" I hesitantly ask.

He pats the top of the box before setting it on the coffee table. I'm rendered speechless when he looks back at me. There's a sadness behind his smile I can't define. Why would pots and pans make him so melancholy?

He clasps my hands in his and kisses my cheek. "They're perfect, mija," he rasps into my ear. "I love them."

But his words lack conviction, fizzling like a balloon running out of air. I don't understand how my present could have soured his mood, but I definitely sense a change in him, like a dark haze has settled over his soul. And now my soul is hurting, too.

***

That big breakfast still weighs heavily in my stomach as we pack the car with presents and head to my mom's house. I end up sleeping the entire two hour drive. By the time we pull into my mom's circular driveway, I'm feeling rested and refreshed. I stretch my arms, relieved to see Andrés smiling at me. "Did you enjoy your nap?"

"Yesss," I say through a yawn.

My brothers bound toward me before I have one foot out the door. They're bouncing around the car like jackrabbits on speed, chanting something about "more presents."

"Yeah, I'm happy to see you, too, boys," I say wryly as I bend down and open my arms for a hug. Little Manny is the first rugrat to launch himself into my arms, followed by big brother, Gio. They cover my cheeks, in sloppy, sticky kisses and then tell me to hurry up inside so they can open more gifts. Have I mentioned lately my brothers are the cutest kids ever?

Andrés tells me to go with them while he unloads the car. I feel bad leaving him behind, but my brothers don't leave me much choice as they drag me toward the house. My mom is standing on the front porch, and my stepdad is beside her, dusting his hands on his apron.

"Merry Christmas," they sing in unison, beaming at me with infectious smiles.

It warms my heart to see how much those two are on the same wavelength. More than once, I've watched Doc and my mom finish each other's sentences and both laugh uncontrollably at the same jokes. I sure hope mine and Andrés's marriage will be this solid after we've had kids.

After sharing hugs and kisses with them, I'm anxious to get to work helping my mom with the decorations. She leads me through the tall foyer while Doc helps Andrés carry in presents.

My senses are accosted by the smells of warm cinnamon and nutmeg, and imagine my surprise when my stomach growls loud enough to rival a grizzly bear. My mom and I both stop and look down at my midsection.

"Didn't you have breakfast, dear?" she asks.

My jaw drops as my stomach growls again. "Uh, I had a
huge
breakfast."

"Well, you are eating for two." Mom winks and pats my stomach.

I scratch my head. "Yeah, but this baby is only the size of a peanut."

Mom's green eyes twinkle with laughter. "I gained most of my pregnancy weight early on with all you kids. My stomach was like a bottomless pit." She starts toward the kitchen and I follow. "Come on, let's get you something to eat."

My heart slams when we pass beneath a pale gossamer curtain and into the dining area. The place looks like a winter wonderland, aglow with twinkling lights and fake snow. The walls are draped in more gossamer curtains, and sparkly snowflakes of every size hang from the ceiling. It's breathtakingly beautiful, and my mom did it all without my help.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she asks with a lilt.

"I thought I was supposed to help." I hate that I sound like a petulant child, but I can't help but feel hurt that she'd left me out.

"Oh, dear, I know how tired you've been lately." Mom pats me on the hand, speaking in soothing tones like she's trying to quell a child on the verge of a tantrum. "I worked on this for the past two days. You would never have been able to finish it in time, especially in your condition." She nods toward my stomach, which, unfortunately, chooses that very moment to let out another loud rumble. Mom walks over to the buffet against the wall and picks up a big ball of clay. "I saved the sculpture for you. I figured you could make it look like a snowman. The boys would love that."

My shoulders slump when I think back to my junior year in college when my sculpting teacher told me my work had no depth. My assignment had been to mold the bust of one of my parents. I'd chosen to sculpt The Cobra, the lesser of two evils. I figured her image had no depth because it was a reflection of what was on the inside. Either way, I survived that course with a B minus, thanks to tons of extra credit.

I take the clay and let the weight of it settle in my hands. I've always loved the way it felt when I pressed my fingers into the soft, yet firm substance. Maybe I can sculpt something small, but I'm still terrified it will look like crap.

"I've never been that good at sculpting."

Mom frowns, and the pity reflecting in her gaze is so humiliating, I feel like hiding behind those gossamer curtains and never coming out.

"The boys don't care if it's not Michelangelo. Just maybe Frosty the Snowman or Rudolph."

"Okay." I barely mouth the word as I absently nod. My stomach rumbles so loudly this time, I feel like I'm caught in an intestinal earthquake.

"Let's get you some food." Mom tugs hard on my hand, pulling me through the kitchen doors without another word.

I heave a sigh. I had all of these designs in mind for the dining room, but mom's wonderland is pretty awesome. Still, I wish I could have contributed more than a clay snowman. Not only has this pregnancy rendered me a tired eating machine, it has rendered me useless.

***

Dinner is amazing thanks mostly to Andrés's homemade gravy and warm, buttery tortillas that practically melt in my mouth. Yes, our personal chefs decided to skip the biscuits and make homemade tortillas, which Doc said were far better than anything his Mexican grandmother ever made. I believe him, too. Andrés is an amazing cook.

My Frosty doesn't come out too bad either, even though he leans a little bit to the right. Andrés dubs him The Leaning Tower of Snowman and then Gio decides to knock off his head with a turkey leg.

I decide not to be bothered by it. Today is still by far my best Christmas ever, because the people I love most in the world are sharing it with me. The food is great, and my mom and stepdad bought me a beautiful winter coat and matching boots plus an awesome SLR digital camera, complete with zoom and a macro lenses.

My mom loves the personalized gift I made her, a scrapbook with all my childhood pictures that I "acquired" from my adoptive mom's house while she was at her weekly pluck and color appointment. I also give her a beautiful silk scarf, green to match her eyes. We bought Doc several kinds of exotic teas, since he's into that stuff. They give Andrés a San Antonio Spurs sweatshirt and a blue and silver daddy diaper bag packed full of bottles and newborn diapers. Andrés graciously thanks them, despite their hint that they want him to take an active part in raising the baby.

Then Mom winks at me while proclaiming loudly she hopes Andrés will get to use the bag often. I can feel the heat from Andrés's embarrassment radiating in waves. As I lean into him, I feel like I'm pressed against a furnace. I am only slightly miffed by my mom's hint. After all, Andrés does work way too many hours, and I've been worrying more and more that he may be too busy to help with the baby.

Afterward, Andrés takes my brothers outside and teaches them how to operate the remote control helicopters we bought them. Manny cries when Gio "accidentally" knocks his helicopter into a bush. Gio cries when Manny chases after his helicopter with a plastic baseball bat.

Doc finally comes outside and tells my brothers it's time for a nap. This makes them cry even harder. I kiss them each goodbye and tell them to stay off the naughty list or else Santa will take back their presents. That seems to do the trick, as they both clam up and let Doc lead them to bed.

Even though my mom is disappointed, we have to make our goodbyes. Since the dreams started back up, Andrés does not feel comfortable spending the night anywhere but his sofa. On the way home, we make one more stop. Andrés delivers presents to James's sons. James was Andrés's best friend in the Army, and his widow's home is not too far from my mom's house. Though the boys are about my brothers' ages, their personalities are as different as night and day. They accept Andrés's presents with a polite, "Thank you, sir" and play quietly in the other room while Andrés and I visit with James's wife and her new fiancé.

We're both shocked to learn she's remarrying. I think Andrés takes it harder than he lets on, as he's unnervingly quiet during the ride back to Austin. I don't know if it's because I'm tired of Andrés's pensive mood, or else I'm just tired, but just as we reach that half-way point, I take another nap. It's past nightfall when we pull into our apartment carport. I'm so exhausted, I can hardly heave myself out of the car. I'm relieved when Andrés sees me struggling and carries me to our apartment. He lays me down in bed, kisses my forehead and tells me he's got to go finish unloading.

That's all I remember before I fall back to sleep.

***

I jump up in bed, startled at the sound of Andrés's screams coming from the other room. I toss aside my sheets and hurry to the living room, cursing as I trip over the edge of a rug, nearly falling face first onto the floor.

His screams are louder, and it sounds like he's fighting with someone, but it's so dark I can barely see.

I rub my hands across the wall and hit the switch. I spin around to see Andrés turned sideways on the sofa, punching the cushion so hard, the stuffing is coming out.

"Andrés!" I cry as I rush to his side. I jump back when he thrashes about, barely missing his arm as it swings wildly at me. "Andrés!" I cry again. "Wake up!"

He thrashes about some more, only this time, less violently. Then he stills. He groans a bit and rubs the sleep from his eyes before finally looking up at me with a dazed expression.

It's only then I breathe a sigh of relief. I hadn't realized I'd been holding my breath, waiting, worrying he wouldn't wake.

Andrés slowly sits up on his elbows, his brow creases into a heavy frown. He rubs his hand through his hair and turns his gaze toward the battered pillow cushion. He reaches for a frayed end and then twirls a bit of stuffing around his finger. Finally, he heaves a sigh before looking up at me.

The pain in his glossy eyes is enough to make my heart break.

"See why I can't sleep with you, mija?"

His shoulders cave inward, and he pulls his knees to his chest and withdraws into himself. I lean down and reach for him, but he pulls away. This can't be happening. This can't be my Andrés, my strong, confident, hero. But as I watch him withdraw further and further away from me, there' s no denying the truth. Andrés is falling apart. Guilt and self-loathing surge through me as he asks me to go back to bed. This wedding, this baby, has pushed him over the edge.