Say Yes (Something More) (7 page)

Andrés leans into me and clasps my hands in his own. I want to pull away, but I bite my lip as I sit as motionless as possible. If I pretend to be invisible, hopefully he’ll get in the truck and drive us home. He’ll forget all about babies. We can rent a movie and discuss goldfish names.

“Do you wish Tyler had never been born?”

I close my eyes and take a slow, steadying breath. Why is Andrés doing this to me? “I didn’t say that.”

“Think about it. What if Karri had decided not to have him?”

I’m not opening my eyes. I’m not looking at him. As if I need to be in any more pain today. I’ve got to help plan a funeral. I’ve got to go home and cry some more. Now Andrés is making me think about a life without Ty? I wonder if he knows how badly he’s hurting me right now.

“I love Ty,” I say through a shaky voice. I can feel the moisture building in my eyes.  

“And you’d love our child, too.” He’s stroking my face again, and I want to hate his touch, but there’s a tenderness in his voice that tugs at my heartstrings. I can sense his longing, and it pains me that I know I can’t give Andrés children. “Look at me,” he says as he strokes the other side of my face.

My eyes shoot open, and despite my best efforts, they overflow. “I haven’t even finished college,” I say as I drag my sleeve across my face.   

Andrés’s mouth drops open. He pulls me against him, planting a kiss on my forehead. “Forgive me, mija. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m in no hurry. I just thought you were.”

“No!” I suck in a sharp breath of air, feeling like I’m being suffocated by Andrés’s embrace. I don’t know how to answer him, and I want so badly to end this. “I—I… no,” I stammer before more tears come. I shut my eyes against the pain of my past, my present, and the future I can never have. 

* * *

Andrés

I clutch the steering wheel while listening to Christina sniffling on the drive home. She keeps her gaze out the window, not even looking in my direction.

Some part of me feels like shit for making her cry. Another part of me wants to punch something. Hard.

I’m still fuming over our conversation. I remember mentioning having kids once or twice. I also remember her changing the subject. I figured she wasn’t ready to talk about starting a family, so I dropped it.

But I can’t believe she doesn’t want to have kids. Not fucking ever.

Has she not seen my huge family?

Does she not think that I might want to follow tradition and have kids one day? Or does what I want even matter?

I don’t want to bring kids into this fucked up world.

That’s what she told me, but I still can’t believe it.

And now my only concern is: what the hell am I going to do about it?

Chapter Six

Christina

So that was a total waste of time. Andrés and I spend most of Saturday morning going to Karri’s favorite hangouts, but we turn up nothing. We go to her old apartment complex and ask several druggies and pushers if they’ve seen her.
I let Andrés do most of the talking, as some of these people scare me. I’m so glad I have Andrés with me. I seriously could not have done this without him.

Karri’s brother, Jeremy, texts me to say the funeral is on for tomorrow. I have no idea how he managed to arrange it, but I hate texting him back with the news that I can’t find his sister. Jeremy messages back not to worry about it.

I feel terrible, even though I know I can’t be held responsible for Karri’s stupidity.

After we get home, Andrés leaves to catch up on paperwork at the shop, and I have a late lunch with my best friend and sorority sister, Grace. We haven’t been spending much time together lately, not since we each became involved in serious relationships, and it feels good to unwind with some girl time.

“Omigod, you should have seen the slums we went to today,” I tell Grace as I twirl a sweet potato French fry between the tips of my fingers. “This poor guy at the smoke shop didn’t have shoes on, and I’m pretty sure he’d walked through dog crap.”  

“That’s what drugs do to people,” Grace answers as she takes a delicate bite of her decadent chocolate brownie pie, careful not to smudge her flawless makeup. Yeah, Grace decided to skip lunch and go straight for dessert, forcing me to drool over her food while I pick at my dry club sandwich.

“This is exactly why I don’t want to have kids,” I say in perhaps a firmer voice than I’d intended, but I’m still reeling over the conversation I had yesterday with Andrés. The conversation where he told me all I had to do was ask and he’d give me children. OMG! What
was
that man thinking?

One of Grace’s blonde ringlets has fallen from her ponytail and hangs over one eye, but it doesn’t diminish her classic beauty. I’ve had the pleasure of painting her face on canvas more than once. In fact, I’m working on a project right now, just for fun. I drew inspiration from Grace’s perfectly proportioned features and smooth skin. It’s the Goddess, Venus, dressed in lavish robes and standing on a billowing cloud as the wind whips her hair into a frenzy. And just like the beautiful, determined deity, Grace is giving me a diva stare.

“What does one druggie have to do with kids?” she asks.

“Have you seen the world?” I motion to the other side of the room. A young mother is trying to control her toddler as she is flinging mashed potatoes across the table. The father is laughing, and so the mother switches from scolding the toddler to scolding her husband. There is laughter in the mom’s voice too, so she can’t be too mad.

Grace looks over at the family, and turns back to me with an arched brow. Okay, so they were a bad example. I didn’t mean to wave at them, but the druggies I was referring to don’t exactly eat at trendy chain restaurants.

“Uh, yeah,” Grace says through a smirk. “The world has always been fucked up, Christina. That doesn’t mean I don’t want kids. Violet and I are already talking about starting a family.”

Violet, AKA Rodeo Chick, is Grace’s girlfriend. Violet owns a successful horse breeding ranch out of town. Even though she looks much younger, and I’d initially confused her for some sort of juvenile delinquent rodeo groupie, she’s in her early thirties and eager to settle down. They are already talking about having a huge ranch wedding in the spring. Now they’re talking kids?

It takes me a while to realize Grace is gawking at me. “Earth to Christina,” she says as she waves her hand in my face.

“Uhhhh,” I answer, which is about all I can manage, because I realize I’ve been staring at her with my mouth hanging open. Oh, and I still have a mouthful of food. I swallow, nearly choking on bits of dry bread. Didn’t this restaurant ever hear of mayonnaise? I wash it down with several gulps of sweet tea. “But what about Diablo? He’ll probably smother your baby in its sleep.”

Diablo is Grace’s evil Chihuahua. I’m pretty sure the dog’s sole purpose in life is to devise a way to slit my throat with his sharp little claws.   

Grace laughs out loud while shaking her head. “What am I going to do with you?” Then she narrows her eyes and purses her lips. I cringe, because I sense a lecture coming on.  

“So, truthfully,” she asks as she points a fork at me, “what’s the
real
reason you won’t have kids? And don’t say you don’t want a family, because every time I see you, you’re either talking about Tyler or Andrés.”

I turn my attention toward my plate and pick at my sandwich, wondering why Grace has to ruin a perfectly good girl date with baby talk. Sure, I’d love to have a family, but it isn’t happening, not as long as there are rapists, druggies and heartless mothers in the world. So I will my hands not to shake as I set them in my lap, then I give her a pointed look. “I don’t want to bring anyone into this world.”

Grace rolls her eyes. “That’s a bullshit excuse.”

I square my shoulders. “Excuse me?”

As much as I love Grace, she’s really starting to piss me off. What is it with everyone and the baby talk lately? Am I not dealing with enough stress right now?

But she waves me off, as if I’m nothing more than an annoying fly buzzing around her head. “There’s another reason, and I think it has something to do with your mother.”

A punch to the gut. That’s what her words feel like. I haven’t spoken to The Spitting Cobra in six months. That woman hasn’t bothered to apologize after she admitted to listening to my dad rape me and doing nothing about it. She hasn’t even called to ask how I’m doing. Honestly, even though I’ve always longed for a hug from my mother—for any kind of motherly affection—I’ve never gotten it. She’s given me nothing but heartache my entire life. So why, why, why does Grace think it’s okay to have a casual conversation about that bitch during our lunch?

“My mother has nothing to do with it,” I say through clenched teeth.  

“Good,” she says with an air of superiority, “because you’re not like her, you know. You never will be.”

“I know that,” I say, doing my best to keep my composure. I know I’m not like my mother. She’s a heartless bitch. Why does Grace assume I would think that?  

“Huh?” Both of her eyebrows rise, marring her smooth brow. “You don’t sound convincing.”

“So you’re my therapist now?” I say with a smile that feels forced. “Are you charging an hourly rate?”

She shrugs. “Not until I get my master’s.”

“Well, I’ve got some bad news for you. I hate to dis your major but my psychology class is all bullshit.” I throw my napkin down on my plate of food. I’m no longer in the mood to eat. Besides, it doesn’t taste very good.   

“Dis my major?” Grace laughs. “You’ve been working at that paint shop too long. What happened to my silver-spooned friend?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug as I avert my gaze and stare out the window. The young couple from the restaurant are packing their toddler into the car. They each lean over and kiss the girl’s forehead before climbing into the front seat. I don’t know why, but watching their display of family affection makes a knot twist in my chest. I turn back to my friend, who’s looking at me with an expectant gaze. “Maybe I’m changing,” I say in the most indifferent tone I can manage.   

“Good,” she says to me, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort. “People change their minds all the time, Christina. In fact, I bet by the time you’re thirty, you and your Spanish Adonis will have at least three beautiful tanned children with big green eyes.”

That knot in my chest projects into my throat. It takes all of my willpower to keep from falling apart as I think about what our children would look like. Maybe we’d have a little girl with long dark hair and big green eyes. Or a brown-eyed boy with Andrés’s devious smile and thick lashes. Then I shake my head and purge those images from my mind. I can’t think about children with Andrés.

I am loathe to admit it, but some part of me worries even if we are able to shelter them from the horrors of the world, what if I turn out to be a heartless bitch like my mother? Who will protect my children from me?

Chapter Seven

Christina

The funeral is short and simple. A few of Mrs. Peterson’s bridge club friends show up to offer their condolences to Karri’s brother. He’s almost as still as a statue in his marine uniform while he stands watch over his mother’s ashes. He thanks everyone for coming, but otherwise, doesn’t say much. As I look into Jeremy’s pale eyes, I’m reminded a bit of Tyler, even though Jeremy has aged quite a bit since the last time I saw him. Worry lines frame his drawn mouth, and he’s got premature grey hair around his temple. Weird, because he’s only a few years older than me.

Andrés has his arm around my shoulder during the entire ceremony. I draw comfort and strength from his presence, and again, I feel so lucky to have him.

We stay after the service and offer to help Jeremy pack up his mom’s house, but he’s already lined up several high school chums, a moving company, and Goodwill, to help out.

Jeremy says he’s got to get back to his post for an important training exercise, one of the reasons why the funeral was rushed. The autopsy report came in yesterday. Final cause of death was an aneurysm, a blood clot in her brain, which burst. Doctors think high blood pressure was to blame.

Hmmmmm. I wonder who gave her high blood pressure?

I want to hug Jeremy when we say goodbye, but something about his demeanor seems distant. I realize he’s no longer the annoying big brother who used to sneak worms into our lunch boxes. He does ask one favor of me before I leave, a favor I know I can’t refuse. Jeremy asks me to look after Tyler.

He says nothing about his sister, and I don’t either, not when I think she’s mostly responsible for her mother’s death. I never thought I could resent Karri as much as I do now. She’s done a lot of shitty things in the past, but abandoning a loving family has to be the worst.

I only shed a few tears during the funeral. It’s not until Andrés leads me to his truck and buckles me in that I give in to my grief. I cry long and hard against his shoulder before he finally starts the engine and drives home. The Peterson family is the only real family I had while growing up. Before Karri got into drugs, before Jeremy left for boot camp, and long before Mr. Peterson suffered that stroke, they were a normal, happy family.

I remember escaping to their house while my parents drank and swore at each other. I spent most of my holidays with the Petersons. A few Christmases, I’d even gone with them on vacation. My parents didn’t seem to miss me, and I certainly didn’t miss them. Mr. and Mrs. Peterson always treated me like family and made me feel welcome, loved. Now, they’re gone, their happy home broken, and what little I had left of a normal family has gone with them.

This makes me feel broken, too. How can Andrés expect us to build a family when I don’t have a foundation to build on?

* * *

It’s a little past two in the afternoon when we get back to our apartment. Andrés leads me to the sofa and then goes into the bathroom. After a few moments, I hear the water running.