“No need, Mr. Hale. I have another toothbrush.”
His eyes still but he nods. Perhaps he understands I don’t want his gifts. “I’ll call you with the business details. I’m aiming for Thursday. Does that work for you?” He is still holding my hand.
“Thursday is fine—thank you. Goodbye, Mr. Hale.” I pull my hand back and walk out of the conference room, past the reception desk, and to the elevators. When the doors close behind me, I break.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Last Rites
I half-sit, half-stretch in the only armchair in our living room, staring at the mess before me. Reagan is passed out on the couch in her KEEP CALM AND MARRY HARRY pajamas and emerald-green pillbox hat. Two wine bottles, leftover pizza, crumpled Kleenex tissues and dirty dishes litter the coffee table. Lana Del Rey is singing quietly in the background—“This Is What Makes Us Girls”. On the floor, there is a crude voodoo doll Reagan made out of old socks. The name Aiden Hale and a litany of words that range from sex god to pervy wanker are written in black Sharpie across its body. Now, even though it’s only 8:00 p.m., my faithful guardian is down for the count, having emptied the wine bottles herself.
In the silence—without Reagan’s voice crooning “it will be okay” or screeching “that evil tosser”—all the questions resurface. Louder, as though furious at being ignored. How could I have let this happen? Why did he change? Did he change? Or is this his true nature? Why? Does he need saving even more than I do? What the hell do I do about that? What the hell do I do about anything?
I clench my teeth together and shove back every question. I focus only on the answer I know: I have to get over him, and soon. If it hurts this much after two nights, I can’t imagine what it would have been like if we had kept going.
I move for the first time in the last several hours. My joints creak at the sudden motion but I welcome it. At least this pain I can understand. I stumble to Reagan and take off her hat, brushing her red curls away from her face.
“Fuckin’ asshole,” she mumbles and goes back to snoring.
“I brought it on myself,” I whisper, throwing her favorite shearling blanket over her. My eyes flit to the clock on the wall, as they have done every hour or so. Not waiting for Aiden to call but for Javier to get off work. He will be worried about me. And my news—my good news—will make him happy. At 8:05, I amble to the kitchen and dial.
“Hello?” Javier answers on the first ring.
“Hey, Javier, it’s me.” My voice is hoarse.
“Isa? What’s wrong?”
I clear my throat. He doesn’t need any more worries after a sixteen-hour day. Or ever. “Actually, something is right for once,” I say, evading the question. “Well, maybe. I don’t want to jinx it.” I knock on the wooden kitchen table as I say the words.
“Oh yeah? What?” He sounds like he is smiling.
“I think I may have found a way to stay.” I smile too.
There is a short moment of silence, and then a loud gasp. “Holy crap! What? How?” He is shouting now. I bet he is pacing as far as the phone cord in the kitchen will let him.
“I have a deal to sell my supplement,” I answer.
The line goes quiet except his breathing.
“He’s going to buy it from you?” Javier sounds awed.
“Yes.”
More silence. Then a low whistle. “I can’t say that I understand the dude. But for this, I’ll always owe him,” Javier says. I have a sudden urge to run across town and hug him. No matter what his feelings are about the world, they always come second to his family’s happiness.
“Yes, we’ll both owe him. But don’t jinx me, Javier, please. The lawyers can’t guarantee it and they say I may still have to go back.”
Javier laughs. “Okay, okay. Aren’t you supposed to be a scientist—rational and all that?” I can hear him knocking on wood, probably the kitchen cabinets.
“Not for this,” I say firmly, finding nothing funny and rubbing my knuckles raw against the kitchen table. He laughs again, and I hear him talking to Maria. He speaks Spanish but after four years with them, I understand. Mom, it’s Isa. She thinks she’s figured out a way to stay. Maria squeals, drowned in seconds by a chorus of the girls. Antonio supplies the baritone to the cacophony. They all get on the line and talk at the same time.
“Isa, amorcita, happy, happy—”
“Oh, how? Who?—”
“When?—”
“Come over here, linda—”
“Mom’s making carnitas—”
“Carnitas? Forget carnitas. I’m making tres leches cake. Javier, go get her. Dora, put on some music.”
“Mom, Anamelia is up.”
“Oh, that’s okay, she likes the music.”
Finally, Javier’s deep voice rises above the rest in English. “Will you all stop? It’s not for sure yet. Don’t jinx it for her.”