37
Piper
I didn’t go into work on Monday.
My dad called to find out where I was and when I was coming in. I didn’t answer. Blaire finally picked up after he called seven times in a half hour and explained that I wasn’t feeling well. It wasn’t a lie. I felt terrible. I was wrapped up on the couch, watching mindless television.
The problem with having roommates who worked from home meant that they spent most of the day babying me. When, in reality, I wanted to be left alone. My heart was shattered in a million pieces. The two things I cared about most in my life were gone.
There was no way that I was going in to work at that place that held all of my memories and all of my joy. Knowing now what had happened and how it had been stolen from us by our accountant’s stupidity and then the sale of the property. I didn’t even know all the specifics about how it had happened, but I found I couldn’t care.
And Hollin…he was just as bad. He’d sent a number of texts that I deleted without reading. He’d called until Blaire, once again to the rescue, answered and told him to leave me alone.
“You’re going to be okay,” she said, brushing my hair back from my face. “You’ll get through this.”
“How do you know?”
“You’re too stubborn to do anything else.”
Over the next couple days, Blaire and Jennifer made me tea and fed me through my misery. After I told them what had gone down, they didn’t ask too many questions. Jennifer had already known. Hollin must have told Julian. Great. Everyone would know soon enough. I was glad at least that Jennifer did the majority of filling in for Blaire, who was personally offended on my behalf.
“If he shows up, I’m going to kick his ass,” she said.
“That would be a sight.”
She grinned and then dropped it. She picked at her fresh manicure with a sigh. “We have a game tonight. I assume…you’re not coming?”
“No.”
“It’ll be our first game without August. We got a new player to replace him, Eve Houston.”
I flopped backward. “I know her.”
“Really?”
“I met her with Hollin,” I said, my voice raw as I said his name.
“Yeah? Well, I hope she’s good.”
“Have fun.”
“What are you going to do?”
I gestured to the couch, where I’d taken up residence.
She sighed and nodded. “All right. Maybe you should talk to someone.”
“I don’t want to talk to anyone.”
“Abuelita?” she suggested.
I met her gaze and saw the fear in them for the first time. She was worried about me. Worried that I wouldn’t get off of the couch again, except to use the bathroom and sleep. Worried that I was broken. And I felt broken. I didn’t want to do anything, but I didn’t want to hurt the one person I had left.
I nodded. “Okay. I’ll go see Abuelita.”
Blaire’s face lit up. “Excellent. Do you want me to drive you?”
“No, I can do it. Have fun at the game.”
Blaire nodded uneasily. “Will do.”
I got up when she left to change and went straight for the shower. When I came out, freshly washed, I pulled my hair into a messy bun on the top of my head. I changed into jean shorts and a tank top, grabbed my keys, and headed over to Abuelita’s.
She couldn’t possibly say anything that would make me feel better about the catastrophe that was my life. But maybe she’d make me her secret family recipe pozole, and that would help.
I parked out front and rang the doorbell. I waited a minute for her to answer and then tried the door. “Abuelita?”
“Mi amorcita,” Abuelita said as she stepped out of the kitchen. “Lo siento. These legs don’t move quite as fast as they used to.”
“No need to apologize.” I kissed her cheek.
“I’m pleased that you’re here.” She affectionately tapped my cheek twice. “Come. What can I make you? You must be hungry. We’ll get some meat on those bones.”
I laughed softly and followed her into the kitchen. “I was thinking pozole.”
“In the summer?”
“I need the comfort food,” I admitted.
“Sí, pozole it is.”
She directed me to the pantry to gather ingredients. The recipe wasn’t even written down. She had it in her head. It was all three of us grandkids’ favorite dish. We were fond of all of her food, but the pozole was her best. As I cut up an onion and crushed garlic, Abuelita told me stories about Mexico and her parents and the love they’d had. She spoke softly the entire time as the stew came together in a boiling pot that smelled like home.
She dished us up each a bowl, and we sat at the small table in the kitchen instead of the larger dining room table.
“Now,” Abuelita said, “tell me what is troubling you.”
That was when the tears sprang free again. “I don’t know what to do.”
“About the winery or this boy of yours?”
Of course she already knew. She hadn’t been surprised that I’d shown up out of the blue, asking for comfort food. She had been waiting for the right moment to address it.
“Both. I’m supposed to drive down to Austin for the wine awards with Hollin. And now, I don’t think I should even go.”
“Because of what your father did?”
“Yes. He…sold the entire thing out from under me. He never even consulted me. I dedicated my life to that place. I thought, one day, it would be mine, as it had been his.”
Abuelita nodded. “It was not the right decision to leave you out. But believe me when I say that, sometimes, parents do things that they believe are best for their children and do not consider how it will harm them in the process. He was trying to protect you.”
“By keeping me in the dark?” I asked with a shake of my head. “I would have found out eventually and then what?”
“You’d have dealt with it. As you are now.”
I sighed and shook my head. “I guess. But I don’t forgive him, and I don’t know how.”
“Mira, give it time. This is all too important. No te rindas.”
“I’m not giving up,” I told her. “I just feel defeated. And Hollin…he lied and hid things, and then…he wasn’t even there for me when I found out about the winery.”
“Are you mad because he hid things or because you were alone when you found out?”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Both. He was my person. He was supposed to be there. And when I came to him in distress, I found him with someone else. They weren’t…doing anything, but does it matter?” I searched Abuelita’s face. “He said he went to see her to get her to stop talking to him, but I don’t know how to trust him anymore.”
“Before this, he seemed a good man,” Abuelita said.
“He was.”
“He cared for your family. He cared for you. He made you happy. Lo amas?”
Did I love him?
That was the question, wasn’t it?
“I thought I did,” I admitted. “But now, I don’t know. I’m just so mad. Everything was stolen.”