Checking over my shoulder, I can’t see much in the dim light, but then I hear her voice loud and clear. “I’m allowed to be here!”
Multiple sssshhhhhh’s ring out from the crowd.
“Don’t shush me!” she yells. “I got as much right to be here as you!”
The performers on stage start to waver, unsure if they’re supposed to continue.
Motherfucker! Nudging Jorgie in the side with my elbow, I hand him my phone to keep filming and then I duck along the row, dodging knees and feet to get to the aisle.
“Get your hands off me!”
Near the back door, I see her, trying to avoid some guy who’s trying to corral her out of the room.
“Lolis,” I hiss. “What are you doing?”
She falters when she sees the anger on my face, so at least she lowers her voice from a shout to a regular speaking volume. It’s still way too loud. “Scotty, he says I can’t stay.”
The guy gladly washes his hands of the situation and leaves her with me. “Let’s go,” I whisper tightly, jerking my head at the door.
“But she’s up there! I love you, Rosa!” she yells, and again, the performers falter.
“Lower. Your. Voice.” I’m about to lose it, but instead, I pull in a deep breath and gesture to the door. “Let’s. Go.”
For a split second, I see the indecision on her face. This could go either way. Thank goodness for small mercies when she turns and slinks through the door. In the hall, I scan over her in the light. Her pupils are blown wide open. She’s high as a kite. Since it’s impossible to talk to her when she’s like this, I focus on how to get her home.
“How’d you get here?” I demand.
She doesn’t like the tone of my voice. “What do you care?”
My anger boils over. “Are you kidding me, right now? You just humiliated our daughter in front of all those people.”
Down the corridor, a woman trying to soothe a baby, shushes us, so I take Lolita’s arm and pull her toward the main entrance. Once we’re outside, I ask her again. “Who brought you? Is someone picking you up?”
“Don’t pretend to care about me, Scotty.”
She really doesn’t get it. I’m missing my kid’s performance for this. And I don’t have a way to contact anyone because my cell is with Jorgie. “Where’s your phone?”
Her blank stare irritates me to no end. “Where’s your phone, Lolis?”
She finally pulls it out of the back pocket of her jeans and hands it to me. I pull up her mother’s number and dial. It’s a good thing she answers, because I’m at the end of my rope.
“Sol? Habla Scotty.”
I get the story out in brutally concise sentences and insist her mother get someone down here to pick Lolita up. She agrees and then I’m forced to wait with her for the fifteen minutes it takes for her brother to arrive. I want to scold, I want to lecture, I want to vent every bit of twisted frustration I’m feeling right now. But it wouldn’t do any good. Not when she’s like this.
Once I see her brother’s car enter the parking lot, I head back inside. The lights are on and the crowd is gathering up their things. I find my family waiting near our seats, but I don’t get a chance to say anything before the girls come running and hurl themselves at me. Kneeling down, I manage to get all three into my arms for a group hug.
“You guys were so great up there,” I tell them quietly.
“Yeah?” Daniela asks, sounding hopeful.
“You bet. The best of the night.”
Despite their smiles, all three of them seem unsure, dashing my hopes that they didn’t realize who was causing the disturbance. “Is Mom okay?” Rosa whispers as the others are swept up in my family’s congratulations.
I stand with her in my arms and tuck her head against my shoulder. “I think so, calabacita.” My pet name for her gets a giggle. Little pumpkin may be an endearment in English, but it sounds ridiculous in Spanish, which is why we like it.
Jorgie claps me on the shoulder and then hands me my phone. “See you later tonight?”
I give him a withering look.
He shrugs. “Didn’t think so. See you Monday, boss.”
Moving closer to my family, I ask with as much enthusiasm as I can, “So, who wants ice cream?”
Obviously, children have the ability to bounce back much more quickly than adults do, especially when ice cream is involved. The girls pick out their toppings with all the eagerness one would expect. While on the other hand, as adults, the rest of us have mostly fake smiles plastered on our faces. For the girls’ sake, my sisters, mother and grandmother and I all keep quiet about what happened even though we all want to take shots my ex.
We don’t get home until after ten, so we skip bath time and I get the girls directly to bed. As I tuck them in one by one, I feel like shit because at the very least, I should be talking to them about what happened tonight. But I just can’t do it. Not tonight anyway.
In the kitchen, I find my grandmother drinking a solitary cup of tea. My mood further flags. “I know I said I wouldn’t go out,” I start. “But . . .”
“Go, mijo. Know that we’re safe here”
I quickly bus a kiss on her cheek. “Thanks.”
I sit in my truck for a few minutes, struggling to accept where I long to be. Logically, it’s not the right decision, but emotionally, she’s all I want. I need her to curb this horrible helplessness I’m feeling, to smooth my fraying edges before I unravel completely.
The drive is a quick one. Within minutes, I’m catching the front door of her building as someone is leaving, and then I’m standing in the hall, staring at the number on her door. Before I have a chance to reconsider, I knock.
The sound of the chain rattling sets my nerves further on edge, but when she opens the door, I drink down the sight of her. With her hair up in a messy bun, one satin-smooth shoulder exposed by the loose neck of an old T-shirt, and her endlessly long legs bare but for a pair of short cotton shorts, she takes my fucking breath away.
“Scott?” she says, her brow creasing with concern. “What’s wrong?”
Comfort, elation, lust, all swirl together in my gut, leaving me mute.
She steps back to let me in and as she closes the door, our bodies rotate until I’ve got her backed up against the door.
“What happened?” she whispers, searching my face for the answers I’m not giving her.
Her wide eyes and slightly parted lips that are illuminated only by the low light coming from the kitchen, draw me closer. Between us, the air starts to crackle with the pent-up tension we’ve been denying for weeks. It can’t just be me feeling it, right?
“El,” I croak, my hand lifting to graze the warm skin of her jaw.
Shivering under my fingertips, she blinks up at me. “Yeah?”
Without thinking, I slide my fingers to her nape and then run my thumb along her cheekbone. She shifts toward me millimeter by millimeter until I can feel the tips of her breasts brush my chest and the scent of her hair fills my nose. She’s temptation incarnate. Her lips are right there, pink and lush. She’s so tall, I wouldn’t have to stoop at all. Just lean in and –