I’ve never once felt Isaac doesn’t respect me. Maybe that’s why it hurts so much. “I don’t know. Everything feels so unsettled. Unfinished.”
“So, talk to him.”
I open my mouth to argue but nothing comes out. Talk to him? Could it really be so simple? It wouldn’t hurt. “When did you get so good at relationships?”
“It’s almost ridiculous, right?” He waggles his brows, a mischievous grin on his lips. “And they say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” Who would’ve thought an old hookup would make such a great friend? Trent’s right. I need to talk to Isaac, even if it’s only to figure out where I stand and to tell him I never want to see him again.
Seventeen
Isaac
After my classes, I pick up David from daycare and we catch a bus to my parents’ for dinner. I need to see Papá with my own two eyes, and spend time together after the scare he gave us all last night.
“Hey!” I force a casual lightness into my tone as I step inside the house of my youth. Papá rests in the recliner, the television blaring. The aroma of rice, fresh tortillas, and spices from the kitchen permeate the living room.
“Mijo!” Mamá wipes her hands on a dish towel and throws it on the counter. Her eyes are warm and her smile wide as she comes to greet us.
David releases my hand and goes straight to the box of toys she keeps for him in the corner.
Mamá’s smile dims when he passes by her open arms. I understand her frustration, but he’s young and doesn’t understand how much a hug means yet. She follows him to the corner and kisses him on the head.
“Isaac.” Papá moves to sit up in his chair. He struggles to push the lever and I try not to allow my gaze to fixate on the trembling in his hand. My father doesn’t show weakness.
“Don’t get up.” I close the space between us and clasp him on the shoulder. I walk to Mamá and pull her into a hug next.
After a few seconds she steps back. By the determination on her face I already know what she’s going to say. “Isaac.” Her gaze darts to David as she lowers her voice. “Did you ask his doctor yet? You and your hermanas were talking in full sentences at his age.”
“Mamá.” I shake my head. “Not tonight, okay?”
She mumbles something under her breath in Spanish and heads back to the kitchen.
I take a seat on the sofa next to Papá’s chair. “What’s with this trip to the hospital last night?”
“It’s nothing.”
My gaze narrows. I can’t tell whether he’s playing off the seriousness because he doesn’t want me to worry, or if he’s avoiding reality. “You scared me. Mamá. All of us.”
“Don’t.” He raises his hand. “Tu mamá is already hovering.”
“What happened?”
“Just a little chest pain. Probably something I ate.”
“No.” Marlena steps out from the hall. “That’s not true, Papá. You had a stroke. You need to make some changes.” Her hands go to her hips and she narrows her gaze on me. “He wasn’t taking his medication.”
“Enough,” he shouts, shooting her a glare. “I’m the man of the house and I will not be told how to live by my children.”
“You deal with him.” She throws her hands in the air. “It’s like talking to a wall.”
“You want to help?” Papá barks, pointing to where Mamá bustles around the kitchen. “Go to the kitchen.”
Marlena’s jaw clenches and she looks seconds from going off. She and Papá always butt heads, their stubbornness equal. Neither backs down.
“Go,” I say, calm and controlled. Thankfully, she storms off and doesn’t pick a fight. I am sure she’s right, but I can’t imagine getting Papá all riled up is good for him. I grab the remote and lower the volume so I can hear my own thoughts, then settle back into my seat. “She’s worried about you.”
Papá blows out a long breath, his eyes closing a moment before he meets my stare. “I should be taking care of my children, not the other way around.” He’s a prideful man. He’s provided a good life for us. Afforded us opportunities he never had. Even with my art, he never made me feel I was making a foolish choice by going after that scholarship.
“You have. Look at us all. You’ve done well.” I swallow thickly, knowing he’s not gonna like what I have to say next. “And now it’s time to make yourself a priority. I want you around a long time. I want David to have his Abuelo. Marlena and Rebecca want you to walk them down the aisle someday. Don’t be stubborn about this, okay? We want the best for you.”
His bravado falters. His ego deflates. “I want that too.”
“Now, why weren’t you taking your meds? Remember Abuelo? Remember how hard all that was?”
“This wasn’t the same.”
“This time. You need to listen to the doctors.”
“I’ve been fine,” he grumbles, his gaze darting to where Mamá and Lena talk in hushed voices from the other room. “My hours got cut again. I can’t have Mamá working any more than she does.”
Damn it. Here it is. What I dreaded. He was trying to save money.
“And you stopped filling your prescriptions?”
“I was fine. We do our walks. She doesn’t cook red meat. I didn’t think . . .”
“I can help with the bills,” I say, though I am not sure exactly how I’ll manage. But the alternative isn’t something I can live with. I won’t allow my father to put his health at risk.
“No.” He shakes his head, his frown deep. “You have David. I won’t take your money.”
“Borrow it, then. Just until you guys get on your feet again.”
He stares, his lips pressing together as he inhales a few breaths, and I realize he’s trying not to cry. Tears prick my own eyes as he clears his throat. “You’re a good son.” He reaches out, patting my shoulder. “Buen hijo.”
I can’t speak. If I do, I’ll get emotional and that’ll embarrass him. He’s the best father. Sacrificed so much for our family, and I only hope I can be half the man he is. Life is too short, more precious and vulnerable than we like to believe. If anything, this little scare with Papá has proven there’s no time to live with regrets or missed opportunities.
The next morning when Cora walks on set for another day of filming, I know exactly what I need to do. I’d all but resolved to leave her alone, but after spending time with my papá last night, I have to give it another shot. I can’t walk away, not when I can’t get her out of my head. Not when the feelings she inspires in me feel a little like magic.
Her gaze finds mine from across the room, and maybe I imagine it, but she doesn’t appear nearly as angry as yesterday. That’s a good sign.
I glance at the paintings, keeping them in clear view, but make my way closer to where she stands. “Hey.”
“Hi.”