Big Chicas Don't Cry(16)
“Oh. Well, I’m sure you have more important things to do than drop off files at the courthouse.”
I don’t. I have absolutely nothing important going on because you decided I didn’t need to work so I could devote my time to you, your career, your friends, and this house. The highlight of my week is going to be making that damn turkey sandwich with my homemade sourdough bread.
“It’s no trouble,” I told him with a smile. “You know I don’t mind helping you.”
He kissed me again. “I know. That’s why I love you so much. Speaking of, I went ahead and told Alicia that she could count on you again to chair the firm’s charity gala this year.”
My body stiffened. “You did? I was really hoping to take a back seat this year.”
Esteban was already walking away. “It’ll be fine,” he said over his shoulder. “You can take off next year.”
That’s what you said last year.
Then he was gone.
As I went back to making my sandwich, I chided myself for not putting my foot down about the charity gala. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to help. It was just that being chair meant being the ultimate hostess that evening. My only job at the event was to smile, look beautiful, and charm everyone into spending tons of money on the auction items. I’d grown to hate being on display like that. That’s why for the past two years I’d told Esteban to find someone else to do it and I would take on something more hands on. Like usual, he’d either forgotten or chosen to ignore what I wanted. Why hadn’t I made him listen to me this time?
Because you always give him what he wants.
It started the first night we met.
I was working part-time for the company that catered his first firm’s holiday party at a Pasadena hotel. I had a business degree but had just been laid off from my job and needed the money. Plus, I’d always wanted to open a catering business of my own, and I figured I could get the experience—and clients—I needed by schlepping for this company. I was one of the servers who walked around the guests holding up silver trays covered in bacon-wrapped shrimp and cream cheese wontons. Esteban kept calling me over throughout the evening, and by the sixth or seventh wonton, I knew he was interested.
We flirted back and forth for a while, and then he disappeared toward the end of the party. Disappointed, I changed out of my uniform inside the hotel lobby’s restroom and figured I’d spend the rest of that Saturday night at home on my couch—alone. But when I walked out, he was there waiting for me. He slipped an envelope into my hand and said, “Here’s a little something for your great service tonight.” Then he walked back inside the ballroom.
Inside the envelope was a hotel key card and a note scribbled on hotel stationery: “Meet me upstairs in Room 305 so we can continue getting to know one another. Or if I’ve misread you, then call me tomorrow so I can apologize.”
Obviously, there was no need to call him.
Within one month, we were living together in his LA high-rise apartment. Within three months, we were engaged. I quit my job, and he promised to help me start my business once we were married. Looking back, I could see that I started to lose my voice during the wedding planning. I’d wanted a small, simple ceremony at the beach; he’d insisted on a traditional Catholic church wedding, complete with ten bridesmaids and groomsmen. We fought a lot, and one night I gave him back the diamond engagement ring and told him the wedding was off. But instead of walking out on him, I ended up letting him convince me to elope that weekend in Las Vegas.
At first, I enjoyed my new life. Then Esteban and Chris branched out and started their own firm. I was a founding partner’s wife and needed to look and dress the part. That meant spa and nail appointments in the morning, followed by shopping excursions in the afternoon. Whenever I’d mention the catering business, he’d beg me to postpone it a few more months. There was always a client dinner party that needed hosting or a home remodeling project he suddenly wanted to complete. Eventually, I stopped bringing it up. Instead, I filled my appointment book with social lunches with other firm wives and joined boards for the homeless coalition and the children’s hospital foundation so I wouldn’t feel so . . . shallow.
Perhaps I wouldn’t have been so bitter if Esteban didn’t work so much. And since he had a new trial starting that afternoon, dinners for one were on the menu for the next couple of weeks.
That also meant that the only pounding that would be taking place in our house would be in the kitchen. With dough.
The sound of the doorbell interrupted my thoughts, and I focused back on my sandwich. The bread had turned out amazing. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.
But I nearly choked on the first bite when Letty returned to the kitchen followed by Chris.
He was back in his suit today. This one was dark gray with a dark-blue shirt and patterned tie. Like everything else he wore, it fit him like a glove.
Wait. When did I start noticing his clothes?
“Hope you don’t mind me stopping by? I came to return this.”
Chris put an empty plastic container on the counter next to me. It was the one I had sent home with him with bu?uelos inside. He leaned down, and I offered my cheek for his usual greeting kiss. My eyes darted to Letty, but she was busy emptying the dishwasher. The kiss was quick and innocent. Yet, my nerves were on heightened alert as I remembered the one he’d given me on Christmas morning.