Big Chicas Don't Cry(67)

Now, when I really wanted to tell her everything that was making me sad, I couldn’t. Because I knew that would hurt her, too, and I couldn’t do that to her. Not anymore.

“Why are you so quiet?”

Esteban’s question pulled me from my somber thoughts.

I wiped away the tear hidden by my sunglasses before he noticed. “I’m just worried about her. She didn’t look so good.”

“She’s been through a lot. But I’m sure the doctors are doing everything they can.”

“I guess.”

“What did you two talk about when I was on the phone?”

I hesitated for a few seconds before telling him. “She wanted to make sure I was happy.” Then I took a breath and continued. “I didn’t want to tell her that I’m not.”

Esteban turned in my direction, but I looked away to stare at the car next to us on the freeway. “Qué? I don’t understand?”

More tears streamed down my face. The sunglasses couldn’t contain my sadness anymore. “I’m not happy, Esteban.”

“Of course you’re not, Marisol,” he scoffed.

I whipped my head to look at him. “You know?”

“Yes, I know. It’s normal to feel sad right now. You’re worried about your abuelita. This will pass.”

I wanted to tell him that he was wrong. I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t happy in our marriage anymore. Yet, I couldn’t find the words. Or rather, I didn’t even want to look. I was exhausted emotionally and mentally. I didn’t have it in me to have that conversation.

“You’re probably right,” I said and leaned my head against the window.

His hand squeezed my knee. “I know I am. Hey, I know what will cheer you up. Let’s pick up some dinner from that little Italian place in South Pasadena. We can even get your favorite—tiramisu.”

Tiramisu wasn’t my favorite. I just always ordered it because I knew it was his.

“Actually, my favorite is their chocolate cake.”

He laughed. “Since when?”

Since always? But I didn’t get the chance to answer because, as usual, he’d already decided.

“It’s too rich. And you’ll never finish that piece all by yourself. We’ll just get the tiramisu so we can share.”

I didn’t have the energy to fight him. Besides, I knew I wasn’t going to be eating anything anyway. All I wanted to do was go home, crawl into my bed, and pray for Welita to get better.

I couldn’t have cared less what Esteban wanted. That’s how done I was with everything.





Chapter Thirty-Seven


GRACIE


Dear God, thank you again for making Tony Bautista my boyfriend.

As I looked across the table at the man in question, I couldn’t help but offer the silent prayer of gratitude because I still couldn’t believe we were together.

Well, technically, we hadn’t said it out loud. Or officially. And we weren’t using terms like boyfriend and girlfriend just yet. But I couldn’t think of anything else to call us.

We had dinner together almost every night, either at a restaurant or at his apartment. He took me to the movies and other places on the weekends.

And we were having sex. Lots of it.

We were a couple. Weren’t we?

Tony glanced up from his salad plate and caught me staring at him. “What? Do I have blue cheese dressing in my beard again?”

I laughed and shook my head. “No. I was just thinking.”

“Thinking about what?”

“Just stuff,” I said and took a big gulp of my iced tea. I prayed he wouldn’t press me for more information. I was still working up the nerve to ask him what I wanted to ask him tonight.

He shrugged and went back to eating his salad. That let me blow out the breath I’d been holding and focus on finishing my salad too.

Once the dishes were clean and all the leftovers put away, we moved to the couch to watch an episode of our favorite series on Netflix.

Another check mark in the “Couple” column.

Tony pulled me against his side and moved his arm behind my head. When he kissed my hair, a small, satisfied sigh escaped me.

“This is nice,” I told him.

“It is.”

And that’s how we stayed for the next thirty minutes. As the credits began to roll, Tony adjusted his position so he could press his lips against my face, then my nose, and, finally, my mouth.

Kissing Tony had become my new favorite hobby. I had no idea how that would translate into Christmas presents later on.

Holiday plans? That was definitely couples’ territory.

I knew I needed to ask my question, but I couldn’t concentrate with a second tongue in my mouth. I pulled away. “Could you do me a favor?”

His devilish grin gave away his naughty thoughts. I playfully slapped his arm. “Not that kind of favor. I wanted you to rub my shoulders. Cleaning the dry-erase boards gave me a kink on my right side.”

“Not what I was expecting, but yes, I can definitely do that.”

I turned around so my back was to him, and within seconds his strong hands were massaging away the tightness I’d been feeling since that afternoon.

Soon, I was relaxed enough to ask.

“Are you doing anything the Saturday after next?” I began.