Big Chicas Don't Cry(87)

My throat tightened, and my heart started beating way faster than I wanted it to. This conversation had turned from silly to dangerous. The wine had warmed me up and loosened my inhibitions. If I wasn’t careful, I would confess something I had no right confessing. Especially because up to that point I had been debating kissing Adrian as a joke, just to make him shut up.

I should’ve changed the subject. Or at the very least, put some space between us.

But the wine, and my sorry-ass feelings for him, wouldn’t let me.

“In case you haven’t noticed, men don’t like having the feelings conversation. So, yes, sometimes a guy has to do something big and bold to prove that he really loves you.”

Adrian shook his head. “I don’t know. I guess I just don’t get it. When I wanted Isela to be my girlfriend, I just took her to get coffee and asked.”

The mention of his ex stopped me cold.

“And how did that work out for you?” I snapped.

He shrugged. “Well, we did get engaged. So I guess okay.”

Okay? What the fuck does that mean? Like okay that they’re friends again or okay like they are getting back together?

Then it hit me. If Adrian wanted something more from me, he would just come right out and tell me. Part of me had been hoping that he did have romantic feelings for me but was holding back because of our working relationship and friendship.

I was starting to realize that maybe that wasn’t the case at all. Maybe Adrian hadn’t told me he loved me because he didn’t. When was I ever going to learn my fucking lesson? It was Greg all over again. How many excuses had I made for him rather than accept the truth? I was never a priority for Greg. Just like I wasn’t one for Adrian. At least, not anymore.

I wrestled to rein in my emotions so I didn’t scream or burst into tears, and that resulted in the beginnings of a headache.

“Listen, I’m getting a little tired,” I said and stood up. “I think I better go to bed.”

Adrian looked at his watch. “Really? I thought we were going to hang out a little more. It seems like I never see you anymore outside of the office.”

Irritation exploded in me, making my head pound even more. “Well, that’s not my fault.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I threw up my hands. “I’m here, Adrian. I’m here every fucking night. You’re the one who always seems to have something better to do than hang out with me.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You’re right. It’s not. It’s not fair for you to expect me to wait around for your ass while you’re out having dinner, golfing, going to the theater, or whatever else Isela decides you have to go do. Friendship is a two-way street, and right now I just feel like I’m the only person on the road.”

“Erica, I—”

I cut him off. “I really don’t feel good. Can you just go?”

He stood up and searched my eyes. “If that’s what you want?”

“It is.”

I called Selena as soon as he left.

“Take me with you to New York,” I said as soon as she answered.

“If I go, definitely.”

And just like that, Selena was making my bad mood go away. I could always count on her for that.

“Of course you’re going to go,” I told her. “I would.”

“Maybe. I’m still deciding. But what’s up with this sudden urge to uproot your life and go to New York?”

I let out a long sigh. “I need a change. I think I need a new job.”

“Good for you. I always knew you could do better than the News-Press. What does Adrian say?”

“He doesn’t know.”

“Really. I thought you guys were pretty good friends. Don’t you want to use him as a reference?”

“No. In fact, he’s one of the main reasons why I want to leave.”

“Oh no. What happened?”

I sighed again. “How much time have you got?”





Chapter Fifty-Five


SELENA


Erica was on my mind. I had no idea that she had fallen in love with Adrian.

And when I told Gracie about it, she was as shocked as I was.

“Poor Erica. She must really have it bad for this guy,” I said.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because she hid it so well. You know Erica can’t keep her mouth shut to save her life. We usually know she likes a guy before she does. I knew she was hanging out with her boss; I even teased her about it. But she never said a word.”

“You’re right,” my sister admitted. “Well, I wonder if she’s going to start looking for another job, then. It’s not good for her if she has to see him every day.”

I wondered if that was what she thought about Tony. I was about to ask when my abuela came back with the box of yarn we were at her house to pick up. My mom was going to crochet a tablecloth for my abuela’s dining room table, and she wanted to use the scraps of yarn that Welita had kept in her room.

The box was full of different colors and different patterns.

“Didn’t Welita used to be a seamstress?” I asked as I looked through the spools.

“Yes. It was one of her many jobs,” my abuela answered. “When she first came to the United States after my father died, it was the only work she could find for several years.”