What's Mine and Yours(67)

She called herself back to reality. Robbie was probably fine, up to the usual. It had only been a couple of weeks.

When the bartender returned with another shot, he paused in front of her, measuring. He must have been around her age, brown eyed, gaunt. He had a chipped tooth, but otherwise, he was handsome. Margarita waited for him to come on to her, or to ask her if she was sure she could handle another drink. The answer was, yes, of course, either way.

“Se?orita,” he said. “Here’s that drink you ordered. But do you desire something a little bit stronger?”

“Stronger how? Like a double shot?”

“Not a drink. Something else.”

He bit his lip and looked over his shoulder, as if there were someone else lurking behind the bar. He was nervous, and suddenly Margarita got it.

“What? Like pills?”

“Pills, powder, rock. We have everything.”

“In the restaurant?”

He shook his head. “Just me. I’m connected.”

He looked so innocuous in his blue polo shirt, his clean shave. Was this how things worked in North Carolina? Margarita doubted he had shrooms, but maybe he did. Weed wasn’t worth the high if she got busted here—it wasn’t L.A. She’d heard of friends from high school getting in trouble just for the paraphernalia—bongs, pipes—even when they didn’t have anything on them. Besides, she had to meet her sisters.

“Just give me the tequila,” she said, and he nodded, slid a fresh glass across the counter.

“But if you change your mind,” he said, polishing the countertop, stalling. “You know where to find me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said and waved him away. She knew it was rude, but she had to stay clean if she was going to survive these days with her sisters. They’d know immediately if she were on something. Then Diane would be circling her, like she was the one in need of healing, and Noelle would be scoffing at her, the way she already did, but with reason. She’d stick to what was easy to handle, what wouldn’t interfere. One more beer, and then she’d go.



The hood of the sedan was smoking when Margarita pulled into the spot in front of the sushi restaurant. The bumper sagged, and the left rearview mirror was smashed, the wires exposed and dangling, the headlights cracked.

In the restaurant, she found her sisters huddled at a table by the window. They had already started eating without her, a platter of soybeans between them. They were sharing. Of course they were. She clattered into her seat and saw both of them staring agape at her.

She said nothing and picked up the menu.

“We tried to wait,” Noelle said. “But we got hungry. You’re an hour late.”

There was something conciliatory in her tone, but this didn’t make Margarita feel any better. Any gestures from Noelle would be temporary—she always went back to thinking of herself, assured she was right and that only she could see the truth: about their family, this town, the world.

“Oh, fuck off,” Margarita said. “I’m not surprised.” She felt her eyes burn as she said it, so she reached into her purse and put on her sunglasses. She stared at the menu again, although the items on the list swirled before her.

“Are you drunk?” Diane put a hand on her shoulder, and Margarita shrugged her off.

“I might as well tell you now while you’re feeling concerned,” Margarita said. “I rear-ended a guy. Just a little bump. But I convinced him not to call the cops. We exchanged numbers. I’ll handle it.”

Diane stood from her seat and craned to look out the window toward the street. She saw the plume of smoke rising from the hood of the car.

“Oh my God.”

“It’s fine,” Margarita said. “I’ll take it into the shop when we’re done here.”

“While you’re drunk?” Noelle said. “You’re going to keep on driving that thing?”

The server arrived wearing a trim lavender blouse with a ruffled collar. Margarita followed the line of her pencil skirt down to a pair of black heels. She noticed, for the first time, the white tablecloths, and that the menu was a slip of paper in a leather folder. This was a fancy sushi place.

“Hi, there,” Margarita said. “Would you mind taking a picture of us?”

The woman obliged. The phone was humongous in her hands. Margarita jerked her chair closer to her sisters. Noelle and Diane sat in silence, while Margarita flung an arm around their shoulders, straightened her back, lifted her chin, twisted her face to the side.

“Say sushi,” she said. She examined the picture, deemed it beautiful, and then asked the server for seaweed salad, a spicy tuna roll, and the sake list.

She felt she had collected herself enough to push the glasses up on her forehead to look her sisters in the eyes. Diane had her arms folded in front of her chest and was looking down at her lap like a cranky little girl. Noelle was shaking her head side to side in a rhythm that seemed involuntary. She was wearing pearls in her ears, her hair pulled back into a ponytail that exhibited the clear six points of her diamond face. She was so fucking pretty.

Margarita tilted her head at Noelle, waiting for her to explode.

“You must be trolling us,” Noelle finally said. “You think this is all a game. Papi’s missing, and Mama’s in the hospital. I’m not happy to be here, either, but we’re all here for a reason.”