There is now an unused vibrator beside those romance novels. Even though it’s unused, I’m too embarrassed to throw it away. I also hate the idea of throwing a gift away. Anna gave it to me when she found out I didn’t have one. I had opened it then nearly passed out from blushing so hard, only to bury it in the back of the drawer. Thinking better safe than sorry, I lock the door.
When I go into the kitchen Abuelo is at the table already. After his leg was partially amputated he preferred to use a walker to get around the house, only using a wheelchair when he went out. Since his surgery, he’s stayed in his wheelchair most days, to the point where last month I upgraded him to a motorized wheelchair.
He didn’t talk to me for two days, but he used it. I’m hoping it means he’s having a good day that’s he’s not his wheelchair this morning. I’m not going to bother asking, though, because he hates talking about his health good or bad.
There are scrambled eggs, hot fresh grilled and buttered Cuban bread, and a steaming cup of café Cubano waiting for me. I don’t bother to prepare the half and half I prefer to make it into a cortadito. Every time I did, he said I was ruining it. His attention is on the paper he’s reading.
“Thank you, Abuelo. I appreciate it.” At home we speak Spanish, unless the nurse is here.
He grunts a response. He’s still pissed at the way I yelled at him last night for causing Sharon to quit. Rolling my eyes, I dig into my breakfast. Finished, I stand to reach for his plate.
I find him studying me. “What?”
“Two men? You travel with two men. You’re wearing makeup.” He says makeup like he’s saying herpes.
I roll my eyes so hard they hurt. “Abuelo, it’s work. We all have our own rooms. It’s not like that. This trip is important. As long as I don’t screw up, this could mean a better position. I’ll make so much more money. The house could be paid off in a year.
“Get your mind out of the gutter because you’re the only one thinking it. Do you really think I would do something with two men at once or even one right after another?”
His eyes go wide, and I shake my head. I’ve been with one man my entire life. Like I would really go all in for a threesome.
“Don’t be rude.”
“Then don’t insult me. This a work situation. I’m not attracted to either of them.” Liar, but like it was going to happen. “And they are most definitely not attracted to me.”
Lying again. Whatever, since it wasn’t going to happen, it wasn’t really a lie. I wave a hand at myself. My hair is in its usual bun. I’m wearing a mid-length black pencil skirt and a pale pink blouse that came with the black blazer I’m wearing over it.
Even I think I look frumpy; no one will be overcome with desire when they see me. Or any of the other things I’ve packed, another black pencil skirt, this one going to my ankle, is packed in my suitcase along with my gray skirt ending a few inches past my knee.
My blouses are all loose, a size too large, two button-downs in white and black. For the evening I have two pairs of silky pajama pants I usually wear to lounge around the house and three oversized T-shirts for comfort, one of them I’ll sleep in. I also packed the backup dress. I have no idea why it seemed like a good idea at the time.
“I hate it when you talk about yourself like that. You’re a beautiful young woman. Men hit on you. You just don’t see it. Your Abuela, she was curvy; you’re saying your Abuela wasn’t beautiful?”
Sighing, I shake my head. He means well, but he sees things through the rose-colored glasses of a man who loves his granddaughter. I love him for that, I do. The facts are men don’t see me as beautiful because they’ve been told for forever not to find me beautiful. I don’t even bla
me men. How could they not believe five-nine, stick-thin blondes are better than short, fat brunettes when it’s what they’ve been fed their entire lives? It would be a little odd for them not to.
I’m aware there are some men who think curvy women are appealing—after all, I had managed to find Brandon. The problem was they were few and far between and there was always a catch. They were into something kinky, lived at home with their mom playing Xbox all night, didn’t have a job, but usually the most common was they cared more about themselves than the woman they claimed to care for.
Which in the end was Brandon’s trade-off. He was willing to marry me, but I would have to give up everything I wanted to please him. I hadn’t been able to see it until he was long gone, but little by little he had chipped away at who I was until I was who he wanted me to be. It was only after I had seen him again at Abuela’s funeral I realized I would have been miserable if I married him.
My alarm goes off on my phone, five minutes until the car gets here. A quick rinse and I put the dishes in the dishwasher.
“I’ll call you every night before I go to bed to check on you.”
He grunts.
“I love you.”
“Be careful.”
I go still when he doesn’t say it back but quickly shake it off. Sometimes I wonder if he feels any affection at all for me. Only a few minutes ago it felt like he did, but he can’t even say I love you back? Was it only obligation? Would it even matter if I came back or not? Christ, Christina, enough with the maudlin thoughts. This is just his way. Abuela told you a thousand times, it’s him not you. “I will.”
***
Christina
A half-hour car ride in the back of the Lincoln Town Car ends at a small commuter airport. I’ve only flown once in my entire life; now I’m flying on a private G7 jet that looks almost as large as the plane I flew on. The chauffer takes my suitcase, indicating it goes beneath the plane.