Since Elliott still hadn't come home, I ordered an Uber to my parents’ house. I even wore a dress, partly because you only turn twenty-eight once, and partly because my mom had begged me to lookdecente.
The scar down my left leg was on full display, but my family already knew the whole sordid truth. With them, I didn't have to hide. What I didn't tell my mom was that the scar was the real reason I lived in pants. I couldn’t stand the stares, and the unsolicited questions were even worse. Heels were out, too—after the surgeries, walking in them just hurt too much. My mom hadn't pieced that together yet, and if I had it my way, she never would.
I opened the front door and was immediately barreled down by someone freakishly tiny and strong, smelling like bottled sunshine.
Morgan.
“Don’t be mad, okay?” she whispered against my hair.
Another pair of hands snaked around my ribs and pinched me.
Penelope. She had a wicked sense of humor, I never knew if it was the weird frenemy state and she secretly wanted to hurt me, or if this is how she showed affection. I think it was the latter but with Penelope you just never knew.
“Let her be mad. Who cares?” she said to Morgan, totally on brand.
“Mad? Why would I be mad?”
That was when I saw it—the room beyond the entryway. My mother might as well have invited everyone I’d ever met. In reality, it was just my two friends, my cousins, Julián, my siblings and their heathens—and Elliott.
Elliott, who was boring a hole straight through me with his eyes. No smile. No emotion. His face stayed unnervingly still. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but my chest pounded like I should be afraid. Why did this feel like fear? Elliott didn’t scare me. If he was upset, fine; I was upset, too. He’d brought a woman into his house, dangled his future bride’s dresses in front of her, and then iced me out. It wasn't even good manners. If he wanted to be mad, fine—I could be even more mad. We’d always been good at one-upping each other in our endless little wars.
Before the stare-down could get lethal, my favorite tiny woman pushed Morgan and Penelope aside, making me burst into giggles. My mom hugged me tight, and in that moment, I knew she’d missed me just as much as I’d missed her. My sister joined in, and suddenly I was in a Miranda-woman sandwich.
“I’ve missed you, bitch,” she whispered. Then, without missing a beat: “Did he pork you yet?”
I yanked the strand of hair closest to me.
“Ouch! What? I want details. You need to get laid.”
“Mamá,” I said into my mother’s shoulder. It didn't hit me until then how badly I’d needed this—them.
“Mija, I miss you. There’s no one here to counter your dad’s snoring.” She pulled back just enough to study me. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”
She was handpicked for us. Only this woman could put up with not just my dad’s snoring, but apparently mine, too.
“Me neither,” I lied. The truth was that the mattress in Elliott’s guest room was so luxurious I’d been sleeping like a baby. I’d even fantasized about smuggling it out without him noticing.
My mom clapped her hands. “Okay, everybody, the birthday girl is here. Let’s eat.”
She shuffled people outside to the backyard, where tables were lined with food. She must have been cooking all day, and the thought alone made my throat tight. My mom always went out of her way to make us feel loved on our birthdays. It was why they mattered so much to me.
Before I could move, Julián stepped into my path with a warm smile. “Feliz cumpleaños, guapa.”
I felt Elliott’s stare burn hotter from across the room. He had no right to be mad. Julián handed me a perfectly wrapped gift box, complete with a ribbon so pretty I didn’t even want to open it. He’d totally wrapped it himself.
“Thank you,” I said as he leaned in for a hug. “Do you want me to open it now?”
“No,al rato,” he said.
He barely knew me, yet here he was, thoughtful and careful. He’d probably handle my heart the same way. And still—I felt nothing.Am I broken? Did the men from my past obliterate me for any hope in the future?
Julián must have felt the glare, too, because he turned and politely said, “Hello.”
Elliott didn’t move. Didn’t answer. My mom would have lit his ass up if she’d seen that.
“Ignore him,” I whispered to Julián. “He’s got a big stick up his ass.”
Julián just huffed a laugh and headed outside, leaving me alone with Satan himself.
