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“But—” I said.
“It’s funny if you think about it,” Greta continued. “I mean not funny, haha, but funny as in interesting.”
“How so?”
“You were so angry with your parents and with your men because they wouldn’t let you make your own choices. And now you’re angry with your men because they were forced to make a choice. I concede they didn’t do a stellar job with it. But it’s not easy. It’s not easy when you’re not allowed to make choices. And it’s not easy when you’re forced to make them.”
“It’s not that they were forced to make a choice,” I started, “It’s just that…” I couldn’t finish my sentence because Greta was right—they’d been put in an impossible situation.
“It’s not so cut and dry, is it?” said Greta.
I nodded. “We need to talk it out, the boys and me.”
“I know. That’s why I’m coming to pick you up.”
“You mean—”
“They’re back from Iceland,” Greta interrupted. “I just got off the phone with Noah. They’re all at Landon’s apartment.”
“And you’re going to take me there?” I was giddy with excitement and poorly hiding it.
“Heavens no,” said Greta. “I’m pretty sure that place is a biohazard. I’m happy to help you take risks but within bounds of reason.”
“Then what? Where are we going?”
“Well, I’m going to Rhode Island,” said Greta.
“Rhode—”
“Hans and I are going to meet with some investors for our new project. It’s a long story. I can’t wait to tell you about it. But now’s not the time.”
No, now’s the time for me to meet up with my men. We have a lot to talk over.
“So, we’ll be out of the apartment for the weekend,” Greta continued. “I’m taking you there. Your men will be arriving later.”
“Greta, you’re a rock star!”
“You’re the rock star, Bonita. I’m more the rock star’s agent.”
“And you’re the best!”
“There are three conditions,” said Greta seriously.
“Only three?”
“One: you hear them out. I have, and I think they deserve a chance to explain their side of things. Warning, they’re guys, so don’t expect them to be so eloquent when they try to open up to you.”
“Thanks, Greta. Got it. I’ll hear them out.”
“Two: you have fun.”
I smiled. “I think we can manage that. What’s the third condition?”
“Clean the sheets… twice!”
I got dressed, packed a small bag, and went downstairs to wait for Greta.
Dad, Mom, and Guillermo were sitting around the TV. “Bonita,” said my dad, “we were about to put in a movie. Care to join us?”
“Thank you, but I’m going over to Greta’s for the weekend,” I said that as if it was the most natural thing in the world for me to say as if I’d always made my own decisions and went where I wanted and when I wanted. Both Dad and Mom stared at me with a mixture of fear and shock stamped on their faces. “Maybe next time,” I added.
“But—” Mom started, but Dad silenced her with a stern glare.
“Say hi to Greta for me,” said Guillermo.
“I’ll do that.”
“Don’t forget your medicine,” Mom offered meekly.
I smiled at her and patted my bag. “Got it covered.”
The last time I was in Greta’s car was seven years ago. I’d snuck out. I was being stupid and rebellious, willing to risk my life just to be accepted by people who meant very little to me in the grand scheme of things. This time, I didn’t sneak out. I walked out the front door while my parents stayed in front of the TV, powerless to stop me. I wasn’t being stupid; I was following my heart. And the people I was going to see meant a great deal to me.
Before getting into the car, I gave Greta a big hug and didn’t let go.
“Okay, you’re making this weird,” she said. “Let’s not keep your men waiting.”
Everything Greta possessed, she had to scrape and fight for. That meant her car; she was especially proud of it. I made a point of complimenting her on it. “The car looks nice,” I said.
“My rock stars travel first class,” she said, and we drove off.
“Tell me about this new project you and Hans are working on,” I said.
“It’s too early to tell,” said Greta.
“Don’t tease me, Greta!”
“Let’s just say you and your seven-man ‘documentary crew’ have really inspired Hans.”
I laughed. “I can definitely see Hans with a seven-man crew.”
Greta cleared her throat in an exaggerated appeal for recognition.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I can definitely see you with a seven-man crew, too.”
Greta smiled and straightened in her seat. “That’s better.”
Greta and Hans lived in a small two-bedroom apartment. There wasn’t much of a living room—at least not one that could comfortably accommodate eight people. Greta’s bedroom was a bit larger but still a tight fit. All the better. Distance sucks.
Waiting was also not a joy. Fortunately, my men did not keep me waiting long. I had the chance to say goodbye to Greta and her brother, Hans, and the time to take a quick shower before they arrived, all seven: my seven—The Savage Seven.
