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Chapter 33
My mother’saccusation hurdles through the air like a slow-motion car crash, slowing time as the world simultaneously implodes around us.
On impact, my ribs are crushed, splintering into a million little pieces and swept away in my bloodstream. My heart feels like an overinflated balloon, popping when stretched to its limits, and I try to swallow down the ache in my throat as my eyes find Kal’s, hoping for some kind of hint that she’s lying.
That she’s just trying to get under my skin and make me feel bad for abandoning her.
Jaw clenched, Kal meets my gaze, eyes guarded but transparent. His shoulders slump just the slightest fraction, and his Adam’s apple jumps, and I quickly drop my stare to the table, feeling tears burning behind my lids at his silence.
It’s a sign. An admission.
Just not the one I’d been hoping for.
“Manache,” Papá grumbles, drawing an imaginary cross over his chest. “My decision had nothing to do with you fucking him years ago, Carmen. Cristo.”
Mamá tsks, taking a long swig of her wine. Her hand wobbles on its descent, and I can’t help wondering if she’s mixing, the way the other mob wives seem to, relying on a nice chemical cocktail to get through their miserable lives.
“Oh, dear, did I expose some of Kallum’s dirty laundry? You two just looked so... cozy together, I couldn’t fathom that he hadn’t told you about our affair yet.”
Our affair.
The phrase tastes bitter on my tongue, like biting into a fruit that hasn’t quite ripened yet, all because you couldn’t stand to be patient. Just another day, a little extra self-control, and you might have bitten into something juicy and delectable.
Instead, you’re left with the dull flavor of your mistakes, wondering why the man you’ve fallen in love with shares anything with another.
Much less your mother.
My hands itch to wrap around her neck and squeeze for using his full name so flippantly. Like she’s at all deserving of it.
Even without knowing the details, I know she isn’t.
“Except I told you the other night she didn’t know.” Kal’s voice is a hot blade to my skin, laced with rust as it slices through me.
“Did you?” She shrugs one shoulder, humming. “Must’ve slipped my mind. We talked about so many things.”
Looking at the hollow of Kal’s throat, the divot I’ve run my tongue over more times than I can even count at this point, I lick my lips, afraid to go any higher. “When did you speak to my mother?”
He flattens his palms on the table, his wedding band catching in the light. “The other night, right after you went outside.”
“Ah, yes, when you so kindly tossed him into my waiting arms.”
“Carmen,” Papá snaps, rubbing his hand over his face. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“The only way I would be tossed into your arms is if they were torn from your body and set on fire,” Kal says, curling his fingers. “And even then, it would be so I could join you in the afterlife, and personally drop you on Satan’s doorstep.”
There’s hatred in his voice, venom spewing from the tip of his tongue, but I grew up on the principle of thought that love and hate were just two sides of the same coin. The only difference was circumstance, and as my eyes volley between Kal and my mother, one a rabid beast ready to destroy its prey, the other a hungry predator looking to feast, I realize I can’t quite tell where the two lie in regards to that coin.
“You slept with my mother?” I ask, my brain still struggling to process.
“Well, there never was much sleeping involved, if you know what I mean,” Mamá mutters, laughing at her own joke, even though everyone else on the patio remains eerily still, one comment away from complete annihilation. “I certainly hope you two are better with contraception than we were, because I’ll tell you. That man is potent, if you know what I mean.” She hiccups, confirming to me that she’s at least a little high, although that certainly doesn’t lessen the sting. “Oops, did I say that twice?”
The implication hangs heavy in the air between the four of us, souring my stomach, threatening to expel the contents. My throat tightens, the weight of this revelation wrapping its claws around me until I’m gasping for my next breath and praying it never comes in the same thought.
“Jesus Christ, you really are a bitch.” Kal rips his napkin from his throat, throwing it on the table as he pushes to his feet, turning to look at me. “Elena. Can I please have a moment alone with you?”
“I don’t think she’ll be going anywhere with you again, Kallum.” Mamá sloshes her wine in his direction, glaring. “You stay away from my little girl.”
I stare at the centerpiece in the middle of the table, letting my eyes lose focus in the brightness of the dahlias and lilies. Flowers I would’ve had at my wedding or funeral, their presence now ironic, since I’ve never been more convinced that I’m dying.
