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If someone wrote a theme song for my break ups, they could all share one title: “Can’t you just let it go?” I’ve never been good at sitting still or keeping my mouth shut. I’m well aware I can be a bit much, especially for someone as buttoned up as Mateo.
He would get sick of my temper and my attitude, and leave me for someone simpler. I can see it now: Mateo and some sweet thing who ‘yes, sirs’ and ‘no, sirs’ his commands.
I shake myself, trying to get rid of the sick feeling that hits me when I think about Mateo with someone else. He’s not for me. I need someone who can take my attitude and give it right back.. I need passion and chaos… and apparently a way to ignore that even the thought of Mateo makes my skin tingle.
Grimaldi. I’ll just think of him. He’s the anti-tingle. The perfect, nauseating cure for any rogue sexy thoughts I might need to suffocate. If my mind insists on wandering to a place where Mateo holds my body against his, swaying to a slow song… Grimaldi. The clean, cedar scent of Mateo’s suit coat as he drapes it around my shoulders… Grimaldi. The man is so gross he’s basically a panty desiccant.
I text Janelle a rundown of the doctor’s unwelcome and threatening appearance.
Janelle:What part of lie low don’t you get?
Me:I didn’t do anything! He turned up at my front door.
Janelle:We’re going to file a restraining order. Don’t open your door. If you see him again, call the police.
Me:Yes, Mother.
Janelle:You realize you pay me by the hour. It literally costs you money to mouth off to me.
Me:Worth it.
For the record, I hate being treated like a child. Growing up the youngest of five kids, I was fawned over and coddled by Gran and, to some extent, my older siblings. It’s rubbed me the wrong way for as long as I can remember and I learned really early on that if I wanted to be treated as anything other than ‘the baby,’ I had to demand it. I know Janelle means well and I probably shouldn’t be giving her shit, but apparently, lashing out is how I’m handling my stress right now.
I check on Luis and find him sleeping, so I sneak back to the living room and drop onto the couch, kicking my feet up on the coffee table. I start a group text with my brothers, Lilah, Ben, and Parker. I intentionally leave out Olive and Brooks. The last thing they need is their honeymoon at the Indigo Royal Resort in the Virgin Islands interrupted by a Donovan family text explosion.
Me:Holding Luis hostage at my house until the doctor clears him to go back to work.
A flurry of messages start to ping my phone, but I’m distracted by the sound of a car pulling into my driveway. A little rush of nerves works its way through me until I see it’s Mateo and not Grimaldi. But then the sight of him sends different, though still unwelcome, sensations through my body. He hops out of the car, grabbing two bags from the back seat and tucking a photo frame under one arm. I unlock the door and hold it open for him. He glances up as the door swings out, and for a split second there’s something in his expression that I don’t understand. Something that disappears so fast, I think I must have imagined it.
“Hey,” I say.
He lifts his chin in a silent greeting, sliding past me into the house.
“Two bags might be overkill. It’s only a couple of days. I’m not sure Luis needs that many costume changes,” I tease him.
Mateo shrugs as he drops one of the bags in the living room, heading toward the guest room with the other.
“Your dad is sleeping,” I tell him quietly, following him to Luis’ door. Mateo cracks the door and peeks inside. Sure enough, Luis is snoring, in the middle of the bed, a movie playing on the TV.
“Did you bring his prescriptions? I’ll make sure he takes everything,” I whisper.
Mateo nods, opening the bag and pulling out the blister pack of Prednisone and the painkillers. He zips the bag up again, setting it inside the room. He carefully places the picture frame on top of the dresser before sneaking back out.
“You brought your mom?” I ask him with a sad smile, hugging my arms around myself.
Mateo gives me a rare smile in return. “Dad takes it with him if he has to travel, did you know that?”
I shake my head, but I can believe it. We were young when they lost her, but I remember it being heartbreaking.
Mateo nods again and follows me back to the living room where the other duffle bag is still sitting on the floor. “What’s that one for?” I ask.
Mateo eyes me warily as he settles himself on my couch, pulling out his cell. “That one is mine,” he says.
“Um… what do you mean by that, exactly?”
“I mean, I’m staying.”
“Staying where?” I ask exasperatedly. “Your dad is in the only guest room, and I’m guessing you’re not exactly going to bunk up.”
