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I’m not surprised that just as I’m arriving home from the office, my father calls me. He left several messages with my assistant. All of them explaining it’s imperative I contact him. I ignored them. The last couple of days have been too exhausting to add my family to the mix.
Last night, I couldn’t sleep at all. Maybe I should change my bed for something more comfortable. It was so easy to fall asleep while living in Luna Harbor. This isn’t the first time I’m in New York and can’t rest. The few times I did was when I convinced Siobhan to travel with me.
“She’s not the reason I can’t sleep,” I repeat for the twentieth time. What we had was fun but it’s over.
Over.
My phone begins to ring again. It’d be so easy to send Dad to voicemail, but why bother when he’ll just leave a lengthy, frustrating message that I won’t be able to respond to until I calm down—which might not happen for days or weeks.
I’d rather respond to him now and get over whatever argument is about to happen.
“Sí, Papá?” At least I’m able to muster a friendly tone. I should get some kind of award for it.
“Tu obligación moral con la—”
I love my father and I’m proud of my Mexican heritage, but sometimes he makes me resent the language since he only uses it to reprimand us.
“Can we not start this conversation with a fight and my fucking moral obligations?”
I don’t care about any moral obligation with him or the family, I just want out from this constant need for me to solve their problems.
“This isn’t a fight,” he argues, and I bet anyone can hear him all the way to Timbuktu.
“Good, I’m glad we agree. How can I help you?”
“What did you mean ‘I’m not going back to Luna Harbor?’” he growls. So much forthis isn’t a fight.
What is it then? A lecture for not doing as he says? I’m not ten, nor responsible for everything that goes on with the rest of the Cantús. Can’t he at least show some appreciation for what I’ve done?
Nope. He doesn’t care that I’ve been going above and beyond for him and the family since I was little. He just can’t see it. When is he going to validate everything I’ve done and recognize that if it weren’t for me… I sigh. Why even bother thinking about the past?
All I have to do is get through this conversation and move on with my life.
How should I answer his question?
Well, Pa, it’s pretty self-explanatory, don’t you think?No, I could go for,I’m in New York, good luck with your small town.
That’ll just take this from a family fight to a Cantú civil war. I don’t have the energy to deal with it. Dad swears that every time I don’t agree with him, or I say something he doesn’t want to hear, I’m being rude and disrespectful. Someone should explain to him that he’s not always right. I should volunteer Myka since she’s his favorite, and he’d never get upset at her.
“Are you going to respond?” he says, annoyed and frustrated. I bet the vein in his temple is throbbing and about to burst. “You said you wouldn’t leave for at least another week. What happened?”
“Something came up in New York that’ll take me several weeks to fix,” I lie because I could’ve handled it from Luna Harbor. “We had already agreed that I’d be moving soon. I don’t see the point of going back.”
“This is so unprofessional of both of you. I can’t believe you poached her from us—and that she willingly left us. I should sue her.”
I pinch the skin between my brows while trying to figure out what he’s saying. Who is he referring to? I rack my brain trying to come up with the answer. I hate to be blindsided.
“What are you talking about, Pa?”
“The fact that you dragged her to New York to work with you,” he continues.
As far as I can tell, I didn’t offer a job to anyone. Was I tempted? Yes, but I’m not getting in trouble just because Abuelo and Pa have employees who would soar if they worked for me.
“Who?”
“Oh please, don’t play stupido with me.” His frustration can be heard all the way to New York. “Siobhan—you took her with you, didn’t you? And I’m sure you proposing isn’t even an option for you. Why buy the cow when the milk is free, right?! That’s bullshit. You really need to commit to her.”
“Me?” I stretch the word. Did he seriously call her a cow?
