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Lola resisted the urge to press her fingers against her eyes. To do something to relieve the pressure. But she’d put on dark eyeshadow that morning and she couldn’t afford to look smudged before their weekly staff meeting.
Get it together, Jesus, she chided herself. It was barely more than a stupid kiss. Whatever. It didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t like they were all lovey-dovey about it afterward. They’d gone their separate ways without talking about what they’d done. Just like last time.
Lola’s stomach burned with the truth she wished wasn’t true. With the futility of hope for something that would never exist.
Ever helpful, the universe gave Lola something else to think about it. Her phone ringing at 5:30 in the morning wasn’t particularly unusual. She had clients that traveled all over the world, made international deals, and wore her reputation for never sleeping as a badge of honor.
But when it was her mother calling so early in the morning, it could only mean one thing. A mess for Lola to clean up.
For a feverish moment, she almost considered letting it go to voicemail. Considered forcing them to fix their own problems. But it would only make for a bigger headache later.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Mija, good morning. Did I wake you?”
Lola rolled her eyes. She preferred when she was direct about what she wanted. The pretense was insulting.
“What’s up? What do you need?”
“Ay, pero, why do you say it like that?” her mother feigned offense.
Lola shook her crossed leg under the table, anticipation building like a nasty glob of mucus growing in her sinuses and producing a revolting nasal drip. The longer it took for her to spit it out, the worse it was.
“I have my meeting in a few minutes,” she replied flatly.
“You work so hard, mi amor—”
“Mom—”
“I hate making this call, mi vida. A mom is not supposed to ask her baby for money,” she said like she was so put upon. Like somehow Lola was forcing her to do something for her benefit.
Lola exhaled. At least, this time, she wasn’t calling for her to get her brother out of jail again. “How much?”
“Well, I—”
“Just a number, Mami. I have to get back to work—”
“Fifteen hundred,” she replied like she’d been tortured for the admission.
Lola’s eyes widened. “What the hell do you need that much money for?”
“I haven’t been able to work that many hours at the salon this month,” she explained, as if it wasn’t her decision. The beauty salon where she worked as a nail tech was constantly busy. If she showed up and took walk-ins, she’d have triple the amount of cash in her pocket. But that would require seeing less of Andy during the day when he could sneak around behind his wife’s back.
“That doesn’t explain why you need so much money.”
“Well, it’s the end of the month and I’m not going to have enough to pay the mortgage,” she said so casually, like Lola was expected to know a very crucial fact.
“You don’t have a mortgage.” The anger she’d tried to ignore roared like an open flame, burning everything it could touch and caring only about growing. “I bought you a house at auction and remodeled it exactly like you wanted so you wouldn’t have to worry about anything but the taxes,” she reminded, leaving out that she’d been saving the money to buy herself a place, but elected to stay in her rented apartment so that her mother would have a sense of permanence and stability instead.
“Mija, this is why I didn’t want to tell you—”
“Why you didn’t want to tell me that you took out a mortgage you can’t afford?” she scoffed, her thumb itching to hang up the phone. To let her solve her own damn mess. Lola had worked so hard for that house. Done so much research. Gone to a dozen auctions before finding the right house in the perfect neighborhood and gotten it for a steal.
“You get so upset it’s hard to talk to you,” her mother said, like she was offended.
“Hard to talk to me?” Lola laughed. “You’re the one—”
“Don’t be disrespectful.”
