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"I mean, apologize for hurting her feelings. Let her down gently, eh. Women are sensitive when they like a guy, and he doesn't feel the same way, but don't tell her she can come over for movie nights. I want her to come with the girls and you guys when we have our family get-togethers. She's family and always will be, but she needs time."
To get over me. But I don't say it because I'm unsure I want her to. Jealousy rears its ugly head, imagining her smiling for someone else. Cheering for another man. Praying for him when he does something stupid that could get him killed. Her tan skin and pretty smile flash in my mind, and my chest feels tight. The air escaping my lungs.
I take a minute before I tell her,"Alright, if you think it's best."
I don't agree, but I need to see her. I need to tell her I'm sorry.
"I do. I love Elena, Santi." Her eyes get glassy, and I feel like a piece of shit. "I know it is unfair to say this, but there is no one like her. She's special. You all are…, but she's special to me.There is a fragile part inside her she hides, and it's taken me years for her to open up…but she won't."
"What do you mean?"
Fragile part? Elena is always happy. Nothing can stop her when she puts her mind to something. Lately, she hasn't been, but I can change that. I'll take her out for lunch or something, maybe dinner.
"Don't worry. She'll be fine. Mya is back, and they'll cheer her up. She'll take her to your aunt’s restaurant. All will be good. Nothing a cheese enchilada won't fix."
"That's her favorite. No sauce."
"How do you know it is her favorite, eh."
I smile. "I know more than you think. I pay attention."
But the look she is giving me tells me I haven't.
My phone vibrates on the wooden desk, making a buzzing sound of an incoming text through my notification. I look over at the screen mid-count.
Santi: Are you home? We need to talk?"
I wait until the screen goes black, making a mental note to clear my notification and leave his text on delivered. I can always play it off and tell him I didn't see it. One thing Santi hates is to be ignored.
I keep counting until I hit fifty thousand in hundreds, making another stack.
"Are you going to answer that?" Maxim asks, looking at my phone.
He counts fast. That is why he let me count the larger bills.
"No." I pick up another stack from the duffle bag.
"Why not?"
"I have nothing to say to him."
"But he has something to say to you."
"I'm not interested in anything your brother has to say. Trust me, it's not good. It's probably to ask me if I'm going to a collegeparty. They usually have a party after the football team wins. He hates when I go because he'll be there."
"He told you that?"
I nod slowly, releasing the rubber band, and sigh thickly. "Yeah."
"He had a game?"
I shrug, not looking at him, concentrating on counting.
"I thought you went to all his games."
I look straight at him after counting so I don't lose track. "Well, I don't anymore."
He counts tens and twenties like a machine.
