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While she works, she looks at me and continues speaking. “Love is about sacrifices. Look at your Abuelo and me. Do you think I wanted to leave my family in Miami and move here?” She waves her hand in the air and lifts her eyebrows. Her face says it all.
My grandfather found a job a friend of his recommended, and they moved to Hartville. Back then—and even now—Cubans were a minority in this area, but it worked out for them. They made amazing friends who became family and built a life for themselves. My uncle was already in college, so he was able to stay in the city. That only fueled my mom’s resentment. She was in her late teens when she moved, and she rebelled because my dad was in Miami. Their families were friends, and my parents started dating in high school. He eventually moved here to be with her, and they got married.
″I know it was hard.”
″But it worked out,” she nods with resolve.
″Are you saying I should sacrifice my studio to move with Hudson?”
″I’m saying that relationships take work and commitment and sometimes sacrifices, but only you know where you’ll be truly happy. Is he enough, or do you need your studio as well?”
″In an ideal world, I’d have him and my studio.” I know how selfish that sounds, but my grandma points it out anyway.
″And he gives up his career?” She lifts her brows, the clanking of the spoon against the stainless steel cup where she’s mixing the coffee and sugar fills the silence.
″No, but he’s been unhappy. Or so he said.” I slump back into my stool.
We really had it out before I left. I don’t think we ever yelled at each other that way, not even when we broke up the first time. I hate that. I hate that we left things the way we did.
″You’ve got some thinking to do.” She tilts her head.
″Yeah,” I sigh. Maybe it’s a good thing I haven’t called Michelle yet.
My grandma spends the rest of the day at my place, making me eat more food than I can fit in my stomach and drink coffee. By the time she leaves, I’m in a food coma, and all I can think about is vegging out on the couch. I wonder what Hudson is doing right now.
33
Hudson
“You still haven’t heard from her?” Tristan says incredulously over the phone.
“Nope.” I run a hand through my hair. “I messed up big time, and now she won’t even talk to me.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure, but she can’t avoid me on the ski trip.” Unless I can get to her first. It’s just my luck that work has me traveling and unable to drive to Lex and make her face me, talk things out so I can apologize for being a jerk.
I got excited at the prospect that we’d finally be together. I should’ve known. But why won’t she take this job? Or at least try. Does she care so little about me and our relationship that her studio is more important?
These thoughts have plagued my mind for days. They make me angry and sad and guilty. I haven’t been on top of work, and clients are noticing when they have to repeat the same question.
“I think it’s time you take a hard look in the mirror and decide what you want to do. If you ask Lex to move to New York only to quit your job in a month, that will create a bigger wedge between you. The job they offered her wasn’t temporary or to substitute. It’d be bad form to accept only to quit a few months to a year later.” When did I think Tristan would be the voice of reason in my life? Never, that’s for sure.
“You’re right, little bro.”
“I know I am.”
“Always so humble.” I roll my eyes.
“Why be humble when I can be proud.” He laughs.
I lean back against the bed frame at the hotel I’m staying in. I’m tired of traveling, of pretending to care what these entitled clients think is a good buy just because they’re in competition with their friend and want to burn money on a home that won’t be a good investment for them.
I’m just tired and in a terrible mood, wanting to see Lex.
“You’ve got some thinking to do, and I’m going to bed.” He’s been working on his non-profit plan and traveling to meet with people. I’m proud to see he’s fighting for what he wants despite the financial roadblocks.
“Thanks for checking in. Bye.” I hang up.
