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“You’re the one who brought her up.”
“Because I wanted to be the one to break the news before your mom started whispering in your ear about how now is your chance.”
“My mom whispers a lot of things into my ear about who I should date, yet you don’t see me giving in to her.”
“Dahlia is different, and you know it.”
“Doesn’t matter anymore, because whatever feelings I had for Dahlia are no longer relevant.” Something twists in mychest.
Mierda:Shit.
Chisme:Gossip.
Rafa’s reply is cut off by Nico’s shout.
“Papi!” Nico abandons my mom and runs down the hall.
My cousin gets down on his knees in time for Nico to launch himself into his open arms.
“I’m so proud of you.” Rafa fixes Nico’s glasses so they sit right.
Nico’s forehead wrinkles from his frown. “But didn’t you hear me mess up?”
Rafa scoffs. “You were perfect like always.”
Nico, who must have inherited his perfectionistic tendencies from me, attempts to recount his slipup, only to be stopped by Rafa tickling him.
“No!” Nico wiggles in his father’s embrace.
“Sorry. I can’t hear you. What were you saying?” Rafa reaches for the spot under Nico’s arm, making him squeal and squirm.
While Rafa might be closed off to the rest of the world, he is nothing but warm with his son. The way he acts with my godson despite all his issues gives me hope my cousin will heal one day.
I might have experienced nothing close to what Rafa has gone through, but I know it isn’t easy to get over someone. Dahlia taught me that lesson a long time ago, and it’s one I don’t plan on forgetting anytime soon.
CHAPTER FOUR
Dahlia
My first official day back in town was quiet, most likely because I never went into town at all. With my mom and sister, Liliana, busy working at the floral shop, I did nothing but stare at the ceiling.
It’s strange going from not having enough time to eat lunch and use the restroom to barely leaving my room unless absolutely necessary. My suitcase packed with expensive, trendy outfits sits untouched on my floor, a warning sign in itself.
While I’ve always had anxiety and perfectionistic tendencies since high school, depression is a newer struggle for me and a lonely battle I fought for months before getting help.
My therapist, Dr. Martin, is a wonderful woman who charges a small fortune for each session. While money isn’t an issue for me anymore, I was hesitant about the emotional commitment, but she was highly recommended by my agent,so I took a chance eight weeks ago and have no regrets.
I’m not sure where I would be without Dr. Martin. She has endless patience, the calmest voice, and ends every session with a Jamaican proverb I don’t understand until I look it up afterward.
Today, she barely speaks for the first half of our telehealth session, allowing me to go off about my mistakes and shortcomings.
She clasps her hands together, making her gold Cartier bracelets jangle against her deep brown skin. “What made you stay with Oliver for so long?”
Her never-ending patience is put to the test as I sit and think. I’ve been asked this question before, but at the time, my view on life was tainted by bitterness, self-loathing, and a thick cloud of depression.
“Things were good for a long time.”Which made the loss that much harder.
Her tiny nod gives me courage.
