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“So in your anger over not finding clothes, you set out to make your own?” I asked.
“I guess so, yeah. It started with me taking some weekend classes at the community college on fashion and design. A bit of business here and there. I didn’t actually get a degree, just took some classes to help educate myself on the process. I made my first few pieces of clothing by myself and sold them at various things. One of Dad’s poker buddies bought a dress I made for his wife, and another one of them commissioned the same dress. Mom’s lunch girls bought a couple of my scarves and accessories and ordered more. It sort of spun out of control after that.”
“That’s really incredible. You know that, right?” I said.
“I needed to make a life for myself, so I did.”
“It takes strength to do that, Ana. Strength and intelligence and perseverance. You can’t teach any of that in college. It would’ve been a waste of time for you. College would’ve held you back. You made the right choice.”
Something flickered behind her eyes before she cleared her throat. What was she holding from me?
“I had a little help along the way, though I hated accepting it. Dad purchased the storefront property behind my back and gave it to me as a birthday gift. I insisted on paying him back, though he wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Did you pay him back?” I asked.
“In full with interest less than two years later.”
“See? Strength. Perseverance. That’s incredible, Ana. You have to know that.”
She blushed and smiled, and it warmed my soul.
“So, tell me about this business venture of yours that brings you back. What made you come home?”
You did.
“My parents. I always felt guilty for leaving them, especially with my mother still struggling.”
“She’s still struggling?” Ana asked.
“Worse than when I left. I don’t know what the fuck’s gotten into my father or what he’s doing to enable her, but I’m about to have a conversation with him.”
“Are they fighting like they used to?”
“Not to my knowledge, but I haven’t been over to their house since I’ve been back. I’ve been meeting them out, hoping it’ll keep a lid on things if they are.”
“I’m so sorry, Tyler.”
“It’s so weird. It’s like my father refuses to see it or excuses it because my mother is functional. But just because she’s a functioning alcoholic doesn’t mean she isn’t an alcoholic.”
“What do you think you’ll do?” she asked.
“I’ve thought about talking directly to her during a period when she’s sober, but every time I call her—no matter what time of day—she’s slurring her words the second she picks up the phone.”
“Holy hell. She has gotten worse then.”
“I don’t know what to do, but I don’t want to dwell on it right now.”
“Then we won’t. At Varnish the other night, Brandon said something about you being a trial lawyer. Have you taken a job with a practice out here or something?”
“No. I’ve opened up my own practice.”
“Wow. I bet you’re proud of that,” she said, grinning.
Not as proud as I am of you. Look at you, Ana. Accomplished. Independent. Sexy as hell. Look at you go.
“I am. I have the top four floors rented out to me right now, but my dream is to buy the entire damn building before I’m thirty.”
“Three whole years of doing nothing but working.”
“It’ll be tough, but I think I can do it. I want to be the go-to firm for anyone who needs defense or prosecution. But right now I’m focusing on defense.”
Dinner went a lot better than expected once we got over the initial hump. Ana became warmer and friendlier toward me. I told her about my dreams for my practice and she told me about her dream to open another storefront in San Diego. We smiled and laughed. We ate our fill and drank the entire bottle of red wine. Though there were moments where I could tell she reigned herself in. She clearly held herself back from fully exposing herself to me.
The rational part of me figured it was because she was still hurt. But the curious part of me wondered if it had anything to do with the secret I knew she was keeping from me.
Or maybe I was getting paranoid.
“So, I know this might be overstepping,” I said as I handed the waiter my card, “but would you consider coming back to my place for another glass of wine? There are cardboard boxes everywhere, but the view of Los Angeles is decent from the windows of my living room.”
She pondered my words as I put my John Hancock on the bottom of the receipt.
“I guess another glass of wine wouldn’t hurt if I called myself a cab.”
“You can follow me in your car back to my place. Then you can park it in the parking garage. It’ll be locked up and safe. Then you can come back anytime for it. I’ll give you the code to get down in there and you can walk through the open garage and get it anytime you wish.”
