Big Chicas Don't Cry(8)

My mom had already told me more than once to stop pressing the issue and even commented that perhaps I should follow Gracie’s example and be more “selective” when it came to dating.

And that was the day I stopped talking to my mom—or any of the tías—about my love life.

My mind then drifted to Nathan, and the one thing I hadn’t told my cousins. The moment I had seen his text that morning, my stomach had done some serious gymnastics. I’d seen him last month for two glorious nights and could usually go at least two more months before I needed another fix. But never had his texts made me feel so . . . giddy. What on earth was that about?

Gracie’s words from earlier came back.

Don’t you ever want more than three days here or a weekend there?

I hadn’t lied. I honestly didn’t want more. Because more meant hope. More meant risk. And I couldn’t let either of those happen again.

Quickly, I dismissed my reaction to his text as basic lust. He was fantastic in bed, and my body remembered. That was it. I needed to forget about Nathan for today. God forbid I accidentally drop his name in front of my mom or tías. I didn’t want to be the target for another Garcia women inquisition.

I loved my family, but I loved them even more in small doses. At least I lived far enough away that sometimes, if I truly needed a break, I could use work or traffic as an excuse not to come home every weekend.

And then it hit me.

Did that make me just like Mari?

Disturbed by the thought, I stood up to stretch. The pace was slowing down, which meant I could take a short break. I pulled my chair next to Erica and Gracie at the other table and checked my phone.

“You know what sucks the most about Mari not coming to Christmas dinner?” Erica asked after a few minutes.

It was totally scary how she knew exactly what I was thinking sometimes.

“What?” I asked and put my phone down, preparing for another Erica rant.

“No bu?uelos,” she said with defeat.

I smiled.

Mari’s homemade fried tortillas sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon were Erica’s red-light food—she could never have just one. I scrunched up my nose. “Eh, I never liked them. Too much sugar. And, like, what are those little seeds called again? They have this bitter taste, like black licorice.”

“I think they’re called anise,” Gracie explained from across the table.

“Well, whatever they are, they’re gross. You know what we should have instead for dessert tonight? Crème br?lée!”

Erica laughed as she picked up another husk layered with masa. “And where exactly are you going to get crème br?lée on Christmas Eve? Because I know for sure that you are not going to be sifting and mixing later. God, do you even know how to turn on an oven?”

Now Gracie was laughing, too, and I gave them both a very mean look since I couldn’t flip them off with my mother and abuela in the same room. It was true that I didn’t cook or bake or even use my kitchen that much. But what I lacked in culinary skills I made up for in other useful ways. Ways that would send my sister straight to church to pray for my perverted soul.

In fact, I was just about to tell them that I happened to be very close friends with a sexy baker who owed me a special favor when Erica held up a husk and yelled, “Who’s spreading the masa on the wrong side of the leaves again?”

“Espy!” everyone yelled back.

Laughs filled the room, and eventually I went back to counting. Fortunately, there were no more tense conversations for the rest of the morning. Topics ranged from menopause remedies to labor horror stories to who still had Christmas shopping to do. The usual stuff that came up when a group of adult women got together.

And although nobody ever said her name again, I knew I wasn’t the only one trying to forget that one of us was missing from the table.





Chapter Four


MARI


“Merry Christmas, cari?o,” Esteban said as he leaned over to kiss me on the lips. With a weird grin on his face, he then showed me a small white box wrapped with a delicate green ribbon. Although it was already after nine in the morning, we were still lying in bed. I was feeling lazy, and if it were up to me I’d spend my entire Christmas Day right here buried underneath my warm sheets and down comforter.

But it was never up to me.

I sat up and took the box from Esteban and gingerly lifted the lid. It was an exquisite diamond heart pendant on a yellow-gold chain. “It’s lovely,” I said. “It will match my earrings.”

He nodded. “Exactamente. That’s why I got them for you,” he said. He took it out of the box, and I sat up with my back to him. I lifted my hair so he could put the necklace on me. “You are so beautiful, Marisol, and you deserve beautiful things,” he whispered in my ear as his hand slipped under my silk camisole.

“Let’s make a baby,” he whispered as he kissed my neck.

“Esteban, we already agreed we’d wait until next year.”

He stopped kissing me and moved so he could meet my eyes. “Next year is only seven days away. We can start a little early.”

“It doesn’t work like that. I need to be off my birth control for at least a month. My appointment with the doctor is in a few weeks. I’ll find out for sure when we can start trying.”