“Call me. I love you, bye” was the first simple message left by my grandpa in Spanish.
The second one was a butt dial where I could hear them talking in the background but couldn’t actually tell what they were saying.
“Graciela,” my grandmother’s serious voice started to say in Spanish during the third message, using her nickname for me. “Can you stop on the way home and bring some plantains and tortillas?”
They were nothing special, but they were the last voice mails either of them had left me. I would never delete them.
I listened to them one more time, careful not to delete them, before slipping my cell back into my pocket.
Then I rubbed my face again.
I’d never had close friends because I’d been told it was a bad idea, that it put me at risk. My students didn’t even know my real last name, and I’d known some of them for years.
And what did I have? I didn’t even have the cat I’d always wanted to get after Ryu passed away. I didn’t have a dog. I didn’t have shit.
Should I have ignored every strict rule they had raised me with?
That same thought that occasionally popped in my head came back. What was the point of everything if I couldn’t even enjoy my life the way I really wanted to? Surviving wasn’t the same thing as living. Was it?
Maybe things weren’t as dire as I’d always thought, as I’d been told. And maybe I was just desperate and lonely and a little scared about what these damn stomachaches meant and considering making stupid decisions because of it.
I started to make my way back toward my single-wide. The moon was just a sliver managing to slice across The Defender’s face. His eyes were still closed.
He almost looked at peace.
Then again, so did Venus flytraps at a distance.
Walking slowly, I watched him the whole time… because he was doing the same to me, I realized. His eyes were narrowed, not closed.
Watching, always fucking watching. And judging. And more than likely thinking of what I was doing that was suspicious.
I couldn’t say I blamed him either.
We’re all products of our circumstances. I knew that better than anyone. Being nice, kissing ass, was so much fucking work.
When I was close enough, I held out my hand. “I’ll help you back in,” I offered.
This motherfucker didn’t even think about it.
“Fuck no,” he muttered before slowly turning on his own, going back inside in his pained, limping-shuffle, just leaving me there.
I blinked. Then I looked at my hand and gave myself a high-five with the other one before climbing up the steps and going inside too. I’d walked right into that.
Dealing with this man was going to be my good deed of the year. Maybe the century. It would be a thankless job, but somebody had to do it, and that person was me.
Because of all the millions of yards he could have landed in, it had been mine.
What were the fucking chances?
CHAPTER
SEVEN
I was sitting on the edge of the couch, tugging my socks back on—I’d kicked them off in the middle of the night—when I heard sounds from down the hall.
Yawning, I got up and made my way toward my room, wondering what was going on. When I’d fallen asleep last night, he had still been up, watching the final season of Stranger Things on my tablet. Had he not been able to sleep?
I peeked into the room and blinked.
He was awake.
What shocked me the most was the fact he was wearing a hoodie that I knew without a doubt I’d left in the dryer last night, and beside him on the bed was an empty bag of Cheetos and the box of cookies I was carefully portioning out, and a bottle of my favorite beer was on the nightstand.
But Cheetos? Really?
And he liked peach beer?
After we’d gone back inside, he’d headed straight to the bedroom, making me think he’d overextended himself. Big surprise. I brought dinner over and fed him and gulped down my own portion afterward. Then I’d cleaned the kitchen, finished my last two lessons, and when it looked like he wasn’t going to sleep any time soon, I took the couch like usual and passed out there.
I didn’t sleep that great, tossing and turning and having one crappy dream after another that I couldn’t recall anymore. So when I’d woken up with a funny stomach, I didn’t let myself think too much about it. Yesterday had been pretty weird after all, and I’d decided that today was going to be the day I finally picked a place to move.
I yawned, pushing that nagging worry in the pit of my stomach aside before fully stepping into the doorway. “Good morning.”
Those purple eyes flicked over to me for a moment before going back to my tablet, which he’d plugged in at some point.
Good morning to me too.
I squeezed my eyes closed so that I wouldn’t roll them and tried again. “What time did you wake up?” I asked, too tired to remember it was a waste of time asking him anything.
He didn’t even bother glancing my way as he answered, his voice flat and either bored or irritated, probably both. “I haven’t slept.”
I eyed him. He’d stayed up all night? I glanced at the screen, and it took me a second to recognize that I’d watched the movie he had on.
Except I’d watched it with subtitles, and there wasn’t any captioning now.
“Do you speak Japanese?” I blurted out in surprise.
“I speak… several languages,” he replied, shocking me with just that. “I’m ready for breakfast.”
He spoke several languages, excuse me. I spoke three fluently, another really well—well enough to teach students who spoke it; it just didn’t come to me as naturally yet—and two others were a work in progress. Some people took dance classes; I had taken language classes. Whatever was offered, wherever we were, I’d taken with my grandpa. For fun. At one point, my grandpa had done nothing but speak to me in Portuguese for almost a year. Just in case we ever went to Brazil. After college, he’d spent a few years there before moving back to Costa Rica, where he’d met my grandma.
But I kept my mouth shut on that.
Because I was too focused on the fact that he thought I looked like a maid. Could he use the word “please” every once in a while? I tried to keep my nose from scrunching up and forced myself to clench my teeth so that I wouldn’t open my mouth and say something I regretted.
He’s a member of the Trinity, Gracie.
R-e-s-p-e-c-t and all that.
I could feed him. He already seemed to be doing a little better, which meant hopefully he’d be out of here soon. I could survive him and his fucking attitude a little while longer.
I kept on telling myself that as I walked out and headed toward the kitchen. I was only a little down the hall when I heard him get up and follow, shuffling and letting out these tiny groans that didn’t sound much better than they had days ago. He took a seat at the table while I ducked into the refrigerator to see what I could make. I usually fasted a few more hours, but I could eat now so that I wouldn’t have to waste more time later cooking again.
I opened the packet of bacon I’d pulled out of the fridge, put it on the skillet, and turned it on low. Then I asked, “Are you done sleeping for days at a time?”
He surprised me by actually answering. “Not yet.”