“Tan exagerada.” She tried really hard to sound mad, but I could hear the hint of a smile in her voice.
“I’m not exaggerating, I got pounds of guandules in my apartment.” My mother had taken my move hard. I knew she missed me. I missed her too, but I was determined to make a go of things here. I would not go back to New York City with my tail between my legs.
“I know it’s disappointing, but I need to do this right now, okay?” I pushed down the knot in my throat and tried to scare off the tears pooling in my eyes by staring up at the ceiling. Crying on the phone with my mother would really set off a rescue operation. “I need to stay here, and see this job through. Matt wasn’t the only reason why I came to Texas.”
I cringed at my slip. Mentioning my ex’s name would send my mother and abuela to the land of petty in a hot second.
It took less than that. “It’s all that pendejo’s fault, making you move down there and leaving you to chase after some sucia from his office.” I miraculously managed to keep another sigh inside. “I knew that boy was trouble from the day I met him. What kind of decent person comes to meet his girlfriend’s family empty-handed? Not even a loaf of bread or some fruit in all those years. Nada.”
Yes, she was still holding that grudge.
The disbelief in my mother’s voice would’ve been funny at any other moment, but the last thing I wanted to do right now was get into a conversation about my ill-fated move and my ex’s trifling ass.
“Mami, I don’t want to talk about Matt. Yes, he’s trash, but he doesn’t matter anymore. This year is about me, no romance, no distractions. Nada.” I sliced the air with my hand as if she could see me. “I’m focusing on my job, which I actually love, and trying to build a life here. Esta bien, Mami? Can you guys support me in that?”
That was a low blow, because my mom, all of my family really, was nothing but supportive.
“Mija. I just worry. It’s so hot in that place.”
Oh no, not the heat again. I was never going to get to that meeting.
“It’s so dry. Mariita told me when she went there her hands cracked. Did you get the lotion I sent you?”
My mother was convinced the regular drugstore hand lotions from New York City were somehow more effective than the ones in Dallas and sent me so many tubes I could probably stay moisturized through a zombie apocalypse.
“You know I did. Don’t send me any more, Mami. I only have two hands, and you sent me enough to keep my skin supple for decades.”
“Muchachita.” Her voice had that familiar mix of love and exasperation that defined our relationship. “Okay, bye, but remember to drink lots of water, mija. Our people are not built for that dry heat.” I ended the call after agreeing to do everything she said, including walking around with the jug with a straw she’d sent me.
I realized I’d accidentally had my mother on speaker—she was so loud I could no longer tell the difference—when I heard what sounded very much like someone trying not to choke from trying not to laugh.
Awesome.
It had to be about my call. My mother’s voice carried for miles. But I didn’t look up to find out who was laughing their ass off at my expense and focused on the text I had from my boss. I could be mortified in a minute.
Are you on your way??
I quickly typed a response as I stepped up to the elevator that would take me up to the “executive” floor.
Going up to you now.
I fired that message off and kept my attention on the elevator door, trying not to read into Gail’s unusual urgency. Pushy was not her style and she’d sent four messages in ten minutes.
Something was up.
My boss usually channeled a Super Soul Sunday vibe in her texts. The double question mark was not a good sign, and the fact she was keeping strictly to the point was definitely concerning.
I stepped into the elevator and shoved my phone into the pocket of my dress, took a moment to send a prayer to the employee discount that let me buy bomb clothes on a nonprofit worker budget, and did some mental math of what could be going on.
Was the program really in trouble? Could we actually get shut down?
Nope, I would not go there. I would not think about what it would be like to get on a plane back to New York dumped and unemployed. Not happening.
A distraction. That’s what I needed. Just as the door to the elevator was about to close, someone got in. The fact that I was eye level with the base of his throat was a good clue as to who it was, but when he opened his mouth and the now familiar knee-weakening baritone echoed off the walls of the elevator, I got my confirmation.
“Morning, Ms. Ortiz.” That voice could be used for interrogation tactics. Every muscle in my body loosened at the same time whenever I heard it.
I squeaked out a “Morning” and took my time lifting my head all the way up to look at the last person in the world I wanted overhearing my conversation with my mother.
Him.
Rocco Fucking Quinn, otherwise known as the “Team Leader” for the consulting firm looking to bag my job. The guy with the New York City-est name on the planet. I hadn’t exactly gotten personal with Mr. Quinn, but I picked up on that accent the first time we met.
“How are you doing?” I really tried to sound polite, but my Queens jumped out in situations like this. I did not gulp, because I could not let this fucker see me sweat. I managed not
