I can’t refuse him. This is exactly why I want to stay here—because of people like him.

“Thank you, Bob. Very kind.”

“Good. Now, if there’s nothing else, we should adjourn.” He props himself up from his chair and shakes our hands. Then with a final smile he leaves, taking with him the only buffer I had from Aiden’s presence.

Now that it’s just us, the pain returns tenfold. My first goodbye, maybe. Or my last, depending on how this turns out.

“I’ll give you a ride home,” he offers.

I have made it without wailing until now but I don’t have much reserve left.

“No, thank you. I’ll call a taxi.” I smile and extend my hand.

He takes it and holds it instead of shaking it. “You still have a few things at my place. I’ll have Benson drop them off.” His voice is soft.

I try to remember what I left behind—it feels like millennia ago. Just my toiletries. And his gifts, but I couldn’t bear seeing them after this.

“No need, Mr. Hale. I have another toothbrush.”

His eyes still but he nods. Perhaps he understands I don’t want his gifts. “I’ll call you with the business details. I’m aiming for Thursday. Does that work for you?” He is still holding my hand.

“Thursday is fine—thank you. Goodbye, Mr. Hale.” I pull my hand back and walk out of the conference room, past the reception desk, and to the elevators. When the doors close behind me, I break.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Last Rites

I half-sit, half-stretch in the only armchair in our living room, staring at the mess before me. Reagan is passed out on the couch in her KEEP CALM AND MARRY HARRY pajamas and emerald-green pillbox hat. Two wine bottles, leftover pizza, crumpled Kleenex tissues and dirty dishes litter the coffee table. Lana Del Rey is singing quietly in the background—“This Is What Makes Us Girls”. On the floor, there is a crude voodoo doll Reagan made out of old socks. The name Aiden Hale and a litany of words that range from sex god to pervy wanker are written in black Sharpie across its body. Now, even though it’s only 8:00 p.m., my faithful guardian is down for the count, having emptied the wine bottles herself.

In the silence—without Reagan’s voice crooning “it will be okay” or screeching “that evil tosser”—all the questions resurface. Louder, as though furious at being ignored. How could I have let this happen? Why did he change? Did he change? Or is this his true nature? Why? Does he need saving even more than I do? What the hell do I do about that? What the hell do I do about anything?

I clench my teeth together and shove back every question. I focus only on the answer I know: I have to get over him, and soon. If it hurts this much after two nights, I can’t imagine what it would have been like if we had kept going.

I move for the first time in the last several hours. My joints creak at the sudden motion but I welcome it. At least this pain I can understand. I stumble to Reagan and take off her hat, brushing her red curls away from her face.

“Fuckin’ asshole,” she mumbles and goes back to snoring.

“I brought it on myself,” I whisper, throwing her favorite shearling blanket over her. My eyes flit to the clock on the wall, as they have done every hour or so. Not waiting for Aiden to call but for Javier to get off work. He will be worried about me. And my news—my good news—will make him happy. At 8:05, I amble to the kitchen and dial.

“Hello?” Javier answers on the first ring.

“Hey, Javier, it’s me.” My voice is hoarse.

“Isa? What’s wrong?”

I clear my throat. He doesn’t need any more worries after a sixteen-hour day. Or ever. “Actually, something is right for once,” I say, evading the question. “Well, maybe. I don’t want to jinx it.” I knock on the wooden kitchen table as I say the words.

“Oh yeah? What?” He sounds like he is smiling.

“I think I may have found a way to stay.” I smile too.

There is a short moment of silence, and then a loud gasp. “Holy crap! What? How?” He is shouting now. I bet he is pacing as far as the phone cord in the kitchen will let him.

“I have a deal to sell my supplement,” I answer.

The line goes quiet except his breathing.

“He’s going to buy it from you?” Javier sounds awed.

“Yes.”

More silence. Then a low whistle. “I can’t say that I understand the dude. But for this, I’ll always owe him,” Javier says. I have a sudden urge to run across town and hug him. No matter what his feelings are about the world, they always come second to his family’s happiness.

“Yes, we’ll both owe him. But don’t jinx me, Javier, please. The lawyers can’t guarantee it and they say I may still have to go back.”

Javier laughs. “Okay, okay. Aren’t you supposed to be a scientist—rational and all that?” I can hear him knocking on wood, probably the kitchen cabinets.

“Not for this,” I say firmly, finding nothing funny and rubbing my knuckles raw against the kitchen table. He laughs again, and I hear him talking to Maria. He speaks Spanish but after four years with them, I understand. Mom, it’s Isa. She thinks she’s figured out a way to stay. Maria squeals, drowned in seconds by a chorus of the girls. Antonio supplies the baritone to the cacophony. They all get on the line and talk at the same time.

“Isa, amorcita, happy, happy—”

“Oh, how? Who?—”

“When?—”

“Come over here, linda—”

“Mom’s making carnitas—”

“Carnitas? Forget carnitas. I’m making tres leches cake. Javier, go get her. Dora, put on some music.”

“Mom, Anamelia is up.”

“Oh, that’s okay, she likes the music.”

Finally, Javier’s deep voice rises above the rest in English. “Will you all stop? It’s not for sure yet. Don’t jinx it for her.”

In unison, I hear more knocking on wood and more laughter. The girls break into a song that has only one line. She’s staying, she’s staying, la la la, she’s staying.

“¡Basta!” Javier yells and it’s finally quiet. I choke at their joy.

“So, everything else okay?” Javier tries to sound casual but I know what he is really asking: how did it go with Aiden? I swallow a few times. How many answers are there to this question in a dichotomous key?

“Oh, you know, the usual. ICE chasing me, rich men wanting to buy my invention, dwindling supply of chocolate.” I try to joke as convincingly as I can.

“Isa, cut the crap. What happened?” he demands.

But I cannot tell him. He will worry himself bald. That’s bad enough. But he will also hate Aiden. And somehow, that’s even worse. I swallow hard again and give him another explanation, which is still true and saves everyone.

“You were right all along, Javier. It’s better not to get attached. Especially since I still don’t know if I’m staying or going.”

He cannot argue with me. But he stays on the line, sensing that I’m hurting.

“Can I come to work with you tomorrow?” I ask. This is how I was planning on spending my last days before Aiden turned everything upside down. One day with Javier, one day with Reagan.

He chuckles. “Isa, sweetheart, I’m painting a house tomorrow. I have to be there at six in the morning. It won’t be fun for you. Sleep in. I’ll come over after work, okay?”

“I don’t mind getting up early. I’ll be up anyway. And I can help with the yard stuff.”

We’ve done this before. He works so much that sometimes, he takes me to work with him or we would never see each other.

He sighs. “All right, you win. I’ll come get you at five forty-five. You’re so nuts, Isa. Go, get some sleep.”

“Yay,” I squeal and clap my hands.

He laughs his deep throaty laugh. “Noches,” he says but waits for me to hang up. He never hangs up first.

“Good night, Javier.”

The moment I’m plunged into silence, Aiden invades all my senses. I can still smell him on my skin and feel him when I move. The burn of his stubble on my neck, the sting of his bites on my breasts, the ache of his thrusts between my legs. And the void of his absence between my lungs.