Say Forever (18 page)

I don't want to think about the shit storm I've created. Tia's heart is in the right place, but sometimes she can be too pushy. I know she loves us. I know she means well. I tried to explain Christina's side, but I only offended her more. Now Tia's saying she won't come to the wedding. There are times like tonight when I just want to book a flight to Vegas. We can get hitched there, hit a few buffets and spend the rest of the time in bed. Sounds like the perfect wedding to me. Fuck having something big and complicated. All that matters is that Christina will be mine.

Christina sent me a text she will be home soon, empty handed after shopping for wedding shoes. I'm not sure what it takes to find the perfect wedding shoe, but I guess it's a difficult process. I'm hoping she'll come hungry. Our baby needs proper nourishment, and chicken grilled in a creamy cilantro pesto sauce and topped with portabella mushrooms should do the trick. I've also made a hot spinach salad and warmed the tortillas my uncle Arturo dropped off today.

I shake my head when I think about my meeting with Arturo. He's still pestering me to work for his new catering business. He even promised to give me creative license. Arturo remembers how much I've always loved to cook. How I'd spend hours with him and Tia making tamales and buttery tortillas. I made the mistake of giving him a sample of my pesto sauce last month. Now he doesn't want to let this catering thing go.

What's killing me is I know I'd be good at it. I know I'd enjoy working for his restaurant more than the job I'm doing. Hell, any job would be better than the one I've got. But Tio's turning over all five shops to me next month, and I'll be making a mid-six figure income, something Arturo can't promise me. I've got a family to consider now, and I want to provide for them. Heck, even if I wasn't going to be a family man, I don't think I could walk out on Tio.

***

Christina

After another unsuccessful day of wedding shoe shopping, I'm relieved to come home to the smell of home-cooked Mexican food. Andrés kisses me on the cheek and gets back to making dinner, and I slip into the bedroom and take off my shoes, groaning at the pain in my swollen ankles. What the heck? I'd worn comfortable flats today. My ankles should not be this big, but after several hours of walking through the mall, my poor feet look like stuffed sausages.

I hobble to the kitchen, sink into a chair, and lay my head on the table.

"Rough day, mija?"

I prop my chin on my palm and eye the big bowl of guacamole dip in front of me. "Can I just walk down the aisle barefoot?"

"I don't care what you wear as long as you marry me." Andrés laughs and then fluffs what appears to be Spanish rice. He's using the new pots and pans I bought him, which makes me feel all giddy inside. Whatever the reason for his initial reaction to his presents, at least he's using them.

"I wish your aunt was as easy to please as you are." I search the table, disappointed to find there's only carrot and celery sticks to go with the guacamole. Bleh. If I wasn't so damned tired, I'd search the cabinet for corn chips. "Did you talk to her?"

I cringe, not knowing if I want to hear his response. His heavy sigh as he covers the pots isn't reassuring. I jerk back when I hear a loud grumbling noise coming from my midsection. I settle my hand over my stomach. My gut feels like a hollow drum, ready to implode at any minute. I guess that soup and club sandwich followed by the fudge brownie I ate today (yes, I went back for another World's Best Brownie) wasn't filling enough. I scoop out a big chunk of guacamole with my finger and lick it off. Luckily, Andrés still has his back to me.

"Yeah, that didn't go over so well." Andrés turns off the burners, grabs a half-empty beer off the counter and sits across from me. I don't want to say anything, but he seems to be drinking a few beers every night now. When we'd first started dating, he was just a casual drinker. Not that I'm bothered by a few beers each night, but I know a few can turn to several as the years progress. It's exactly what happened to my former parents.

"What did she say?" I ask, knowing now isn't the time to start nagging him about the drinking, but I know I need to address it soon.

Andrés levels me with a glum expression. "She's not coming to the wedding."

I gape at him for a long moment. "Omigod. Really? Over a dress?" I can't believe Tia would do this to us, to Andrés. She has to know this would crush him.

Andrés shrugs, his mouth tilted half-way in an apologetic grin. "She thinks you are shutting her out."

"This is ridiculous." My words are punctuated by a loud grumble from my tummy.

Andrés lays his hand across mine and squeezes. "Don't worry, she'll come around."

The grumbling gets louder. Apparently my stomach isn't convinced. Andrés eyes my gut with a smirk, pushes away from the table, and walks back to the stove.

"And if she doesn't?" I ask. "We can't have a wedding without your tia."

"I'll see if Tio can talk some sense into her." His back is to me, so his expression is unreadable, but I don't like the way his words lack conviction, almost like he doubts Tio will be able to sway her.

I slouch in my seat. "I feel bad, Andrés."

"Don't. This isn't your fault." His dark eyes sparkle with mischief as he sets two steaming plates of food on the table. "I still say it would be easier if we just ran off to Vegas."

"Then my mom would be mad at us, too." I pick up my fork and shove rice and vegetables around on my plate. I'm not in the mood to eat anymore. Too bad my growling stomach isn't on the same wavelength.

"This is
our
wedding, mija.
Our
future."

Tears well in my eyes as I look at my fiancé. I'm humbled and wracked with guilt at the sincerity in his gaze. "I wish it was as simple as that."

A shadow falls across his face before he takes another long drink of beer. "Me, too."

Chapter Sixteen

Christina

Two-thousand-five-hundred freaking dollars. That is how much my mom has to pay to dry clean all those wedding dresses. Shit! I feel so bad about all of this, but my mom writes the check without even batting an eye.

I glare at the bridal shop clerk as she smiles serenely while taking Mom's check. She doesn't present my mom with an official dry-cleaning bill, and my mom doesn't ask for one. Anger infuses my cheeks and warms my chest. And the old-fashioned Christmas music that filters from overhead does little to lighten my mood. It's not even Christmas anymore.

"I still can't believe you have to pay this," I grumble, standing beside her at the counter. "Considering it was Nora who gave them the cotton candy."

Mom waves me off. "Nora wouldn't have given your brothers candy in a dress shop."

But I'm not buying it. I've known Nora a long time, and I know beneath the sweet, tipsy façade, is the shriveled up heart of a calloused bitch, just like The Cobra. And even though she swears she's not my ex-mother's best friend any longer, I am seriously having doubts. What if my snake adoptive mother put Nora up to giving my brothers cotton candy? What if this is just the beginning of Nora's underhanded pranks?

"Then
who
gave it to them?" I ask.

"They probably found it," Mom mumbles as she slips her checkbook back into her purse.

"Who leaves a cotton candy container lying around?"

Mom doesn't look at me as she fiddles with the zipper on her purse, and I wonder if maybe she's starting to have doubts, too.

"Ma'am, I'm not supposed to say anything, but I think there's something you should know."

I narrow my eyes at the demure middle-aged woman behind the counter. She looks ready to disappear behind her black-rimmed glasses as she makes a quick sweep of the room.

"What?" my mom and I ask in unison.

She scans the room one more time and then leans forward. "Nora Richards dropped the ball on two weddings this month."

My jaw practically hits the counter, and my stomach sours—as if it needs any more incentive to rebel after this morning's turkey bacon and low fat granola. "What do you mean?"

"I mean the entire bridal party and guests show up to the wedding and there's nothing." Her eyes bug out, magnified by her thick lenses. "No caterer, no cake, and nobody booked the hall."

My mom clutches the leather straps on her purse until her knuckles whiten. "Why would she do that?"

The clerk's lips purse as she pushes the rim of her glasses up her nose. "Rumor has it her husband is getting the planning business in the divorce and she's trying to run it into the ground first."

The color drains from my mom's face. "Omigod." She stumbles back.

I grab her by the elbow and lead her to a nearby sofa. "Mom, are you okay?"

She mumbles something about finding her phone as she tears through the contents of her purse. "I need to call the hotel. Hang on." She taps the screen with shaky fingers. "I'm looking them up."

I sit on the edge of the chair beside her, waving away the clerk when she offers us champagne. "Hi. I'm calling about the Duval-Cruz wedding on February first. We should have the Grand Hall booked for that night." Mom rubs her hand down her face while she waits for a response. "What do you mean you don't have it listed?" Her spine stiffens as her voice raises several octaves. "Our wedding planner, Nora Richards, should have booked it. Martinez family reunion? No, that's not correct. It should be the Duval-Cruz wedding." Another long pause, and I swear I see my mom's youthful face age before my eyes. "Well, do you have another hall? You're booked until May? We can't wait that long." She throws her phone back into her purse and buries her face in her hands. "What are we going to do?" she cries.

I move over to the sofa and wrap my arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry. We'll figure something out."

She pulls a tissue out of her purse and dabs the corners of her wet eyes. "I can't believe Nora would do this to us."

Oh, but I can,
I think to myself. But it's a little too late for the "I told you so," so I keep my opinion to myself.

"I'll call around." She sniffles and then blows her nose into the tissue. "There's got to be another banquet room in San Antonio. If not, didn't you say Andrés's aunt had offered her ranch?"

I make a face. "I don't think that offer is on the table anymore."

Mom shoots me a questioning glance.

I look away, pretending to pick imaginary grime out of my fingernails. "Long story." I don't want to drag my mom into my conflict with Tia. I fear it will only make things worse. Besides, I get the feeling Tia would either say no or make us grovel at her feet before she'd consent, and I already know the stipulation would include no painted flower bridal gown.

"I should have listened to you about Nora." Her lower lip trembles as she wipes her eyes again.

I exhale slowly as I summon the courage to tell my mom exactly how I feel. This conversation has been a long time coming. "I don't need a grand hall to make it special. Mom, I don't want to hurt your feelings, but I'm actually kind of glad this happened."

A look of shock crosses her features. "What? Why?"

"Because, mom, I'm just not happy with the direction of this wedding." I take her hand in mine and squeeze while searching her gaze. The hurt in her eyes makes my chest tighten, but still I go on. I was meek and mild for the first twenty-one years of my life. Even though I know it's not my mom's intention to make me a doormat, I refuse to be stepped on any longer. "It's supposed to be about Andrés and me, and it isn't."

Her hand goes limp in mine, and she slumps in her seat. "I just wanted your wedding day to be special."

I squeeze her hand tighter. "I know you do, and I appreciate all you're doing. I really do. I know that you feel guilty about all of those milestones you missed when I was growing up. I know you're trying to make it up to me now, but if you really want to make my wedding special, then let me have the wedding I want."

Though shadows fall over her face, she forces a smile. "What do you want, Christina?"

"I want one bridesmaid, tamales, and red velvet cake," I say on a rush of air, punctuating my words, as if I'm trying to make them stick in her memory.

She shakes her head. "But that's nothing."

"I already have everything: a loving mom, adorable brothers, and soon I'll have the perfect husband. That's what I want this wedding to reflect, a celebration of everything good in our lives. We don't need shrimp puffs for that."

She cups my cheek in her hand as her eyes gloss over. "What did I do to deserve a daughter like you?"

Freaking fantastic. Now I'm choked up. I swallow that knot of sorrow in my throat and stiffen my spine as I clasp both her hands in mine and pull her toward me. "You don't have to do this to yourself anymore. You were a baby when you had me. You gave me up to two people whom you believed would love me. And then, after all this time, you found me and invited me to be part of a wonderful, loving family. What you deserve, Mom, is my thanks, for having the courage to give birth to me, and then having the heart to find me again, because I know you had another option. You came at a time when I needed you most. Having you here with me, helping me with my wedding means so much."

Mom looks at me like she's going to say something and then her eyes start gushing like busted faucets. The fog of my mom's guilt settles over my heart like a heavy cloud. I feel bad that she feels bad, and not to sound selfish, but I don't need this kind of stress right now. I can literally feel my heart rate picking up, and even though I've been sitting around most of today, I'm starting to feel winded. This can't be good for the baby.

I muster my most reassuring smile. "Let's not stress about the wedding anymore today, okay?" I infuse extra enthusiasm into my voice, not just for my mom's benefit, but for mine. My stomach churns, leaving me with this queasy feeling like my body's a ship being tossed about in a violent storm. "We will work it out." I pat her hand harder. I remember the text message I received on my way to the bridal shop. "I'm having lunch with Mrs. James in a half hour. Want to come along?"