Say Yes (Something More) (6 page)

I tried to make sense of why my dad raped me until the day he died. Maybe he’d been abused when he was younger. Maybe he’d had too much to drink and wasn’t in his right mind. I wanted so badly to justify why he would have hurt me. I guess it made my pain less real, less significant, if I knew he had suffered, too.

It took me a while to realize the real reason my dad raped me. He was an asshole.

Damn, I hate psychology.

* * *

So yay, I just took the psychology test from hell. I had to analyze the psychotic behaviors of famous scumbags like Hitler, Charles Manson, and Jeffrey Dahmer. I didn’t know who Charles Manson and Jeffrey Dahmer were until I was forced to take this stupid class. Frankly, my world would have been a lot less morbid had I never heard of them.

My next class is an Advanced Arts practicum. I really don’t have to do much but check in and show my teacher a few of my projects. Since I airbrush vehicles every day, I’ve got plenty to show him. In fact, I don’t need to go to Advanced Arts today. I’ve already sent him a text with a photo of a tour bus I airbrushed with the Alamo, the Riverwalk, and a field of bluebonnets, and gotten a positive response back. My only other class isn’t for two more hours, a digital graphics class I could probably teach in my sleep. I suspect my professor knows this, which is why he’s always looking to me for approval after he posts examples of his work. I send him an email that I’ve had a death in the family, and he answers right away that I can take the day off.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I text Andrés I’m ready to be picked up. Though I want to go home and mourn the loss of Mrs. Peterson, I’ve got to try and get hold of Karri. Her phone has been shut off. I found that out when I tried to call her this morning. Karri’s brother is flying in from Japan, which is where he’s stationed. He could only get a few days leave, so I know I’ve got to make most of the other arrangements, but I don’t know where to begin.

One thing I have to say about my mom is she handled my dad’s funeral very well, from picking the coffin to making arrangements for the mourners who piled into our house. She acted as if she was a funeral pro, and she did it all without shedding a tear. I had always wondered how she was able to keep her cool during those days of grieving and visitors. Karri jokingly refers to my mom as The Spitting Cobra, probably because she had the heart and compassion of a snake, and her words are venomous when she turns them against you.  

My phone buzzes, and I read Andrés’s text that he’s ten minutes away, so I find a spot on the grass beneath a shade tree and wait. The day is already starting to warm up, which is weird because it’s nearly winter, but predicting the weather in Texas is harder than finding a fraternity guy without a superiority complex.

“Teeny!”

When I hear that familiar nasal whine calling my name, ice shoots up my limbs and I cringe.
Oh, God. What the hell does Jackson want?

I crane my neck to see him marching toward me with purpose, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t hurry.

If only.

He stops for breath, bending over as he clutches his knees
.

Geez, Jackson, when did you get so out of shape?

“
Hey,” he asks on a rush of air, “is it true what I heard about Mrs. Peterson?”

“Yes, it’s true.” My eyes cloud over as I turn away.

“Damn. That woman looked like shit. I’m not surprised.”

I turn back to him and narrow my eyes and do my best to channel my mother’s venomous voice. “She was
my
friend.”

He straightens up and grimaces. “Oh, sorry.”

Wow. I think that’s the first time Jackson has apologized to me. Ever.

He scratches his head while shifting on both feet. He’s got something to say to me, and I wish he’d say it. “So do you know where Karri is?”

No use denying the truth. He’ll find out sooner or later.

“
No, I haven’t seen her since she ran off with her drug dealer,” I say on a groan.

“I knew it!” He punches the air with his fist. “She’s never going to get custody of Tyler again.”

“Is that what you want?” I rise on tired legs and wag a finger. “Ty to grow up without knowing his mother?”

“I don’t know.” He takes a step back and holds out both hands. Then his eyes soften, and I swear I catch a glimpse of compassion beneath his blue-green gaze. “I’d say certain mothers are not worth knowing,” he says in a voice laced with pity. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

I fist my hands by my sides and glare at him. Who the hell does he think he’s fooling? Now he cares about the way my mom treated me? “You were my mother’s friend.”

His pale face reddens as he vehemently shakes his head. “Not really.”

“Yes, yes you were.” I stomp up to him, closing the short distance between us, and jab my finger in his chest. “You two called each other and bad-mouthed me all the time.”

“We didn’t bad mouth you.” He drops his gaze to the grass beneath his shoes. “At least, I didn’t.”

“Anyway,” I say as I roll my eyes. “About Ty.”

“I think he’d be better off with a stepmother because Karri doesn’t deserve him.” Jackson’s words tumble out of his mouth, tripping over his tongue along the way. His face and ears flush an even brighter shade of red as he looks away.

I can’t pretend I don’t know what Jackson is hinting at, but that ship has sunk to the deepest, darkest part of the ocean. It will never, ever be resurrected again.

“He has your parents,” I say coolly, hoping he will take the hint.   

“Yeah, but I’m his dad.” Jackson puffs up his chest as he says this, as if he believes himself to be a real man since he fathered a child. Uh, not hardly. Andrés is ten times the man Jackson will ever be.  

“Oh, are you now?” I narrow my gaze and plant my fists on my hips. “So you’re finally ready to fill that role?”

“It just took some getting used to, Teen—” Jackson bites his bottom lip and then lowers his voice. “Christina,” he says as he looks at me with a gaze so soulful and full of emotion, I am thinking he’s either the world’s biggest pussy, or a total faker. Maybe it’s a mixture of both. “I mean, one second I’m engaged to a beautiful woman, and we’ve got this whole future together.” He throws his arms wide as his lower lip trembles. “The next second, I’m getting dumped and I’m a father.”

I am so not buying his bullshit. “Your problems are consequences of your mistakes.”

He bats his lashes. “I wouldn’t say Tyler is a mistake.”

“No.” I heave an aggravated groan. “He’s the one good thing you’ve done.” What the hell does Jackson expect from me? Does he want me to throw away my perfect relationship for a lifetime of farty breath, lousy sex and misery?

I breathe a sigh of relief when I see Andrés’s truck navigating through pedestrians and heavy traffic. I pick up my book bag and sling it over my shoulder. “My ride’s here.”

Jackson steps forward and grabs my arm. “Do you want to see him? He’s been asking for you.”

I look down with contempt at his fingers digging into the fabric of my sleeve. “Of course I want to see him.”

I shake off his grip and take a step back, but it’s too late. I’ve already caught scent of his breath. What is it with Jackson’s oral problems? I know his family can afford a dentist. I’m almost tempted to tell him he needs to get checked for gum disease. I’ve wanted to tell him for so long, but knowing how Jackson’s feelings get hurt easily, I’ve always been afraid he’d cause a scene.  

“I get him all day this Sunday.” Jackson flashes a hesitant smile. “Maybe you can come with us.”

“I don’t know if I can.” I shake my head. “I’m waiting to hear about the funeral.” Karri’s brother had told me he was going to try to have the funeral on Sunday. Though I long to see Ty, I cannot miss this. Mrs. Peterson deserves that much respect, considering she’ll get none from her daughter.

Jackson’s face contorts into one massive frown. His sulking look. Great, just when I thought I’d never have to put up with this shit again.

“So this is it?” His voice rises several octaves as he throws his hands up. Sadly, I know he didn’t learn this temper tantrum from his son. I’ve seen him act like a toddler plenty of times. “He loses his mom, his grandma, and now his Teeny. You’re his favorite person, you know.” That last line is dripping with guilt so thick, I feel like I’m drowning in it.

I catch a glimpse of Andrés’s truck. He’s actually found a parking spot among the crush of cars. I’m certain he has to have seen Jackson and me. These two have never met before, and I hope to keep it that way. The last thing I need is a confrontation on campus. Not that Jackson has the balls to stand up to Andrés. Still, I don’t want to tempt fate.  

“Don’t do this to me, Jackson.” I take a step back.

“Next Sunday, then.” He takes a step forward. “I won’t try to kiss you. I won’t try anything. I just want you to spend time with Tyler.”

“I have to talk to Andrés about it.” I nod toward my boyfriend’s truck. He’s standing by the front fender now, glaring at us.  

Jackson squints at Andrés and smirks. “If he trusts you, he’ll let you go.”

“He does trust me,” I say, and then I swallow a knot of tension as I see Andrés making his way toward us. He’s got a dark look in his eyes. I take another hesitant step away from Jackson. I don’t want to spend next Sunday, or any day, with Jackson, but I can’t deny my longing to see Ty again. “Text me next week, and I’ll let you know.” I turn on my heel and hurry toward my boyfriend, praying Jackson isn’t stupid enough to follow me.

***

Andrés slings my book bag over his shoulder, clasps my hand in a firm grip, and leads me toward the truck. It’s like he’s trying to force me away from my ex-fiancé.

As if he needs to. I don’t think I can put enough space between me and that pouty tower of halitosis.

“Was that Jackson?” he asks through a clenched jaw as he squeezes my hand tighter.

“Yeah.” I shrug off his question, pretending my awkward and unnerving encounter with my former fiancé was no big deal. “He wanted to know about Mrs. Peterson.”

Andrés arches a brow as he opens my truck door. “Is he going to the funeral?”

I climb into the truck. “I doubt it.” I drop my gaze to my lap, because I’m not sure how Andrés will take my next bit of news. “He says Ty’s been asking for me.”

“Let me guess.” Andrés leans inside the cab and tilts my chin until our gazes meet. “He asked you to spend time with them.”

He’s got this knowing look in his eyes, and his lips are curled up in a half-smile. I’m not sure if he’s annoyed or amused.  

“Yeah.” I’m reluctant to admit that part, although I suspect Andrés already knew. The guy must have a sixth sense. Or else, maybe he just knows how whiny asshole exes act.  

Andrés pulls back as his half smile vanishes. “He wants you back.”  

I can tell Jackson wants me back, but the thought of spending my future with that man makes my stomach sour. “I don’t want him back.” I vehemently shake my head. “Never.”

But something about the expression in Andrés’s eyes tells me he’s not convinced. This bugs me. I mean, let’s just say I don’t love Andrés more than life. Would he really think I’d want to attach myself to a man with farty breath and a dick that I could jerk off with my thumb and index finger? Unfortunately, that last part isn’t an exaggeration. Sadly, I’ve done it before. I shudder at the visual flashback in my brain. 

“He’ll use the baby to get to you,” Andrés adds.  

“I know that.” I groan as I smooth my hands down my face. I still can’t get that jerk-off scene out of my head. “But I want to see Ty, too.”

Andrés’s eyes soften, and he strokes my cheek. “I know you do, mija.”

The way Andrés is looking at me makes me hopeful. I know I’m asking a lot, but he has to understand how much I care for Ty. “He says I can see him next Sunday.”

Andrés’s eyes cloud over and something about the tilt of his smile makes my heart beat erratically. “If you want a baby so badly,” he says as he twirls a strand of my hair around his finger. “All you have to do is ask.”

Every last drop of moisture in my mouth has gone south as I gape at Andrés for a long moment. He can’t be for real. Now is too soon to talk about us having kids. Actually, ten years from now will be too soon. But his gaze doesn’t waver, and my heart sinks like a stone. “No,” I breathe as my shoulders fall with the admission. “Never.”

Andrés and I haven’t discussed having kids before. He’s casually brought it up once or twice, but I’ve been able to change the subject. I’d be perfectly happy living in our little shag carpet apartment, renting movies and growing old together, just the two of us.

“Never?” Andrés jerks back, looking like I’ve sprung a new pair of silicone tits; anyone who knows my mother will understand why that analogy is funny. “You never want kids?”

“I don’t want to bring kids into this fucked up world.” I turn in my seat and buckle my seatbelt. I’m ready for him to get in the truck and drive us home. I’m
not
ready to have a discussion about kids. “Have you seen what’s out there?” I wave a hand toward a pile of students crowding a sorority booth selling donuts for a fundraiser. You’d think people have never had a donut before.  

Andrés follows my gaze and snickers. “I’ve seen more than you.”

Okay, he’s got me there. He’s been to war twice and come back with post-traumatic stress disorder. I know he’s seen more than me. Besides, the donut booth is a bad example. I didn’t mean to wave toward them. They were just in the way.   

I was referring to some of the other shit I’ve had to deal with in my life, such as rape, abuse and neglect. The world is ugly. Look at what’s happening with Karri. She was raised in a good home and she’s an addict. 

I fold my arms across my chest and focus on a small crack in the windshield. “I don’t want kids.”

“But you want another man’s baby.”

I gasp at the accusation in his darkened eyes. “That’s different,” I say as I avert my gaze. “Ty’s already here.” I really wish Andrés hadn’t brought up babies.  

Maybe we can get a cat, but no, I’ve never been a fan of fur balls. I think of Grace’s yappy little dog, whose sole purpose in life is to chew the flesh off my toes. I guess dogs are ruled out, too. What about a goldfish? I’m up to the challenge of raising a goldfish.