God, was this more of my mother’s genes rearing their ugly heads? In my situation, Mom probably would have thrown caution to the wind, broken up with Rick, and jumped into the arms of this new stud, consequences be damned. I’d have to do everything I could to get that guy out of my head. The very last thing I needed was a whirlwind romance with some random dude. Not when things were going so well with Rick.
Unlike my mother, who was level-headed about almost everything else, I didn’t crave excitement and passion in my love life. I wanted stability. The one thing my life had lacked throughout my childhood was what I desired more thananything else now. Sure, a hot, sexy stranger was an exciting fantasy, but Rick was what I needed. A successful and caring man, someone I could live with in a house with a white picket fence and help raise our two-point-four kids. Maybe even a dog and a mother-in-law suite over the garage for my mom to live in and be comfortable.
It was all I’d wished for since meeting Rick. Was he perfect? No. He could be clingy and a bit obnoxious about his wealth and privilege at times, but he was kind and nice and treated me like a princess. What more could you ask for? Life didn’t have to always be about excitement and passion. Maybe it was good enough to be stable and boring.
Speaking of Rick, I was starting to get worried that I wouldn’t feel well enough for the gala on Friday. It had been all I could think about since my date with him on Sunday. This bug or whatever I had needed to run its course and get the hell out of my body.
As though she’d somehow read my thoughts from halfway across the city, my mother texted me.
Mom:How’s your day, sweetheart? Going well?
I sighed.
Me:It’s fine. My stomach is still messed up, and my headache won’t go away. Other than that, I’m fine.
Mom:Do you want me to make you some pozole de pollo?
I imagined the chicken stew in my mind. The combination of peppers, hominy, sliced radishes, and seasoned broth was my favorite comfort food, but now it made me want to vomit. My appetite had gone to hell since the attack.
Me:No, Mom, it’s fine. Thanks, though. I need to get back to work. Is there anything you need on my way home later?
Mom:Can you get more paper towels? Make sure you get the cheap ones, though. I paid the electric bill, and the account will be low until you get paid again.
I gritted my teeth and breathed through my nose, letting the irritation fade before responding.
Me:Sure thing. I’ll grab them. See you tonight. Love you.
Mom:Love you, sweetie.
Shoving my phone aside, I tried to focus on work, smacking my fingertips onto the keys harder than I needed to. It had always been like this—every dollar stretched to the limit, never being quite far enough ahead to breathe easy. As a kid, I’d walked around town, popping into laundromats and searching the machines and floor for stray coins. One summer, I spent the entire school break searching for old soda and beer cans. By September, I’d found enough to trade into the recycling center and get twenty dollars. It had felt like Christmas morning, and I’d bought a new pair of shoes for school. They’d been cheap and from a wholesale place, but they were new.
That wasn’t the life I wanted for us, especially not for my little brother. I’d made a plan early in life, and it was all coming together. Since I was a kid, I’d wanted to be a reporter and decided that was the path I’d take. First, I worked my ass off to get a full-ride scholarship, then I studied my ass off to graduate top of my class. After that, I got a job at the paper. This serial killer story could rocket me up to star reporter, and then hopefully I’d end up editor-in-chief one day.
It was all going to plan. In fact, it was going faster than I’d anticipated. My thought was that once I worked my way up the ladder and became editor ofThe Chronicleor another paper, my life and my family’s lives would get easier. Meeting Rick honestly hadn’t been part of my plan.
My promotion to the lifestyle and leisure section had been the key moment of my life thus far. At first, I’d seen it as reporting on gossip and pointless things, but it was a stepping stone. It was during my very first assignment that I met Rick.He’d approached me the night of a museum opening out of nowhere, flirting and asking me for my number.
He’d been aggressive in his pursuit of me. In hindsight, I should have pushed for us to take things slower, but the glitz and glamor of his life and his desire to be with me had blinded me. Some of the things he did reminded me that we led completely different lives. It was exciting to eat at expensive restaurants and go see shows I could never afford, but that wasn’t something to build a life on, was it? The longer I was with him, the more I wondered if that life with him was truly what I wanted.
Almost as though my thoughts had summoned Rick, my phone buzzed with a text from him.
Rick:I need to call you. It’s about the gala.
Sighing, I stood and went into an empty office at the back of the newsroom, latching the door behind me before calling him.
“Hey, Rick. I’m at work. Is this really important?”
“Hi, babe,” he said, then proceeded to ignore what I just said. “I was thinking I’d take you to a salon this week. I think it would be good if you got your hair done before you meet my parents.”
My stomach gurgled, but it was more to do with the irritation welling inside me than the lingering nausea.
“What’s wrong with my hair? I’m going to make it look nice.”
Rick chuckled. “Well, sure, it’s nice. I just thought we’d get you a trim, maybe some highlights, and possibly straighten it before the big night. Uh…” He paused awkwardly, then added, “Mom’s not a huge fan of curly hair. So if you get it tamed at the salon, it might make a better impression.”
My teeth ground together as I clenched my jaw. I’d gotten my mother’s raven hair with faint curls. It wasn’t like I was walking around with a perpetual perm. My hair was one of my favorite aspects. I’d always been proud of it; it was something I shared with my mother and my grandmother. The nausea and headacheswept away any inclinations I had about keeping my real feelings hidden.
“No curly hair, huh?” I snapped. “What next? She doesn’t like anyone who isn’t white?”
