I sighed, my hands sliding into my pockets as I thought about it. “I don’t think it means any one thing in particular.” Her eyebrows knit together, confused, so I continued. “Like, you know how Quis’s drawing reminded you of your sister? Well, that one reminds me of mine.”
“Your sister?” she asked, her voice soft. “Did something happen to her?”
I swallowed. That was a loaded question I didn’t want to answer. And interesting enough, that tone of voice was not one I wanted to hear. Yes, I wanted to know a time when Alta could be soft with me, but not at the sympathy of my family. That seemed cheap and fake.
So, leaning forward and around her, I opened her car door, urging her in, and asking. “Thoughts?”
Honest as ever, Alta contemplated it before she said. “Truthfully, it was kind of eerie. Kind of strange, but really, really beautiful. I’ll find a good word to match it. I promise.”
And much like that first time she’d walked into my shop, I didn’t doubt her for a second.
Chapter Four
ALTA
I would not cry. I would not cry.I would not cry.
Truthfully, I was about one more underhanded comment away from bursting into tears. And maybe even worse, if one more well-meaning sympathetic passerby gave me another thumbs up or look of encouragement, I might combust into flames.
Two days. It had been two days since I made an absolute fool of myself in front of the marketing team and became not only the pushover of the office but also the bumbling idiot. Two days since I’d let that dream die.
But maybe that was the worst part of it all. Ihadn’tlet it die. Even though there were murmurs every time I passed people in the halls and swift redirecting of eyes as if everyone wasstaring at me, even though I had been severely put down by Grace the other day, even though I could easily have a career independent of this place if I wanted to. Even though all those things were true, my dream to show my family what I could do atourcompany had not yet died.
Which is what made this failure so painful.
Why couldn’t I just stand up for myself with others like I did with Harper? Why did I let everyone look at me sideways and get away with saying anything they wanted about me? Why couldn’t I just get mad when I was upset? Why was I such a pushover?
I thought about how Harper had called me a princess, or worse when he said I was a saint. It wasn’t outright insulting, but the implication that I was too good or sheltered to be taken seriously was what had stung.
It stung especially bad coming from him.
Everyone else thought I was so nice. So sweet. So… predictable. But for better or worse, whether I meant to or not, he saw a different side of me. Yet he still thought me frail and saintly like the others did.
Being with him at Ink and Mar was the only place I felt comfortable enough to be that side of myself. The self who could lash out and be not so good all the time and still be accepted, instead of treated like there was something wrong with me.
But if he just thought of me as Saint Alta like everybody else, where did that leave me now? He certainly didn’tseemlike he thought I was saintly when I’d stupidly let it slip that I wasn’t a virgin His heated gaze said quite the opposite.
I groaned.
What was I thinking? Iwasn’tthinking, that was the thing! Because for some reason I let the indignation and the need to prove I wasn’t some Saint outweighed the good sense to not spew my sexual business out for everyone to hear.
I just couldn’t catch a break.
And there was no rest for the not so wicked, since I was nowback at work. Back at my little glass desk located in the reception area of Melissa’s office suite. I hated this spot. The only reason I wasn’t with the rest of the cubicles was because I was a Fernandez. I should be out there with everybody else. No, I should be somewhere in the community rooms with the first year interns, because lord knows I didn’t do anything of value around here.
Had I ever done anything of value? Had I ever once done anything that didn’t have to do with supporting someone else? No, I didn’t think so, and maybe in the end that’s all I was ever meant to be.
Support. Assistance. A sweet little accessory to make everything feel nice.
“Al?” I looked up from the planner I was staring at and was met with an ocean of stormy black.
Melissa and my brother Ox shared the same featurization, both taking their black hair, lean frames, and taller builds from our late grandmother. A woman we never got to meet but owed a lot to. Abuela Rita was apparently the entire reason Abuelo decided to make his own way in the world. Coming out East after immigrating from Mexico instead of going West like most of the other migrants. And Abuela Rita was who Melissa was the spitting image of.
Now, Lis stood there looking down at me with the weirdest expression on her face. Her eyebrows pinched tight, while her arms crossed loosely over her waist. Her mouth was turned down in a frown.
This was weird.
She didn’t usually come by to talk to me at work. She never had the time. And lately, without our younger sister Ceci or our sister-in-law, Clementine to serve as a buffer, we didn’t really spend much time together one-on-one. So why was she approaching me now, looking at me like something was wrong?
