My sister bats her eyelashes at me, a huge, self-pleased grin plastered on her face.Traitor.
“Mija,” my mother says, reaching for the cream, “your father and I wereconcerned.”
Here wego.
They don’t call me all summer andnowthey’reconcerned.
I shoot my sister a dirty look across the table, but she avoids my glare and rubs her ginormousstomach.
My parents sit on either side of me at a small four-top table, right next to the table I sat at with Ethan and Logan that one time. God, that seems agesago.
“And why is that,Mom?”
She gives me that look, thatyou know what you didlook.
I give her one in return.Seriously, I have noclue.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I wait her out. She likes the buildup. The drama. My Mexican mother is where I get all my crazy, so I know how thisgoes.
“We called you, Tori. Your sister says we haven’t called, but we have.” I start to shake my head, but she cuts me off. “¿Por qué me dices queno?”
Why do you tell me Ihaven’t?
I pull out my phone and wave it around. “Maybe because I have this thing called a phone, and it never rings with calls from you. Either ofyou.”
Not sure why being around them makes me whine like a teenager, but two minutes at this table with them has me crawling out of my skin with anxiety. At Ethan’s, I’m all cool, calm, and collected, but seated next to my parents and sister, I’m the fucking basket case everyone thinks Iam.
I’m twenty-three. I shouldn’t care that my parents don’t call me. Isoooget that. But I care. More than I want toadmit.
“You guys didn’t really drive from Corpus to argue about this, did you?” I shift in my seat, wondering why today of all days they’rehere.
“No,” my dad interjects. “We wanted to make sure Katherine’s nursery was all setup.”
A part of me is disappointed they’re not here for me, but I nod. I get it. They adore my sister. Hell, I adore my sister. She’s why I considered working for Ethan in the first place. It makes sense my parents would want to check on Kat since she’s sopregnant.
My mom digs into her purse. I sit back, knowing it could take a while before she ever finds what she’s looking for in there. Toothpicks, antacids, a sewing kit, an extra shoe lace, mints. All shit she lines up on the table in her search at the bottom of the faux leatherbag.
Then she waves her tiny red flip phone. “Mira. Aquí.”Look. Here.With the speed of a turtle, she opens it, turns it on, and waits for the device to light up. Finally, she holds it to my face. Like, right to my face so I have to lean back to actually read thescreen.
I see my name and mynumber.
I blink a fewtimes.
Huh.
“Um. Mom. That’s my oldnumber.”
She makes a face. It’s theSee, I’m right. As usualface.
“What? I told you I changed it last spring.” She lifts an eyebrow that warns me I’m going to hell if I lie to mysanta madre.“I left you guys a message. Swear toGod.”
“Don’t swear.” She crosses herself, likely making a mental note to say a rosary for her heathen daughter this Sunday atchurch.
My sister snickers across the table, and we all turn toher.
“Aww, you guys! I’m just so happy we’re together. We should do this more often. I love having you in one place.” Tears well in her eyes.Oh, Jesus.No.
I sigh, feeling too wrung out to get emotional right now. Ethan’s court date is the day after tomorrow, and I’m on pins and needles for him. I can’t get all worked up in my family’s version of atelenovela.
