Page 169 of From Rivals to I Do

"Great. So, you don't have to hover over me anymore. I got it."

She stared at him, wordlessly offended. How dare he talk to her like that! "You're not perfect, you know," she said. "If you screw up, no one's going to blame you. I'm the one who is going to get the bad reviews, not you. If you screw this up—"

"I'm not going to screw this up," he said mockingly. "You said it yourself. Making pizza is an easy job. You could get any guy on the street to do it, remember? So, get off my back already."

She gaped at him, shocked. "Who do you think you are talking to like that? I am the boss, and communication is a part of the job. So why are you making this so difficult? I hired you strictly for your brother, but maybe this is not the job for you."

They glared at one another for a long moment until Abel took off his apron and tossed it on the floor. "Good luck with your employee search, Ms. Nunez."

Furious, she watched Abel walk away, out of the kitchen and out the front door. She wanted to stop him and thought he did a decent job, but his attitude stunk.

Chapter three

Chapter Three

Rafael and Abel's house still looked the same as it did, except for a few changes. He and Rafael had made so many memories in that home, both good and bad. When Abel got out of jail, he was amazed that Rafael could keep it together all these years. The little two-room bungalow had gone through quite a bit over the years. The old screen door that Abel and Rafael used to race each other through in the summers was gone, and in its place was a new screen door that slammed shut on its own whenever he walked through it. The windows were still the same, old and drafty. Someone had repainted the shutters, so they didn't look as old as they were. Someone had patched the roof a few times, and the front porch was still white, even though the paint was peeling. When Abel first got home, he thought the house looked like a kind of imposter to the one he'd grown up in, painted in spots and patched up, even a little smaller than Abel remembered, but regardless nothing was like home, and he was glad to be back home after being gone for ten years.

That day, he came home hours earlier and expected to see Rafael sitting in the front living room. When he wasn't there, he counted his lucky stars and went to the kitchen to get a drink. Rafael had just gone to the grocery store and bought Abel's favorite; Ham and cheese sandwiches with an ice-cold root beer.

Sitting in the kitchen, he thought about how he'd managed to screw up such an easy opportunity. Camilla was a good teacher, and he was a quick learner. Fortunately, Learning how to make pizza was child's play. It might have worked out great if she wasn't breathing down his neck every second.

He took his sandwich and soda pop out to the back porch and sat on the step, trying to figure out how he would tell Rafael that he had messed up. It wasn't his fault, he decided. Camilla was content harping at her staff and micromanaging Abel. Abel was not that guy, and Camilla wanted to ride his back the whole time. He could not work under those circumstances. Surely, Rafael would understand.

About halfway through his drink, he wondered where he had met Camilla. She seemed familiar to him; he had met her before he went to jail and did not remember. The neighborhood wasn't big, and he imagined that if he hadn't gone to prison, Abel might know where he'd seen her before or maybe even her family. Abel wondered if his brother and Camilla had dated, and perhaps that was the connection. Although Camilla was a tough cookie to crack, it did not change the fact that he thought she was pretty and, in some ways, was attracted to her.

He heard the front door open as he finished his sandwich and drink. He waited, listening for Rafael to come into the kitchen, silently rehearsing what he would say about his day. Then, a second or so later, he heard the back door creak open, and Rafael said, "Hey, 'mano."

"Hey," Abel responded.

"So," he said, coming outside and sitting next to him. "How was your first day?"

Abel found himself smiling and diverting the nervous energy written all over his face for impending doom. "Bad."

Rafael cocked his head. "Bad? Bad how?"

Abel took a breath and said, "Me and Ms. Nunez do not get along. She was all down my back about everything. 'Get the orders right,' 'Say the orders back to me.'" He shook his head and looked down at his empty drink, wishing he had grabbed two sandwiches.

"So?" said Rafael. "She is the boss. She's supposed to break your jewels. That's what bosses do. It will be better tomorrow."

Abel paused. Better to tell him and rip the Band-Aid off. "I'm not going back."

Rafael glared at him. "Excuse me?"

"She was too hard on me, okay, for no reason. I was doing good. I got all the orders out, and I got them all right, and nobody complained, but I guess that was not enough—"

"Just tell me you didn't quit," he said. "Abel. Tell me you did not quit."

Abel didn't say anything for a moment, and Rafael scoffed, swearing in Spanish. Abel half expected him to smack him on the back of his head.

"You idiot!" he said. "Did you forget it is part of your parole to have a job, stupid? So, you need a job, or they'll put you back in jail."

"I'll get another job."

"Where?? 'Mano, you were in for a felony charge. Nobody is going to hire a felon fresh out of the joint. I cannot believe you right now."

"Raf—"

"I handed you a job, Abel. Handed it to you, and this is how you treat it?" He stopped himself, getting up and pacing behind him on the porch. Abel turned around to him.

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