Page 26 of Every Version of You

“Not yet,” I wince as I look both ways before crossing the street back to my townhouse. “We’re telling everyone this weekend.”

“Please video call me when you do. I have to see their reactions in real-time. Mamá is gonna kill you.”

Chapter 10

June 28th

Angie

“Idon’t feel good, Raf,” I announce as we pull into the long driveway of my childhood home.

“No?” he asks, bringing the vehicle to a stop behind several other familiar cars. “Is it your stomach? I have your ginger chews and Tums,” he says, putting the Range in park and digging through the center console.

“It’s not that,” I whine. “I’m nervous.”

“It’s not like your dad has any room to judge. He got your mom pregnant out of wedlock.”

“I know,” I sigh. “I can’t pin-point why I’m nervous. It's just… It’s a big deal what we’re about to do.”

“I get it. Like by telling them, it’s officially real.”

I let out an unladylike sigh. “Yes.”

His body turns towards me as he rests his head against the seat and smiles. “Yeah. But it’s been fun pretending so far with you,” he says, playfully leaning into my worry. Firmly grabbing my hand, he brings it up to his lips and kisses the back of it. “Let’s go make it real, Angel.”

When my stomach flips for an entirely different reason, I take the opportunity to open the door, but Raf gently chastises me. “Absolutely not. I’ll get your door,” he says, jumping out of the SUV and running to my side.

He’s been doing this a lot more lately—the extra layer of chivalry. There’s always been a certain low level he’s maintained throughout our friendship, but it’s reminding me of all our trips to Mexico. As soon as we land, he always kicks it up a few notches. I’ve played it up to the culture there. Men, no matter if they’re a stranger, a friend, or an abuelo, always treat women with reverence. At least that’s been my experience. Doors are always open for me. I’m expected to serve myself first (or be served first). Chairs are made available to me as soon as I walk into a room. I expect it when we go to Mexico—I don’t expect the same level back home. Apparently Rafael’s chivalry is alive and well here in the US now that I’m pregnant.

Can’t say that I hate it.

He’s wearing another white Henley, pushed up to expose his strong forearms, and a pair of navy blue chino short-shorts that some people might find indecent from the way his massive, hair-dusted quads bulge.

Me.

I’m some people.

Damn rugby thighs.

Offering his hand for me to grab as I step down, Rafael eyes me appreciatively, but his gaze takes a longer drag over my chest. “Is that a new dress?”

It’s a sleeveless, red maxi dress with a low v-neckline. I love it because it’s stretchy, flowy, and has pockets.

He’s seen it before.

What's tripping him up that he’s not putting words to are my growing tits. While I’m ecstatic at their size, I’m not so thrilled about how sensitive and achy my new C cups are.

“I’ve had it for years actually,” I smile, stepping onto the concrete driveway as he hums something that sounds an awful lot like appreciation.

As we approach, 1salsa music is playing from the outdoor speakers, which means Ana has taken over the music already. We’ve disguised tonight’s announcement in the form of an early Independence Day cookout, but it’s no less nerve-wracking as we round the side of the house to the back yard, where Christina is cooking on the grill and Dad is pointing to the foul-smelling meats while holding a beer bottle—most likely questioning Christina’s grilling abilities, which are far superior to his.

The backyard is nearly a half-acre, which is much larger than most of the other houses in the neighborhood, but our house is the smallest by far. We didn’t have much money growing up, and after Mom died, it got even tighter. Dad still works as an engineer, but since all his kids have moved out, he’s been able to cut back on the side projects he did to make ends meet. Small engine repair was what kept us afloat mostly. Everything from push lawn mowers to motorboats my dad could fix. So while he was out financially supporting our family, I was emotionally supporting them at home. He would maintain the house, and I would maintain the family.

Again—parentified child. I might have been upset when I found out what I had become, but it never made me love him any less. It’s complicated between us, yet lately, I can’t help but feel like something’s changing with him.

When Dad spots us, he abandons Christina and makes his way towards us with his arms wide open. “Hey, bunny,” he calls to me, using the first nickname I was ever given thanks to a stuffed animal I was attached to as a baby. His hug is tight and comforting.

“Hey, Dad. I missed you.”

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