Page 42 of Saving Bonnie

“The tortillas,” I reply, pointing to the masa. “Grams would be devastated to—”

“Oh please, Bunny.” She swipes her hand, dismissing my concern as she sets her phone down. “I just told you that to keep you busy and out from underfoot.” She heads to the storage room. “If we’d been able to buy good, ready-to-cook tortillas, like you can find now, we would have ordered them in a heartbeat.”

Seconds tick by as her words sink in. I had to suck in a deep breath because I lost the ability to breathe after that blow. The building blocks of my life are crumbling around me.

Manny folds a taco, bringing the aluminum around with a practiced move then frowns. “You okay?” He takes a sharpie to the foil, labeling the taco before reaching for the next one in assembly line fashion.

Meanwhile, I have no idea how to answer him. “It’s all been a lie…”

“And I suggest you take care of that first thing,” Mom suggests, tying on an apron. “Once the courts and the banks open tomorrow, you’re going to get really busy.”

My eyes widen with the realization. “Maybe I should hold off on telling anyone.”

“Too late, baby.” She shakes her head. “It’s going out by Cappy-gram.”

“What?” My heartbeat echoes in my head.

“I texted Cappy and said he might want to skip coming in today since you’re so busy with the menu changes.” The phone rings, and she reaches for the receiver. “When he asked what changes, I turned off my phone.” She chuckles and winks as she brings the phone to her ear. “Bomberos,” she greets, without missing a beat.

“Ay, Dios,” my great aunt says from the doorway. “I’m going to need ten more Hail Marys if I’m going to wear one of those hussy aprons,mija.”

I turn to Manny, trembling hands at my stomach. “I may be sick.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Bonnie

“Mom,” I exclaim, exasperated. “Quit telling people we have a new menu.”

“I may end up running a little late with your order,” she continues, ignoring me. “The delivery truck hasn’t come in yet, and we were swamped yesterday.”

Well, at least she added a grain of truth to what she said. Yesterday was a beast. Thankfully, Mom was tired enough to leave with our aunt because she was dead set on drilling me about Tino.

After such a long day, I only did the necessary cleaning. No additional pass with bleach on the floor of the dining area. And the seats got a dowsing with disinfectant spray and little else.

Mom cuts the till at the end of the day. I can’t muster enough strength to be shocked when she gives me the day’s earnings. We actually made three times as much as a typical Sunday. And the one person I want to share the news with isn’t around.

I run my teeth along the inside of my bottom lip. Why didn’t I at least hear him out? I was so angry at him for wanting me to change what I’m doing that I didn’t listen to what he suggested.

Something between regret and shame churns in my stomach. I was unfair to him. I lumped him in, expecting him to be like every other guy I’ve been with. One thing I can say for sure is he’s not like anybody I’ve ever met before.

He was actually trying to help me, and I blew him off. Now I feel like the little piece of scum around the edge of the sink drain. The one everybody misses until I get there to do a thorough cleaning. Oh hell. If I wasn’t so annoyed about him walking out while I was talking to him, I might feel bad about it.

It’s almost noon and, for the first time, maybe ever, I don’t want to be here. I’m tired from last night, tired of worrying, tired of not meeting my own expectations. As much as I complained about being pushed aside, I did the exact same thing to the one person who’s actually tried to help me.

I grab a chunk from what’s left of the mountain of masa, pull some off, and toss the rest back.

Mom ends the call, pulling the ticket and setting it beside Manny. “Did you call the delivery service you use about bringing in some flour tortillas?”

It’s not enough I overslept this morning, and my arms have all the substance of overcooked celery. “I have Noah going by the grocery store to buy enough to see us through the lunch rush.”

“Perfect.” She smiles, looking across the table in front of me.

Manny picks up the latest ticket, raising a brow. “Cobb Salad?”

“Mom, stop creating new items for the menu,” I add with a pointed look.

“What new items?” She has the gall to try looking innocent. “You have salad greens, tomato, cheese, bacon, eggs, chicken breast, and avocado.”

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