Page 60 of A Lie so Dangerous and Fragile

THREE YEARS AGO

I was due in a few weeks, but Mrs. Rodriguez wouldn’t let me work or lift a finger at the flower shop. All I did was sit around and smile at customers, but I kept going for my daily walk with Yoselin, and sometimes, we went for a stroll to the local market for groceries, which was starting to be my favorite part of the week. Mrs. Rodriguez had told me not to worry, that she was still going to pay me. I felt awful. It was like collecting free money, especially knowing she needed the money for her husband’s medical treatment. She also wanted me to put my therapy on hold. I had been attending every session for three months now, and it had helped me to be fluent in Spanish. The first few weeks of the therapy had been hell since it was hard to communicate when I only understood a few words.

Honestly, now, the thought of alcohol made me nauseous. Hearing the stories of many alcoholics at the session had clicked a button in my head.

Javier never missed a chance to pick me up. He was never late. I found him waiting outside, as usual, when I stepped outside the small building where the therapy session was held. He was leaning on the car with his arms folded and his long hair held back in a bun that brought out his strong features and made him look younger than twenty-five.

I had promised Mrs. Rodriguez today would be my last day until I gave birth. Maybe I didn’t need to come back. I was better. If you asked me to compare the new Chloe to the old Chloe who had almost had a psychotic break, I’d write a whole book about it.

Javier rushed to my side as soon as he saw me and tried to help me walk to the car. They all treated me like a fragile piece, like one misstep would cause an earthquake.

“Gracias,” I mumbled, and he smiled, shrugging it off.

Javier had been helping me with my Spanish, correcting me when I pronounced a word wrong or had difficulty making a full sentence.

“How was your day, Mama?” he asked as he helped me into the car.

I had been helping him with his English as well. It was like a mutual thing between us. He’d become a friend I never thought I needed.

“Better. I will miss hearing Sergio’s stories.” I frowned.

Sergio was a fifty-seven-year-old man with five ex-wives, and in every session, he told stories about his failed marriages and his ex-wives that drove him crazy. It always cracked everyone up.

“Hungry?” he asked, his accent accompanying his word, as always.

“No,” I lied.

He’d done too much for me. Driving me to therapy sessions and back to the house even if he had important things to do. Some days, he took me to local restaurants to eat, introduced me to Cuban food, and I fell in love with ropa vieja, a traditional dish made with shredded beef stew. On other days, he took me sightseeing. I loved taking walks down the beach and basking in the sun.

“You sure?” He turned to look at me.

“Yesss.” I dragged out the word with a playful smile.

“Bought your favorite. Eat later, okay? Babies need food. Come out strong and beautiful like you,” he said, clenching his biceps to indicate strong.

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Thank you,” I said, collecting the plastic bag with a wrapped object inside. I was guessing it was a burrito.

“Don’t thank me, Mama. Told you, I got you,” he said, pulling out of the driveway.

I fought a smile. He never called me Chloe, only Mama. I’d pay for him to call me that forever.

I didn’t know if he knew my story. He’d been nothing but caring and kind to me.

“One last place to show to you. I know babies coming soon, and … and you leave after,” he said, taking a glance at me to make sure I understood him.

“No, I’m not leaving,” I admitted.

He looked surprised. I was surprised at my answer as well. I had been thinking a lot about it. What would happen after I had the twins? I didn’t want to return to California. I loved it here—a place nobody knew me and a place I felt safe and loved.

There were nights I stayed up in bed, imagining myself owning a small house and having my own flower shop while I also focused on the twins. Maybe try to get rid of my immigration status and call this place my home.

“Really?” His brown eyes lit up, and it made me smile. “Then, we get married,” he said.

I shook my head in laughter. He always made jokes about us getting married. I couldn’t bring myself to imagine having a romantic relationship with him. He was attractive and could get any girl he wanted, but my heart was on vacation, which might be for a very long time.

I couldn’t help but wonder why anyone would be attracted to me, a damaged being who was hiding away from her fears.

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