Page 44 of Wasted On Us

These feelings are wild, untamed, and I’m not ready to define them, even to myself. All I know is that she’s captivated me, and I’m willing to see where this dance of the heart leads.

As I walk toward her, I flash Abuelita a tired smile, bracing myself for the inevitable questioning. I’m not ready to pull the curtain back on this stage of my life just yet, but I know it won’t be long until Abuelita’s intuition cuts through my defenses. For now, though, I’m content to keep this secret close to my chest, to savor the sweetness of a budding romance that’s mine and Eden’s alone.

“How was your weekend?” She beams, standing up from the couch and crushing me in a hug. She smells like Mazapan, and I can see a few of the candy wrappers littering the coffee table with their characteristic red roses on the label.

“Really nice,” I admit. Abuelita pulls back from me, searching my face and staring into my eyes for a bit too long. She licks her thumb, wiping at something on the side of my jaw, and laughs when I try to dodge her.

“I see that look.” She shakes her head with a knowing smile, leaving me to go sit back down on the sofa. She picks up one of the candies from the table and offers it to me. I ate more than enough sugar on the drive back here with Eden, but I can’t turn Abuelita down, especially not when she’s giving me sweets. “I have seen this before. In your father. Even many, many years ago in myself. You’re in love. I will admit that at one time, I thought it might never happen.”

“I like her,” I insist, putting a good deal of emphasis on the l-word I’ve chosen. “I like being with her.”

“This is your longest relationship.” Taking one of the wrappers, she folds it and unfolds it again, the plastic crinkling between her fingers. “This is the only time you have ever gone away with a woman. And now you come back even more smitten than when you left? If I was not seeing this with my own eyes, I would not believe it.”

“Is everyone monitoring my social life?” I didn’t realize that she was actually counting. Is there a calendar she’s keeping? A journal or ledger somewhere with dates and times, names of women she’s seen me with or heard me mention in passing? I hope that list doesn’t include Lucy. Abuelita doesn’t need to know about that.

“Only those who love you.” She picks up the pillow next to her, fluffing it and setting it against the arm of the couch before patting the empty space on the cushion. “Come sit and tell me about this woman. If you love her, then I love her, but I still want toknowher through your eyes.”

“She’s coming to the cookout,” I explain, watching her eyes grow wide. Just telling someone else makes it feel like it’s more likely to happen, like I’m making a contract with the world. We can’t back out if other people are expecting us, right? “You can meet her and talk to her. But no trying to influence her with stories about me from when I was little.”

Abuelita whistles to herself, long and low, a mischievous grin on her face. “Wow. You’re serious about her. You’ve never brought anyone home before.”

She’s right. I haven’t. Not even my prom date. I let Abuelita take photos of just myself before I went over to her house and had her parents take pictures of us together. For a moment, I wonder why I never have. And why I’ve been so afraid of bringing Eden here when I know that the person who matters most to me will love her no matter what.

Maybe I should have never catered to my father and put the mending of his broken heart over finding a love of my own.

Then I hear his truck in the driveway, and the sound of his key in the front lock, and I remember how we’re bound together by the loss of the greatest woman this world has ever known. With that on top of mind, I guess we’ll see how this weekend goes.

Chapter Nineteen

Eden

I have to wonder to myself if it’s only a compromise if both sides lose. That’s what it’s felt like all day, anyway. Dread has coiled in my stomach like a snake, making a simple cookout feel like my last meal before being walked to the gallows. Not that I don’t want it to work. It’s just the opposite. This feels like our only chance. If I can get my parents to warm to Mateo without labels or names, then maybe they’ll start to change their minds about the whole García family. It’s like a blind tasting. Only the consequences are that I never get to see him again and my dad loses all the faith and trust in me that I’ve spent my whole life trying to earn.

Maybe that’s why my hands are shaking so badly that I’ve spilled mayo on the counter twice while trying to toss this potato salad. At least I was smart enough to put on an apron or else there’d be vinegar and mustard on my sundress too.

“Are you going to be okay?” Reaching past me with a paper towel, Ensley blots up the mess on the counter. I told her and Elowyn about our plan earlier this week, and they both agreed not to let our parents in on any of it. I don’t know what the cost of their help is going to come out to exactly, but I’m going to owe them for this. Big time.

“I’m going to live, if that’s what you mean. I’m so nervous that I’m sure this has negatively impacted my blood pressure for the next few years, but I’m fine.” I pull my apron over my head and set it in the laundry room, taking a moment to check myself out in the mirror there. Ensley follows me the whole way, like a concerned parent worried their kid is going to throw up before the big game.

“You know Dad. He’ll never say anything to Mateo’s face. He’ll save it for you later.”

“So much to look forward to, right down to no escape because I live here.” The words spill out of me, echoing in the space between us, and even though they’re masked with a tinge of humor, the reality is far from funny. My laugh is hollow, devoid of any real mirth.

It’s not Mateo that unsettles me—it’s the colossal weight of the disappointment that shadows my father’s gaze when he looks at me. Like I’m a puzzle that he’s been trying to piece together, and somehow, the picture he’s constructed isn’t aligning with the one he had meticulously envisioned for his middle daughter. I know I’m different. But just like everyone, I only want to be loved for who I am right now, not who he wishes I would be.

There’s this profound pain that accompanies the prospect of disappointing the person who’s supposed to believe in you the most. It gnaws at the corners of my mind, persistent and unyielding. The knowledge that I’ve let him down in some way stings like salt on a raw wound. He’s my dad, my first hero, and the thought of falling short of his expectations feels like failing a test I didn’t even know I was taking.

And yet, his constant interference in my life, his unwillingness to loosen his grasp, is suffocating. He hovers, a perpetual helicopter parent who still views me as his little girl. His intentions may be noble, but his methods are smothering. My independence is crucial to me, a prize I’ve fought hard to claim. But he continues to loom, his presence a constant reminder of the perceived missteps I’ve made when I didn’t even know what the rules were because he never said.

I wish he’d realize that being an adult, being independent, means having the freedom to make my own mistakes. I wish he’d understand that my choices are just that—mine. His old-fashioned views, his patriarchal inclinations, cling to him like a second skin, and it frustrates me, infuriates me even. Just because he can’t comprehend my choices doesn’t mean they’re wrong. His needs, his expectations—they’re not more important than my own, and they don’t get to dictate the rhythm of my life.

All I want is for him to accept me as I am—flawed, independent, unique Eden. Not as the child he wants me to be, but as the woman I am. I long for him to see my strength, my resilience, and to trust in my decisions. Like Mateo does. And that’s the main reason I’m falling so hard and so fast. For the first time in my life, I feelseen. And accepted. Even admired for the things that I perceive as flaws.

But until my dad figures out that love isn’t conditional, I’ll continue to exist in this dichotomous state, yearning for his approval and at the same time, striving for my own independence.

Because at the end of the day, fear always takes over and keeps me from standing up for myself.

“Guys, I think Mateo’s here.” Elowyn hisses at us from the doorway, vibrating with excitement. Drama is always so much fun when it’s someone else’s. “Unless there’s another muscular guy with brown hair carrying a six-pack and a bouquet of lilies that you were expecting to show up in our driveway today.”

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