Page 91 of Taming Liberty

“Think she’ll come back?”

He shakes his head, his lips pursing. “Nope. She doesn’t live in this country, so there isn’t much to come back to.”

I don’t say anything, and he gives me a side look. “She’s an American too. I met her last summer when Michael took us to Palm Beach where his parents live.” He leans as he looks out the window at a trio of street performers doing a dance.

I flex my fingers curled around the wheel and try out small talk, knowing I’m horrible at it. “Why’d you break up?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Apparently, I’m an asshole.”

I can’t hold my chuckle in, and he looks at me like it isn’t at all funny. I sober and clear my throat. “Sorry.”

The tension in the car gets denser, but I don’t think it has anything to do with post-breakup blues. We’re hitting the residential neighborhood where my family lives.

“Mamá says I look like Papá,” Sam sighs, his voice soft and low. He turns his head to look at me. “Is that still true?”

“I’m not sure.” My eyes stay trained on the road as I turn onto my parents’ street. I’m a coward not to look him in the eye, but I can’t manage it. “I haven’t seen him in a long time.”

He faces forward, his fidgety body going rigid as I pull into the driveway. Luis’s car is here, and I’m glad. I need all the help I can get playing interference.

“I want to see my abuela first.” His voice is shrill, but I pretend not to notice.

“Sure thing.”

I turn off the car and climb out. Sam is slow, but he follows behind me. I put a hand over his chest to stop him when he goes to walk up to the porch. His eyes are wide with anxiety as he looks at me.

“Do you want to wait out here for a minute?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

“Are you sure?” I consider spelling out to him what could happen but refrain. He knows. Julia made sure that he’d be prepared.

“I’m not a little kid.”

I tilt my head then bring it back up with a shrug. “Me either, and I want to piss my pants right now.”

He doesn’t laugh or even acknowledge the comment.

I sigh. “Just remember, not all of these people matter. We’re here to see your dad and abuela. Both of them love you very much, and—”

“Can we just…” he gestures toward the door. He holds onto one elbow, his feet shuffling.

I pause with my mouth open, then close it with an exhale. I don’t know if I’m stalling for his benefit or my own. “Yeah, all right, let’s go.”

We walk up to the door, Sam trailing behind me, and I square my shoulders before pounding my fist on the wood. There must’ve already been people in the living room because the door opens after only a few seconds.

Luis’s eyes widen when he spots me, and I push by him just as his mouth opens. “Angel.” He spins and follows after me, Sam right on my heels. “This may not be a good time.” He touches my bicep, but I shrug him off, heading for the stairs.

“What the hell are you doing back here?” My father’s voice hits my back before I ever reach the first step. His Spanish is clipped and slurred, his drunken state evident in every syllable.

I slowly turn while Sam shoves his hands in his pockets and stands close to my side, not looking at anyone.

“Papá,” Luis says, already trying to de-escalate things.

Papá’s eyes constrict when he registers who is with me. His already blushed cheeks grow a deep shade of red, and his hands fist at his sides.

He stomps toward us. “You son of a bitch!” he spews. He stabs a finger at Sam. “Get that bastard out of my house before I call the police.”

Sam tucks himself behind me before I step up to my father. “He has the right to see his father more than you have the right to see your son.”

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