she thinks there’s money inside. The fifty dollars Ellie owes me. She’s really going to cut me out of her life.
It gets worse as the week goes on. I barely sleep, and when I do, my dreams are full of her. She’s so beautiful, under me, over me, coming on my cock in every possible position my brain can come up with. I don’t know how many times I wake in the night with my hand wrapped around my very hard dick, jacking myself and then feeling like shit about it after the euphoria fades. But it’s not only the sex. I miss her; her company, her laugh, her advice. God, the guilt for screwing things up so badly and the resulting exhaustion grate on me to the point that I’m snapping at my guys at work and my family at home. I can barely stand myself.
By Thursday evening, I guess my grandmother has had enough of my bad temper because while I’m loading the dishwasher, she gets my attention with a firm, “Mijo.”
I look up.
“Please, sit down.” She gestures to the kitchen table.
Groaning internally, I slide onto my chair, sure I’m about to get a lecture. I should have guessed something was up when she sent the girls out to the back yard to play after dinner.
“Tell me what’s going on.”
I blow out a tired breath. “Nothing’s going on, Abuela.”
“Is it your job? Is it not working out?”
“The job is fine.”
“Then what is it? You’ve been peevish all week. Are you worried about Lolita? Because I –”
“Definitely not,” I say with finality, because the situation with Lolita, who I haven’t heard from since the girls’ choir debacle, is the last thing I want to think about right now.
She sighs heavily as if she doesn’t appreciate my lack of cooperation in her quest to get to the bottom of my peevishness. “Is it Jorge? Is he causing problems for you?”
I shake my head impatiently, already weary of this. “No more than usual.”
“It’s a woman then,” she announces.
My eyes flip up to hers in surprise. “What? No!” Except I can feel an embarrassing flush creep up my neck.
Inexplicably, my grandmother grins like I’ve given her the world. “That’s wonderful news, mijo.”
Despite the further denial that’s on the tip of my tongue, my disbelief at her reaction gets the better of me. “How’s that?”
“A woman is exactly what you need.”
Say what now? My grandmother and any woman that I need don’t belong in the same thought, let alone in a sentence that’s spoken aloud.
“Yes,” she says, her enthusiasm gaining ground. “A novia. So wonderful.”
Good grief. Not just a woman, but a girlfriend now? “There’s no novia, Abuela.”
“I suppose not. Not with the way you’ve been moping around all week. What happened? Does she not care for you as you do for her?”
I balk. “Who said anything about caring?”
“Please, mijo,” she says like I’m twelve. “If you didn’t care for her, you wouldn’t be this out of sorts.”
Exasperated, I tell her, “I’m not out of sorts. I’m . . .” I don’t know. What am I? “It doesn’t matter what I am. We’re not right for each other.”
“Oh? Why do you say that?”
“I . . . we’re . . .” I flounder.
“Why don’t you tell me about her? What’s her name?”
A heavy pause hangs between us. I don’t see what good can come from talking about this, but my grandmother is not a woman who can be put off. “Her name’s Ellie,” I finally admit.
She smiles. “And?”
“And she works in a coffee shop while she goes to school.”
Her eyes widen with what can only be described as dismay. “High school?”
“No,” I laugh. “She’s in her last semester of college.”
Her relief quickly becomes interest. “Really? What does she study?”
My shrug has us both frowning. Why don’t I know that? In fact, as my grandmother quizzes me about the only woman I’ve felt a connection with since Lolita, I don’t know a lot of the answers to her questions, not even her birthday, or exactly how old she is or where she grew up.
“I don’t understand, mijo. If you’re not sure about so much, how do you know she’s not right for you?”
“She’s not Latina.”
The surprise on my grandmother’s face is unnerving. “So? What does that have to do with anything?”
My mouth opens and then closes as I try to come up with a reasonable explanation for the one person I’d never thought would need one.
“You want her to be Catholic?” she supplies.
“What?” I scoff.