Love on the Ledge

  “So tell me straight up that you haven’t been salivating over that boy since he fell at your feet? Tell me you two don’t make eyes at each other from your balcony and the lawn.”

  “Fuck,” I say. “That was you peeking through the blinds?”

  She smirks with her pink lips. “I know attraction, and you two have it. Don’t lie.”

  “I think this is the turn.” I point to the exit, and she makes a hard left.

  “We came here last month and it was so good,” I say, forcing the subject to change. “We should get one lobster mac-and-cheese to go.”

  When I get out of the car, my heart hammers in my throat and my legs go a little weak. They’re closed.

  “When was the last time you spoke to them?” River asks, leaning on the hood of her car.

  “July! They catered Pepe’s Fourth of July party! That’s when we hired them and put down a deposit. Someone called me three weeks ago to confirm, and we sent in the check. Oh my God, this is horrible…what am I going to tell the uncles? They’re so busy as it is. How am I going to find a new place?”

  River holds her hand against the glass. “Maybe they’re just closed for today?”

  I point at the glaring sign that says “Closed for the rest of the summer.”

  “This is horrible!” I start pacing. “What do we do? Most places require months in advance to fill orders that big.”

  “Sky, chill,” River says.

  “Chill? That’s easy for you to say.”

  “Because I hate responsibility? True, but also because we’ll find something.”

  “What?” I ask, smacking my hands at my sides. “The wedding’s in three weeks. What am I going to tell Pepe and Tony?”

  River lights her cigarette and shrugs. “Have you considered not telling them?”

  “What?”

  She blows smoke and the wind carries it away from us. “Before you blow that pretty little head of yours into smithereens, let’s go into town and ask around.”

  “But—”

  “I know it sucks, but trust me. Okay? No need to get the uncles upset if it’s not necessary.”

  I nod and follow her back into the car.

  That’s the thing about River—she might shy away from responsibility, but she’ll never leave you hanging.

  • • •

  We drive around town and stop at our favorite restaurants. Each manager I speak to gives me a sympathetic face with a notice that they’re booked solid. The reason Pepe and Tony picked Deep Blue Sea was because they love seafood. The only other seafood place in town is solidly booked for every other wedding in the Hamptons.

  “What about this place?” River drives past Margarita Grill. “Don’t you come here to eat alone?”

  Side-eye, side-eye, side-eye.

  “I come here for lunch,” I say.

  “Alone.”

  “You know,” I say, “you go out alone, too. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “I never leave alone,” she says, salaciously.

  “You’re impossible.”

  She leans over and kisses my cheek. “What’s wrong with this place?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with it, but it’s one-note.”

  “You’re kidding me, Lopez. Is this your wedding or theirs? I’m sure the uncles will be happy with whatever as long as someone cooks for two hundred.”

  I look down at my lap. She’s right. Maybe I have been treating this like my wedding. It’s not like I want to get married now. It’s not like Bradley and I were engaged.

  “It’s hard to explain,” I say. “It’s like everything I’ve been doing has been leading to this. Now that it’s gone, I’ve lost more than my path. I lost my endgame. Holy shit, I don’t have an endgame.”

  “Look,” she says, “we’ll find something. Let’s go online and make a list of places nearby and then hit them up this week.”

  River turns the key and revs the engine. Nice families run across the street. Cars drive slowly enough that no one bothers to look both ways. Then, my heart nearly jumps out of my chest when I see a silver Mercedes zoom down the street. It almost clips a woman with a stroller, which makes everyone shout after the car. I sit up and try to catch the license plate number, but it’s long gone.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I say. Actually, everything. Everything is wrong. “I think I just saw a ghost.”

  Maybe not a ghost. Maybe just my ex-boyfriend.

  Chapter 8

  River steps on it, but we drive around and around without a sign of the silver Mercedes. She glances at me with a worried look on her face. I looked at her like that the last time she was in trouble.

  “Everyone here has that car, Sky. Doesn’t his family go up to Cape Cod during the summer?”

  I nod, clutching my purse in my hand. “You’re right. It’s like relationship PTSD or something.”

  “When was the last time you spoke to him?”

  “The day I left Boston.”

  “Sky…” she takes her eyes off the road long enough to make me look at her. “I wouldn’t judge you.”

  “Last month,” I say. “He called just to talk. To ask me back. I said no. He calls every now and then but I don’t pick up. I don’t get it. He can flash his smile and his Amex and get any girl. I just want him to leave me alone.”

  When she pulls up in front of our house she flashes me a smile. “That’s the thing. You aren’t just any girl, Sky.”

  Before I have the chance to thank her for keeping me sane, my mom comes running out the front door. She pulls me out of the car before River even hits the parking brake.

  Ma’s wearing her nice silk blouse, the kind she only puts on when we have company so they won’t see her in velour pants and at-home t-shirts.

  “Ma, what are you doing?”

  She pulls me into the house, past the foyer, through the kitchen, and into the dining room where everyone is having lunch.

  Leti looks up and gives me a warning glare as she bites into a BLT. She shakes her head. I’ve seen this look before, when we were at her quinceañera and her mom made us dance with “nice boys from her church.” Leti looked at me sideways and muttered, “Run,” under her breath.

  I can see her mouth the same thing right now. “Run.”

  Except I can’t. Everyone’s staring at me. Aunt Cecy’s fanning herself with a tacky metallic fan, Maria and Ass Grabber Greg look up smugly from their sodas, Uncle Peter pops the top off his beer with his teeth, and Las Viejas press their hands to their hearts and sigh like schoolgirls.

  Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope.

  There’s a stranger sitting at the table. He isn’t eating. He’s tall, dark, and devilishly handsome in that manicured way. His facial hair is trimmed so neatly, I bet he has to get it shaped professionally. His hair has the right amount of lift at the front, his eyebrows are thick and long, and there’s not a stray hair for miles on that glistening, smooth forehead.

  He looks over his shoulder, and I can feel his rich brown eyes check me out. He starts with my toes. I haven’t gotten my nails done in a couple of weeks, but the color hasn’t chipped. Pink and happy, the color I get when I want to make myself smile.

  I remember my mom’s warning this morning. “Wear something nice today. I’m tired of seeing you in a bikini top and sandy shorts.”

  She knew.

  Run.

  It’s a trap.

  Then he looks at my legs, freshly scrubbed, shaved, and oiled after my morning run. I threw on a blue dress the color of Hayden’s eyes.

  Wait, what? The color of periwinkle flowers.

  Because my mom yanked out my ponytail band when she rushed me out of the car, my hair has that weird crease in it. I can feel her smoothing it, raking my hair back like I’m a prized poodle.

  “Xandro,” my mom says. “You remember Sky. She’s a nurse. I was telling you before.”

  Xandro gets up from the table, and I hear someone call him a gentleman. He’s tall and muscular
. His blazer is so white it reminds me of the time I left my whitening strips on my teeth too long. His tank underneath is the color of medium-rare salmon, which makes me think of seafood, which makes me think of Deep Blue Sea, which reminds me that the restaurant is closed and that I have to tell everyone.

  I take a deep breath.

  “Look at her,” Grandma Gloria whispers. “She’s nervous. Que linda.”

  I vomit a little in my head.

  Xandro extends his long, thin fingers out to me. They could be a piano player’s or a violinist’s fingers. Bradley had long, strong fingers, but he sucked at any of the fancy musical training he had received over the years. His hands were good for beer pong, and well…other things.

  I shake Xandro’s hand, wishing I could shield myself from his dark stare, and, oh yeah, the other dozen creeps in my family watching our exchange.

  “Sky,” I say, “but I’m sure you already know my blood type with this crowd.”

  He laughs. How is it possible to hate someone’s laugh instantly? It is. There’s something about it that makes my skin crawl. It’s like he’s humoring me, like “oh, you’re cute.”

  My mom presses her hands on my back. I can hear keys jingle in the entrance and feet scurry upstairs. River, that lucky bitch. My mom ushers me two steps closer to Xandro so I can smell his saccharine cologne.

  “Xandro is Jimena’s son,” she tells me. “You remember don’t you? They used to live next door to us in Queens?”

  I vaguely remember a primping little boy who got picked up and dropped off in a special school bus. Special because it wasn’t the yellow public school ones I had to get on. The neighborhood kids picked on him every chance they got because of his freshly pressed uniform, the careful sweep of his hair. A nickname comes to my lips and slips out, “Strawberry.”

  Xandro’s polite smile snarls for a moment. “No one’s called me that in forever.”

  My cheeks are red, but not for the reason everyone suspects. “I’m sorry, I just—”

  He corrects his frown and smiles again. “It’s fine. That was a long time ago. I’m actually renting a house in the neighborhood.”

  What a nice way to say how rich he is without actually saying so.

  My mom’s face is beaming, surely hoping I’ll fall madly in love and pick out curtains for the rental. “Go wash your hands and join us for lunch.”

  I take a step back, smiling politely. “River and I just had lunch. Thanks.”

  My mom gives me a look that tells me I’d better shut up if I know what’s good for me.

  “But there’s always room for roast beef,” I say, running off to the guest bathroom. I splash water on my sweaty face. My mind is already a carousel of thoughts, and I don’t need to add Xandro to it. Then again, living with my family already feels like being at a never-ending circus, so why not.

  When I come back into the dining room, I see a couple of bills exchange between Leti and my cousins Yunior and Mike. Yunior sees me first and shoves the money in his pockets. They’re taking bets! With family like this…

  “I don’t remember you from the hood,” Yunior tells Xandro.

  “That’s because you’re too young, mijo,” my mom says. I haven’t seen her smile this much in years. “Xandro, tell us about your practice.”

  Xandro takes a napkin and drapes it over his knee. He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he tells us about Gonzalez and Gold, the nip/tuck operation out of South Beach.

  “I was thinking of getting a little bit done here,” Aunt Cecy says, pulling at her already stretched out face.

  Xandro leans forward and says, “You should wait at least six months for this operation to heal.”

  My cousins snicker and giggle as Aunt Cecy’s face turns red.

  “Ay, Cecilia,” my mom tells her. “You don’t need that stuff.”

  Xandro realizes the mistake he made, too late. “She’s right. You don’t need any more work. Beauty runs in your family.”

  Oh sweet Christ. I pile a bunch of roast beef on my bread. My mom reaches over and takes a few slices off. She glances at Xandro. God forbid he sees me eating. I take the jar of mayo and spread on a healthy helping.

  “Xandro,” my mom says. I hate the way she says his name, like he’s halfway to becoming a god and she’s looking for his supplication. Please, Xandro, please take my hopeless daughter in exchange for this sandwich! “Would you like something else besides the salad?”

  “Sure,” he says. “That roast beef looks great.”

  I take a bite and speak with my mouth full. “It’s really good.”

  Yunior shoves a bill into Leti’s hand under the table. Normally, I have better table manners, but this is what they get for ambushing me like this.

  “Sky,” my mom motions to the spread. Oh hell no.

  I laugh. “Oh, you want me to make the sandwich?”

  Leti cough-laughs into her hand. I shoot her a look that should kill.

  I take a knife from the table and cut my sandwich in half. I have a flashback of family parties where the women would be in the kitchen and the men in the living room. Even as a little girl I was taught to fix a plate for my father, my male cousins, my uncle. Like they couldn’t get off their lazy hides and make one for themselves. So now, I cut my sandwich and drop half on Xandro’s plate.

  “Sky!” Maria scolds me.

  I smile at our guest. “Hope you like mayo.”

  He chuckles, like I’m the funniest girl in the world. Then, much to everyone’s surprise, he eats it. Cousin Mike hands Leti some more money. I’d better see half of that cash since they’re betting on my humiliation.

  “So,” I say, “how come you’re in town?”

  “I’m looking at some property. We want to expand to New York.”

  “Sky’s not working right now,” Maria says. “Maybe she can work for you. If not, I’m sure she’d appreciate some references.”

  “It’s okay.” I say. “I’m not going back to the hospital.”

  “When did you decide this?” my mom asks through polite, gritted teeth.

  I shrug. “Just now. I’m going to get my masters in Psychology and Children’s Development.”

  Xandro looks overwhelmed. “Well, if you change your mind—”

  “I’ll let you know.” I take the open bottle of wine chilling in a bowl and pour myself a glass. I can practically feel the steam blowing out of my mother’s ears.

  “You know what would be nice?” Aunt Salomé asks. “If we all went on a family dinner before the wedding. What’s the place that’s doing the catering?”

  I cough wine onto Xandro’s blazer. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. Hiccups.”

  He smiles through his teeth, but the little vein on his forehead throbs. He takes the dozen napkins getting shoved in his direction. “It’s fine. I have to go to the cleaners tomorrow anyway.”

  “Why don’t we have a barbeque instead?” I suggest. “You know how loud we can get, and they’re not really equipped for a big group. Or better yet, a wine tasting!”

  “Count me in,” Leti says.

  “Great.” How is it possible that my heart feels like it’s pumping in every part of my body at once?

  “Of course you’re invited, Xandro. You and Sky should catch up over lunch.”

  “We’re having lunch now,” I point out.

  Xandro checks his watch—a sleek silver Movado. “Actually, that would be great. I really have to go, but I’ll pick you up tomorrow at noon.”

  “I can’t—” I start to say, but my mother cuts me off.

  “She’d love to.”

  Xandro takes my hand and presses it to his lips. “I can’t wait to see you again, Sky.”

  When he leaves, I sink into my chair. Las Viejas talk amongst themselves and wonder what our children will look like. They comment on what a nice young man he is, and isn’t it nice what he made of himself. No one, not a single person asks for my opinion.

  Leti comes over and takes a seat beside me. “They bet you w
ould agree to go out with him.”

  Yunior smiles smugly and holds his hand out to Leti. She slaps a couple of twenties into his open palm. I snatch them up.

  “Hey!”

  “Easy now. Leti still won.” I count a hundred bucks and divide them between her and me. “Technically, technically, I wasn’t the one who agreed.”

  Chapter 9

  Later that night, my phone rings. When I see the number, I get one of those hot flashes that covers your body from your toes to the crown of your head. I hate that his name has that effect on me still.

  Bradley.

  Well, it’s just his number. Even though I deleted it, I still know it by heart.

  I changed the old song that was attached to it—“Born to be My Baby.” I know, cheese much? But that was our song. The first time he sang it for me was on a drive to his parents’ New Hampshire cabin. The road was rainy, and all we had was a gray sky and a staticky radio. So he turned it off and looked at me with those baby blue eyes and started singing.

  Now his number plays the generic phone chirping.

  Sometimes, I want to be a little weak. I want to pick up the phone or return the text message. There’s nothing wrong with a little weakness. It means my heart’s still working even though I’d like to think I’m dead inside, that I’m made of steel. I’m not. I’m flesh and blood, and a little part of me will always want Bradley because the hurt can’t completely erase the good.

  But tonight, I let the champagne wash away the weakness. I lean back in my chair and embrace the lonely night. I opt for a little bit of steel, and let the phone ring out.

  Chapter 10

  I skip breakfast and lie in bed with the sun streaming through my window, reliving the last couple of days. The one image that keeps resurfacing is Hayden’s face when I left him on the beach. It could also be because the roofers are here. I can hear their boots on the roof, their hammers against nails. I know if I look out the window I’ll see Hayden working on the gazebo. Every day, my aunts and cousins bring him lemonade in exchange for one of his brilliant smiles.