Page 4 of The Enemy

“Congratulations, I hope it’s everything you ever wanted.” My soft tone made him flinch.

What if you could have me? Would you pick me?

My own thoughts haunted me. They made me feel like a naïve little girl. Why the hell did I ever think he would pick me over this?

“Well, now that the voting is done, I want to say thank you for everything.” I took the files from my envelope, dropped them on the table, and watched in satisfaction as several members’ faces paled. “Have fun cleaning up this shit show.”

The one thing about me was that people mistook my silence for weakness. I wasn’t meek; I was calculating.

If I wasn’t going to be given a fair shot, then they could watch me as I set my own family's legacy on fire.

There was a smile on my face and a weight off my shoulders as I walked out of the meeting room. My family's legacy might be dying, but I had just been reborn.

ONE

LOURDES

Seventeen years old

Mymamá’sbeautiful smile stared back at me. The photo was taken on the day of my quinceañera. She looked lovely and radiant, and I still struggled with the fact that she was already sick then…she was already dying, and I never knew it.

My lower lip quivered as I remembered the day my parents sat me down and explained what was happening.

Anger.

Sadness.

Betrayal.

Incompetence.

I felt a myriad of emotions during her last few months with us. I felt selfish for being angry with her when she had so little time left, so I had to put it in the back seat.

Blinking away the tears that threatened to spill, I picked up the frame and looked at the photograph. We were both in emerald gowns. Hers was an off-the-shoulder velvet gown with a demure slit on one side, and mine was an obnoxiously puffy gown with accents of lace gold and a sweetheart corset.

I looked like a princess.

It was the first time I thought I looked beautiful and grown-up. Unlike my other friends, I wasn’t allowed to wear makeup or whatever I wanted. My mother was strict on what clothing I could wear.

Todo a su tienpo, mi amor.

All in good time.

She loved that phrase. I guess I was lucky she was a bit more modern than her mother because she said she wasn’t allowed to do her eyebrows until she turned fifteen. She had mine done before anyone could bully me about them. Thanks to her, I had thick, dark, perfectly arched brows.

She always told me to enjoy my childhood because there would come a day when I would regret wanting to grow up fast.

Today was one of those days.

I set the photograph back with a sigh.

My father’s new girlfriend was coming over for dinner today.

How could he move on when I still had a hole in my heart?

It had been over a year since we buried my mom. Maybe part of my disconnect with her death was the fact that her resting place was so far away. Although I knew we carried the people we loved in our hearts, I didn’t have a place I could go sit and talk to her. We held her memorial here, and then father, myself, and my mom's best friend flew out to Mexico so we could bury her in the same place where her parents rested.

Picking up my phone, I looked at the time and ignored the pang I felt as I looked at my screensaver. Some days, I was okay and accepting that she was gone. Other days, grief hit me like a freight train.

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