Page 115 of Outspoken

“I really love your mom. She’s adorable.” She glances at me, eyes timid. “If it’s okay to ask, where’s your dad?”

My heart melts into my sneakers. What a surreal moment. We’re finally having a deep convo like I’ve been craving, but my feelings are hard to grasp. All they are right now is a strangely soothing chaos.

I glance up at the dark night sky. “No idea. He dipped after I was born, and no one has heard from him. I don’t know where he is or if he’s alive.”

“Don’t you have a younger brother?”

“Carlos. He has a different dad. His dad also split. A lot of dads do that nowadays.”

Amber nods. “They suck, don’t they?”

We rock silently in our squeaky chairs for a few moments. Though so much is uncertain between us, this is a strangely perfect moment—one I don’t want to end.

“Mom met him in Mexico,” I say.

“Your dad?”

“Yeah. He ran some company. A typical, successful white guy who traveled a lot. Mexico was one of his favorite places to visit. Mom worked as a server in a bar, and that’s how they met. She instantly fell for him and thought it was true love. He was pretty convincing.” I squeeze the arm rest. A lot of resentment always comes to the surface when I’m thinking about my dad.

I tighten my jaw. “He bought her a house in Mexico and insisted she stop working after she got pregnant with Maribel. When Maribel was born, he stayed with them a few months at a time, traveling back to the U.S. as needed for work. Then Bob was born. The way Mom tells it, those years were heaven, even though my dad left them alone most of the year. When she got pregnant with me, he started talking about marriage and wanted to move the family to Cali with him.”

“So you were born here?” Amber asks.

“Yup. He started all the paperwork while Mom was pregnant. It went pretty quick, which is unusual, and Mom and my siblings were here a few weeks before I was born. He married Mom, then set the family up in an expensive apartment. He was around for a bit until I was a year old. Mom got her green card. Then he split.”

Amber takes my hand, and I welcome the touch. My chaotic emotions are finally settling since we’re out here chatting in the peaceful night. I’m so close to understanding what I’m feeling. I may simply be content from having Amber near again.

“What do you mean?” she asks. “Like, he divorced your mom?”

“Not at first. He made excuses about why he was gone while Mom was left alone to raise three kids. He paid for the apartment and sent money for food. Then one day he sent divorce papers with no explanation. I think I was two.”

She squeezes my hand. “God, what a fucking asshole.”

I squeeze back. “I don’t know if he thought bringing her here and getting everyone citizenship was some gift, but she would’ve had more support in Mexico. He abandoned her in a foreign country, and she barely spoke English. She was alone with no job and three kids to feed. He kept sending money, but it wasn’t enough to pay Cali rent. She moved us to a more affordable place, found work, and made it through somehow. A few family members eventually came up here to help. What bugs me most is how people treated her. Employers and people she met assumed she had played my dad to get a green card. She didn’t even want to move here. She had a life in Mexico. Her family was there, and she was happy. She only wanted to be near the man she loved.” I clench my jaw, my temples aching. “I’m glad I never met the guy because I hate him. Mom was heartbroken. She honestly loved him with everything she had.”

Amber caresses my knuckles with her thumb. “She’s a tough woman. I wouldn’t have made it through that.”

“You’re tough, too, mi amor.”

She tries to pull her hand away, but I don’t let her. It fits too perfectly in mine. It feels too right.

Mi amor.

I’ve thought and said those words hundreds of times, but they’re suddenly different. They carry a new weight and intensity. Those words heat my soul and fill every part of me with a peace I’ve never experienced. In an instant, I’m a different man, a better man.

My love.

I suck in a breath, too shocked that I’ve really never felt this. Everything before this moment was only practice, and I finally understand what Paige told me so many months ago. Real love means you love without expecting anything in return. It’s not trying to push or force or convince. It’s not infatuation or want or need. It’s not an end goal or destination.

Love doesn’t possess. Love flows. Love exists in the space between two people, embracing every possibility and accepting every outcome. You simply love, even if that means letting go.

“What is it?” Amber asks, glancing at my concerned expression.

I meet her gaze and, even in the dark, I can tell she sees something new in the way I look at her. She responds by letting her eyes slip to the grass, her eyebrows heavy. The way her body sags in the rocking chair—like every burden suddenly became too much—reminds me of a night I haven’t thought of in a while. The night we met.

I stand, still holding her hand. “Can I take you somewhere?”

She doesn’t look away from the grass, chewing her lip. She nods.

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