Page 19 of Monstrosity
Increase presence around the community center. Fuckers are here too.
The response comes back immediately:
Already on it. Perimeter secured.
"You're being weird," Dasha observes, settling beside me on the bleachers. "More weird than usual, I mean."
"Thanks for that."
"I'm serious, Rio. You've been on edge all day. Checking your phone constantly, scanning exits like you're expecting trouble." She pauses. "Is this club business?"
"Something like that." I watch Cali chase the soccer ball across the field, her purple socks bright against the green grass. "Nothing for you to worry about."
"If it involves you, I worry about it." The words slip out before she can stop them, and I see her flush pink. "I mean?—"
"I know what you mean." I turn to look at her fully, noting the way the afternoon light catches the gold flecks in her brown eyes. "And I don't want you to worry. That's the whole point."
"The whole point of what?"
"Of keeping you safe." The admission slips out before I can stop it.
Her breath catches. "Safe from what, Rio?"
Before I can answer—before I can decide whether to tell her the truth or deflect again—Florencia scores a goal and comes running over to us, face glowing with pride.
"Did you see? Did you see me kick it in the goal?"
"We saw,mija." I scoop her up, spinning her around while she giggles. "You're getting good at this."
"Dasha taught me how to aim," Florencia announces. "She said you have to look where you want the ball to go, not where it is."
"Smart advice," I agree, meeting Dasha's eyes over my daughter's head. "Sometimes the hardest part is knowing where you want to end up."
"And sometimes," Dasha says softly, "you're already there and just too scared to admit it."
The moment stretches between us, loaded with everything we're not saying.
I want to tell her that she's right, that I've been where I want to be for months now, but too afraid to reach for it.
I want to admit that the thought of losing her the way I lost Flora makes it hard to breathe.
But before I can find the words, practice ends and we're swept up in the chaos of collecting gear and corralling sugar-high kids.
"Dinner?" I suggest as we load into the truck. "That new Italian place?"
Cali perks up immediately. "The one with the good breadsticks?"
"That's the one."
Dasha agrees, and twenty minutes later we're seated in a corner booth at Mama Rosa's, where I have clear sight lines to all exits and can position myself between my family and anyone who feels dumb enough to try me today.
The girls chatter about school and soccer while Dasha and I share the silence of two people who've done this dance hundreds of times.
She orders the chicken parmesan, I get the lasagna, and we split a bottle of wine while the girls argue over who gets the last breadstick.
It's so normal it makes my chest ache.
This is what I want—this easy family dynamic, this sense of belonging, this woman across from me who makes everything feel possible.
