Page 75 of Along Came Amor
He held up his tablet. “This is tactile and I can take notes on it with a stylus.”
“You have your way and I have mine,” she replied tightly, pulling her planner back.
Roman hid a smile. On his tablet, he opened a spreadsheet titled “All About Ava” and in the “Likes” column, he added, “Paper planners and fancy office supplies.”
While he disagreed with her on the functionality of a well-organized spreadsheet, she was certainly right about keeping track of research in one place. He’d started this document after the engagement party, adding everything he knew about her—likes, dislikes, the names of her family members he’d met at the party, and so on. He had a whole section for the Primas of Power, a moniker he found fascinating.
“About the Primas of Power...” he began.
She looked up from her planner. “What about them?”
“Where did the name come from?”
Her gaze softened, as if his question evoked a sweet memory. “The year I was in kindergarten, and Jas and Mich were in pre-K, our dads were in charge of our Halloween costumes. You know the superhero pajamas with the little capes you can stick on your shoulders with Velcro?” When he nodded, shecontinued. “Jasmine was Wonder Woman, Michelle was Supergirl, and I was Batgirl. Michelle dubbed us the Primas of Power, and the name stuck.”
Roman’s mouth pulled into a grin at the thought of it. “Are there photos?”
“Of course.” She tapped her phone screen a few times before passing it to him. “It’s the main photo for our group text.”
Roman put his glasses on and took the phone. His heart lurched in his chest as he stared at the picture. All three girls wore leggings, rain boots, and what looked like knee-length nightgowns with little capes attached. The front of each nightgown bore the logo of the superhero they represented. Ava’s was purple, with the Batman symbol in yellow and black, and a yellow utility belt printed directly on the fabric.
The photo had been taken on a short set of concrete steps leading up to a house. Jasmine and Michelle were hamming it up for the camera—Jasmine stood on the middle step with her chin held high and her hands fisted on her hips, and Michelle was on the top step, balancing on one leg with a fist thrust into the air like she was flying. Ava, already much taller than both of her cousins, stood on the bottom step. Instead of succumbing to the silliness of the moment and pretending to be punching or kicking a bad guy, she posed with her hands clasped tightly in front of her, a sweet smile on her adorable little face. She was the embodiment of five-year-old decorum, and his heart broke for this child who already felt the need to suppress, to restrain, to hide. What had it cost her to keep still while her cousins played? How many times over the years had she held back in exactly this manner?
He wanted to ask her, but the questions made his heart hurt,and he didn’t want her to withdraw further. So he just cleared his throat, said, “Cute,” and returned her phone.
The picture made him think of his own childhood, the way he’d started hustling at a young age to help pay the bills. His mother hadn’t wanted him to worry about their finances, had begged him to just be a normal kid. But when she hadn’t been able to stop him, she’d used some of the money he earned on activities for the two of them, like ordering pizza, going to the movies and buying popcorn, taking trips to Rockaway Beach or the Prospect Park Zoo, or eating in an actual restaurant.
Making money had meant he and his mom could have fun together. Things had been hard, but they were happy.
“I looked for my father once,” he murmured, not sure where the thought came from or why he was saying it aloud.
Ava’s head lifted, and even though he wasn’t looking directly at her, he knew he had her full attention.
“Oh?”
He swallowed. This wasn’t something he talked about with a lot of people. “After I opened the first hotel. It occurred to me that he might come crawling out of the woodwork to ask for money. You hear about stories like that all the time.”
She nodded but didn’t say anything. After a moment, he went on.
“My mom wouldn’t give me details, but she talked to the private investigator I hired.” He shrugged. “It was a short search. The guy was dead. Car accident when I was nine.”
“I’m sorry,” Ava said quietly. “That must have been hard to hear.”
Roman nodded. It had been hard, in a myriad of different ways.
He’d expected the news to be a sort of relief. His father wasn’t going to reappear to hurt his mother or make Roman’s life difficult. But it had come as more of a blow than he could have imagined.
All those years, he told himself he didn’t think about his father, but it was a lie. The specter of the man who’d sired him had hung over his head, the possibility of him a constant companion, even if the man himself hadn’t been. As a child, he’d imagined all kinds of scenarios where the guy came back. Roman had pictured how he’d react—with rage, with cool detachment, with scorn. And in some cases, even with acceptance. As he got older, his responses changed, but he’d never considered that his father would just be... gone. All those years, the man was dead, existing only in Roman’s thoughts. Roman had invented a life for him that hadn’t, and would never, be.
The investigator had put together a document with information he’d managed to dig up, but Roman had deleted the file without opening it.
“He wasn’t a villain,” his mother had said, when he finally talked to her about it. “He was just young, and he didn’t want to be a father yet.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that hewasa father.”
Dulce had only shrugged. “Honestly, it was a relief when he left. It was easier to be alone than to rely on him and have him constantly let me down.”
Roman had no sympathy for men who broke promises and abandoned their responsibilities. It made him think of Ava’s ex-husband, the asshole who’d promised to love her forever and then cut and run without even having the decency to try to work things out. Although if he had, Ava would probably still be married to him, and then where would they be?
