Page 22 of The Right Garza
This makes me cackle. “How old is she now again. Fourteen?”
Monica snorts. “I wish. She turns seventeen in three months.”
“Damn.”
“Yup.”
Monica is the biological mother to only two of the Garza siblings—Tripp, the youngest son, and Tillie, the only daughter and last child.
Word on the street is that Flavio Garza was a big-time playboy who had an obsession with black women, so all of his children are half-black, half-Italian. There are rumors that he has a son in France as well as another set of twins in England.
Trenton and Trueman’s mother was a successful burlesque dancer in Vegas who saw them as an “accident” since she and Flavio were merely friends with benefits. She wasn’t keen on being a mother and spent the first couple years of their lives resenting them. When Flavio married Monica, and the twins started spending the weekends with her, they would bawl their eyes out when it was time for them to go back to Vegas. Eventually, Monica proposed to adopt them, which their mother happily agreed to. Tripp was born soon after, then Tillie. Years later, after his mother died, Torin came to live with them.
Flavio told me and my sister all of this one afternoon while he was dropping us off in town. It was maybe two months before he died. I remember him being emotional about Monica, telling us how grateful he was for her, how strong she was and how she “saved” him. I’d only half-listened to his ramblings that day while I played games on my phone, but after he died and I saw how Monica had juggled it all on her own, without complaints, while being exceptionally graceful and never cracking at the seams. All I could remember was Flavio singing her praises. She is one hell of a woman and my admiration for her knows no bounds.
“Trenton tells me you’re helping him out with something?” she says as she adds a fresh batch of fritters to the skillet.
I am?“Uh, sort of.” I rest my hip against the counter, loving the aroma of her saltfish fritters. I’ve always enjoyed watching her in the kitchen. Her style of cooking is so different from ours. Two different cultures. “I got myself in a pickle and he helped me out. So now I kind of owe him.”
“Were you always in contact with him? Because he always made it seem like you weren’t.”
“Oh, no, we weren’t,” I say quickly. “We ran into each other in Vegas.”
“Hmm,” she muses. “It was always gonna be him, wasn’t it?”
“Huh?”
“Oh, nothing.” She tucks away a secretive smile, as if she knows something I don’t. “I was just thinking that Torin will be happy to hear you’re back.”
Pfft.That sorry ass, emotionless prick who showed not even an ounce of remorse after I confronted him? Who couldn’t have cared less that he hurt me? Oh, please. “I doubt that.”
I remember how pissed Monica was when she found out Torin and I were dating in secret. Not only had he been too old for me, but she didn’t support teenagers dating. She said where she was from, teenage girls ‘dating’ was a big no-no. Even if they were at the age of consent, mothers would still whoop their daughters’ asses if they found out they were talking to a boy let alone having sex. So suffice it to say, Monica didnotsupport our relationship.
“I don’t know, but I believe there’s more to that breakup than you think, Lexi.”
This pulls a frown from me. “What do you mean?”
“It’s—”
“Mom, have you seen my—Oh, my God.Lexi?”
Tillie barges into the kitchen and halts when she sees me, her face splitting into a grin. She’s the spitting image of Monica and is fast approaching her height. I remember how she used to follow me around whenever I was here, sit on my lap or between my legs whenever we were playing games or watching movies. But she’s all grown up now, filled out in all the places men will appreciate.
“In the flesh,” I say, mirroring her grin.
She breaks into a skip and crashes herself into me. “It’s so good to see you! I nag Miss Mendez all the time about when you’re coming home.”
The last year or so withstanding, I came home all the time, I just make an effort to avoid seeingthem. Mama knows, too, which is why she doesn’t let on when I come or go.
“It’s great to be back,” I say. “You’re so tall and…filled out.”
She giggles and pushes my shoulder playfully. “I can’t stay a kid forever.”
“I wish you would,” Monica grumbles. “Everyone’s grown up and moved out. You’re my last baby.”
“I’m sure one of your boys will give you a grand-baby by the time Tillie goes off to college,” I say.
She scoffs. “With those boys, I’ll die waiting.”
