Page 108 of The True Garza
“Why would you plan a date when I told you I just want to talk?”
“We can talk after dinner.” He lifts the flap of the bag. “Damn. There’s alotta containers in here.”
On the largest container is a Post-It note. I reach out and peel it off before he can, then read aloud, “On the menu for my greediest son: Cheesy lasagna rolls, crab cakes, stuffed Cornish hens, garlic biscuits, garden salad, and pineapple cheesecake for dessert. Drinks are non-alcoholic fruit mocktails.”
“Well, shit. That’sa lotof love,” he muses, which makes me giggle.
We remove the containers and pop the lids one by one, getting bowled over by one delicious aroma after another.
“Your mother is pretty amazing for preparing all of this for you.”
“She loves cooking for us,” he agrees. “It’s the one thing she never complains about.”
“Ugh, those crab cakes look so good.”
He transfers one onto my plate. “What else?”
“Uh,everything?”
He chuckles, and as I stuff my face with crab cake, he ladens my plate with food.
“How did you choose this spot?” I ask around a mouthful of food. “It’s stunning up here.”
“I flew here for a meeting two weeks ago. Thought about you….”
“You thought about eating dinner up here with me? Or just fucking me?” I bite a piece of garlic biscuit. “That’s rhetorical, by the way. I already know the answer.”
He unscrews the cap on one of the thermoses and fills both our glasses. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Not being able to give you what you want.”
I pause mid-chew. “I’ve never asked you for anything, True.”
He nods. “I know.”
We eat in silence for a while, before he says, “CanIask you for something, though?”
That gives me pause again. True doesn’t ‘ask’ me for anything. He commands. He demands. He takes. He knows the limits with me. Which means whatever he wants toaskfor will be unfair and self-serving. So, I answer, “No.”
“One more week,” he goes on anyway, because he’sTrue Garza. “That’s all I’m asking for. One more week, and I’ll leave you alone.”
Why’s he making this difficult? “What’s the difference between now and a week from now? Depending on my roster, we probably won’t even get to see each other during that week. Especially if I have a double shift.”
“Double shifts are always optional. Youchooseto do it for the triple pay,” he reminds me. “And one way to guarantee we see each other every day of that week is to stay with me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t go home. Stay with me for a week. Go to bed with me. Wake up with me. Eat with me….”
Why is my stupid heart so excited at that prospect? Why is it taking a break from pumping blood? Why is my tongue twitching to agree to what he wants?
“Do you think that’s fair, True?” I set my fork down. “There’s no way you don’t know I’m seeing someone.”
His jaw tics. “It’s one week. You won’t fucking die if you don’t go on a date for one fucking week.”
Well, if that’s his attitude, then, “No.”
