Page 63 of Sweet Little Lies
Chapter 24
Mica
It’s been three days since I’ve seen or even heard from Lance.
Our schedules haven’t meshed all that well since he started back at practices. I knew it would be difficult, and of course I don’t begrudge him for his crazy schedule, but it feels like it’s something more than that. Like he’s ignoring me on purpose. Until now, he’s never not texted me – even when he’s been busy, he’s always responded to me.
Things between us were going so great over the summer and into fall. It’s the longest either one of us had ever been in a relationship and it just felt right. Although I told myself not to, I fell in love with him. Maybe I’d been in love with him all along, since the first conversation we had when he first nicknamed me Georgie.
My heart feels like a piece of Swiss cheese; the holes punched through every time I don’t hear from him or he tells me something that my intuition suggests isn’t the truth.
It bothers me and makes me angry with myself that I have this inkling of distrust. Part of me chalks it up to my mother and sister constantly making negative comments about Lance.
“He’s not like us, hermana,” my sister had said.
“You deserve someone so much better, hija,” said my mother.
I’m always defending him. Defending what we have together. After not hearing from him for days, I wonder if they’re right after all. I question whether what we have is strong enough and will last.
Maybe I was just a summer fling to him and now that he’s back to the life he has led for the last four years, he doesn’t want me anymore. Maybe the constant supply of hoops hunnies have made him reconsider what he really wants.
Gah. Why am I suddenly so insecure? My jealousy is driving me crazy and turning me into a nervous nelly.
All these negative thoughts swirl around in my head as I play with my niece and nephews in the back yard of my parents’ house. I’ve been in a nasty mood all day, pining over Lance and wondering what I did to cause this riff. My mood is so nasty I’ll probably bite the head off the next person that talks to me.
“Hola, Micaela.”
My back stiffens slightly when I hear the voice I’m so very familiar with, yet dread hearing.
Turning slowly, I paste on a friendly smile and look up at Alberto Silva who has come up behind me.
“Hola, Alberto.”
The kids chase each other around in circles and I have to corral little AJ who is eager to toddle over to the older kids. Picking him up, I nestle him into my chest, using him as a form of protection. He happily sucks his thumb and wraps his other chubby little arm around my neck, unaware of my ploy to use him as a diversion tactic.
My skin prickles as Albert steps in closer. His large body presses up behind me, and his hand comes down to touch my shoulder. I have on a strappy tank top and his big, sweaty palm sends ribbons of unease down my back. Anyone looking out at us would only see just a friendly touch. But I feel his thumb working its way underneath the thin spaghetti strap and I quickly dislodge him by stepping forward and shuttling AJ over to his brother and sister.
Alberto clears his throat and out of the corner of my eye I see his hand land at his crotch as he adjusts himself.
Gross.
I don’t understand why I’m the only one who sees how sleazy Alberto really is. He’s this two-faced person; the one my parents and family see is the hard working, business owner who is a pillar in our Hispanic community. The one they look to who provides jobs to those in need; who trains young Hispanic men to earn a living and gain a skill; who helps troubled youth.
And the other man is someone who creeps me out by the way he stares at me with lust in his eyes, finding ways to corner me when no one else is around. Breathes heavily in my ear and makes comments about how ‘sweet I smell’ or ‘sexy I look’.
He continues to get bolder the longer this charade goes on. Each time he finds me alone, it’s like he takes more privilege with me. And I know he won’t stop until I put an end to it. He’ll grow more careless and forward until something I don’t want to have happen, happens.
“You look so maternal with these ninos,mi amada,” he says in Spanish, his voice low and laden with innuendo. “I imagine what you would look like carrying a baby inside you.My baby.”
Yep, there it is. I shudder with disgust.
“You know I’m not ready for children. Or marriage, for that matter.”
I’ve walked over to the other side of the jungle gym equipment and suddenly he’s right there behind me again. If someone were looking outside at us from the kitchen window, they wouldn’t see his hand sliding up the back of my thigh to my butt.
Once again, I step out of his reach, but not before I hear him say, “You don’t need to be married for that, my sexy angel. I would gladly plant my seed inside your hot, ripe womb. You good girls always want a bad daddy.”
Fear overcomes me, but not before a wave of nausea hits my stomach. Does he even hear himself? What a disgusting pig.
