Chapter 12

12

By Friday, Nadia, my sisters, Tenn, and I are all in the front yard, looking at a dozen or so cardboard boxes sitting neatly in the back of a truck Tenn borrowed from his best friend Abe. "You about ready?" Tenn asks, wiping the sweat off his brow. He looks over my shoulder at Sage, and he gives her a wink I'm sure she's just blushing and swooning over. I roll my eyes, but I can't help my smile. I'm not sure Sage would've stuck around Cranberry if it weren't for Tenn. Plus, he's thoughtful and sweet and easy on the eyes, too. He's going to make an amazing papá to my nephew.

"Yup," I say, and then all the ladies rush to hug me. Nadia and Sky in particular squeeze so tight, I feel like the wind is slowly being knocked out of me. "Jesus, women," I grunt. "It's just a fifteen-minute drive!"

When we all pull back, everyone's wiping their eyes. "Shut up!" I look at the cloudy sky so that the tears can go back in. "Stop crying!"

"You stop crying," Nadia tells me while sniffling. "Here." She shoves a small wicker basket in my hands.

I wrinkle my nose. "What the hell is this?" Inside are weird, dry-looking black things. I would say it's dried herbs, but I don't think I've ever seen Nadia let an herb rot before it was dried.

"Seeds," Nadia tells me. "I had a dream and I know you need them."

I roll my eyes, but I'm not really annoyed. Latine women, we're always telling each other about our dreams, our feelings, our knowings —to check in, to warn, or even just as an excuse to reconnect. It's a blessing to be loved in this way. Only a fool would think otherwise.

"What in the…" Sage says, looking in the basket, and then she grins. Soon that smile turns into a laugh. "Oh my God, no way ."

"What?" I glance around. "What in the world?"

Sky shrugs. "I know about as much as you."

I about stomp my foot. "Will someone tell me what's going on?" As the only response, Nadia is now laughing with Sage.

"We better get going," Tenn tells me. He gives Sage a kiss on the mouth and runs a hand over her still-flat belly. "I'll meet you at work."

"See you there." Sage is still laughing, and no matter how many times I ask, neither she nor Nadia will say what these ugly, weird-smelling seeds are.

I can't stay and berate them until they tell me. Nadia and Sage and Tenn all have work, and Sky has a job interview at St. Theresa's, the church Nadia practically raised us at. Carter's got a one-hour window between jobs in which he's expecting me, so he and Tenn can help me get my boxes in his place.

I climb in the truck and wave at my family. "Text me as soon as the interview's done," I call at Sky, who shoots me two thumbs up.

And then we're off. I don't let myself cry, or think, or even speak on the way to Carter's. I don't wonder about his mysterious abode I don't know a damn thing about, even though Sky has been waxing on its beauty pretty much nonstop since the wedding. I don't think about how that address he texted me last night—2848 Sea Green Boulevard—is now my new home.

I just keep telling myself as soon as we find my mom, I'm going to be fixed. I'm going to be whole again. And after that, eventually…I'll end up being wanted, too. The way Nate wants Fern, or Tennessee wants Sage.

Eventually, someone will want to marry me for real.

When Carter said he lived in the community called Sunset View Cabanas, right next to the beach, I assumed his house would look like all the rest—cookie-cutter with beige side paneling and yards covered in lime green European grass up front, with the backyards butting up to the sandy beginning of the shore. The people who live here give their homes a "unique" feel by shopping at Kirkland's and Home Goods, leaning virtually identical WELCOME planks next to their front doors, hanging up artificially distressed beach décor proclaiming Sandy Toes and Salty Kisses alongside HOME IS WHERE THE BEACH IS .

But Carter's house is different. Its siding is deepwater blue, for one. The front and back yards are framed by what appears to be a legitimately distressed, tall fence—chipped turquoise paint revealing the warm wood beneath. There is no beachy-themed signage full of cliché ocean proverbs over the tiny porch nor anywhere on the entrance, for that matter. Flanking the camel-colored wood of the front door are massive terra-cotta planters filled with herbs—cilantro, mint, Cuban oregano, and Mexican tarragon. That's it.

The door opens as Tenn and I walk up, each with two boxes in our arms. Carter stands there, looking like he can hardly believe we're here. "You made it."

I want to ask, Did you really think I wouldn't show? Am I that unreliable? But instead, I raise my eyebrows and smile and say, "Yep," before hauling my ass inside to deposit the boxes in the front hallway.

It takes us only two more trips to get everything in. I'm catching my breath as Tenn and Carter do that weird man-hug thing where they slap their hands together and then each other's backs as they lean in. Tenn turns to me and pats me on the head. "Congrats, y'all." He lowers his voice as he kisses my cheek. "Anything goes down, you can come stay with me and Sage anytime. Day or night." I can't help but smile at the offer. I don't think anyone thinks I'm in danger with Carter—unlike when I was still with Johnny—but it feels good to know that people still care about me like that.

And then Tenn heads out. He's gone so quickly, I wonder if it's because of how awkward things feel now that I'm here. I put my hands on my hips and survey Carter, who then shoves his hands in his pockets and clears his throat in my direction.

I feel like he wants to say "Welcome" or "Here we are," but he holds back, keeping his expression a really weird mix of uncertain and stormy. He inclines his head past the front hallway, indicating for me to go first. When I do, my jaw drops.

The living area is this wide-open floor plan, the back of which is stuffed with a series of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the misty beach. The floors are hardwood, the kitchen open and off to the side, full of smooth, shiny cabinets in aquamarine framing slick, stainless steel appliances that look brand new and untouched. There's an island nook with barstools, a little dining table between that and the couches and love seats that surround a cast-iron fireplace. A large flatscreen is mounted on the wall. The furniture is modern yet rustic, stylish yet comfy.

"Jesus, Carter," I say. "You own this place? Like, not-renting-actually- own it?" Even renting would seem impossible to afford.

Carter's jaw tightens. It's driving me crazy that he won't give me anything right now. After I kissed his neck at our wedding, he's been acting so distant and dumb. Is this how it's gonna be? Me trying to act normal while he acts like he hit his head and any kind of relaxed, joyful emotion just fell out of his body? "I bought it myself. With cash."

My jaw drops further. "Your grandmother gave you your money already?"

If he clenches his jaw any more, he's going to get TMJD in the next minute, I swear. "I bought it myself. Abuela Erika hasn't paid me yet."

My jaw drops once again, or maybe even further. Carter…he's never been rich, has he? Not this rich, at least. He's been working since he was a teenager, making sandwiches and rice bowls, serving at a swanky restaurant uptown, bartending at Lost Souls, and now he works full time at Cranberry Rose, doing what, I'm still not sure.

"I saved money, Teal."

Like that explains it. He'd have to make this kind of money to save it first, and I know for a fact that he spent many years using his paychecks to help with his mother's, and later his sisters', bills.

When he sees the look on my face, he adds, "You know Abraham Arellano? He's really good at investing. He can turn a dollar into a fortune." Carter shrugs. "He helped me a few years back, when Mami needed me to cover rent…the mentoring sort of all turned into this." He lifts his hands and sighs, like this conversation is boring the shit out of him. "Come on, I'll give you the tour." His tone is flat, like he would rather be eating a bowl of nails, and it's also dismissive. This conversation is over. Time to move on and see where I'll be sleeping for the next year.

I fold my arms over my stomach and clench my own jaw as he points. "Living room, kitchen." He leads me down a hallway next to the kitchen. "Workout room, bathroom, bedroom." He moves fast, too fast for me to really see anything. Still, one detail about this house doesn't escape me, and soon it may as well be a flashing red sign in my head.

"Carter. Why is there only one bed?"

He sighs and runs a hand over the stubble of his chin. He's dressed really casual—gray sweatpants, an old shirt cut into a tank top, the arm holes so big I can see the sides of his chest and some of his abdomen. It's working for me, unfortunately, so I force my gaze to the topic at hand—the bed. The only one bed.

"The living room couch turns into a pull-out. So if you're really uncomfortable with—"

"With sharing a bed with my fake husband? Carter, I barely share beds with men I'm actually with."

"You were with Johnny for six years. Didn't you stay at his place all the time?"

"Well, yeah. But not in his bed." Carter stares at me until I explain, "Johnny didn't like how I looked first thing in the morning. I used to spend the night on his couch so I could wake up early and brush my hair and put on makeup."

Carter's fists clench and he closes his eyes briefly. "Please tell me that's not true."

I huff. Now he wants to act like he cares? "Fine. It's a lie. I just lied my face off. Johnny used to love sharing the bed with me. He would just hold me all night. And I never woke up to him needing to have sex with me, whether I wanted to or not."

Carter leans against the wall, his hands still fists. "Jesus. Teal. Is he still at that place on Broadway? I'm going to fucking go over there and—"

"Enough." I can't stand here and listen to Carter go all white knight on me, especially since he's been treating me like shit in his own way since we got married. "I'll sleep on the pull-out. Whatever."

Carter pauses and then lets out a long sigh. "If that's what you want."

"If that's what I want?" I can't help but snap back. " I'm not the one allergic to being in the same room as you, you know."

Carter's eyes widen in dismay. "What the hell are you talking about, Teal? I have no problem sharing a bed with you. You're the one getting weird about it."

"Hey. I don't have any issues with bed sharing, or dancing, or having to touch and kiss each other for show. I'm perfectly fine with all kinds of affection! I'm Latina, for God's sake!"

I don't even realize I'm yelling until Carter raises his voice back to me. "Fine! So we'll share the damn bed, then!"

"Fine!" I scream back. "We'll sleep next to each other all night, every night." I lower my voice. "But if you so much as wince in my direction if I accidentally get too close to you, I will move to the couch. And if you make a single comment about how my face looks in the morning, I will camp in your backyard. After carving up your face with a syringe."

He growls. Like, legit growls, and the hairs on my arms stand straight up, and not in an unpleasant way, either. "You can't camp out there. There are rules about campfires." He turns away, crossing his arms. "And how the hell do you carve someone's face with a syringe, anyway?"

"Shut up." The idiot's trying not to laugh at me and he's failing. I can tell by the way the side of his mouth is squished up like a dried apricot. Plus his shoulders are starting to shake. If I don't leave now, I'm going to laugh next, and then he'll think I'm not being serious about this. Not that I was serious about the syringe threat. I mean the whole rest of it. Because I am serious. If Carter tells me any of the things Johnny ever did—how my lips were too dry to kiss, how awful I smelled everywhere, how my hair looked like it belonged to a homeless woman—I wouldn't just sleep in the backyard, I'd legit move out there. Or back to Nadia's. Whichever was more convenient at the time.

So I do the only thing I can think of. I grab my shoes and run.