4. SIERRA

CHAPTER 4

SIERRA

" H ow's it going?" I pace back and forth across the living room, where I got exiled to after driving my parents bananas with my worrying.

"Let's see," Mom says with a sigh. "We have tried turning off and back on, unplugging and plugging, restarting the program, keying in the password again."

"And don't forget restarting the wifi router," Dad adds.

"Nothing?" The word comes out as a whine from my throat.

"Nope." Mom pops the P. "Sorry, Sierrita. The issue must be on Grammie's end."

I drop on the couch like a lump. "But it's Thanksgiving. Dinner's not complete without a chat with Grammie. She was going to tell me about the new crochet stitch she's been learning." Ugh, I know I'm being a brat, but I was really looking forward to casually breaking the news to the three of them at the same time that we'll be able to bring Grammie over for Christmas.

"Let me text my brother down there once more," Mom mumbles this as she picks up her cellphone from the table. "But if it doesn't get through again, you have to give up."

Giving up isn't in my vocabulary, but we've been trying for an hour and it's almost getting to the time when I agreed to visit Rachel and her son, Adrian. I'll just try a quick chat with Grammie later tonight if the connection finally works.

Grunting, I pull myself up from the couch and head back to the kitchen. Mom looks up from writing a text and I give her a kiss on her cheek. Dad immediately points at his, and I have no choice but to drop him one too. "Thank you for trying, you guys."

"Is that all you're thankful for?" Dad teases.

"No, I'm also thankful for Nutella."

Mom shakes her head at me, her expression awed that she birthed such a little pest. "And here I thought you'd be thankful for having the best parents in the world, but no. Not only I have to be jealous that you love my mother more than me, but also Nutella?"

Her eyes twinkle with barely contained laughter and I keep a solemn expression as I say, "I'm sorry but the heart wants what the heart wants."

I don't really have to tell my parents that I love them, it's clear in a million ways. Like how I don't make fun of Dad's baseball team that keeps losing every season, or how I don't complain about Mom's rice even though it's always soggy. I'm busting my ass to fly Grammie over not just because I want to see her so bad, but also because I know Mom does too. She hasn't hugged her own mother in almost ten years. And if I make that earnest wish come true for Mom, Dad will be over the moon too.

That happiness is what I yearned to see on their faces tonight, but I've been foiled by distance again.

"I bet you like your friend better than you like us." Mom waves her hand. "Go to her. Go. "

"I bet she likes her job better than us," Dad adds before taking a swig of his beer.

"Sure." I drawl the word as I leave the kitchen and start putting on my scarf and coat. "I'll be back in two hours, tops. Behave while I'm gone."

"As if. We're gonna thrash this place while you're gone." Dad chuckles.

Mom pops out of the kitchen for a second. "Drive safe! And also bring some of that pie Rachel bakes every year."

"‘Kay, bye." I grab my keys and am out of the house before they can give me any more crap.

The whole street is lined by small one- and two-bedroom houses like ours, packed with working families that can't afford nicer digs, but still keeps theirs in tip top shape. Even though it's only Thanksgiving, we already have the nativity scene set up and glowing in the yard, surrounded by more lights than necessary. The whole block is populated by the same type of overly festive people, houses decked with tinsel, garlands, bows, snowmen, blown up gingerbread cookies, and more lights than an airport tarmac.

I turn on our trusty Ford pickup and the radio blares a Christmas classic from Nat "King" Cole. I raise the volume and sing off tune the whole way to Rachel's. She also lives on this side of town with the rest of us poors, so it takes all but ten minutes to arrive—and that's because I caught a long red light.

Rachel opens her front door before I'm even out of the car and shouts, "How did it go?"

"It didn't." I slam the door shut and stomp over to her, exhaling clouds of condensation out of my mouth. "Connection was bad so I'll have to save the news for next time."

"Boooo." She offers me a glass of wine the second I step into her house.

It's adorable just like her. Whereas outside is a dry winter landscape without snow yet, inside she has a cozy fire roaring, casting a warm light over boho chic decor she's been steadily collecting from garage sales for years.

Her son's sitting on the couch, and even though he doesn't pause from playing a football video game on the TV, he does say over his shoulder, "Happy Thanksgiving, Tía Sierra."

"Happy Thanksgiving, you football nerd." I rub his hair, which he normally hates. He's so engrossed in the game that he doesn't even notice, though. "What will it take for you to like a better sport?"

He grunts.

"Please, he doesn't even like proper football—the one played with the feet that we incorrectly call soccer here. Forget about your boring baseball," his mother says with a groan from the heart. After all, she once was on track for the US women's soccer team.

"Excuse me." I put a hand on my heart delicately, as if this wasn't the one topic that divides the three of us. "Baseball is historic . There's nothing boring about that."

She fakes a yawn.

I smirk against the rim of the wine glass and take a sip.

"Anyway." Rachel motions me to follow her to the kitchen and we take a seat by the counter. "I also have some news for you that I was waiting to tell you today."

I set down the glass slowly. "Am I finally going to meet your super famous professional soccer player brothers, who keep saying they'll drop by for the holidays and never do?"

"You know, you could just use their given names, they're a lot shorter than that spiel." She shakes her head and the straight hair of her bob bounces all pretty. "No, this isn't about Reid, Reese or River. This is about work."

"Oh, that's way less exciting."

"I'm doing it." She claps her hands at her chest. "I'm following my mentor's advice and applying for that position. "

My joking mood evaporates and my eyes pop wider. "The talent campaign manager position?"

"Yes." She smiles and tucks her fists under her chin like they're necessary to prop up her grin.

I release a sound only bats can hear and throw my arms around her. "Oh my gosh! It's finally happening!"

"I know!"

"Mom? Where are the earplugs?" Adrian asks casually.

"Oh shush, child." Rachel chuckles and pulls away from me. "Ugh, I started working on my application but I'm second guessing everything."

"I'll look it over for you. And surely your mentor will, too?" I ask because I don't know for sure. Even though Rachel's been in the mentoring program for almost a year, her mentor, Camila Puig, is still a mystery to me. She's super intimidating and unapproachable at the office, but Rachel speaks about her so warmly that it almost makes me think they're different people.

"She will, but I'll feel so much better if you check it before I send it to her. You know…" She wrinkles her nose a bit. "I really don't want to send her a garbage application that will make her feel like she's wasted an entire year on me."

"Stop, I'm sure everything you've included in it is already awesome." I run my finger down the curved wall of the wine glass. "But I'm going to miss you so much."

"I'm not going anywhere." She bumps her shoulder with mine. "Well, I am. But it's just one department over."

"Who's going to give me moral support when Conor is being Conor, though?"

She cocks an eyebrow. "Maybe this is for the best. It's about time you let go of your grudge against him."

"It's not a grudge. You see, a grudge is all the negative feelings you carry some time after the wrong is done unto you, whereas he continually does new wrongs to me. "

"Yeah, that's a grudge," Adrian chirps from the living room.

"Keep playing your game, child," I answer back with a scowl in his direction.

"If by wrongs you mean he took the last cup of coffee from the pot right before you walked in the kitchen, then I stand by my statement."

"Can we not talk about him? I'm already dreading Monday as it is."

I managed to avoid being in his physical vicinity yesterday and, of course, the long holiday weekend buys me a reprieve. But on Monday we're supposed to put together our ideas and I know for a fact that it's gonna be a whole mess. There's no way I'll put my best ideas on the table for him and I'm sure he'll take the same measure. So, we'll end up having to come up with something semi passable so we can get the green light from Richard, even though we'll be working on our own thing in the hopes to show up one another.

Who could possibly be excited by that prospect? I'm tired. I just want some holiday vacations with my family.

"Just try not to murder each other until I get my new job." She pauses. "Or after."

I grin. "I'm proud of you. No one has worked harder in SPORTY than you and you deserve to manage campaigns with hot, semi naked athletes."

"That's it." The noise from the TV draws to a halt and Adrian stands up with a huff. "I'm looking for those earplugs now. Hold the gross talk until then, please." We watch him pass us by on his way to the back of the house.

"How cute, he's still an innocent baby," I muse.

"Yes, I cherish every second I don't need to have the bees and the flowers talk with him." She props her chin with her hand. "You, on the other hand…"

"Me?" I blink fast. "Why is that relevant to me? "

"You're going to be working very closely with your extremely attractive nemesis whose shoulders make you salivate on your desk."

I drop my jaw. "That only happened once."

"That it happened at all means you're in trouble."

"It was before he made me look like a fool in front of Richard when I was on the tennis shoes campaign." I had made a glaring mistake in my presentation and not only I didn't notice, Richard didn't either. Instead of taking me aside to tell me, Conor pointed it out in the most gloating way. Richard fawned over him like Conor was the direct descendant of Einstein. The humiliation still burns.

"I'm just saying. If things get all hot and bothered between you both, I give you full permission to let go of your grudge and jump him."

I narrow my eyes on her empty wine glass. "Just how much wine did you have before I arrived, se?orita?"

"Actually…" She looks up as if in thought. "Don't let it go. Just angry kiss him. Angry do more than kissing him. For both of us, please."

I snort. "Are you the one who's hot and bothered for Conor?"

"What? No. He's younger than me." She reaches over for the wine bottle to pour herself a glass.

"So?"

"I'm also more into the bad boy types."

This is when Adrian chooses to return but it looks like he's outfitted with earplugs. We don't get any further ew's tossed our way and the video game resumes.

I pat Rachel's hand. "Bad boys aren't good for you."

"Grudges aren't good for you, either." She takes a careful sip of wine, watching me from above the rim of her glass.

"Fine." I blow a raspberry. "I will consider being civil. Happy? "

"I don't believe you but I'll support you either way."

"Likewise, you clown." I throw my arm around her and squeeze her tight. "You just watch, you'll get that awesome position and I'll get the promotion."

"That's right, bebé." She clinks her glass with mine. "Cheers to the women making power moves regardless of the men in and out of their lives."

"Cheers!"