“Bad.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re trying to bend over and make up an entire production of Fake Fiancé—the Musical.”
I laugh at her crappy joke. “There won’t be any dancing or singing. I leave that to drunk karaoke.”
“We can do karaoke night at the bar. Come with?”
“Nope.”
“You haven’t explained to me why finding a fiancé is so important.”
“Abuela wants me to get married. She is the closest thing I have to a mother, and I want to make sure she’s happy with me. I don’t want to lose her too.” If things don’t work out with her, my cousins, aunts, and uncles might push me out of their lives too. A lot is on the line. My entire maternal family will disappear.
“First of all, Cécile is the closest you have to a mother. But I get your fear. I wish I could say you won’t lose her, but what do I know, I haven’t spoken to my mother in years.”
“You should—”
“Stop right there, Atzi. It’s not that my siblings and I love not talking to her, but we refuse to be around her toxicity.”
I shrug because I don’t have anything to add to the conversation. I’d give everything to be able to speak to my mother, even if sometimes she could be a cunt. Not that Mom was ever like Dawn Spearman. Maybe that’s where I’m wrong, and they have a point. Their mother is a terrible person at times.
This is probably one of those things where two people can simultaneously be right—or wrong.
“So, are you coming to spend the weekend with me?” she repeats. “If you do, convince Heath to join us. He’s always working or avoiding us. I hope he’ll be more present when he gets accepted for a fellowship.”
My heart sinks. I don’t want to think about Heath possibly leaving San Francisco or, even worse, me losing his family because I’m no longer his friend.
“Are you okay?” Cory asks.
I nod. “Yeah, I just remembered I have a project due next week, and I’m not sure if I’m going to have time to visit you this weekend.”
She probably doesn’t believe me, but I can’t exactly tell her that her brother didn’t apply to any fellowship in the area. I love all of them, and because of that, I won’t get in the middle of this mess.
“You’re a terrible liar. If you’re not coming because you’re busy, I understand. But if I find out you went to Santa Cruz because there’re babies to be held, I’m going to be upset.”
I press my lips together, trying to hide the smile.
“You bitch,” she says in an accusatory tone.
“They’re precious toddlers. You love them too.”
She narrows her gaze. “You traitor.”
I smirk at her. “Instead of calling me names, you should join us.”
“I have a business to run.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s just an excuse to party all weekend.”
She laughs. “As if. I have to coordinate three bachelorette parties. Some days I regret adding the SPA to the bar. It’s profitable, but it consumes my time.”
“I see how this is. You want me there to work for you.”
“It’s about keeping me company. It’s always good to have my friend around—since none of my brothers care to show up.”
“Uh-huh. How about Hux?”
“It’s his obligation to be here every night. This whole ‘let’s own a bar’ thing was his idea, not mine.”
“But you love the place.”
She smiles. “True, but if I could, I would dedicate more time to Haux drinks.”
My phone chimes. I smile when I see it’s a text from Heath.
Heath: I’ll pick you up soon.
Atzi: Why?
Heath: It’s Thursday. We have a date, remember?
Atzi: It’s only five o’clock.
“Who are you talking to?”
Heath: We could go to the Wharf for dinner and then come back to my place for movie night.
Atzi: Are you trying to get out of cooking, Spearman?
Heath: Or we can stay in.
“Stop ignoring me,” Cory complains. “Who are you texting? Is it Tinder? Are you finally swiping right?”
“Nah. It’s Heath. He wants me to just work half a day.”
She laughs. “Please, you already worked too many hours. You’ve been awake for two days. I’m glad someone is looking after you.”
“Well, I had to finish this project. They’re picking it up on Saturday.”
“I’ll text my brother. Maybe he can slip in a sleeping pill so you can stay in one place for more than eight hours.”
“Heath doesn’t like sleeping aids unless they’re strictly necessary,” I say absently as I begin to clean my station.
“Have you…” She trails her voice, when I look at her, she sports that Spearman grin that says, I’m-up-to-something.
“Finish that sentence,” I dare her.
“Maybe you can ask him to be your fiancé.”
I almost choke at her suggestion.
Almost.
“Kidding.” She laughs. “I don’t think Mr. Truthful would do something like that. He’d be the first one to tell your grandmother you’re full of shit.”
“Probably.”
Heath: I should be there in twenty. Be ready.
“Hey, I have to go. He’ll be here in”—I look at the wall clock and then at Cory—“five minutes.”
“Did he say I’ll be there in thirty minutes?”
“Nope, twenty.”
She laughs. “Oh, he’s there already.”
I groan. “It’s like he doesn’t know how to tell time. Also, why can’t he arrive late like a regular person?”
“Because then he wouldn’t be the Heath we all love. Say hi to the grouch from me,” she says, hanging up the phone.
Right as I’m about to wash my hands, Heath appears. The tall, handsome guy leans against the frame and dares to say, “You’re not ready.”
“You said twenty minutes.”
“Or so…” The o lingers as he studies the table.
“That’s a beautiful ballerina. Isn’t that a sculpture?”
“Duh, I create sculptures.”
He shakes his head. “No, I mean it’s a replica of that—” He snaps his fingers.
“It’s a copy of La Petite Danseuse de Quatorze Ans.” I bob my head a couple of times. Happy he recognizes it.
He closes his eyes and starts counting.
“Are you okay?”
“It annoys the shit out of me when you speak Spanish or French,” he growls.
He doesn’t sound annoyed or upset, just weird. I shrug and say, “You’re a strange man, Heathcliff Spearman.”
“Ready to go?”
Pointing at the room, I say, “I have to clean the kitchen.”
He shakes his head, rolling the sleeves of his shirt. He’s ready to help. “Have you thought about hiring a personal assistant and a few apprentices?”