“He won’t hit you,” she said with the wave of her gnarled hand. “He’s too afraid of me.”
I laughed. “He’s afraid of la chancla.”
“And who throws la chancla?” she asked. Her sandal was already in hand, the motion so fluid, I didn’t even see her do it.
“Fair enough,” I said with my hands up in surrender.
When I walked by, she thwacked me on the butt with it as a reminder of its power. “Wyatt is in the booth by the kitchen trying to get Manny to notice him, if you want company.”
“You won’t come sit with me?”
“I’m busy working.”
“Busy working on sudoku.”
She slapped her sandal against her palm and gave me a look.
“I’m going, I’m going,” I said, hands up again as I turned for the dining room.
The restaurant was busy, even this early. Abuela’s had brunch fare to rival Bettie across the street, a friendly competition between a couple old friends. In the back where she said he’d be was Wyatt, who was too busy glancing into the kitchen to notice me walk up.
“You’re gonna twist your neck trying to get a good look.”
Startled, he straightened up, meeting my eyes with an easy smile. “If Manny would buy shirts that fit, I wouldn’t have to creep on him.”
I slipped into the booth across from him and hung my arm on the back. “You ever gonna ask him out, or are you just planning on pining indefinitely from your booth?”
“I’ll do what I damn well please, Bastian.” He pointed his fork at me before tucking back into his huevos rancheros.
Wyatt Schumacher was six feet and six inches of strapping ranch hand, complete with a tan Stetson, Wranglers tighter than I imagined was comfortable, and a closet full of cowboy boots. He could rope a steer in a couple of seconds from the back of a horse, had won enough rodeo trophies to span a wall, and was as gay as the day was long.
“Presley’s back,” I said with that goddamn smile that belonged only to her on my face.
“I know,” he said with his mouth full. “You forget I’m the one who told you she was here.”
“I’m gonna see her tonight.”
He chewed for a second, watching me. “Marnie’s not gonna like that.”
Just like that, my smile was gone. “Well, Marnie doesn’t get a say, does she?”
“I mean, does anybody want their ex-wives to have a say? Pretty sure they make their say known whether you like it or not.”
“She left me. Not the other way around. I don’t really see how that grants her power of opinion.”
“She left you because you didn’t want to have kids, not because she didn’t love you.”
Guilt rumbled through me. “She knew I didn’t want kids since we were juniors in high school, so I’m not sure how that’s my fault.”
With a sigh, he rolled his eyes. “Goddamn, men are dense.”
“Anyway, who’s telling Marnie?”
That earned me a look. “Funny. If you don’t think the whole town will know if you see Presley Hale the minute that it happens, you’re dumber than most.”
“Fuck it, then. All the more reason for me to do what I want. Give them something to talk about and all that.”
“Your divorce isn’t even final—”
“Dammit, Wyatt—whose side are you on?”
“Well, yours, obviously. Marnie’s a dick.”
“Then here’s where you say, Pretty slick you get to see Presley since you’ve been missing her for a thousand years.”
“Needy.”
I picked a chip out of the basket between us and stuck it in the yolk of one of his fried eggs, smiling as the yellow goop bled onto the plate.
“Really?” he asked flatly.
I shrugged.
“Fine, I’ll bite. What are you two gonna do tonight? Besides what you always do.”
A laugh shot out of me. “I don’t even care what we do. I just want to talk to her.”
He leveled me with a look.
“Don’t get me wrong, I just …” I sighed. “Five years. So much has happened that I want to tell her about. I don’t know when there’ll be time for kissing.”
“Oh, I think you’ll find time.” He pushed the yolk into a corner and hedged it in with rice. “Anyway, you wouldn’t have to catch up if you’d get on social media like the rest of the free world.”
“After everything that happened in the Corps, it just seemed pointless, empty. I broke up with social when I left, and when I came back, I didn’t care to get back on. I was too busy with Mom, anyway. When every day’s spent dealing with life and death, that’s the only space you’ve got. For anything.”
“You found time for Marnie,” he noted.
I sighed again. Marnie and I dated off and on in high school—more off than on, and more fighting than loving—and when I came back from Zambia, she was here, nursing in San Antonio in oncology. And that was probably the glue that held us together—she understood. She was familiar to me, to my family. Safe. Comfortable. When my mother got sick, Marnie was here, not only caring for Mom, but caring for me. When we moved to Houston, she came with us, Abuela too. For once, things with me and her and I were good, steady, probably because we were both focused on Mom and not each other. Next thing I knew, we were at the courthouse getting married.
I didn’t know why we always drifted back together. There had always been a spark between us, but it wasn’t warm, wasn’t inviting. It was devouring. It would consume us until nothing was left but ashes and disappointment. But still, I loved her. More than ever, in the beginning of our marriage.
But she’d ended up betting on the wrong horse.
Marnie knew I didn’t want kids—everyone did. Abuela had had ovarian cancer and ended up needing a hysterectomy when Mom was little. Mom’s first fight with breast cancer when I was seventeen was hard enough … the second time almost killed her. I’d spent too much time holding her hand, watching her wither away, not knowing if she’d live to see another Christmas, another birthday, another sunrise.
And I carried the gene that had a fifty-fifty shot at passing that fate on to a child.
I couldn’t stomach it. Not after watching what Mom went through, and certainly not after almost losing her again a few years ago.
“Marnie was good to us when we needed her most,” I finally said. “She nursed Mom, bathed her, changed her lines, comforted her. Comforted me.” I swallowed hard. “But we weren’t meant for each other, and deep down, we both knew it. She wanted to be meant for me, but I … I couldn’t love her like she needed, and I couldn’t give her what she wanted. I didn’t realize I was taking advantage, and I’ll never be able to make that up to her, not after everything I put her through.”
“She’s still a dick,” he said, laughing when I threw a tortilla at his face. “I mean it. God, she was insufferable in high school. Mean as fuck, manipulative as the devil, and pretty enough to see from a mile away that she was trouble. I can’t imagine her bedside manner is anything short of Nurse Ratched.”
“You’d be surprised.”