Don't Tell Daddy (32 page)

Age sixteen, first day back in the United States, her parents and godparents threw her a party at Heather's shop. She'd liked staying with her father's sister, but it felt good to be home.  

That was when Bryan began to flirt and come on to her more often.  

"When I was eighteen, it happened. Tus abuelos went to the Bahamas. Twenty years of marriage. Second honeymoon. Bryan came to check on me one day, and I guess he thought I wasn't home. He came into the bathroom, I was naked, Heather was forgotten. It was our first time together." 

"Why did you guys split?" 

Pamela brushed Pilar's bang to the side. "Some things, a mother keeps to herself." 

Pilar didn't know whether Pamela wanted to protect her view of Bryan or herself and she didn’t push the issue further, kissing her mother’s cheek and leaving the room.

Pamela took flowers to Bryan's grave, finding Heather sitting there. The older woman seemed to be reflecting as she just sat there, her head down until she saw Pamela’s shadow and she looked up at the young woman she had raised.

"Hey, Madrina," Pamela said softly. 

"Hola, cariña."

Pamela sat beside Heather, and she reached for her hand. Heather didn’t pull away, but she instead gave Pamela’s hand a gentle squeeze.

They sat there together sharing a moment of mourning for the man who'd given them both his name, for the man they had both shared so many memories with, for the man they had both loved and left, for the man who they'd each had children for; and for that fleeting moment, Heather didn't mind being Mami again.

When Heather got up, she leaned down and kissed Pamela’s head, a weak smile touching her lips. But those eyes told it all and she was still hurt by a betrayal from nearly two decades ago.

Pamela could never apologize enough for hurting someone she’d loved almost as much as her mother. Still loved that much.

She waited until she was alone to speak to Bryan. "Hey Papi. If you see our son, kiss him for me. Tell him I think of him every day." 

She traced the letters in the headstone and thought only of the good times. A lot of those times had led to sex.  

She could feel Bryan's breath on her neck, his hands on her skin as she was held close to him. Could feel him inside of her as fucking became lovemaking. She could see herself in his arms as they shared a dance in front of their infant daughter, when she felt so insecure, and he swore that she was gorgeous, that he wanted no one else. She could see him tease her about her youth. Could hear him talking about her pretty coffee and how she didn't need the caffeine anyway. She could feel his loving arms hold her, his hand caressing her cheek.

But when that fantasy turned back into the nightmare she had lived, she kissed her fingers, touched the headstone, and left. A part of her would always love him and what they'd had.