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“I figured it was just nerves and you’d calm down once we got that initial introduction out of the way.” Giving little credence to my situation, he prattled on. “See? They’re not so bad, right?” he asked hopefully, and I couldn’t even fake a smile. One false move, and the contents of my stomach would be making an encore appearance.
“I don’t want to go in there, Carmen. Please. If I get sick in front of all those people, I’ll be mortified. Please,” I begged with the sincerest intent. I should’ve never guzzled that cold medicine on an already precarious stomach, but I couldn’t explain that to him either. Oh my God, he’d lose his freaking mind. Not to mention adding to his self-righteous opinion about my drinking habits.
He tilted his head to the side and eyed me skeptically. Instantly I felt defensive just from the look on his face. The bastard didn’t believe me.
“Storm, is this some elaborate ruse to get out of doing something you don’t want to do? Kind of childish, wouldn’t you say?”
Now I was livid on top of nauseated. How dare he accuse me of faking?
“Fine. Let’s go on in. If I barf all over your family and judgmental friends, so be it. You’ll be as embarrassed as me, and we can call it even. But…” I sucked in a breath through my nose as a tidal wave of queasiness rolled through my body. When it passed, I picked up with my comment exactly where I left off. “You should know I will never forgive you for accusing me of faking. That’s so completely shitty…” I stammered for the right words to complete the thought but came up empty. “Yeah, just so shitty. Thanks for the support.”
“Okay, let’s calm down. You’re actually looking green. We can stay out here until the first hymn starts, but then we’re going inside. Walk it off”—he waved a hand toward the sidewalk that bordered the street—“or do whatever you need to do until then.”
“You’re an asshole,” I leveled through gritted teeth. I knew my eyes were clouding with unshed tears, but I’d be damned if he’d have the satisfaction of hurting me on top of accusing me of lying.
“And you’re an immature drama queen who is so used to getting her way, you’re willing to make yourself physically sick rather than do something someone asked of you.” He widened his eyes as if giving me my cue to respond.
“Fuck you, husband.” I spun on my heels and headed for the parking lot. I was so mad, I couldn’t even see which direction I was rushing. What I didn’t fail to register, however, was the fact that his mother had walked up just as I was spewing that last little bit his way.
Her audible gasp confirmed that she heard exactly what I’d said.
Good. Let him deal with the mess he insisted we try to make work. Mr. Calm Down. Mr. Walk It Off. He could seriously go fuck himself. I was done.
Completely finished.
Chapter Fifteen
Carmen
As I registered my mother’s presence, my wife disappeared around the far side of the building. I warred with going after her or trying to explain to my mother what she’d just overheard. And there was no way in hell the woman hadn’t heard my lovely wife’s vitriol. She had the sharpest hearing of anyone I’d ever met and had for my entire life. Even if it was whispered, she could repeat word for word the conversation she’d heard from across the house.
Imagine what a nightmare that was as a teenage boy. Not only did one of my bedroom walls divide my room and Gray’s, but with my mom’s superhuman hearing ability, there wasn’t a moment of privacy to be had.
At about sixteen, I gave up worrying about it and figured if they wanted to be creepy enough to listen to me masturbate, that was on them. Funny how Gray seemed to increase the volume on her TV or stereo at the exact same time I needed to rub one out.
“Son? What did that woman just call you?” My mother’s face was nearly as pale as Agatha’s.
“I’m not sure, Mom. We were arguing, and I’m sorry you had to witness it. A lot of things were just said that weren’t meant.” The response was lame and I knew it, but I was hoping for a little break somewhere.
The woman strode over to where I paced and grabbed my left hand. After inspecting the green jelly band, she thrust my hand in my face.
“What on earth is this?” she demanded.
“It’s a cheap green ring I picked up in Vegas.”
Her gasp could’ve stopped traffic.
“Carmen. Sandoval. What have you done?”
I wasn’t in the mood for any of this. Especially on the street in front of our family’s church. Especially when I should be in pursuit of my wife to ensure she was okay.
“I need to go after her, Mom. We can talk later.”
“You’ll miss mass!” she proclaimed as if it were the worst thing happening in that moment.
“Well, I’ll repent next time I’m in the confessional. As you’ve witnessed, I’ve got bigger problems at the moment.” Most of the glib remark was thrown back over my shoulder as I set off to find my woman.
As I rounded the back side of the church that opened to the parking lot and play yard for the Sunday School classes, Agatha was across the lawn, bent over at the waist. I picked up my pace to a quick jog and was beside her in a flash.
