Page 58 of Split You Open

I really fucking hope not.

Fourteen

Santiago

An hour later, after I’ve devoured breakfast and showered, I pull up in front of a two-story yellow house. The pale blue shutters need to be repainted and the flower boxes hanging off the first-floor windows need to be cleaned out but other than that the house is perfect.

Blair tilts her head up so she can see past the rim of my Gnarly Pines baseball cap that sits on her head, but seems to sink deeper into my sweatshirt as she glances at the house, then up and down the little suburban street.

“Santi, where are we?”

I beam at her but don’t answer her right away. Instead, I climb out of the truck and hurry around to open her door. As I shut the truck door behind her, I throw an arm out in front of me and announce, “Welcome to mi casa!”

“Oh!” Blair looks from me to the house in surprise, then smiles. “Santi, it’s charming.”

“I certainly think so.”

I grab her hand and lead her down the stone walkway to the front door. I’m not sure why but my heart is pounding wildly in my chest. The closer we get to the house, the faster it races. Unlocking the door, I quickly usher her in before any of my neighbors notice it’s not Rhett with me and then follow her in.

Once upon a time, this house used to smell like mother’s tamales. Now, it just holds the faint smell of cleaning products and laundry.

Blair removes the hat with her free hand and looks around, her eyes bright with interest.

“So, as you can see, this is the living room,” I tell her anxiously.

Blair nods as her eyes dart around the room.

I try to see it all with fresh eyes in an attempt to see what she’s seeing. The eighties orange and yellow floral couch was never updated. It had been Mom’s first big purchase and she had brought it with her from apartment to apartment until she and Dad moved in here together. The oval coffee table in front of it has a pile of doilies Mom handmade to be used as coasters. The built-in shelves in the wall are full of family pictures from nearly every year of my life. What space isn’t taken up by framed photos are fun little knickknacks—mostly hedgehogs since they were Mom’s favorite animal. The walls are painted a burnt orangey-brown and the tan shag carpet has worn down spots where traffic once frequented.

“May I…?” Blair steps to the right and half-reaches for a picture frame. She looks back at me to make sure it’s okay for her to pick up.

I nod. “Yeah, go ahead. Mi casa es su casa, cariño.”

She picks up the frame and studies it. I look over her shoulder to see which one she’s chosen and smile.

It’s me, Dad and Mom at Caddawalk’s Fall Festival and Dad had just won me a fake police badge at one of the game booths. I’m holding it up to my chest, right where he wore his.

“You’re like a perfect blend of your parents here,” Blair murmurs. She looks back at me as she puts the picture down. “But now you favor your mother.”

My heart twists as I think about how Mom would’ve responded to that. She probably would’ve beamed at me but then immediately dove into how she saw more of Dad in my face. I can hear her voice now, dipping in and out of Spanish.

My heart squeezes in my chest. “Come on, let me show you around.”

I drag Blair through the house slowly. We move from the living room to the kitchen. In here, the walls are a pale yellow, the cabinets a dark, outdated oak. It’s not as big as the cabin’s but it was perfect for us.

“Mom would cook every night, no exceptions. If I brought a friend over—they were fed. If I was going out—she made sure to feed me first. Same with Dad. She enjoyed cooking. No one could complain about being hungry around here. Not with how much food she kept around.”

Blair smiles. “That was sweet of her.”

I take Blair to the back of the house next, to the large sunroom that looks out into the green backyard.

“Do you see the wooden raised beds out there?” I point to a few. “They were either filled with vegetables or flowers. The flowers would grow so big that, as a kid, when I ran around back here it felt like a whole other world.”

“Wait,” Blair steps closer to the glass to stare out into the backyard. “There have to be over fifty raised beds here. You’re saying they were all full?”

I nod. “Yup, she had a green thumb. So did my Dad, actually. I tried to keep up on it, but I don’t have the special touch needed to keep things alive…” I frown as the words fall from my lips.

“I’ve never been somewhere long enough to know if I could keep a plant alive,” Blair admits, still staring out at the now just grassy backyard. “It’s just, like, watering them, right?”