Page 19 of Down Bad

But all I can do is stand here at this window, pretending the orchid in front of my face means nothing while wringing the hell out of my tía’s favorite dishcloth and wondering what it is about that guy I still can’t stand.

—5—

Wyatt

He bought the wrong flower.

For the wrong reason.

And placed it in exactly the right window.

Those ugly blinds are raised up to make room for the orchid. It isn’t quite perfectly placed, but it’s there to make the house not look like a monster moved in.

Of course he’d pick an orchid. Fragile. Dramatic. Impossible to plant outside, yet still somehow my problem.

Still just as in my face as he is.

And when I’m sitting at the dining room table at 1 AM, a tiny dim light hanging overhead, rest of the house dark, even the front porch light off, tapping away on my laptop, it isn’t Mr. Bellamy’s face that keeps appearing in my thoughts.

It’s Diego’s.

His lopsided lips.

His subtle squint of irritation.

How all of his hatred of the world lives in his biceps when he crosses his arms, puffing them up like balloons.

That guy always talk to you like that?

I keep typing, not thinking of Diego.

You know he was an asshole, right?

I take a sip of water, then set the glass down too hard.

He’s taking advantage of you.

I’m out of the chair and at the window, glaring across the yard at my former neighbors’ house. It’s dark. Garage door closed. Even with no lights on, the nearest streetlamp casts an eerie bluish glow over the orchid in the window.

Well, he hasn’t killed it yet.

That’s a good sign.

I can’t help wonder how Lottie and Marcos can be one kind of way, and their nephew can be another entirely. I don’t see a speck of Lottie in him. I see Marcos’s handsomeness, annoyingly. And his build, too, maybe. I never knew Marcos’s brother—Diego’s dad—who always remained a mystery and of whom Lottie and Marcos rarely ever spoke of themselves.

I’m surprised I never wondered why until now.

Is there bad blood between their families I don’t know about?

I wonder if I should call Lottie up. See how she and Marcos are doing. Tell them Diego’s looking after the house fine. That he’s got it under control. That there’s nothing to worry about.

Then beg them to come back.

On my hands and knees, if I must.

No sooner than the thought comes that I’m standing right by Diego again in my shop. Him staring me down. Orchid still in his grip, even though I’m pretty sure I put it back on the shelf. The sharpness in his eyes that could slice my resolve in half. I could even feel the breath from his flared nostrils on my cheek.

I’m ashamed to admit the proximity of our faces excited me.