Ace of Hearts Ch. 07

Author's Note: Okay, y'all are so cool. The feedback has been truly amazing, I am really really touched and blown away about how thoughtful and in depth the comments have been. Like, holy crap, fam.

A few notes for Chapter 7-

-This is technically the last chapter in the story, but I am writing a Chapter 8 which is an epilogue of sorts. That said, you can expect to see all of these characters again soon when it's time for someone else's story to come through.

-This chapter has Spanish phrases. I assure you that any Spanish in the story is there for flavor and is contextually explained, and you won't need to speak the language to understand what's going on. I wouldn't do that to you. I love you. For the deeply curious, please feel free to look up the meanings and you'll see what I mean.

-Bent/Bent Backwards, this story was absolutely 110% influenced by @herdirtymind's story with Oliver and Ethan. I pray it's not too derivative. If you don't know what I'm talking about, and you have enjoyed this story thus far, I really deeply encourage you to read that work, she is really fantastic and the stories are fire.

OH. one more--it's long. I am sorry or you're welcome, choose your own.

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I didn't hear from him on Christmas. Or the day after.

The week between Christmas and New Year's is a week outside of time. The intensity of the holidays fade for a last hurrah ten seconds before midnight before exploding into the monotony of another cold northeastern winter. I spend that evening alone in my apartment; Mami goes to Westchester and Veronica goes out with her friends. I wonder if Asa is at the farm.

On New Year's Day, Tara comes over. She knocks on the door instead of coming in like she usually does, and stands awkwardly in the doorway.

She looks like she's been crying. Her hair isn't curled, in fact it's in a ponytail and it doesn't even look like she brushed it. I don't think I've ever seen it like that. Even when we slept together, she always at least braided it. She's in rough shape.

"Can I hug you?" I ask softly. She looks up at me in surprise, but then rushes into my arms and begins to cry.

"I'm so sorry, Jonny," she cries. I rest my chin on top of her head and hold her.

"It's okay," I murmur.

"No, it isn't!" she says in a frustrated sob.

"No, it isn't," I concede. "I guess I'm just trying to say be easy."

She pulls away and wipes her eyes on her hoodie. I hand her the roll of toilet paper I've been using for tissues. She gives me a look but then blows her nose. I sit down at the table.

"So, let's talk," I gesture to a chair.

Tara sits. And through tears she tells me the story of how the new hot-shot attorney that started at the firm last year, had taken her under his wing. They worked very closely and things just kind of spiraled out from there.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to--that sounds so stupid, but I never wanted that. It just happened," she mumbles.

I'm quiet for a moment trying to sort things in my head.

"When did it start?" I finally ask. I don't know why I want to know.

Tara is silent and looks down at her hands. The tears start spilling again and she wipes at her eyes, takes a deep breath and says, "June."

"June," I breathe.

That one feels like an arrow straight to the heart, hard enough that I wince and literally put my hand on my chest. I nod. I feel my own eyes water. I look away and try to breathe through it.

I put down the deposit on her ring in June. God damn.

A fresh wave of sobs course through her, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry."

I can't use my voice. I just nod. It's all I have to give.

"Why aren't you screaming at me," she sobs. "You're supposed to be mad, you're supposed to scream at me, totally freak out."

I swallow the lump. "Yeah. I guess it's easier to leave someone who's angry."

She cries harder. I close my eyes. Do I tell her about Asa? Is it selfish not to? Or is it selfish because it'll just hurt her? What if it gets back to Veronica?

"I've been cheating," I clear my throat, my arm propped on the table, my forehead on my palm.

Her head snaps up. "What?"

I nod. She heard me. "November."

"Jonny, what the fuck?" she cries, her pitch going up at the end of her sentence. New tears now, but these are angry. I let out a wet laugh. C'mon, Tara.

"Tara, what the fuck?" I echo.

"And you were going to propose?" she asks, incredulous.

"No, actually, I wasn't." I sit up now.

The words hang in the air. She looks at me stunned. I'm just hurting her here, I don't want to be. I don't know what's worse, though. What's worse?

"I paid for it in payments. I started that way before I fucked up," I explain. "But it just came in. And you found it."

"When did you buy it?" she whispers.

I gaze at her. I sigh, "It doesn't matter, Tara. What matters is that our relationship apparently ended a lot sooner than we thought. We just didn't want to deal with it."

Tara buries her face in her hands and sobs. We sit for a while like that.

Eventually, she raises her head. "Who?"

I look at her. This is going to suck.

"Asa," I whisper. Tara reels back like I hit her. She stares at me dumbfounded.

"That's not funny, Jonny, I'm being serious," she exclaims.

I just look at her and will my tears to just stay in my face.

She's shook. "Asa. Asa Asa?"

"The one and only." The one and only.

"Since when are you gay?" she cries out. I study her.

I sit with the question. I mean I've asked that enough times myself. I don't know that I've come to any real conclusion.

"I just...I just really don't think it works like that," I say slowly.

"And Veronica? You guys are assholes!" she's furious, and that pisses me off.

"Cuidao," I warn her using the murmur my mother reserved for when we've fucked around and were about to find out. Miss Duolingo closes her mouth; if she doesn't recognize the word, she sure as shit recognizes the tone. She closes her eyes, too, and tilts her head back as though she's praying for patience.

I steeple my fingers. "Here's the thing, Tara. We all fucked up. I'm really pissed and hurt. You are, too. I'm not coming at you, though. I got my shit with my sister and I got my shit with you and you got your shit with me. Let me worry about my relationship with my sister."

"She's never going to forgive you," she sneers.

"Do you need to ride your high horse up on outta here? If you do that's okay. Because I'm gonna tell you right now if you come out the side of your neck at me one more time, you can get the fuck out. I'm not playing with you like this," I say very softly, doing my best to keep the heat out of my voice.

She relents and sighs, nodding. We sit in silence again.

After a while she murmurs, her eyes welling up. "So this is it, huh?"

I gaze at her. Her beautiful face. Her brilliant green eyes. The way her nose turns up just a bit at the end. I swallow the lump in my throat. I nod and blink back the tears.

"You think you'll ever forgive me?" she whispers.

"I already have," I chew my lip. "I get it. And I love you. It hurts like hell, though. Do you think you'll forgive me?"

"Did you even say you were sorry?" she asks. I think on it. I'm not sure.

"I am sorry, Tara. Truly. For everything." I close my eyes and bury my face in my arms. I'm so, so tired.

"Okay," she says, emotion clogging her throat. "Okay."

I hear her chair push back and I look up. She is torn up, but I can see relief in her eyes. Like a weight has been lifted. It's bittersweet. She leans over and gives me a kiss on the top of my head.

"Be good," she whispers. I smile faintly. I watch her leave, the door gently closing behind her.

On the table is my hoodie. I pick it up. It has a ring box in one pocket and my apartment key in the other. I smile.

It's bittersweet.

***

"Peña!" Frank calls from the office.

"What's up, pops?" I poke my head in. For Christmas, Frank gave me a generous bonus, called me 'son' in a fit of holiday nostalgia, and hugged me. I call him Dad now. He hates it.

He mutters something that sounds remarkably like 'fucking moron', but I know good ole dad would never talk to me like that.

I grin; it's been two weeks since New Years, Veronica still won't take my calls, I haven't heard from Asa, and it's hard to do anything beyond work and sleep--I have to find joy somewhere.

"The bimmer's back, take a look at it will you?"

"What's wrong with it now?"

"The sun rose and it was still a bimmer," he mutters. "Fucking overengineered piece of shit German cars."

"I'll be sure to include that in my notes, sir."

"It's overheating again, find out why. Now fuck off." He waves me away.

I immediately pass off the diagnostics to the new kid I'm training, and then get lost working on replacing the intake manifold on an ancient Toyota Tercel, listening to Vivaldi's Four Seasons. I'm always amazed by how much of classical I recognize. I've definitely heard Spring and Winter before. Winter slaps. That violin solo is b a n a n a s.

Enjoying classical is exclusively Asa's influence. Tangled in his sheets was when he'd talk about the movements in music like they were living breathing things. Driving, too. That's when he opens himself and his mind to me and when he does I can hear the rain in the plucked strings, the storm in the deep bass, the longing call in the piano.

This really sucks.

He's cultured and smart and kind. He explains everything without a singular drop of pretension. I'm pretty sure you could ask him what color the sky was and he would reply simply, and in earnest:

"Blue," he'd say. "At least to me, anyway."

Meanwhile, I am a grease monkey and the only thing smart about me is my goddamn mouth. My eyes water again. I miss him so fucking much. Me and my fucking temper. Me and my fucking mouth.

Veronica was right. I've been acting like Dad and the thought alone makes me sick. I don't know how to make it right.

Speaking of dads, before too long I bid 'Dad' adieu and almost get hit with an exhaust pipe. I like leaving work on a high note. Feels good.

As I'm leaving the shop, mom calls.

"Macho," she greets me.

"Hey Ma." I put her on speaker while I drive.

"Oye, me llevas al concierto el Sábado? De Asa?"

"I'm not going to Asa's concert. Why can't Veronica take you?"

"Verónica? Verónica no va," Mom says like I'm stupid.

"Why wouldn't she go?" I make a left into the Dunkin Donuts drive thru. I want coffee.

"Papo, did you forget they broke up?"

Thank God I'm at a standstill waiting for my turn to order because I might have wrecked the car.

"What? When?"

"¿Como que tú no sabes?" I can hear her eyes roll.

"Why would I know, Ma??" I respond irritably.

"Maybe because we live less than a mile from you. Maybe if you came by once in a while you'd know what's happening with your family," she snaps irritably. "New Years. He came over on New Years."

I stare at the phone. Of course it was on New Years. I shake my head. It's almost funny if everything wasn't so, oh I don't know, fucking awful. I almost laugh anyway.

"Macho?"

"So, why are you still going to the concert then?" And why hasn't he said anything to me? It's been almost two weeks. I chew my lip.

"Niño, ya me compré los tickets," she says exasperated.

"So, I have to drop you off at this concert of your daughter's ex boyfriend because you already bought the tickets?"

"Drop me off? Oh, no. You're coming, I have two tickets, y Verónica no va! You would have me go by myself?" she replies, scandalized.

"It's not 1950, mom," I say.

"It's dangerous. La yerba mala nunca se muere," She intones. Ah yes, the proverbs. In other words, things never change. She's not wrong. I'm just a pussy.

"Welcome to Dunkin Donuts, what can I get you?" the speaker screeches.

"What?" Mom says.

"No, Ma, hang on."

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that?" the cashier at DD asks.

"Who are you talking to?" Mom asks in Spanish.

For fuck's sake.

"Sorry, sorry, medium hot coffee, light and sweet," I order.

"Hot or iced?"

"Hot," I repeat.

"Oye niño, ordéname un chai," my mom quips.

"Um and a medium chai-"

"Grande," Mami corrects.

Oh my fucking God, I'm in hell.

"Excuse me, a LARGE chai latte."

The barista confirms my order and sends me to the first window to pay.

"Thank you," I hand the lady my card and give her the standard Sorry I'm On The Phone Like An Asshole look. She doesn't give a shit. She's never given a shit about anything in her life. She gives me back my card without looking at me.

"We're going shopping," Mom declares.

"No way. I'm not going to the concert. I'm bringing you this coffee and I'll drop you off but I'm not going."

I really do live in a fantasy world.

***

The old Cuban tailor, Fragoso, adjusts the bottoms of my suit pants. I wish we went to the mall and got something off the rack, that's how fucking terrible standing here in this old ass building is.

I sigh, as I listen to my mother and Fragoso banter in Spanish discussing how hard it is to find clothes suitable for me because I'm tall which is desirable, but slim which is not. There's truly no pleasing anyone.

Mom says I'm skinny. I say she has a skewed point of perspective; I've never once gone down the drain.

Once mom is satisfied we leave with the promise of picking up my tailored jacket and pants on Friday.

"Mom, can you explain to me why we are going to this length when I could have just grabbed something from a store?"

"You'll understand when you see how good you feel in a tailored suit," she raises her eyebrows as though she has a secret. I wonder what it is. Maybe it's the secret to losing ten pounds in ten days. Mystery, thy name is Milagros.

"That still doesn't answer my question," I point out.

"Doesn't it?" she hums and turns on the radio, Spanish easy listening.

I give up the line of questioning. When mom doesn't want to talk about something anymore she turns into the Puerto Rican Cheshire Cat and starts talking in circles.

"All will be well in time," she says sagely. I burst out laughing.

"I'll take your word on that Mrs. Miyagi," I grin and shake my head.

"And córtate el pelo," she adds, looking at my hair. Her gaze then drops to my patchy beard. "Y aféitate."

"Shave and a haircut, check."

I pull into her driveway and give her a kiss. She gets out of the car; I watch her walk to the house.

"Oh! And buy him flowers," she adds and I freeze, leveling her with a look. She rolls her eyes, "Oye pero hello, no seas maleducado, it's concert etiquette."

Oh, good. Now I'm ignorant. I shake my head. She lets herself into the house.

I sit in the car for a long minute and wonder what exactly I'm getting myself into.

***

I stand in front of the mirror in my room examining myself. Rob is kicked back on my bed watching me.

"Look at you, cleaning up, lookin fine as hell," he hypes me up over a box of Raisinets.

I'd better be after what I just went through.

Mom dragged me to a salon. She had my hair cut and styled at a big shot salon, despite my protests that my barber knows my hair better and will do a slick job. It wasn't that bad--the sides and nape are cut close how I like, but the hair left on top isn't so much of a wild mop anymore as it is carefully curated and tight, and I hate it.

A Korean woman stole my eyebrow hairs with violence. I was terrified I was going to have manicured eyebrows like Veronica's with the sharp arch, but she just cleaned them up. I allowed my mom to get me a manicure to remove the engine grease from my nails, but I held the line at polish, even if she thought it would look "muy nice".

I do not like standing in for Veronica and I never want to do it again.

I was able to convince mom that going to my barber for the shave was the way to have it done. The list of people I trust at my throat with a straight razor is very short; in other words, Andre, my barber, is literally the only one on it.

He also restyled my hair so I don't look like a meathead.

Asa likes it better loose, anyway.

I cringe and shake my hair out of my eyes. I'm nervous. I haven't seen him in what feels like forever. Has it really been since Christmas? My cock twitches and lets me know it's been keeping count.

Ugh.

Back to the mirror.

"I'm not gonna lie, I'm feelin' myself." I preen a bit, turning side to side. The tailored suit looks sharp, and the slim black button up with the dark violet and black pattern on the undercuff and inner collar looks mad fly. I laugh. "My mama dressed me, and it looks good."

I put in my black tunnels, smooth out the front of my shirt, and take a shaky breath. I'm still nervous.

"Go on, get that jewelry going, you ain't done," Rob grins with his hands behind his head. "Put on the Cuban link."

"The bracelet or the necklace?" I sort through my chains.

"The necklace, my man, the necklace. Put the fat figaro on your wrist," he motions. I do.

I study myself in the mirror. "You don't think I look a little North Newark?"

"You are a little North Newark. And he likes you that way."

I consider saying that I'm not doing this for Asa's benefit but lying hasn't really been working out for me so far.

"Truly, I would take a bite out of your ass. Are you gonna say something to him? Have you heard from Veronica?" Rob gets up and stands behind me; brushes off the shoulder and back of my suit.

"No, she won't respond to any texts and she's sending all my calls to voicemail," I reply. Rob nods. I feel nauseous.

"She'll come around," he reassures, speaking to me through my reflection. I'm not so sure. I don't even know what happened, but it had to be bad if she won't even talk to me.

And Asa? He's not even going to want to see me. If he did he'd have called by now. I pushed him away. Like I do to everyone.

"No tie?" Rob grins.

"If you ever see me in a tie--"

"Wave to you in the gallows, yea, yea, I know. Morbidass motherfucker," he shakes his head.

"Are you sure I can do this, Rob?" I bite the inside of my lip.

"Your mama seems to be," he shrugs.

"You think she knows something?"

"Your mama?" He looks around, grabs the empty shoebox, and offers it to me.

"What's this?" I look up at him.

"A box of all the things your mama don't know," he drawls. I roll my eyes and knock it out of his hands while he devolves into a fit of giggles.

"If there is anything I know about your mama it's that she knows every goddamn thing. Your mama knows what you did last summer."

Here we go.

"Your mama knows where Jimmy Hoffa at."

I put on my cologne.

"Your mama knows what love's got to do with it, got to do with it."

He follows me out of my room down the hall.

"Your mama knows the motherfucker on the grassy knoll, but yo mama ain't no snitch. Shit, yo mama even knew who shot J.R." I shake my head and pull on the new shoes she insisted I buy.

"Your mama knows the way to San José. When they was trying to find the zodiac killer, the first person they called was your mama, but she wasn't home."

"Are you done yet?" I pull off my suit jacket to put on my coat and grab a hanger.

"Your mama knows who put the bop in the bop shoo bop shoo bop."

I grab my keys, the hanger with my suit jacket, and look at him.

"O.J. was lucky yo mama was busy during the trial, cuz guess what--"

I shake my head and walk out the door.

"Your mama knew!" he hoots behind me, and his cackles chase me all the way down the stairs.

Fuckin' Rob.