I made these deductions through careful observation and analysis.
Okay, I could tell this by peeping out the little hole in my front door.
I was reduced to being a stalker.
He hadn't had any visitors the whole week he was there. I hoped that he was single. For, you know, research purposes. And he was very quiet, with no music, or even television blaring. I needed an excuse to see him. Thus my tamale delivery plan.
I really hoped he'd like them, because if I was honest, I wasn't making them for Christmas. I was making them for him.
Just then there was a knock on my door. Hoping it was Jake, I scuttled to the front door in my heels, and opened it with my elbows, trying not to get masa on the door.
There was a man standing on my doorstep.
A bike messenger man, all slim muscles, tattooed calves, and messenger bag.
He pulled some papers out of his bag and handed them to me. "Lucinda Figueroa?"
"Who wants to know?" I asked, the back of my hand on my hips.
"You are being served with this petition by Carlos Castro-" he started, as he handed the documents to me, and I screamed, "That SON OF A BITCH!" and then I clamped my messy, masa hand over my mouth because I remembered that Rob was in the room.
Wow, what an asshole. What was he trying to do this time?
I grumpily yanked the papers out of the messenger boy's hands and said, "Fine, the jerk has served me," and I slammed the door in his face.
Then I felt bad because it wasn't the bike messenger's fault.
So I gingerly opened the door again and said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. You're just the messenger and my ex is an asshole. I'm sorry," I repeated. "Have a nice day." And I smiled at him and then slammed the door again.
"Lucy," called my mother. "What was that all about?"
"Carlos," I muttered under my breath, and then I went into the kitchen. I set the papers down on the only clear surface, and then wiped my hands off on a paper towel. "Carlos served me with some papers. I'll read them after we are done here."
"Oh that cabrón," my mother muttered.
"Mom!"
"She's right," said Sara.
"Yeah, he's a pinche cabrón," said Georgie.
"Rob. Can. Hear. You." I hissed.
"Sorry, girl," Georgie replied, immediately.
"Don't say sorry to me, say sorry to Roberto."
"Sorry, Rob," Georgie called out.
"No worries, tía," he called back. Rob called both of my friends tía, meaning aunt.
I let out a breath and managed a weak smile.
"Oh, that was ugly. Okay, let's finish these up."
Two hours later, I had dozens upon dozens of pork tamales and a clean kitchen. My friends and my mom had gone home and I'd cleaned up and now sat at my dining table with the envelope from the messenger, scared to read the words on the page.
Better do it, though.
I looked at the first sheet. It was a petition to modify child custody and child support. Basically, my ex wanted to take my child from me and pay me less in child support.
Bile rose up into my throat and my hands shook. I had downed three margaritas before lunch and then had barely eaten any lunch, but this news put me over the edge. The room spun and I felt ill.
No way could he take away my child. No way could he threaten me with this. Rob and I were so stable. We had a good home. We didn't need to change anything.
Carlos worked all day. He wouldn't have time to take Rob to school or pick him up. What was he thinking?
He probably just wanted to stop paying child support, because the more time Rob was with his dad, the less child support he had to pay me. I needed to call my lawyer on Monday. I hadn't had to use her in a while but it looked like I'd have to since Carlos made this move.
I tossed the papers on the floor and stamped out of the room, flinging myself on my bed. I didn't need this. Everything had been going so great. I didn't want a legal battle and I didn't want Rob to have anything to do with his parents fighting.
Goddamn fucking Carlos. He'd ditched me when I had Rob and left a scar so deep it hadn't healed. Even though I'd just had a house full of my closest female confidantes, I still felt like the unsupported single mom who, because of a single choice in high school, now had all this responsibility.
I took a deep breath.
After I lay there for a while, I calmed down. I'd call my attorney Monday morning and until I talked with her, I didn't have to think about this. It was time to chill and enjoy the rest of the weekend. Actually, it was time to give Jake the tamales that the four of us had slaved over for hours this morning. That would cheer me up.
I'd heard Jake leave that morning and I had heard his door open while I lay on my bed. Time to make a delivery. For research purposes.
I checked my hair and makeup in the mirror, and put on fresh lip gloss.
Calling to Rob that I'd be back in a second, I slipped out of my house, a dozen still-warm tamales wrapped in foil. My high heels clacked on the concrete as I scooted over to his door and knocked.
After a second, the door opened and Jake stood there looking godlike as ever, in jeans and a black t-shirt. His blue eyes bored into me and I saw a flash of surprise and, I hoped, delight. He held his cell phone to his ear with one hand and the other rested on the doorknob.
"Hang on a sec," he said into the phone. "Hey, Lucy, how are you?"
"Good. I made you some tamales." And I handed them to him.
"Uh, thank you," he responded in a friendly, but distracted tone, and then said, "Yeah, I'm back," into his phone and closed the door in my face.
Seriously?
What was up with that?
I stood on Jake's stoop fuming, apoplectic, while a million thoughts ran through my head. Amidst all of my rampant thoughts was one rational truth: he didn't have to give me anything other than a reasonably polite thank you, which he did. I'd made the tamales out of the goodness of my heart and he didn't need to invite me in and fuck me in his shower, which was what I really wanted.
Wait, no. I just wanted more research for my book.
Well, anyway, I knew that the world didn't owe me anything. Jake didn't owe me anything, either. And I couldn't control any other person's responses to my actions, I could only control what I did in a situation.
The other part of my brain, perhaps irrational, perhaps not, ran me over and left me motionless, outside his door, thinking the following. I was pissed. I'd spent all morning on those. I invited a crew over to make them. I ignored my son to make them, letting him rot his brain on videogames. I even got served by a process server while I made them. While covered in masa!
I wanted the homemade food-a care package-to be my excuse to get to know him and to talk to him. Anything other than having him just take them and close the door in my face.
Jerk. Maybe my impression about him was wrong. He didn't deserve any more attention from me. And as I stood there, I realized that it hurt to be rejected like that. Based on the way he looked at me before, I'd thought he liked me.
Fucking rejected by a man, again. Just like Carlos.
I turned to walk back to my home and paused.
No.
I was going to tell him that he was a jerk and that I deserved better. I turned back toward Jake's unit, raised my hand in a fist to pound on his door, and it opened before I could make contact. I dropped my fist immediately and Jake stepped out, closing the door behind him.
"Hey," he said, running his hand behind his neck, stretching his well-defined arm. His eyes looked weary, and such a distracting, intense shade of blue. But I saw kindness in them and something hotter. We both stared at each other and then I remembered to talk.
"Hey," I responded, looking up at him, sidetracked, and trying not to drool. Then I remembered that I was angry at him and I put my hand on my hips, sassy-Lucy style. "You know, you need to get some manners. I worked hard on those and you don't have to like them but you didn't have to slam the door in my face."
"I didn't mean it," he said immediately, walking towards me, backing me against the wall. What was this? "I was on the phone with someone from work and I got distracted." He looked sheepish. "Work gets in the way of everything and runs over my life. I'm sorry. I was coming over just now to tell you that I appreciated you bringing them to me."
"Yeah, well, acting like that? I thought you were a complete tool," I said, now hitting the wall. I couldn't help it. It was true and I deserve to be treated better. I'd learned from my past.
"So tell me what you really think," he muttered and his blue eyes danced. I shrugged in response, twirling my long brown hair around my finger. He let out a breath and put his hand on the wall next to me. Damn. That was close. I liked it. He looked me in the eyes, apologetic. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. I wasn't expecting you and I was in the middle of a conference call. I finished it just now and like I said . . ." and he trailed off and started looking at the top of my head.
And then I started looking at his mouth and I started really wishing he would kiss me. So badly. I wanted to feel him. I wanted to smell him. I wanted to run my hand along the back of his neck like he did, rubbing out the tension. Poor workaholic.