I wouldn’t be with Bonita when she’d hear the news. But I smiled anyway. We could still have our sexy celebration.
25
Bonita
I was too old to be punished by my parents—or so I thought. It turned out that while I was no longer a minor but a young woman with her own life to live and her own decisions to make, I was not too old for my parents to express their disappointment with me. So, I guess you’re never too old to be punished by your parents.
I could deal with their disappointment; I could deal with the lectures and the arguments as long as they understood—or at least started to understand—where I was coming from: that I wasn’t going to let my sun allergy stop me from doing what I wanted to do. And if that meant I’d have to put myself in potentially dangerous situations, well, that was just what I was going to do.
The only thing they asked me about my pregnancy was, “who’s the father.” I told them I wouldn’t tell, not until I’d spoken with him first. That didn’t sit too well with them. But they didn’t push it further. My brother, however, he’s never been one to not push.
“Just tell me the father’s not Noah,” he said.
“I’m not telling,” I said for the four thousandth time.
“So it is Noah, then.” He cursed and slammed a fist on the desk. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Don’t kill Noah,” I said. “He’s your best friend.”
“Your best friend doesn’t get your sister pregnant!”
I cocked my head to the side. “Actually, that probably happens more often than you might think.”
He gritted his teeth and pounded his fist into his open hand.
“Guillermo, I didn’t say Noah was the father.”
He looked at me, his brow furrowed, “It’s Ben, isn’t it?” He pounded his fist into his open hand. “I’ll kill him.”
“I’m not saying it’s Ben, either.”
“Trevor?”
I shook my head. “I’ll never tell.”
“Please.”
I frowned. “The truth is”—I paused and looked at him. I didn’t think he was ready for the shock but like with a Band-Aid: one swift yank—“it could be any one of the seven.”
It took him a minute to register what I was saying. “You mean…?”
I nodded.
He looked away, but at least he stopped punching his hand.
“Are you going to kill all seven of them?” I asked.
He chuckled. “No. They’ll kill each other, I’m sure.”
I shook my head. “It’s not like that. We have an understanding.” At least, we had an understanding.
I stayed in my room. I don’t know which frightened me more, the sun or my own family. Either way, it wasn’t safe to go out. I complained of an upset stomach to avoid lingering at the familial lunches and dinners.
Sasha was in the news, and I read every article I could find on the subject. They all said the same thing. She won the contract back that Fay Energy had stolen from her. Apparently, Angelica Fay didn’t feel like fighting the libel accusations anymore, and she and Sasha settled their dispute out of court.
I thought that might provide a decent resolution to my documentary, but without more facts, it felt a bit underwhelming. Plus, I’d left most of our work with the crew in Iceland. I was itching to do some editing, but I had no files to work with.
I thought of calling Trevor or Ken or Noah. I’d left so suddenly. But if I had stayed, I was sure my anger would have led to some ugly scenes. Now, over a week had passed, and I missed them. I still wanted to strangle them, but I also wanted to slap them—and not necessarily out of anger.
With my phone in hand and Trevor’s number on the screen, I stared at it, not able to push “call.” There’s so much to talk about. We can’t do it over the phone. And we have to be together, all of us.
As I stared at the phone and contemplated my options, my phone rang. I jumped in my seat, and the phone landed on the floor. I picked it up: Greta.
“Hi, Greta. How’s life?”
“Bonita.” I could tell from her tone of voice, even in that one word, that she had something serious to tell me, something she had no doubt prepared and rehearsed. I braced myself and listened.
“You remember how I told you that I would never have you ride in my car ever again?”
“Yes,” I said.
“You need to get ready,” she said. “I’m coming to pick you up.”
“Um, okay. Where are we going?”
“Bonita, you had something very special, and I’m not going to let you throw it away.”
I nodded, but I didn’t interrupt. I could tell Greta still had quite a bit to get off her chest.
“You owe it to yourself to hear their side of the story. I know they messed up, but they’re good people. I know that. You know that. Not to mention that one of them is the father of the baby you’re carrying.”