Page 23 of Dirty

“It’s not possible,” she said.

“She was eleven when they moved. It’s been ten years.”

She looked at me. “Ten years? Are you sure?”

I nodded. “I was twenty-one.”

“So why you ask about the puta?” she asked. “She’s no good for you.”

“I was just asking. Making conversation, mother.”

“We make conversations about what we wish to speak of. Listen to your mother. She’s no good for you.”

She was right. I wanted her opinion of Alexandra, and whether or not she thought my interest in her would be awkward, disrespectful, or too lop-sided regarding age. Asking while she was in one of her moods could produce answers I didn’t want to hear.

I stood. “I was thinking about going by to check on Alexandra.”

She turned around and wiped her hands against her apron. She looked into my eyes, and while she did, her mouth curled into a sly grin. “You like the daughter?”

I leaned toward her and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m just checking on her. I’ve got to go.”

“Is she pretty?” she asked, her voice hopeful.

“She looks like her mother.”

She wrinkled her brow. “She looks like a whore?”

“She’s beautiful. She looks like the Virgin Mary,” I said sarcastically.

“Bring her for dinner,” she said. “But not the puta.”

I kissed her again. “I’m going to work.”

“Bring her for dinner.”

I shook my head and turned toward the door. “I’m going to work.”

“Everyone must eat. Bring her for dinner.”

“Goodbye mother.”

“You’re growing old,” she said. “You need to get married.”

Marriage was the furthest thing from my mind. I had always told myself whenever I decided to marry, my devotions would be sincere, and I’d remain a one-woman man for the rest of my life.

For me to be tied down now – and limited to one woman – was laughable. My previous intentions with women had never been bad, but they certainly hadn’t been good, either. My thoughts about Alexandra, however, had been limited to curiosity.

At least that’s what I was trying to convince myself.

EIGHT

Lex

I’d spent the last five years or so waiting for the day I turned twenty-one to arrive. I envisioned a huge party, drunken acts I’d later regret, and all-night sex that I’d remember for a lifetime.

Instead, I sat alone in my mother’s living room binge-watching the Girlfriends’ Guide to Divorce while contemplating making tacos.

My previous relationship was an unhealthy one, and it took me a while to realize it. By the time I recognized my need to escape the punishing behavior, I’d already lost touch with most of my girlfriends and acquaintances.