Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller
Chapter 33
My mother’saccusation hurdles through the air like a slow-motion car crash, slowing time as the world simultaneously implodes around us.
On impact, my ribs are crushed, splintering into a million little pieces and swept away in my bloodstream. My heart feels like an overinflated balloon, popping when stretched to its limits, and I try to swallow down the ache in my throat as my eyes find Kal’s, hoping for some kind of hint that she’s lying.
That she’s just trying to get under my skin and make me feel bad for abandoning her.
Jaw clenched, Kal meets my gaze, eyes guarded but transparent. His shoulders slump just the slightest fraction, and his Adam’s apple jumps, and I quickly drop my stare to the table, feeling tears burning behind my lids at his silence.
It’s a sign. An admission.
Just not the one I’d been hoping for.
“Manache,” Papá grumbles, drawing an imaginary cross over his chest. “My decision had nothing to do with you fucking him years ago, Carmen. Cristo.”
Mamá tsks, taking a long swig of her wine. Her hand wobbles on its descent, and I can’t help wondering if she’s mixing, the way the other mob wives seem to, relying on a nice chemical cocktail to get through their miserable lives.
“Oh, dear, did I expose some of Kallum’s dirty laundry? You two just looked so... cozy together, I couldn’t fathom that he hadn’t told you about our affair yet.”
Our affair.
The phrase tastes bitter on my tongue, like biting into a fruit that hasn’t quite ripened yet, all because you couldn’t stand to be patient. Just another day, a little extra self-control, and you might have bitten into something juicy and delectable.
Instead, you’re left with the dull flavor of your mistakes, wondering why the man you’ve fallen in love with shares anything with another.
Much less your mother.
My hands itch to wrap around her neck and squeeze for using his full name so flippantly. Like she’s at all deserving of it.
Even without knowing the details, I know she isn’t.
“Except I told you the other night she didn’t know.” Kal’s voice is a hot blade to my skin, laced with rust as it slices through me.
“Did you?” She shrugs one shoulder, humming. “Must’ve slipped my mind. We talked about so many things.”
Looking at the hollow of Kal’s throat, the divot I’ve run my tongue over more times than I can even count at this point, I lick my lips, afraid to go any higher. “When did you speak to my mother?”
He flattens his palms on the table, his wedding band catching in the light. “The other night, right after you went outside.”
“Ah, yes, when you so kindly tossed him into my waiting arms.”
“Carmen,” Papá snaps, rubbing his hand over his face. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“The only way I would be tossed into your arms is if they were torn from your body and set on fire,” Kal says, curling his fingers. “And even then, it would be so I could join you in the afterlife, and personally drop you on Satan’s doorstep.”
There’s hatred in his voice, venom spewing from the tip of his tongue, but I grew up on the principle of thought that love and hate were just two sides of the same coin. The only difference was circumstance, and as my eyes volley between Kal and my mother, one a rabid beast ready to destroy its prey, the other a hungry predator looking to feast, I realize I can’t quite tell where the two lie in regards to that coin.
“You slept with my mother?” I ask, my brain still struggling to process.
“Well, there never was much sleeping involved, if you know what I mean,” Mamá mutters, laughing at her own joke, even though everyone else on the patio remains eerily still, one comment away from complete annihilation. “I certainly hope you two are better with contraception than we were, because I’ll tell you. That man is potent, if you know what I mean.” She hiccups, confirming to me that she’s at least a little high, although that certainly doesn’t lessen the sting. “Oops, did I say that twice?”
The implication hangs heavy in the air between the four of us, souring my stomach, threatening to expel the contents. My throat tightens, the weight of this revelation wrapping its claws around me until I’m gasping for my next breath and praying it never comes in the same thought.
“Jesus Christ, you really are a bitch.” Kal rips his napkin from his throat, throwing it on the table as he pushes to his feet, turning to look at me. “Elena. Can I please have a moment alone with you?”
“I don’t think she’ll be going anywhere with you again, Kallum.” Mamá sloshes her wine in his direction, glaring. “You stay away from my little girl.”
I stare at the centerpiece in the middle of the table, letting my eyes lose focus in the brightness of the dahlias and lilies. Flowers I would’ve had at my wedding or funeral, their presence now ironic, since I’ve never been more convinced that I’m dying.
And yet, that’s what heartbreak feels like; it’s having someone reach into your chest and tear the organ from your body, except they don’t use any tools or care to make it a clean extraction. They yank and twist until it pops free, leaving all the broken muscle and tissue behind, veins spilling with nowhere else to pump into.
It’s visceral, blinding pain that sparks in the wound and creeps outward, testing the waters to see how much you can take.
Betrayal slithers like lava down my spine, obliterating everything in its path. Looking up at Kal, I’m struck by how immediately your entire view of a person can change, when presented with new information about them.
When I felt the scars on his body, proving a lifetime of evil deeds, I saw a man trapped in a monster’s body.
When I saw the pictures of his mom and sister, my heart ached for a boy with no one, who grew up and filled the cracks in his soul with whatever scraps of attention and affection he could get.
Now, all I see is a liar.
A man I don’t even recognize; his shape shifts into a sinister being as I stare at him silently, still hoping beyond hope that he’ll refute what my mother’s saying. That I wasn’t his sloppy seconds, his only option.
His revenge piece.
‘You’re of no use to me dead, little one.’
I suppose this solves that mystery.
Pushing my chair slowly back from the table, I keep my eyes trained on my glass of water, refusing to look at anyone in fear of an instant breakdown.
“I don’t want to be late for Ari’s recital.”
I feel three pairs of eyes on me, feel the surprise from all of them. “Elena,” Papá says, and I hear his chair scrape across the concrete, creaking as he stands. “We should probably talk about this—”
Shaking my head, I press my lips together, afraid of what might slip out if given the slightest opportunity. A sob tickles the back of my throat, and no matter how many times I try to push it down, it refuses, lodging itself there like agony demanding my attention.
Whoever said the stages of grief don’t just apply to death was onto something.
Turning on my heel, I sidestep my chair and head back into the house, passing through the kitchen. I swipe my purse and coat from the sofa in the living room, almost making it to the front door before a hand grabs my wrist, yanking me backward.
“Don’t you dare leave this house without talking to me,” Kal snaps, turning me around so I’m facing him. “We don’t do that shit.”
Trying to twist out of his grip, I snarl, “We don’t do anything. Don’t tell me to open up about how I’m feeling when you’ve been lying to me the entire time I’ve known you.”
“When would have been a good time to bring it up? I couldn’t very well be buried in your pussy and casually dredge up the fact that I’ve seen your mother in a similar state.”
The sentence burns as it slaps across my face, worse than if he’d just killed me on the spot. At least the pain would likely be over soon. “Well, lucky for you, she cut out the middleman and did it for you. Solved that dilemma real quick, didn’t it?”
My free hand claws at the front door, turning the knob and wrenching it open. Yanking on my arm again, I glare up at him.
“Let go of me.”
His gaze sears straight through me, skipping my heart altogether and igniting my soul on fire. But not the good kind of fire, that grazes your skin and fills you with warmth. It’s the kind that singes and steals, destruction in the form of flames.
“I can’t,” he grits, although his fingers retract at the same time, reaching up to card through his hair. “Jesus, Elena, just give me five minutes.”
Part of me wants to; aches to stay back and hear what he has to say, but the anger pulsing through me takes precedence, wanting him to suffer.
“I can’t,” I repeat. Ari floats down the staircase, half her face decorated in sparkly foundation and gold makeup, completely oblivious to everything that’s just happened. I catch her as she starts to slip out the other side of the door, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to the recital already?”
She nods. “We always rehearse a few of the trickier numbers before the show.” Peering up at Kal, she purses her lips, then looks back to me. “Want to come with?”
Nodding, I follow her out to the car sitting idle at the curb, Lorenzo behind the wheel. And when I climb in the back, chancing a single glance over my shoulder, I see Kal still standing in the doorway, frozen in place like a statue.
When we drive away, I let my sobs choke free; Ari scoots closer, letting me cry on her shoulder even though she doesn’t seem to know what’s going on.
I always wondered what would happen if I bled wide open, and he wasn’t there to blot it up with his tongue or fingers or first aid kit.
Guess now I have my answer.
