Oxblood Read Free Page A

Tiffany, because she was there when it all went down; Sam because when things got tough at the diner, Gil and I offered to help bail him out. He wouldn’t take the money, but it solidified us as family in Sam’s eyes.
    â€œNo. He’s working a construction job in Fort Lauderdale.” I walked to my room, doing my best to disengage Tiffany from further Chad discussion. Lately, most days I could take him or leave him, so whether he called me on my birthday or not didn’t really matter. When he did come back, he’d most likely bring me some cheap flowers from the corner store and pour on his charm. I wish I could resist him in those moments, but at the end of the day it’s nice to have someone around to cuddle with and buy me flowers. It gets lonely when the only family you have left is in Italy.
    â€œHere, these are yours,” I said, returning from my bedroom with a pair of pajamas for Tiffany. “Oh, and I brought you a nail file.”
    â€œUm . . . okay. Why did you bring me a nail file?” Tiffany asked.
    â€œYou’ve got a nick in your left thumbnail. You’ll want to file it before it tears off,” I told her. Tiffany lifted her hand to her face and examined her thumb.
    â€œI don’t know how you do that.” Tiffany shook her head and got to work.
    â€œTime to get our movie on!” I declared.
    I dished out some of Mrs. Vasquez’s black beans and rice into two bowls and grabbed two cans of generic soda from the fridge while Tiffany pushed the coffee table out and threw a tablecloth over it. We sat on the floor, leaned our backs against the couch, turned Netflix on, and searched for sappy movies that carried no hope of ever becoming reality for either one of us.
    By four in the morning, we had eaten the whole apple pie and half the carton of ice cream, watched a Rachel McAdams and an Audrey Hepburn movie, and spent the night sufficiently laughing and crying. Tiffany cozied herself up on the couch with a pillow and her favorite of my blankets, and I tucked myself into my queen-size bed.
    When Gil left for Italy, I moved my picture of him from my tall, five-drawer dresser and put it next to the one of Mom and Dad on the night table. I looked at both photos, feeling desperate because I missed everyone in them. I said good night to the silver-framed photo of my parents, as I had every night since they died, and then looked at the calendar that hung above the small wooden desk I’d had since middle school. It was officially Sunday, which meant I was due to get an email from Gil that night.
    Over the months he’s been gone, I’ve lived for that Sunday email. Gil told me about seeing the Colosseum and Trevi Fountain, and how the research was hard but he knew it was going to pay off in the end. It was exciting and I was so happy for him.
    I woke to the delicious smell of coffee and bacon. It was a rarity that someone else was cooking for me. I lay there in bed relishing in the luxury of it. After a few moments, I stretched and twisted my body then dragged myself to the kitchen.
    â€œWhat is all this?” I asked. The pale yellow kitchen walls felt neon to my morning eyes. The sun streamed through the window.
    â€œThis is your birthday breakfast,” Tiffany answered, handing me a cup of coffee. Still in her pajamas, her hair was in a messy bun on top of her head. “Cream and three Splendas, right?”
    â€œYou know me so well.” I yawned and nodded sleepily as I took the first sip. “Mmmm, this is good. Thank you, Tiff. This is so sweet of you. What time is it?”
    â€œIt’s a little after two,” she answered. “I figured if we served breakfast all day at The Clock, then we could have breakfast at two in the afternoon if we wanted.”
    â€œGood point. And when is breakfast ever a bad idea?” I chuckled. “I don’t remember, are you working tomorrow? Somehow I got today and tomorrow