Sofia and Carlos go to dinner

Sofia barely tastes her dinner after the comments Carlos makes while they wait at the bar. He’s quiet on the drive home, but she can see the tension in him, which is topped off by the fact that his hand is resting on the gear shift instead of her thigh like he usually does. She stares out the window, replaying Jay’s awkward apology, and the guilt she feels for quickly trying to usher him along so she could avoid exactly this situation.

Barely a word is said the entire way home. Carlos kills the engine, but starts speaking as soon as she reaches for the door handle.

“That was the same kid from before, wasn’t it?” he asks now that they’re alone and parked. “The one who left those cheap little toy cars at our front door when I came home on Mateo’s birthday, right?”

Sofia’s pulse spikes instantly, and she turns to face him. “Yes. And his name is Jay, not kid or delivery boy. But yes, that’s the same gentleman that often delivers-”

“Yeah, I thought I remembered him when I saw that fucking bag he was holding at the restaurant.” Carlos cuts her off and turns away from her. “I also remember telling you to delete those messages from him and to get rid of his contact info. You said you did, right then while you were talking to me.”

“And I did delete them,” she says carefully, trying to not let the accusations get the best of her. “There was the thank-you, which I know upset you-”

“Damn straight it did,” he snaps at her. “I told you not to text him in the first place when I brought that garbage into our house, and you still did it. You just waited a couple of days first.”

Staying as calm as she can, Sofia starts again. “Like I was saying, I know it upset you, but he did something nice for a kid he doesn’t know. He didn’t have to do that. I’m sorry I have manners, but it was impolite to not say anything. You saw the whole conversation, and it was nothing more than a thank-you, and when he responded, I didn’t say anything else.”

“Pfft,” Carlos scoffs, “right, but he just decides it’s ok to text you weeks later.”

“There wasn’t anything,” Sofia defends. “And the second he texted me, I showed you what he sent. I didn’t try to hide it. Even that message said he hadn’t seen me in a while. I haven’t ordered delivery once since Mateo’s birthday, so he can’t even deliver anything to the house.”

He finally looks at her and has an expression showing his complete disbelief of everything she’s saying. “I’m sure if I wasn’t sitting there when he texted you, you wouldn’t have ever showed me. And yet, tonight he comes up to you in a restaurant after you’ve completely ignored him? That doesn’t sound to me like someone that’s been rejected. He seems to think you two are some kind of friendly with each other since he keeps trying to talk to you.”

“That’s not what happened at all! He came over to apologize and say that he never should’ve texted. He felt bad because he knew it was dumb. That’s all.”

Carlos gives a snort with a mock laugh. “Right. So, either you didn’t delete the thread like I told you to, or you’ve been talking to him some other way. Snapchat, maybe? Something that disappears?”

Sofia feels her face growing warmer as her frustrations mount. “Are you serious? You honestly think I’m sneaking around with the delivery guy?”

“I think you’ve been lonely,” he says, choosing his words to imply, but not clearly state anything. “And I think some kid his age showing up with gifts is suspicious. But it’s also exactly the kind of attention that could make you feel a little bit better when your husband’s working all hours to provide you with that car he seems interested in. I mean, he bought a toy version of it.”

She stares at him, and the accusation isn’t lost in what he said. “It’s a toy for Mateo. Something he’d recognize, because I’m sure Jay has no idea what type of toys he’d actually like. He’s never spoken a word to him that I can think of. And you’re right. You’re never home,” she repeats slowly. “I find it funny you mention that. Because I’ve been wondering where you really are on all those last-minute, late nights and weekend trips that you say you’re working. In fact, you seem to be a little too good at understanding how to hide things on your phone, Carlos. Maybe you can tell me, how exactly does someone make sure certain messages don’t show up?”

She watches as the muscles at his temple flex and unflex with the clenching of his jaw. A glimpse of something goes through his eyes, like maybe she hit a little close to home.

“Don’t turn this around on me,” he states, and his voice has lost the last bits of its calm edge.

“I’m not turning anything.” Sofia’s own voice begins to rise a little louder, and the accent she usually keeps subdued starts to come through. “I’m asking a question you seem to have some insight into. But now that I’m asking you about it, you don’t seem to want to discuss it anymore.”

Before she finishes the last sentence, Carlos starts to exit the car. The argument follows them into the house, causing their voices to echo, and leads to doors closing harder than necessary. It’s as if years of resentment start coming through all at once. She doesn’t back down this time, and he doesn’t either. The babysitter closes the door to one of their sons’ rooms, distracting them by turning up one of the older boy’s favorite movies.

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