Essie Ramirez

Essie Ramirez pulled off her black pocketed waitress apron and shoved it in her locker. 

“Essie?”  Her sister tried again to draw her into a conversation.  But Esperanza kept her mouth in a firm line.  She wasn’t willing to engage Maggie.  She was furious.

“Hermana, please?”  Maggie put a hand on Essie’s shoulder. 

Essie listened to the sounds of the restaurant in order to distract herself from her anger and disappointment.  She heard their father, Hector, barking out orders to the new busboys.  She heard the fuzzy, bright sound of all-Spanish radio—it was a commercial for a Mexican airline with special deals for Valentine’s day.  The clink, clunk of pots and utensils on stainless steel counter tops, the hiss-sizzle of onions and peppers cooking on the wide, flat grill top, she heard the tail-end of a ribald joke in Spanish and the resulting laughter from Hugo and the boys in the kitchen.  She heard the high-pitched nasal whine of Flora, the new waitress Hector had pulled in to pick up more of Maggie’s old hours.

“Essie, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but it all happened so fast—“

Essie cursed, causing her sister’s hand to drop from her shoulder as though she were made of barbed wire.  “Dammit, Magalita, I’m not pissed you didn’t tell me—“  She glared into her sister’s wide brown eyes, “I’m pissed you married that asshole!”

Maggie’s eyes washed over with some flash of emotion but before Essie could discern which emotion it was, they were downcast and shielded.  “I understand how you feel.”  Maggie said quietly.

Essie clucked her tongue.  “Really?”  She challenged, “Do you?”

Maggie sighed heavily and looked at her sister again.  The only emotion coloring her expression now was a weary resignation.  “I know you don’t like him and I get that.”

“He’s a dirtbag!”  Essie couldn’t help the way her voice rose in volume.  Maggie blushed and looked around the breakroom but they were the only two in the dingy little cell of a room at present.  “Maggie he used you and broke your heart, why on earth would you do this?”

Maggie swallowed.  “Essie, please—“

“No.”  Said Essie, slamming the locker closed and moving away from her sister.  “No Maggie, I won’t. I can’t.  So don’t even ask me to ‘understand’ or to ‘trust you’ or any of that because this guy is a sleaze.”  She paced the small room, wanting very much to kick something or scream or grab hold of her big sister and shake some sense into her.  “He’s the worst kind of guy—I asked around about him Maggie, after he dumped you, and I know things about him that I won’t even tell you they’re so bad.”

Maggie’s eyebrows drew together.  “What things?”  She demanded.

Essie shook her head.  “And who was there for you night after night for weeks and weeks after he decided he was done with you?”  She threw at her sister “Who held you while you cried yourself sick again and again?”

Maggie’s face softened.  “You are too good to me Ess.”  She said softly.  “And you know I love you more than anything.”

Essie huffed.  “I’m so furious with you Magdalena.”  She told her, ceasing her pacing and squaring off, her arms folded across her chest, one hip cocked, a foot tapping.  “I can’t believe Papa isn’t flipping out about this.”  She stared at her sister, but Maggie only bit her lip.  “Is it because he’s rich?  Is it?  Because you always told me that girls who married for money were hardly better than whores.”

Maggie’s mouth fell open and tears welled in her eyes.  “It isn’t the money.”  She said, her voice thin and uneven.

Essie felt a shiver of shame for being so ruthless with her sister but her blood was pumping molten fire and she had no hope of governing her tongue.  “Then what is it?  What could possibly possess you to marry a two-timing, lying, selfish, disgusting son of a bitch like that?”  Essie took a quick breath and kept right on going “The same man who fooled you into loving him, made you have sex with him and then threw you away like you were just some stupid slut?”  Essie cringed as Maggie buried her face in her shaking hands.  “Is this the kind of guy worth marrying?  Hm?  Is this the kind of guy Mamma would want you to stand before God with, Maggie?”

Maggie pulled her head out from behind her hands and her face was twisted in pain, wet from tears, and somehow still a little defiant and bold.  “I’m pregnant.”  She declared and jutted her chin out, her eyes glittering.

Essie took the words like a blow to the stomach.  All the wind seemed to be forcibly sucked out of her and her tongue felt tingly and fat.

“He didn’t use a condom and I got pregnant and I didn’t know what else to do.”  Said Maggie, matching Essie’s stance by crossing her arms over her chest and leaning into one hip.  “I don’t blame you for hating him, I don’t think I’ll ever forgive him either, but what’s done is done, and he’s my husband now and I need you to stop punishing me for this because it’s already more awful than I can stand.”

Maggie’s lower lip trembled but she seemed unwilling to cave to more tears.  She stood, clenching and unclenching a muscle in her jaw, and blinking rapidly, and stubbornly refusing to back-down or break.

Essie was stunned.  “You’re?”

Maggie nodded impatiently.

But it didn’t make sense.  Part of what she’d learned about Grey Delaney was his habit of convincing girls he’d knocked-up to get abortions.  Why would he make an exception this time?  Why had he agreed to marry Maggie?

“Does Papa Know?”  Gasped Essie, panicked.

Maggie’s strong front wavered.  “I don’t know…”

“You think he suspects?”  Essie was mortified.  She couldn’t imagine how awful it would be to have her father suspect her of being easy and sleeping with boys.  How must Maggie feel?  How must their father feel about Maggie now?  Suddenly Essie felt ready to well-up.  The disappointment and the broken heart her father must be feeling—

“I think, maybe.”  Maggie said, and brushed a stray curl from her face and tucked it behind her ear.  She looked as miserable as Essie felt for her.  “And we’re going to be married in the church in a week.”  She said flatly.  “Since Papa wasn’t happy with the civil ceremony.”  Maggie crossed to the shabby wood-laminate cafeteria-style break table and sat on the rusty old locker-room style bench.  “He looked so sad, Essie, I wanted to die.”  She shivered.  The two sisters were quiet for a long moment, letting the bustling sounds of the restaurant soothe and lull them as they thought about their father, the baby and what a mess their quiet little life had just become.  After a while Maggie pulled herself out of whatever maudlin musing she had been indulging in.  “Anyway, I wanted to ask you to stand up with me at the church.”

Essie felt the growing pool of sympathy for her sister freeze over.  “You want me to stand up, in front of a priest, in front of Mary, and the saints, and before God, and pretend that I’m OK with all of this?”

Maggie looked tired and she shrugged.  “What else was I supposed to do?”  She asked blandly.  “What would you have done?”

Essie came dangerously close to telling her sister the truth: that she’d never have spread her legs for that smooth-talking bastard millionaire, but she managed to keep her mouth shut long enough to think of something marginally more diplomatic to say.  “Did he try to make you get an abortion?”

Maggie went very still for a long moment.  “Yes.”

Essie nodded. Then crossed herself rapidly and sent up a quick prayer for Maggie’s baby. Thank God her sister had had the courage to stand up to that slick son-of-a-bitch.  And thank God that at least her sister was still honest with her.  “How’d you get him to marry you?” She asked when she’d said a silent ‘Amen’ to Mary.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Excuse me?!”

“It doesn’t matter Essie, the point is—“

“The point is you’re going to go make vows, in the name of the father, and you’re both going to be up there lying, lying in a church Maggie.”  Essie shook her head in disgust.  “If you think that isn’t going to end up coming back to haunt you then you’re, you’re crazy AND stupid.”

Maggie nodded a few times and then stood slowly.  She looked her sister in the eye and she seemed cloaked in a peculiar calm.  “Alright, Essie.  You’ve made your feelings clear.  I won’t ask you again.”  And Maggie started for the door, her spine straight, her shoulders back.  Serene.

“Wait, Hermana, wait, Magalita!”  Essie was still furious, she was sick with frustrated rage, and she was worried beyond measure, worried for her sister and for that little unborn baby.  Maggie stopped, her hand on the door.

“What else is there to say?”  She asked, sounding numb and aloof.

“I love you.”  Essie said, trying hard not to sound too sharp or irritable.

“Te amo, también.”  Maggie responded mildly.

“No matter what, Soy su hermana—“  Essie took a breath, “—y estare siempre alli para ti.”  She wanted to be as good a sister to Maggie as Maggie always was to her.  Even though it sucked.  Even though it felt impossible right now.

“Gracias hermanita.  La necesito.”

“Anything special you want me to wear?”

Maggie turned to her sister and gave her a weak smile.  She shook her head and pushed open the door.

The sounds from the kitchen rushed into the breakroom unfiltered and Essie sighed as she watched her sister go.

The door closed again and when the sounds became muffled once more Essie felt insulated from the too-rapidly changing life outside the dismal break-room.  Her sister was married and having a baby.  Essie knew nothing would ever feel the same again.  She closed her eyes, sank into the raggedy old couch that was probably older than herself, and she stayed there for a very long time.