Palm Trees & Pixie Dust Chapter 1

Palm Trees & Pixie Dust

By Yasamin E.

Approx. 25,000 words

Chapter 1
I sat under a giant green umbrella in the café patio, waiting for Darla to pick me up. I had been there a good fifteen minutes after getting off the train in downtown Santa Barbara and waiting for my sister and her new hubby. Darla is my half sister and even though we only spent weekends together like a divorced couple, life is good between us. She works at a local real estate firm, making the big bucks while her new hubby worked for the city. I sipped my caramel macchiato, venti of course and waited.

It never failed, Darla was always running late. It was an old quirk of hers that would never go away. Let’s just say that the family always gave her at least a half hour berth around any event just to make sure she arrived no later than ten minutes after it started. Unfortunately, because she booked this trip, I had no choice but to wait for her lateness. The hot flavors of my coffee seeped into my bones while the wind started to pick up. A storm was rolling in and rain was sure to follow. I watched the waves crash onto the shore as the sun began to set on this cold November day.

You’re wondering why I am in Santa Barbara aren’t you? Considering that it is an outstandingly beautiful city, I really didn’t need much of a push to be out here. But I had a reason anyway. I was invited to recuperate from my lovely little nervous breakdown. Being twenty seven years old and having their whole life ahead of them doesn’t stop someone from freaking out completely when they find their new husband in bed with their cousin.

It was a family scandal and I needed to get away from the “Oh mija he will get what he deserves” and “aye! Pobrecita, Matalinda!” That’s me, Mattie Dela Luna.
“What a shame he had to pull something like that with Laurabella”. That’s my cousin. Laurabella met my husband Javier at our wedding. She was a bridesmaid. An ugly one at that. Okay, that’s just my anger talking (and rightfully so!). She is beautiful and I hate her for it. She’s a perky little latin 24 year old gold digger who decided she wasn’t getting enough from her current married man but had to take mine as well. Two weeks after Javier and I returned from our wonderful honeymoon in Cancun, I came home early from work to find her riding my Javier like a Harley in overdrive. In my bed, of course.

Yeah, I know. Bitch comes to mind when I think of her too. Well instead of just crying a lot and moving on, I snapped. I had a nervous breakdown, gained forty five pounds, lost my job for not showing up, and burned the divorce papers only to have to find a lawyer and attain legal copies. So, here I am eight months later; my divorce is almost final and I’m getting nothing from him. He won everything down to the cats.

The fog rolled in so thick I could no longer see the beach in front of me. I was trying to read my favorite celebrity slash rag when the fog completely condensed everything. I could barely see the tip of my own nose let alone my magazine so I fumbled for my bag, stuffed the magazine away and stood to walk back inside to call Darla. I would have used my cell phone, but he won that in the divorce too. Since I really didn’t feel like talking to anyone, I never replaced it. I turned quickly out of my chair and started walking when I slammed into something solid as granite. My macchiato flew from my hands, lid popping off, and spilled all over my cream colored pantsuit.

“God damnit!” I screeched as it started to sting my legs and other areas that just shouldn’t ever be burned. I fell flat on my ass and sat there for a moment trying to see what was in front of me.

“Jesus lady watch where you’re going!” grumbled a gruff and angry voice through the fog. It was thick and deep; giving me the chills.

“Hey jerk! I can’t see crap out here so if you think for one minute I ran into you on purpose you’re living in a dream world pal!”

“Geez nothing beats being run over by some fat hag at Starbucks!”

“Hag? Who the hell are you calling a hag!” Oh this guy was real gold. “I’ll bet you’re some short middle aged balding loser who’s starting to resemble Mr. Potato head!” I yelled knowing that he was still there, only from his ragged breathing.

“Screw you lady.” He yelled back at me.  The fog roiled around us as the wind really started to blow. My deep brown below shoulder length layered hair flew into my face as I felt the hand clamp around my upper arm and lift me back up on my feet. I was only able to catch a quick glance a the  tanned skin. The moment I was standing, the hand slipped away. I could hear him grumbling and muttering as the café door opened, and then closed behind him.
“Damn it!” I whispered. Now I had to go inside, not knowing who this guy was and go change clothes. He could have been some psycho! I slowly walked toward the front door, feeling my way through the fog.

Inside the café was a nice warm environment smelling of pure rich coffee and confection. Two men stood in the line at the counter, one ordering coffee, the other just behind him. I stood staring at the two. The one standing was in a wrinkled suit, short, bald, almost as round as Santa Claus, and barking out his order of coffee to the poor kid behind the counter. The other was tall, broad shouldered with a thin waist, and long blacker then black hair down to his butt. He was either Hispanic or Italian, but I couldn’t place his ethnicity exactly. His skin was soft olive, with eyes the colors of the waves in a turbulent storm. He stared at me, looking down to my crotch and I felt my face turn red. As I looked him up and down, I saw the coffee stain on his shirt with my name written all over it.

Awww why did it have to be the hot one! I thought as I walked past him directly to the counter. The chubby bald businessman stopped barking and stared at my breasts as I asked where the restroom was. I looked him directly in the eye and smiled a cold and heartless grin. I grabbed my little bag and wandered back to the bathroom. “Never fails. Like my luck could get any worse. Not only do I spill hot coffee on the fabulous chest of a hot man, but I ruin yet another good pantsuit.” I talked to myself as I changed in the handicap stall.

I rifled through my bag pulling out my favorite dark denim bootcut and holy jeans. They were from before I lost the weight and since I had gained it all back, they fit like a dream. All be it a curvy dream but a dream to me none the less. Being that I am one hundred percent Mexican American, I have the trademark bottom. I am built like a bowling pin, earning the nickname gordita when I hit puberty in high school. Luckily, I hadn’t gained enough weight to lose the hourglass figure.

Too bad that didn’t change the fact that I was now back in the double digit sizes. I slipped into my jeans, and stepped into my running shoes, all ready to go. Funny how I own running shoes but I never go running. After ten minutes of primping in the bathroom, I stepped outside to find my half sister standing in line and the hot guy with the really long hair, gone. “Damn it.”


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