Chapter 22
Marco
After my mother surprised me by coming into the office, we planned to have lunch together a few days later.
I meet her at our favorite Mexican food restaurant.
It’s a small place that looks like a grocery store from the outside, but inside it has the best homemade tamales.
She’s been bringing me here since I was young, and it’s held as our tradition.
I put my arm around her as we look up at the menu, as if we don’t know what we are going to order.
Two horchatas. Two pork tamales in red chili sauce.
Two sweet corn tamales with green chili.
My mom looks up and smiles at me as I place our memorized orders, and it’s hard for me not to notice how small she is standing next to me.
We take our food to a nearby table and sit across from one another. She takes a sip of horchata and closes her eyes in sweet satisfaction.
“Best horchata in New York,” she says, opening her eyes and looking at me.
“Glad we could do lunch, Mama,” I say, sliding her a plate of tamales.
“Me too, mijo.”
We talk about her doctor’s visit from yesterday and I’m happy to hear he said she’s looking healthy.
She still continues to do physical therapy after her heart attack last year to help with her coordination skills, which I can see as she cuts into her tamale.
I try to hide my grimace as I reach over and help her with her fork and knife.
“Mama,” I start cautiously. “You really should move in with me. Or a care facility.”
“Absolutely not,” she says sharply.
I know she’s stubborn, and every time I bring this up, she shuts me down.
She has too much pride to admit she needs someone looking after her, especially me.
She doesn’t want to feel like a burden to me, which she could never be.
After her heart attack last year, she spent a few weeks at my penthouse where I was able to take care of her, but she insisted on going home when she was starting to feel better.
“But…”
She draws her hands away from me quickly to prove that she can cut her own food and pops a bite of tamale in her mouth.
“See, I’m fine,” she says with her mouth full.
I shake my head, amused and saddened at the same time.
“You have enough on your plate, mijo. And you know I like my independence,” she says.
“I know you do. I just worry.”
“Well, don’t. Let’s change the subject.” She waves me off. “Tell me about that woman who works for you.”
“Jessica?” I ask, pretending I don’t know exactly who she is talking about.
“No. I know who Jessica is. The one I met the other day.”
“Oh, Erica…”
“She’s quite pretty,” she says, leaning back in her chair and looking at me with a coy smile.
“Is she?” I say in surprise.
My mother rolls her eyes. “When are you going to give me grandkids?” she asks point blank.
“Mama!” I say, looking around the restaurant in embarrassment.
“You two could make some good ones.”
“Mama!” I repeat again.
“What? I’m not getting any younger. And you’re so concerned about my health. Don’t you want to see me as an abuela?”
“I don’t know if that’s going to happen, Mama. I’ve never really thought about kids.”
She sighs. I know she’s disappointed. I’m her only child.
The only one who could make her a grandmother, and it’s something I’ve never given much thought.
Now that I’m getting older, it doesn’t seem like something that’s in the cards for me.
I feel guilt creep up, but I try to brush it off.
Kids aren’t for everyone. She has to understand that.
“I just want to see you happy,” she says, reaching for my hand and giving it a squeeze.
“And I want to see you healthy.” I squeeze her hand back.
After lunch, I head back to the office thinking about what my mother said and her ideas she has about Erica and me. It’s almost humorous. If she only knew our past and the present that makes her ideas highly unlikely. Of course, I’d like the sex, but what often comes out of sex isn’t.
As I walk by Jessica’s desk, she signals for me to stop.
“Mr. Vallejos, the tailor called. Your suit for tomorrow’s party is ready to be picked up.”
“Party?”
“The New York Historical Society,” she says.
“Shit, I forgot all about it.”
“I put it in your calendar…”
“Not your fault. My mind has been…elsewhere.”
She nods.
“I’ll pick it up after work. Thank you, Jessica.”
I make a note in my phone and walk back to my office. As I pass Erica’s office, a bout of courage hits and I pop my head in her office. She looks up at me curiously, her eyes not so stormy today. In fact, the past few days they’ve been bright. I wonder what mood it signifies.
“I have a party to go to tomorrow. At the New York Historical Society. It’s not as grand as the last one, and I won’t need you to cover it for the paper. But would you like to accompany me?”
She barely hesitates before saying, “Sure.”
“Really?” I ask in surprise.
“Mhmm. Just let me know the details.”
“Okay, I’ll send them over now.”
I leave her office before she can change her mind, processing how easy it was for her to say yes.
Usually, she’s so hesitant. So stubborn.
I wonder what’s changed, but I’m going to run with it.
Even though it’s probably not anything more than a work event.
She will go and do her job, and that’s it.
Still, I’m excited to have a night in her company.
When Friday evening rolls around, I pick her up at her place in my town car.
I do the same thing I did last time, buzz her from the outside intercom, wondering if this time she will invite me up so I can do this properly, but she doesn’t.
I’m not surprised. I wait by the town car, and a few minutes later, she emerges from the doors of her building, wearing a black, form-fitting dress and smart black patent pumps.
She looks sophisticated and sexy as she makes her way toward me, the waves of her dark hair bouncing with each step.
“You look…wow,” I say, taking her hand and helping her into the backseat of the car.
“Thank you,” she says. “I like the new suit.”
How did she know it was new? I try not to think too far into it. Maybe she had seen it in my calendar to go to the tailors, or maybe…just maybe she notices the small things, just like I do with her.
“Thank you,” I say, hiding a smile.
“So, what’s tonight’s event about exactly?” she asks, as the driver pulls away from her apartment.
“It’s the Living Landmarks Celebration, honoring those who have made significant changes and contributions to preserving the city’s historic homes and neighborhoods. I make donations each year. Plus, it’s a good place to catch up with potential business partners.”
“What can I do?” she asks.
“Just work the room, like you did last time. Have fun.” I shrug.
“Okay,” she says, settling into the backseat comfortably.
The rigidness in her has faded, but I can feel her nerves.
Or maybe they’re mine. I notice she doesn’t pull away when our legs brush against each other.
This town car is much more intimate than a limo, but I try not to notice it.
I don’t want to push her away again by succumbing to my desires that are now subdued screams, even as I breathe in her perfume.
When we arrive at the party, I realize that even though it’s not a ball with a midsummer night’s dream theme, the museum is transformed with a large bar and dance floor centered inside walls of the current exhibit on New York architecture.
A live band is playing current hits, but in their own style. They’re really good.
I suggest we go to the bar first, and to my surprise, Erica agrees.
I order an old fashioned and she orders a cosmopolitan.
We both take generous sips before we make our rounds around the room.
I’m happy to see Jacob isn’t there to give me shit about bringing her tonight.
I catch up with a few colleagues, and again, Erica holds her own in the conversation.
She’s confident even with strangers, and I find it incredibly sexy.
I can see how people hang on her every word, and it’s not simply because she’s the most beautiful woman in the room.
It’s because she’s smart and has a wit about her that keeps others on their toes.
“How do you two know each other?” asks the wife of an old colleague, looking at us both curiously.
“Erica is a writer at The NY Daily News. Recently, she’s been working with me through this acquisition,” I say with a firm nod, to let her know it’s just business.
“He hasn’t scared you off yet?” says my old colleague.
“Not yet,” Erica replies. “There have been a few close calls, though.”
This makes the couple laugh, and I give her a slight smirk. She’s feisty tonight. I feel like I’m seeing more of the woman I met on the rooftop. I wonder if it’s the second cosmopolitan she’s on, or if something has changed. Whatever it is, I’m not complaining.
We say our goodbyes to the couple and find a nearby cocktail table to take a break from schmoozing. We sip our drinks and listen to the music. I can’t get over how good this band is.
“You know,” says Erica with a wry smile. “They don’t hold a candle to that eighties cover band.”
“I really miss them,” I say, looking reminiscent as I play along with her joke.
“We should hire them for your next event.”
“Definitely.”
She laughs softly and takes a sip of her drink, looking out at the dance floor.
I follow her gaze and see other couples taking to the floor to dance.
I remember our dance at the jazz club. It was just one dance, but it was the catalyst for what was to come.
I think about it often. I wonder if there’s a chance tonight we could share a dance again.
“Would you…” I start.
She looks at me curiously, her head tilted just so. “Would I what?” she asks.
“Like to dance? With me?” I gesture to the dance floor, feeling my heart begin to pound against my chest as I wait for her answer. Did I push too far?
“Okay,” she says, putting down her drink.
I nod and hold out my arm, trying to play it cool, even though it feels like my insides are doing the jitterbug.
I lead her to the dance floor, and as the warm lights above wash over us, she places her hand in mind as my other hand finds a place at her back.
Not too low. Not too high. It’s like I’m afraid to touch her, afraid it will scare her.
Our movements are rigid at first, like we’re first-timers at a middle school dance, but her eyes find mine as if they’re giving me some sort of silent permission.
Soon our bodies settle into the music, and my hand strays slowly to her lower back as she pulls her body closer to mine.
She doesn’t lay her head on my shoulder this time.
Instead, she keeps her eyes on mine. There’s a different shade of green to them, like a forest just after it rains. Awake. Wanting.
As a slow song comes on, she settles in against me. I lean in, my face brushing against her soft hair.
“I’m not going to push you…” I whisper.
She pulls back and looks at me, still moving to the music. Still pressed against me.
“Take me home with you,” she whispers.