3. I Know You Cry
3
I KNOW YOU CRY
Dahlia
The Present
I sneak out of Rian’s apartment before the sun rises.
It’s cold as sin outside and before another gust of icy wind passes, I unlock the front door of my townhouse. Immediately, the warmth of the vestibule seeps into my skin and sensation returns to my frostbitten fingers.
Soft snoring floats across the otherwise quiet halls and I slip out of my heels so they don’t click against the wood floors. Lyss is knocked out on the sofa, surrounded by a graveyard of used tissues, empty ginger ale cans, and two half-used jars of Vicks. Her auburn hair cascades over the white armrest, long enough to graze the white area rug, and her nose is red from all the sniffling and sneezing. Around her throat hangs the friendship necklace we bought last summer and which she almost never takes off; a simple chain with a pendant hanging at the end about the same size as a quarter. Hers is an alyssum flower and mine is a dahlia, both representative of our names.
I tiptoe around the coffee table and pick up the remote. She must’ve fallen asleep watching the ball drop last night because the news is on. Once the television is off, I reach for the blanket sliding off her figure and tuck it under her chin. Poor thing has been fighting a virus since Christmas.
Wide awake and still buzzing from the half a pharmacy’s worth of drugs running through my system, I drag myself to the kitchen and put a pot of water on to boil. Light shines through the windows and the backdoor, illuminating the snow-covered patio.
The townhouse is enchanting. Everything from its 19 th century tiling in the foyer to its Art Deco style bathrooms. The house on 92 nd Street has become my sanctuary this past year. When I first came home to New York, I was heartbroken, panicked, and spiraling out of control. A relationship I thought would last a lifetime had crashed and burned right in front of me on the tail end of one of the most traumatic fall outs of my life. To lose Karina and Alejandro in one fellow swoop…
It’s a miracle I survived it.
It’s why I love this house so much. If something as old and beautiful as this building can survive a century and half of modernization in an everchanging city like New York with its dignity still intact, then I can survive anything.
There isn’t a heartbreak on earth I can’t recover from.
Once the water boils, I make myself a cup of tea and take it upstairs to my bedroom where Bergdorf Goodman’s has vomited all over my bed. The dress I was supposed to wear to Li’s party had a broken zipper and I hadn’t realized it until last night. I spent two hours trying to figure out what to wear while Rian binged-watched The Office with Lyss. Most people would be off put by their best friend and sort-of-boyfriend being so close but I find it a comfort. Without a real family of my own anymore, knowing they get along so well is a relief.
I shower and wash my hair, finish drinking my tea, which has gone cold, and clean up the disaster in my bedroom. I’m rearranging the clothes in my walk-in closet when my phone chimes, announcing the arrival of a new text message.
God, I hope it isn’t Alejandro. Our conversations always turn into a screaming match over the phone and I don’t have the energy for him today, tomorrow, or any day, for that matter.
As if my sour thoughts summoned him out of the ether, his initial pops up on my screen.
A: I’ve made another offer on the house. Review it.
I respond almost immediately.
Me: Looked at it. Answer’s no.
Before I can type up another message, the screen flashes and I have an incoming call. I groan and debate on whether or not I should let it go to voicemail. Ultimately, I answer and leave the phone on the marble island while I continue my organizing.
“I just don’t understand why you’re being so fucking difficult about this.”
“Hello to you too, Alex.”
“I told you I’d buy the house if you needed the money. Not that you do,” his tone turns satirical. “If your last credit card statement is any indication of that.”
I allow myself a smile knowing he can’t see me.
“Speaking of, the bank called me the other day. What’s this about you buying another house in the Hamptons?”
“Erin Cohen pissed me off so I’m going to buy the house she wants before she does.”
“She pissed you off three million dollars’ worth? Because that’s how much this new house would cost if I was approving the transaction.”
“First of all, the three million is the balance due after I sell the house I already have. She actually pissed me off eight million dollars’ worth.”
“Do you understand how absurd that is? You have a townhouse on 92 nd Street, a house in Vermont you only bought because the foliage in the area was pretty, an apartment in Miami you’ve used twice?—”
Releasing a huff of frustration, I cut him off. “If you’re broke, Alex, just say that.”
I can practically hear his teeth grinding through the phone. I return to sorting the blouses on the rack in front of me by color.
“Loosen your jaw,” I sing-song.
He lets out a string of words so vile they could make a sailor blush.
“You want to buy that second Hampton’s house so bad, sell me the Barcelona house.”
Just the words Barcelona house ignite my temper like the spark of a match in a sea of gunpowder. I spin around and glare at the phone hoping he can feel my hostility all the way in Spain.
“I already told you no .”
“Don’t be spiteful. You want DMG to gut the place just to hurt me, knowing I’m still living there.”
“You’ve been served an eviction notice.”
“That your second-rate lawyer can shove up his flat ass.”
I slam my hand on the island and snatch up the phone, ready for another one of our brawls, when he beats me to it.
“You want the God damned Hamptons house so bad? Tell your little boy toy to buy it for you. Until then, either sell me the Barcelona house or consider yourself cut off. ”
I open my mouth to spew venom of my own but he hangs up. Frustrated, I fling the phone across the room, and collapse into a sea of blouses and skirts where I scream until the whole house wakes up.
“ I hate him.”
Lyss jumps as I flip the grilled cheese and hot butter platters everywhere.
“There she goes.” She picks up a kitchen towel and starts wiping down the counter. “Do?a Ana?”
Do?a Ana sprints from where she’s washing dishes in the barn sink over to the kitchen island stove. Snatching up the spatula, she shoos me away from the open flame, knowing I pose a fatal risk to the grilled cheeses we’re supposed to have for lunch.
“I hope he dies. Chokes on his saliva in his sleep and then rolls over and breaks his stupid little face on the tile floors.”
Lyss takes a contemplative sip of her tea before saying, “Maybe you should talk about it with your therapist.”
I cut her a scathing look and all she does is giggle.
“I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up about it. You guys argue all the time. I doubt he means it.”
“This time he threatened to cut me off.”
Lyss throws her head back and laughs. “Oh yeah? Did he finally grow a pair and introduce you to the word ‘no’?”
“You know what, Lyss,” I pick up a tissue and shove it in her face. “Go blow your nose or something.”
The tissue couldn’t have come at a more opportune moment because she sneezes.
“Listen Dee, all I’m saying is maybe this is a sign.”
Do?a Ana puts our sandwiches on a plate and cuts them in half—mine down the middle and Lyss’s diagonally. She takes her plate and hops off the stool.
“You’re with Rian now. I’m sure he’d much prefer being the one to take care of your expenses anyway.”
Do?a Ana and I exchange glances but she busies herself with washing the dirty pan. A heavy unease settles in the room but my childhood best friend remains oblivious.
“The developers are going to gut the place anyway. Might as well sell it to DMG and save yourself the headache.” At this she yawns and finally makes her exit. “Okay…bye. Wake me up at dinner time.”
Suddenly, I’ve lost my appetite.
Do?a Ana leaves a glass of juice on the counter for me and removes her apron to reveal the tweed skirt suit underneath. She still dresses the same despite no longer managing such a large household.
“Estaré en mi recamara por si me necesitas.”
“Do?a Ana,” I catch her by the wrist before she can run to her bedroom and hide. “I hope you know that my being with Rian isn’t going to change anything. Pase lo que pase, siempre vas a estar a mi lado. You’ll go wherever I go, with or without Rian.”
I don’t miss the tremor in her hands as she smooths her palms down the front of her skirt and gives a curt nod.
I try for a bit of humor. “But if it’s with Rian, you might want to work on your English.”
Her cheeks redden with indignation. “I know how the English.”
“Last week at Sephora, you couldn’t say sheet mask.”
“ Sh-it mask ! I say it, I know!”
I smile and kiss her cheek. “You know I love you, right?”
Loving maternal figures have been few and far between in my life. My mother died when I was young and Tia Paula was there but only so far as her own responsibilities as a mother would allow. I had my grandmother and other women around me but Do?a Ana is different. She’s only mine. I don’t have to share her with anyone else.
And I think, for someone who has devoted her entire life to the well-being of other people’s children, it must be nice to have someone of her own to love too. It’s why when Alejandro and I separated, I made it clear I was taking her with me. Maybe Alejandro saw it as something else, an open door for reconciliation, but the time for mending our broken relationship had long since passed by the time I mustered up the courage to leave.
We were never married but I like to joke Do?a Ana was part of my divorce settlement. Alejandro, however, doesn’t find it funny.
“Yo también, hija. Los quiero a los dos. ”
She fixes me with a contemplative gaze. Her warm brown eyes sweep over my features and the weight of her stare settles in the pit of my stomach, my entire body tightening with apprehension. After a moment, she sits on the stool Lyss once occupied and takes my hand, guiding me to sit in the one across from her. I’m surprised when she switches fully to English.
“Do you know what you are doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“I know he hurt you. You hurt each other,” she says, brows furrowing. “But I don’t believe when you say there’s no love. I don’t believe.”
I heave a sigh and shift on the stool preparing to explain myself for the thousandth time but she stops me.
“I see. I watch. I know everything. And I know how big you love. Eso no cambia de la noche a la ma?ana. I remember how you cry when we came here. I know you cry sometimes…when you think no one listens. But I listen y sé lo mucho que te duele.” She folds her hands over her heart. “I think you hurt so much you push away. You push and you push and you push. But Dahlia, mija…Alejandro only go so far before he stops trying to be close. One day you regret it.”
“I won’t regret it. I want him to stop being so close.”
I want him out of my life completely. Before, I held on out of spite and anger because he’d hurt me and it felt like the only way to get back at him was to hurt myself. I spiraled out of control for the first and only time in my life. I spent lavishly and recklessly, surrounded myself with dangerous people, and immersed myself in a world I knew he hated. Yet somehow, I found me amid the chaos and metamorphosized into something different. Something stronger. I like who I am now much more than the girl I was when he met me.
That girl couldn’t even look him in the eye the first night at El Aliciente. Now I doubt he’d be able to meet my gaze head on. I’d be too much for him.
I know Do?a Ana is holding out hope for us to get back together but no matter how many times I try explaining to her that it won’t happen, the truth hasn’t quite permeated yet. If our talks help ease her conscience then I don’t mind listening to what she has to say, although, I fear this afternoon’s conversation has had the opposite effect.
She’s shown me the only way to move on is to let go. And I can’t if I’m still under Alejandro’s thumb.
R ian is a visionary. Moreso than he gives himself credit for.
His newest high rise in Long Island City is situated east of the Pepsi-Cola sign and minutes away from the waterfront. From the outside, the structure is dynamic and multidimensional, made of beautiful, dark brick and reflective glass within black coated steel panels. It’s modern without being garish, lacking the cold brutality of most hideous developments popping up around the city lately.
The construction is entering its final weeks of the interior build-out. I can’t believe that less than six months ago, this place was nothing but wires and bones. Now the penthouse is almost complete, save a few final touches like doors and kitchen appliances, and doubles as Rian’s workspace when he’s out here. I find him bent over a large folding table in the living room, dragging a pencil across a set of blueprints.
“Make sure this gets fixed before the end of the week. A wiring job like this can make or break an inspection.”
I won’t lie and say getting over Alejandro was easy. On the contrary, it was the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do in my life.
The first few weeks were spent in denial. Then anger. Finally, acceptance. I bounced between various stages of grief, sometimes skipping several at a time. No one tells you how traumatic breakups can be, especially for a relationship as intense as ours was. We weren’t two people deciding to go our separate ways. An entire family structure collapsed in on itself when we broke up and the future we envisioned together suddenly ceased to exist. As young as I am, it never occurred to me that I’d have to reimagine what my life would look like without him. I thought I’d be in Spain forever—that we’d get married one day and have children.
A year later, I’m once more in danger of heartache, knowing that if Rian gets any closer, I’ll fall in love with him. And if this crashes and burns a second time, I don’t know if I’d have the strength to put myself back together again.
He lifts his head to say something to the construction worker standing across from him. He must see me because he does a sharp double take in my direction and then addresses the rest of the men surrounding the table. “Give us the room, please.”
The room clears out and I make my way to him.
“The penthouse looks incredible. I see you took my advice and chose an open concept.”
“I had to. You have this thing where you’re right about everything—it’s infuriating,” he quips. “All those walls would’ve defeated the purpose of having windows that are thirty-feet high. It wouldn’t have let any light in. Now the kitchen is back there,” he points with his pencil. “And the dining space is on the other side of the floor. The only thing separating it from the living room is the main foyer but movement within the apartment is seamless. You can walk in a full circle without having to open a single door.”
“And the upstairs bedrooms?”
“All facing the river, like you suggested.”
I can’t help but smile. “You know, I don’t recall ever being paid for my work.”
Rian levels me with a steady gaze. He drops his pencil and slips a free arm around my waist, using his other hand to tip up my chin. I hold my breath in anticipation of his kiss. The gentle pressure of his lips against mine sends my nerves into a frenzy and when his tongue pushes into my mouth, exploring with delicate strokes, my resolve weakens. I’d come here with the intention of setting boundaries on our, as of yet, nameless relationship. Instead I’m tempted to ask if any of the rooms upstairs are furnished yet.
He pulls away and we both take a moment to catch our breath. A few seconds pass and his arm drops from around my waist. Rian takes my hands in both of his and leans against the table for support.
“I need you to be serious for a moment. None of your smartass commentary.”
“Stop objectifying my ass. It’s smart and hot.”
He heaves a heavy sigh.
“Is this about what you asked me last week?”
Rian’s eyes are light and sky blue when he looks at me. “I was thinking. Here.”
“Here?”
“Why not? You practically designed the place.”
I try to picture it. The kind of furniture I’d commission for the living room, the color palette I’d choose for our bedroom, the bowls and plates I’d fill the cabinets with. I picture an entire year in this apartment: his birthday in March, Easter in April, my birthday in July. We’d have barbeques on the outdoor deck, Thanksgiving dinner by the fireplace, and a Christmas tree by the main stairs. All things I’ve had and experienced with someone else and whose memories now taint any future happiness I try imagining for myself.
“You won’t even commit to calling me your girlfriend and you expect me to change area codes for you?”
“I’d be more incentivized to commit if my girlfriend moved in with me.”
My voice drops to a whisper. “The last time I moved in with someone, it didn’t end well.”
He sighs and tucks a loose wave of hair behind my ear. “If I knew who he was, I’d kill him.”
“You promised me you’d never look.”
“And I’m very, very tempted to break that promise. But it’ll just push you further away.”
“ You push me away, Rian. How much longer do you expect me to put up with this arrangement?” I ask. “I was fine with the way we were before until you complicated things by asking me to move in with you. And I won’t make another life-changing decision until I know this is serious. I don’t trust you.”
“But I’m supposed to trust you?” he parries back. “You want exclusivity and commitment while you’re still emotionally and financially entangled with another man?”
My lips purse. “That’s different.”
“How is it different?”
I struggle for a comeback so I blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “It just is.”
“You’re not being fair, Dahlia,” he says. “I can’t imagine hurting a woman so deeply that the next time happiness was within her reach, she’d self-destruct the way you do every time I get too close.”
“Yes, well…” I shift uncomfortably. “To be fair, I think we did a number on each other.”
“How would I know if you’ve never told me? Sometimes it feels like you’re keeping it a secret.”
I shake my head. “That’s not?—”
“We don’t have to move in together. Maybe it was too soon for me to ask but I do want you all to myself.” his eyes narrow slightly. “You need to figure out what you want because I’m not going to share you with anyone else. Not anymore. If you want a commitment, I’ll give it to you but only under those conditions.”
“Rian—”
“Choose, Dahlia. Him or me .”