Chapter Two Eric #2
“Wonderful.”
“You can take the bathroom first. I’m going to call Nathan back and get this sorted.”
My instinct is to tell her how to fix this problem, but maybe I’ve been going about this all wrong. She didn’t manufacture this emergency—he did.
I sit on the love seat, lay my elbows on my thighs, and steeple my fingers. “So what needs to be sorted?”
“He’d like to finish a project sooner than anticipated.”
“Why?”
She drops her shoulders and hangs her head. “Because he wants to.”
I rise, stand in front of her, and lift her chin. “I’m sorry you’re dealing with this. What are you going to do?”
We stare at each other until she blinks and looks away. “I’m going to try to convince him it’s not necessary.”
“Good luck” is all I say.
Minutes later, when I’m done in the bathroom, I find Juliana furiously typing out a text. “I think I persuaded him to let it go until the new year. But he’s unpredictable and has a knack for conveniently forgetting the things he doesn’t want to remember.”
“Well, let’s hope this is the last you hear from him.”
She sets her phone on the nightstand and takes a deep breath. “Thanks for listening.”
“Always.”
“No, not always, but I appreciate the effort now.” She gathers a few items from her overnight bag and slips inside the bathroom, letting the door fall closed with a soft click.
I rock back on my heels, her parting shot making a direct hit as intended. She’s right. I didn’t always listen. Somehow Juliana found herself in a difficult predicament and I focused on how it affected me. I’m ashamed.
I sit with that shame the entire time she’s in there.
Later, Juliana exits the en suite, and a million Ping-Pong balls start rattling in my brain.
She’s wearing my favorite pajama shorts and a white tank top that does little to hide her full breasts.
I’m being tested, and failing is inevitable.
She’s gorgeous, utterly magnificent. Her creamy skin is freshly moisturized, and her smooth legs seem to stretch on for days.
It wasn’t long ago that I’d wake up to this view, slip off her shorts, and nestle myself between her thighs.
I can’t imagine that I’ll ever want to do that with anyone else.
Juliana’s branded on my skin, taken up permanent residence in my mind, imprinted herself on my heart.
I wish I knew how to fix us, but sadly, I don’t, and I’m frustrated with myself because of it.
I squeeze my eyes shut and take a few calming breaths.
“You okay over there?” she asks as she climbs into bed.
“Yeah,” I say gruffly. “Just trying to lull myself to sleep. Sweet dreams.” Then I turn away from her and prepare myself for a terrible night.
Bleary-eyed and exhausted from hours of tossing and turning, I make my way downstairs in hopes that someone has made a pot of coffee already.
On the way there, I pass the living room, where a heap—probably Tio Enoque—is huddled under a monstrous blanket on the sofa.
The electric fireplace pops and crackles, the lights on the saddest Christmas tree in existence flash at random moments, and the faint scents of cinnamon and vanilla permeate the air.
I could get used to celebrating the holidays this way, but of course I won’t have the opportunity to.
I shuffle to the kitchen, where I quickly realize I’m not the only mouse who’s stirring.
“Good morning, Eric.”
“Morning, Sonia.”
I almost sprint to the coffeepot so I can make myself a cup. If I’m going to pretend Juliana and I are still a couple, I need to be on my A game when I talk to her mother.
Sonia blows on her drink and watches me from behind her mug as she lounges at the breakfast table. “Did you sleep well last night?”
“I did, thanks,” I say, avoiding her assessing gaze.
In truth, I slept like shit. Juliana, though, slept like a baby. Or an octopus—because her arms and legs made their way to my side of the bed way too often for me to keep my thoughts respectful.
“Come sit with me for a moment,” she says, setting down her mug.
I join her at the breakfast table and wait. She’s not interested in chitchatting. Sonia definitely has something on her mind, and I’m just here to listen.
Once I meet her eyes, she takes my hand. “Forgive me for being blunt. It’s the only way I know how to be. Filho, you and Juliana don’t look happy. Is something going on?”
This is the aspect of this weekend I hate the most: lying to Sonia.
She’s been nothing but welcoming and kind to me.
I couldn’t have dreamed up a better person to be my mother-in-law.
I console myself by remembering that she’s been through a lot and doesn’t need our sad news to mess up her precious family time.
“You’re not wrong,” I finally tell her. “But I’m hoping it’s just a rough patch. Every couple has them, right?”
She leans back and sighs. “That’s the understatement of the century. There will be several. It’s how you handle the rough patches that matters the most.”
“I love her deeply,” I say, genuinely meaning it. “But she doesn’t bend easily. Especially when it comes to her job. I wish I understood her better.”
“Has she told you about her father and me?”
I chew on my bottom lip as I think about what she’s shared: He isn’t in her life. He’s manipulative. He made her mother miserable. Whenever I asked for specifics, though, she clammed up. “Only generalities.”
“Dig deeper, then. Juliana wants to be in control. Her work is important to her because it gives her freedom.”
I frown at Sonia, trying to put the missing puzzle pieces together. “How so?”
“If you make your own money, no one can control you with their own. Isn’t that why you started your photography business?”
It’s a seemingly simple insight, but the force of it makes me rock back in my chair.
And she’s right: I opened my studio because I didn’t want to answer to anyone.
Because I wanted to manage my product and my brand the way I saw fit.
For so long, I’ve been focused on Juliana’s ambitions, yet I’ve never considered why she’s so ambitious.
Wanting to achieve in a world where the cards are often stacked against us is a way of life for Black and Brown folks.
We want to achieve in spite of it all. But that means I’ve never contemplated that Juliana could be driven by anything else.
I’m reminded once again that I don’t know her as well as I should.
It’s a sobering realization. When we first met, I was blown away by her brains, her beauty, her kindness, her thirst for adventure.
We clicked. I could easily picture our future, and I was willing to do whatever was necessary to make it a reality.
But the tricky thing about chemistry, whether mental or sexual, is that it has the potential to cover the dips and cracks in a relationship like a thick coat of primer, smoothing over the flaws that are hidden under the surface.
That’s Juliana and me in a nutshell. So where does that leave us?
Who the hell knows.