8. Marisol
Marisol
I f Marisol had friends, big life decisions would be much easier. Dates shouldn’t have fallen under that category, but any deviation from her norm fell under major decisions. Choosing for herself didn’t come naturally, no matter how much she willed it.
Thoughts of her mother plagued her mind, taking up residence within her soul and tainting every decision of her life.
Her mother’s approval was at the forefront of everything.
It was easier to simply go along with what she said because it made life easier.
Even if that chipped away at parts of her until she was nothing but an empty shell, content to be pushed along by someone else.
So, yes, friends would make this decision a lot easier so they could psych her up and tell her it was okay to go on a date with a man her family—specifically her mother—would not approve of because he did not fit into the image she had molded for their family.
Although her relationship with her sister had improved, they didn’t talk about men or dating.
Not since Marisol married Archie, Lola’s ex-boyfriend, and destroyed her sister’s trust. Now they stayed on more neutral topics, like Lola’s children or weekend plans.
Despite not going in-depth about their lives, Marisol still enjoyed the time she got to spend with Lola.
It made her think of all the time she missed out on as children, but it gave her hope for the future.
With no friends and her unwilling to call her sister about this matter, Marisol only had one other option.
Heading into her formal dining room, Marisol sat down on a white upholstered chair and opened her laptop.
She pulled up her email, found the link sent to her and clicked on it.
Her face filled the screen while she waited for her call to be answered. She didn’t have to wait long.
On the second ring, a new face filled the screen. Her gray hair was piled into a neat bun atop her head, and her glasses sat on the bridge of her nose. She squinted, mumbling something under her breath. “Can you see me?” Alice asked, poking at the camera.
Marisol smiled. For as good as her therapist was in person, she lacked the proper knowledge of online therapy sessions but was getting better. At least this time, she was able to send the link and log on to her own session.
“I can see you just fine. You don’t need to poke the camera.” She laughed.
Alice stopped assaulting the camera and sat back in her black leather chair. “Oh, good. It’s good to see you again, Marisol. How are you doing? You don’t normally call last-minute sessions.”
The warm smile Alice reserved for her always put Marisol’s nerves at ease, even if her mind was a whirlwind of anxiety. “Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.”
“Anything for my favorite client. ”
“Are you allowed to say that?” Marisol asked, raising a brow.
Alice just winked at her. “So, what did you want to talk about? Oh! Did you get that tattoo for your birthday?”
There was a playful gleam in Marisol’s eye as she stood up and raised her cotton shorts.
Alice gasped as she leaned closer, her eyes taking up the entire screen. “Oh, Marisol, it's beautiful! Look at that line work. Oh, wow. I expected a little flower or something, not this beautiful piece. It’s big!”
“It is, but it’s easy to conceal too. Only Lola knows I got it. She’s actually the one who scheduled the appointment for me. I don’t think I would have gone otherwise,” Marisol admitted.
“How sweet of her. It’s a great present for you. She took the time to hear what you wanted and gave it to you. Has she seen it yet?” Alice asked.
Marisol rolled her shorts back down and took a seat. “Only on a video call. She liked it too. But, uhm, that’s kind of the reason I scheduled this meeting.”
“Oh? About your sister?”
“No, not Lola.” She shook her head, suddenly feeling foolish. Maybe it wasn’t the right idea to call Alice. She wasn’t a relationship guru. She couldn’t tell Marisol what to do or?—
“Marisol, come back to me. I know that look. You’re doubting our call. But that only confirms this call is completely necessary. Tell me what has you worried,” Alice said gently. Her voice had a soothing quality that made Marisol take a deep breath.
“Well, while I was getting tattooed, the artist—his name is Cisco—and I got to talking. We like the same music and connected over a band we both like. I had a fun time talking to him, and by the end of it, he…” She hesitated as nerves started to take over.
“And what happened by the end of it?” Alice inquired, a small smile on her lips.
Marisol fidgeted in her chair. Her leg bounced up and down in rapid succession, a nervous habit that drove her mother crazy. “He asked me out. At first, I thought he might have been joking, but I ran into him again yesterday, and he’s serious,” she said so quickly, her words ran together.
Thankfully, Alice was able to understand her chaotic speech. “Did he? And what did you say?”
“I didn’t give him an answer. But he gave me his business card, and I told him I would text him an answer.”
“And have you?”
Marisol bit her lip. “No.”
“Ah,” she said. “Well, have you not answered because you don’t want to go and don’t want to upset him, or have you not answered because you want to go but are afraid of what your mother will say?”
“That one,” she said. “The last one.”
It didn’t matter that Marisol was thirty years old.
It didn’t matter that she had lived apart from her mother for nearly ten years.
And it didn’t matter that she told herself time and time again that her mother wasn’t the end-all, be-all.
She had not yet figured out how to break the toxic cycle they had developed over her life.
“What about him makes you nervous your mom won’t like him?” Alice asked.
“What wouldn’t she like? He’s a tattoo artist full of tattoos. He wouldn’t exactly fit in at the country club.”
“So, he’s full of tattoos and a tattoo artist. Is that all you can tell me as to why she wouldn’t like him?” Alice tilted her head to the side.
Marisol shrugged. “I guess I don’t know much about him.”
“Precisely,” Alice said as if she just came to some earth-shattering conclusion.
“Appearances can be deceiving, Marisol. We’ve talked about this.
You aren’t your mother. You are allowed to get to know people because, if you pass up someone simply because of the way they look, you could be passing up on a chance at true happiness.
This isn’t your mother’s life. This is your life, Marisol. You are working on taking that back.
“So, I want you to listen to your gut. If it is telling you to give him a chance, then I think you should take him up on his offer. However, if you truly do not want to date right now, there’s no shame in telling him you aren’t interested.
Whatever you choose, make sure it is a decision you aren’t going to regret a week from now,” Alice said.
“The best part is that you don’t have to tell your mother anything.
You’re thirty, Marisol. You are allowed to make your own choices. ”
“I needed to hear that,” Marisol said softly.
It was like she needed permission to do something for herself.
Just like the tattoo. This was different though.
She hadn’t dated anyone since Archie. Their divorce had been pending for over two years now, and in that time, she had not met anyone else.
Not even her mother, who once had a list of guys she wanted Marisol to meet, approached her about dating.
It was strange, actually. She had thought that since she was divorcing, her mother would be dying for the chance to choose her second husband, but she had been unusually quiet in that aspect.
“It’s okay to take risks and try something different. Plus, a free meal is a free meal.”
“Alice!” Marisol laughed at her cheeky response. Alice only winked .
Their conversation ended soon after that with a promise to see her in person next week. After teaching Alice how to hang up, Marisol was left with nothing but her phone and a choice.
She couldn’t overthink this. She needed to be bold and brave. To be confident like the woman in her tattoo. Repeating that mantra over and over, she grabbed her phone and typed in his number. Before she lost her courage and backed out, she typed her response and hit send.
If the offer still stands, I would like to go with you to the concert next week.
She read and reread the message a hundred times before she realized she didn’t tell him who it was. Right before she could type that out, she received a text.
I’ll pick you up next Saturday at five. Send me your address.