21. Lina
TWENTY-ONE
Lina
I’ve done a shit job at building New and Improved Real Life Lina, and I’m really fucking disappointed in myself.
Just two months ago, I told myself to do less. I got myself out of a relationship where I did it all. I was an assistant principal with less responsibility. I went on vacation for an entire week. I took an edible.
Today?
Dom gave me a harsh reminder of the truth. Of what I’ve refused to address. Of what’s really going on, and how I’ve failed myself. I’ve not only entered a new relationship, but have all but adopted a child . I’m the principal of an entire school . I don’t have an AP. I am quite literally doing it all. There is no more space for Lina, New and Improved or otherwise.
What is my fucking problem? Why do I keep doing this shit? Falling into the same trap over and over again?
I spend the rest of the day laying on the couch, resisting every urge I have to text Dom or go over to their apartment or open my work email or do anything but lie on this damn couch. Because I deserve just a few hours to myself, for myself. I force myself to watch Bridgerton , but this season is not that great. The two main characters have the chemistry of a desk and its chair.
My phone rings, and my heart immediately leaps at the prospect of it being Dom, because of course he would be checking in on me after I left him like that, because that is peak patient and understanding Dom. Which kind of makes this whole thing difficult, because he is actually a Good Person, and I unfortunately have fallen in love with him and his daughter. But I just need a fucking second to myself right now.
It’s my mom, anyway. Who never calls me.
“Hey, Mai.”
“Hi, mija .”
I wait, because I’m not going to overexert myself for anyone else but myself right now.
“Lina, could you do me a favor on your way home from your date? Could you grab something at the store for me?”
“No,” I tell her sharply.
There is silence. Then, “Okay. Bye.”
“Wait,” I can’t help but cut in. “When do you need it by?”
“If you can’t do it, it’s fine, mija . I’ll just get it delivered.”
“I’m trying to be more selfish today,” I say.
“Good for you.”
I should probably talk to someone about this. Someone who’s had the same experience of taking it all on. “So I’m coming downstairs and making you listen to me.”
“You’re not on your date?”
“It’s a long story.”
She blows out a breath. “Come on.”
“I’m going to take a nap first, then I’ll come down,” I say, because I’m trying to be more selfish today.
By the time I wake up, it’s almost nine at night. I peel myself off the couch and head downstairs.
Mai sees me and silently starts brewing a tisana . “What happened to your date?” she says when it’s done, placing the steaming mug down in front of me at the kitchen table, making me feel like I’m fourteen again. I curl my feet up onto the wooden chair we’ve had for over thirty years.
“I freaked out and left.”
“Part of the being selfish thing you’re talking about?” She takes a seat across the table, taking one of my feet and pressing her thumb into the arch of my foot.
“It kind of came before.”
“ Dime .”
I think about how to start. “He told me that I was doing too much for other people.”
“He was worried about you,” my mom clarifies for me.
I think about the way he ran his hands down my arms, holding me tight. “He was. He is.”
“I’ve been telling you this for your entire adult life,” my mom also very helpfully adds on.
“Well, I finally listened last night. Or this morning. And I freaked out and I left.”
She hums.
“I mean, really. I’m spreading myself so thin. I’m so overwhelmed. I’m the principal of PS 2 and I never hired an AP. I’ve been doing the work of two or three people—leaders—for the last year. I got myself out of the relationship with Mike because I was cleaning up after him and making sure he took a multivitamin every day. And then I jump from that into another relationship? And adopt his daughter? What am I doing for myself? I was supposed to watch television and grow tomatoes. What’s making me happy?”
Mai is silent for a while. “I think you need to reframe the question.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think the question you mean to ask is, ‘ who is making you happy?’ And if you answered that, I think you’d find that you’re actually doing pretty okay.”
And with that, two people immediately come to mind. One, tall, dark, handsome, tattooed. Generous, gentle, thoughtful, quietly intense. The second, tiny, adorable, sparkly. Bright, curious. A sassy shrimp. My eyes sting. “But what if that happiness is wrong?”
Mai frowns at me. “How could happiness be wrong?”
“I used to take care of Mike because I thought it made me happy,” I say. “It’s what I thought I was supposed to do. Making him happy meant making myself happy.”
Mai takes a sip of her tisana. “That’s my fault, I think.”
I look at my mother, with her warm brown eyes identical to mine. I am struck by how the strongest person I’ve ever known looks old . Worn down. The new wrinkles on her face, the slope of her shoulders, the hunch of her spine. She looks exhausted. I bet I’m starting to look the same. “Why did you do it for dad?” I whisper.
She looks out the window. “I thought it was what I was supposed to do, too,” she says finally. “But looking back now, almost a decade later? I think it was a combination of a few things. It’s been passed down through generations, I think. I spent my whole life watching your grandmother and her mother do the same.”
“I think they call that generational trauma.”
She nods once. “That fits. I think there was also a level of manipulation on your father’s part. An expectation of me as a woman and a mother.”
“And I think they call that gaslighting now.”
“I also saw a meme on the Instagram that referenced something called machismo . That fit, too.” She heaves a sigh, deep from her belly. “Your father had that whole tough guy, man of the house attitude. No showing weakness, no talking about feelings. And women are supposed to be supportive and nurturing and keep house to reinforce that whole ‘man in charge’ thing.”
It’s tough to wrap my head around. I’ve always considered myself a boss-ass bitch, at least it some aspects of my life, but clearly not in my relationships. I guess it runs deep. Invasive. Insidious, unnoticed and untreated. This is what Dom was talking about, the issue he struggles with, that Tagalog word for shame. I find myself understanding why it’s not something you can just shake off, pretend it doesn’t exist.
“I can’t tell you how much it’s pained me to watch my daughter take this on, make the same mistakes I made, but you have to understand that these are pretty new thoughts and concepts and introspections I’ve had.” Mai laughs. “Is it sad that I’ve learned a lot of it from memes on the Instagram?”
I cover her hand with mine.
“I don’t think Dom is one of those mistakes, though, mija ,” she continues.
I look at her.
“I don’t think you’re losing yourself with him, because it’s a true partnership. There’s a give and a take.” She removes her hand and places it on top of mine now. “There’s a reciprocal flow of love.”
Dom, the opposite of toxic masculinity. Dom taking on some of the Back to School Tasks. Dom making sure I’m fed, making sure I sleep, making sure I’m not overworked. Dom taking care of me when I’m sick, making sure I have fun, helping me build New and Improved Real Life Lina. Backing off when he senses I need it, but always steady, secure, safely there if I need that, too. My eyes burn again.
My mom sees, stands up, wraps me in her arms. I rest my face on her chest. “There are two things you should do next,” she says.
“Go apologize,” I mumble.
“And hire an AP,” she says, with a kiss to my forehead.
* * *
At work the next day, I send some texts to some DOE friends I’ve made over the years. I create a job posting on the DOE open market forum. By the end of the day, I have a sizable amount of resumes in my email.
After I read a few and send out some preliminary emails, I realize the school day’s been over for half an hour now, and Frankie hasn’t shown up to my office yet.
I have some time before a meeting with our custodial engineer, so I wander out of my office. I run into several of my staff members, shoot the shit, check in, make sure they’re doing okay. I’ve been so busy running the school that I haven’t had the chance to do some of my favorite admin things—being in classrooms, coaching teachers. Mia gives me a hug. One of the old-head teachers tells me I look like I’ve aged ten years.
Emmanuel’s lip curls when he sees me. “Ew,” he tells me, after looking me up and down.
“I’m working on it,” I shoot back.
I eventually make it down to the cafeteria look for Frankie.
“Hey,” I say to Kim, the after-school program manager. “Have you seen Francine Flores today?”
She checks her clipboard. “Dad picked her up a while ago,” she tells me. “She was only here for like ten minutes today.”
I almost don’t hear the second part because of the loud rush of blood through my ears. Because I know that was a calculated move on Dom’s part, not coming to speak with me, because every thing he does, every move he makes, is deliberate.
I head back to my office while sending him a text.
Hey. Can we talk tonight?
He doesn’t respond, and then Samuel, our custodial engineer, shows up to my office. I have to switch gears, turn on Work Lina, so I put my phone down and tuck my worry away for later.
Turns out later means hours later, because there is a flooding issue in the basement, and Samuel has to walk me through all of the tiny repairs that need to be done, all the piping that needs to be replaced, how I need to either wait for the city to do it for free (read: in five to ten years) or use our own budget to have it done more immediately.
I’m having a bit of a panic attack looking at our budgeting lines when our school safety agent, Ethel Anderson, wobbles into my office. “I’m about to lock up, Principal Sanchez. You stayin’ for much longer?” She’s so old and frail that any sudden movement could cause her to blow away, and I immediately feel bad that I didn’t let her leave earlier.
I look at my watch, heart dropping when I see that it’s almost 8:30. “Wow, Ethel, I’m so sorry. I haven’t looked at the time. Yes, I’m going to head out soon. I’ll lock up, don’t worry about it. Can I get you a cab home?”
She shakes her head so vigorously I’m afraid she’ll give herself a stroke. “Gotta get my steps in. I’ll take the bus.”
“Okay,” I say gently. “Thanks for keeping us safe.”
She leaves with a half-hearted wave.
I check my phone, dismayed when I see that Dom hasn’t texted me back. I do some calculations. Frankie goes down around nine, so I should be able to talk to Dom alone if I leave soon. I text him again.
gonna stop by in a bit. Hope that’s okay.
He texts back immediately.
Hey. Sorry, yes, okay.
I perseverate on the presence of all the punctuation and capitalization, seemingly punctuating how pissed he probably is at me.
I, however, will not let this deter me. I gotta go get my man.
I come up with a talking point game plan. It’s going to begin with an apology and end with an epic fucking declaration of love. Because that’s what it comes down to, what I’ve let myself accept and embrace. This isn’t Mike, where love was a one-way street, from me to him, eventually draining my life force until there was nothing left to give, nothing left for myself. With Dom, it’s two ways, and I’m continuously recharged—every time he cooks for me or loads the dishwasher afterwards or organizes a parent event or even when he catches my eye across a room and gives me that slow, soft smile. Because he sees me, all of me, and that’s what I need.
Satisfied with my prep work, I shut down my computer, gather my things, turn off my lights. Lock up my school. Go and get my man.
* * *
The door swings open.
“Hey,” Dom says, in that voice like water, strong and steady and calm. I drink him in, the black t-shirt and athletic shorts and bare feet. His face is slack.
“Can we talk?” I ask him.
“Yeah.” He steps back to let me in, instead of wrapping me in his tattooed tentacle arms, but that’s okay, because I understand he’s probably still annoyed at me. I’m annoyed at myself now, looking at him and wondering how I could ever walk out on this beautiful, lovely man. I keep my hands and my face to myself as I walk by, instead of mashing them into his broad chest and taking a big whiff of it.
I walk over to the couch and sit, watching his every move, watch the planes of his face as his eyes dart around at the various seating options. He finally sits in an arm chair a few feet away. He stares intently at the coffee table. This is fine. Stick to the game plan.
I take a deep breath. “I want to start by saying I’m sorry for walking out the way I did.”
A muscle tics in his temple.
I plow forward. “That was the best date I’ve ever been on. You planned it perfectly. You did everything to make sure it was special for me, because you knew that I needed to be taken care of, you knew I needed a break, and because you know so deeply what I like. And I just left.”
He gives me a microscopic wince, but gives me space to continue.
“I want to explain why.”
“Okay,” he says quietly, still stiff and avoiding eye contact.
“What you said really freaked me out. About me losing myself, giving so much of myself to you and to Frankie, and doing the one thing I’d been trying to avoid all summer, especially after breaking up with Mike. I’m overwhelmed. So overwhelmed. I realized I was making you guys happy but forgetting about myself. Again . You were right. I mean, you know,” I say, desperate for him to understand.
He nods once. “I know.”
“But when you said it like that, it all kind of just piled on me, and I didn’t really think through it then, and I ran.”
He picks at a loose strand on his armchair, his lips a straight line. I don’t think about how the fidgeting doesn’t bode well.
“It turns out I just needed some space to think it through. Because once I did,” I give him a small smile, “I came to some pretty eye-opening conclusions.”
Dom’s whole body goes still now, his fingers freezing, hovering above the arm of the couch.
“What I have with you is nothing like what I’ve ever had with anyone else. Because as much as I give to you, you give back tenfold. You give me so much of yourself that I’m not stretched thin. You take care of me. You get me.” I take a deep breath, amping myself up to say this last part, the culmination of my game plan, the last line on the page, the big declaration. “And?—”
“Lina,” he says. It’s soft but carries the weight of a sharp hammer of a rebuke, and my breath and energy and momentum whooshes right out of me.
He finally looks at me, and this is a new Dom face. It’s not the bone-deep exhaustion I noticed when he opened the door—it’s something worse, something more, something that cuts through my heart and slices my final declaration of love into pieces before it can get out. It’s a blankness that I’ve never seen before, and I realize that it’s there because all the usual warmth has left his face.
“I’ve spent the past two days hurt and pissed and, frankly, mortified. I felt like a desperate idiot, waiting for you to come back to the hotel room, or waiting for a text or a call. But now I’m just exhausted,” he says emptily. My heart crawls into my throat. “I told you back in Westerly that I wanted to try for something real. That it would be hard. And then you went and mentioned all the shit you do and give up for Frankie, when you know it’s a sore spot, when you know I’m so fucking grateful to you, and something?—”
“I wasn’t holding that against you, Dom. I was just frustrated about the way you wouldn’t get off my case.”
He shakes his head. “Regardless, Lina, you said you said you were in?—”
“I was in, Dom, I am in.” I’m pleading for something.
Dom being Dom makes sure I’m finished before continuing, but I don’t know what else to say. “I took a huge risk, Lina. I let you into my life. I let you into my daughter’s life. I trusted you. And you left.”
“I just needed some space. It was just two days,” I try, desperate.
“Lina,” he implores me to understand with the tone of his voice now, far less objective. “You left . You bailed . You walked out . On me and on Frankie . And we didn’t hear from you for two fucking days .” I start to see pain slipping through his mask, and then I understand.
“That’s—” His voice cracks here, slicing through my chest. “I can’t,” he manages. “We can’t. After that. I’ve spent the last two days thinking about what I would say to Frankie if she asked me if you left because of her, because of something she did. I can’t do that to her. I can’t do that to myself.” Again , he doesn’t say. Again . Because, to Dom, I’ve done the unforgivable. The worst thing I could possibly do to him, to this man who has built a fortress around himself and his daughter after the last two women ripped through the fabric of their lives.
I swallow the sharp lump stuck in my throat, but I still have to force this out through the jagged flesh. “What are you saying?”
He takes a deep breath. “I know it was a lot for you. I knew it would be. Not just starting a new relationship, but joining a family. And it’s my fault for pushing it, because I thought I deserved to be a little selfish for once in my life. I see now that it was the wrong move, and I’ve jeopardized the happiness and stability of my daughter by doing so.” He says this part calmly, objectively, no accusation in his voice, because this poor man is so used to taking everything on that he won’t even share the blame with me.
“Dom—”
He stands and walks to the door. I see his hand swipe over his eyes on the walk over.
I’m forced to stand, even if my body is on the verge of coming apart.
“I’m sorry, Lina,” he says, opening the door.
I walk out on Dom and his daughter again, this time leaving shattered pieces of my heart behind, and he deliberately closes the door and shuts them away.