Chapter 39
As I ride the elevator up to my apartment, I check my phone for the umpteenth time.
There is nothing, from anyone. I almost miss Mileidy’s constant texts asking me to carry out some ridiculous task just because she had to make it seem like I was an actual employee.
Maybe Simón hasn’t seen the email. Or maybe he saw it and he doesn’t want to reply because he doesn’t want to be with me anymore.
Which is fine. It’s fair. He has every right. Maybe he has a girlfriend.
The thought makes me want to throw up. I groan, letting my head rest against the mirrors behind me. The elevator dings and the metal doors screech as they slide open. I drag my feet out, then halt.
A tall figure sits right by my door. A black duffel bag sits beside him.
It has a familiar logo, matching the signature hoodie he’s wearing.
He’s a walking Caballo de Troya advertisement.
Simón springs to his feet when he sees me.
And even though he looks like he’s been sitting there for hours, he’s out of breath.
“Maria Antonieta,” he says in his salutatory way, but his voice is hoarse.
“Simón.”
Simón.
I’m not completely sure the sight before me isn’t a figment of my imagination. Time seems to slow, every sound fading into a distant hum. My heart pounds so loudly I swear he can hear it.
A surge of warmth and longing swells inside me, so intense it’s almost overwhelming. I feel a thousand emotions collide—joy, relief, a bittersweet ache of what we’ve lost, and a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, not everything is doomed.
“I was at the airport,” I blurt out.
Simón’s eyebrows shoot up. “The airport?”
“I wanted to tell you something,” I add, as if that makes more sense.
But it’s now or never. I pull my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans and go through my email until I find the document.
I clear my throat, suddenly nervous. Simón watches me expectantly.
I clear my throat again and take a deep, quiet breath.
“When I started the experiments, I didn’t start with the idea of recruiting a coach, or want that coach to be my favorite singer…
or want him to become…” I look up at Simón.
Who is kindhearted, and responsible, and funny, and talented.
Who in a matter of months made himself important to me, quickly becoming one of my best friends.
Simón, who got off an airplane and the first thing he did was come find me.
Reciting the article to him feels impersonal, in light of that.
“Simón, I wanted to tell you that I got the job.” Joy instantly enters his eyes.
For me. I force myself to keep going. “And after I got that call, I realized the only person I wanted to tell was you. And that you were right, back at the beach.” I swallow hard.
“You asked me a question, and I didn’t answer.
I thought I did, but you deserve to hear me say it.
I like you too. I want you too. I’ve never wanted to break all my rules so much in my life. ”
As I speak, the pressure in my chest grows lighter. It feels good to put this out there, to lay my feelings down at his feet and give him the choice to pick them up.
“I understand if your feelings have changed,” I continue, as painful as that would be. “But you were brave in telling me. So I thought you should know.”
Simón takes a step in my direction, then another, nodding. “I wanted to tell you something too.” Oh. “What I said before I left—”
“No, no.” I cut him off, lurching forward until my hands are on his forearms and I’m looking up at him. “Please, don’t apologize for that. You did exactly what you had to do. You knew I needed time, and you gave it to me. You were so perfectly, selflessly you, and I’m so grateful to you for that.”
He looks at me with a longing I’ve only ever seen in movies. I still can’t believe he’s here.
“I wasn’t going to apologize,” he says. “I meant what I said that night.”
Oh.
I deflate. Coming all this way just to reiterate what he’s already said seems a little unnecessary, if you ask me.
His hands cup the back of my neck, tilting my face up. His fingertips tap a slow rhythm on my skin. When he smiles with a sigh, my heart bursts. He looks at me like I’m fragile, made of porcelain, like I need to be treated with care. Like I deserve to be treated with care.
“I like you so much, Marianto,” he whispers. “I meant everything I said. Falling in love with you would be so easy.” Oh. “If we gave this a shot, I think you and I could be amazing.” He produces a folded sheet of paper from his back pocket.
I immediately miss his touch. He unfolds the piece of paper with shaking hands, swallowing as his eyes bore into mine.
My heart grows when he shows me. A schedule. For the rest of the year. Where he’ll be and for how long. Venezuela is scribbled in at least twenty times. At least twice a month. Every Venezuelan holiday is highlighted. Some of the squares are blank, and I realize they’re for me to fill in.
“This is what I was doing the night before I almost missed my flight,” he says.
“I knew then, at that pool, before we even touched, that I wanted to try to make it work. It’s going to be hard.
There will be days when I won’t be available and days when I’m traveling to other continents and our responsibilities are going to make it near impossible for us to talk.
And there will be days when you will hate me for that.
” His plans rush out of his mouth so fast, I’m not even sure he’s breathing.
And I’m just staring. I can’t believe he did this.
“And now I know you just started a new job, so obviously you can’t ask for a week off every month,” he continues.
“But Colombia is like a two-hour flight, so whenever you have a long weekend, I can fly you there and—”
I put my hands over his on the wonderful plan he made for us. Finally, he breathes.
“I know this isn’t what you had in mind when you said you needed security.” His voice is low, almost begging. His eyebrows are pinched together, like he’s in pain. “And I know it might all be for nothing, and you might end up resenting me anyway…But I want to try.”
It’s like I can’t stop nodding my head, and with every motion his shoulders seem to relax. “I can’t believe you did this.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “I know how much you love a plan.”
I laugh. Which turns into one tear, then two, until I’m sobbing and Simón is immediately wrapping his arms around me.
“I want to try too,” I mumble into his sweater.
Simón sighs heavily, his breath blowing into my hair. He pushes me away a little so he can see me, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “Do you think we’ll regret it?”
I shrug, grinning through the tears. “No” is the first thing I say. But I pause to consider. Life is unexpected, and I have to stop convincing myself that it isn’t. Trying to accommodate every single moment into color-coded squares could be a wasted effort in the end. “Maybe.”
“Do you care?” he asks, leaning closer.
“Not one bit.”
“Good,” he rasps.
He pulls me closer in a single swift movement and seals my lips with his.
For once, it doesn’t feel daunting or scary.
His touch is familiar. His breathing is in sync with mine, reminding me that I’m not stepping into nothing.
That there is solid ground beneath me and a strong hand to steady me.
And for all the talk of staying in one place, putting down roots not even God could pull out, I find that this might be all the security I need.
This is still a plan. It’s just a new plan, one with room for adventures and traveling and stolen kisses in foreign alleyways with a man who isn’t just my favorite musician, but my confidant, my safe haven. And it doesn’t sound half bad.