Thirty-Three
Apparently, being in a “serious” relationship means taking turns shuffling an overnight bag to each other’s place every week; keeping extra food in the fridge and toiletries in the bathroom; and playing rock paper scissors to decide what to watch on Netflix, where to go out to eat, and whether to spend the weekend in or out of the apartment.
Theo proves to be the more magnanimous of the two of us, never disappointed on the nights I win the final decision. However, the same can’t be said for me after I’m dragged across town to a burger joint that burns our fries and gets both our orders wrong. I stare daggers at him across the table all night until he offers to make it up to me with the takeout of my choice.
“You’re too good to me.” I bump his shoulder with the side of my head in affection as he starts the car. He smiles down at me, and I almost say it. Three little words I’ve been holding inside my chest since the night he asked for more.
“Not possible.” He chuckles to himself. “We probably should’ve looked up reviews before we tried somewhere new.”
“Probably,” I agree, staring out the window as he pulls onto the ramp. “You know, this relationship thing isn’t much different from what we were doing before. Although, we probably spent more time at my apartment than anywhere else.”
“That’s why I always vote to go out more.” He glances at me once he’s merged onto the middle lane. “We were only real behind closed doors, when there was no one around to prove anything to. Now that we get to be real everywhere, I’m making up for lost time.”
His explanation makes my heart melt. “In that case, how can I say no to that?”
My apartment is ice cold when we arrive back. What the hell? Theo and I exchange a look before I rush to the thermostat. It’s stuck on sixty degrees, but it feels even colder. Theo offers to call the front office right when I realize what happened. I turned it off days ago because I knew I’d be at Theo’s apartment.
“No need,” I say as I flip the switch back to auto and turn on the heat. “Old conservation habits die hard.”
“Guess we should warm up in the meantime.” A mischievous glint lights his eyes as his arms pull me into his chest. “I have a few ideas.”
“Oh?” My blood heats with anticipation. “Let’s grab a couple blankets first.” I point him in the direction of the linen closet as I step inside my bedroom to change.
After dressing in my warmest pair of pajamas that won’t last a second on my body as soon as Theo comes back, I can’t shake the feeling I’ve lost sight of something. I don’t remember what until he returns.
The door swings open. Instead of blankets, Theo’s holding a large, unopened box in his arms. His last gift to me on the date I ruined. The one I didn’t have the courage to open, just like the three little words I don’t have the courage to say to him.
“You never opened it.” He sounds more confused than disappointed. “Why?”
“I…” A heavy sigh deflates my chest. “I don’t know. I guess I was waiting for the right moment, and then I completely forgot about it when I put it away.” It’s not quite a lie, but definitely not the whole truth.
“This might actually be better,” he says, setting the box on the floor. “We can open it together. That’s how I thought this would go anyway. I’ll go grab a knife from—”
I wrap a hand around his wrist, halting him. Confusion settles over his features again. He steps closer to me, assessing whatever my face must look like right now.
“Wait.” I don’t have a good reason to stop him. When I pictured myself opening the box, I was alone. More assured of myself, the way Theo was when he laid his heart out on the table for me. When he was more honest than he needed to be with Ben and Alice. When at the end of it all, he still chose me.
If I could do everything about that night differently and still walk away with you at the end of it, I’d do it this second if it meant being worthy of you.
He’s not the unworthy one here. I am.
I want to be the person he sees in me, but his gift is a reminder of the person I was when I ran from him. The one who broke his heart and ruined his grand gesture because I was too scared to try. Maybe I’m scared that when I open this box, I’ll realize just how well and truly unworthy of him I am. Of how incapable I am of maintaining something real. He’s done so much for me, but what have I ever done but push him away?
But it’s also more likely that I’m being dramatic. Letting my fears rule me, despite all my best efforts to set them free. Easier said than done. We’ve been official for weeks, but I still can’t shake the feeling that we’ve both been holding back. The words I won’t say and the box I never opened. The tentative way he looks at me sometimes, scared of doing or saying the wrong thing to push me too far. I’m not sure he realizes I’m terrified of messing this up the same way he is.
He’s looking at me that same way now, soft eyes and tired smile. Instead of asking, he heaves a sigh and kisses the top of my head. “It’s okay,” he tells me. “We’ll wait. But trust me, you’re gonna kick yourself for waiting so long when you finally open it.”
“I won’t wait much longer,” I assure him. When we’re both cocooned in my bed, a mix of tangled limbs, I assure myself of it, too.
No more waiting.
No more holding back.
My mother lives alone in the house she raised me in. The cheery yellow paint looks fresh, and so does the vibrant blue of the front door. The wooden fence is wide open, which is odd since she’s nowhere to be seen outside. It’s not like her to be absent-minded about that sort of thing. I’m about to call her when I finally spot her emerging from the backyard, dressed in her straw sun hat and bright orange gardening gloves. I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Mija, what are you doing here?”
She meets me at the front door near her rosebush, the vines grayed to near white. I’m not sure how she manages it, but no matter how harsh the winter it endures, by late spring, her roses are always in full bloom. Her surprise turns to concern as she inspects my face. Whatever she sees makes her frown, brows furrowing.
“Let’s get you inside.”
She removes her gloves as we pass through the door, tossing them aside on the porch rather than taking the time to put them away properly. Inside, she says, “Give me a moment to wash up. I’ve been using the weed killer all morning, which I really need to stop altogether. Yolanda from next door is convinced the stuff gave her cancer last year. She’s got a lawsuit going on with the company, you know.” I follow as she goes toward the bathroom.
“I remember, you told me about that the last time I visited,” I remind her. I’ve heard all her stories at least three times. “Aside from working with poison, how’ve you been?”
“Oh, you know nothing much changes around here,” she says. “But let me guess, you’re here for the salsa and tortillas, ah? You’re in luck. I just made some yesterday. I was going to call you when I got through with the garden. To ask if you wanted me to drop them off, but I guess there’s no need now.” Now that she mentions it, I realize my stockpiles are running low again.
“That’s… oh, well, thank you.” I shake my head. “Actually, I have some news I thought you might like to hear.”
“What news?” She sticks her head out the door. I’m better able to take her in now that she’s taken off her gardening garb. Her hair is graying at the roots, as if she hasn’t been keeping up with touch-ups as much as she’d like. But even so, it’s her eyes that still make her look young. They’re big and brown and brimming with excitement as she looks into my eyes. “Good, I hope?”
“Definitely good.” I nod at her, trying to contain my nerves for what I’m about to tell her. Last time I told her about a guy I was dating, I was too naive to see past my giddy excitement. Now I wonder if I’m too jaded to recognize what happiness looks like when it’s staring me in the face.
Once she finishes up in the bathroom, she leads me to the bright green sectional she bought last year. One touch of the velvet material tells you how comfortable it is, especially compared to the years-old, threadbare couch I grew up with. It’s no wonder she raves about all the naps she has on this thing.
“What’s his name?” I can’t be sure how she immediately knows this is about a guy, or if she’s just being hopeful.
“How do you know I’m seeing someone?” I cross my arms over my chest.
“What’s his name?” she repeats, eyes twinkling. “How did you meet? And more importantly”—she looks me squarely in the eye—“when do I get to meet him?”
“Don’t get too ahead of yourself.” I haven’t told her a single thing yet, but I can already tell my cheeks are turning pink. “His name is Theo.”
“Last name?” She pulls out her phone, poised to google him. Good lord, this woman is no better than Angela.
“Mom!” I shake my head at her, resisting the urge to pull the phone away from her. “Put the phone away. This is why I don’t tell you anything, geez.”
“Excuse me for looking out for you.” She scowls but does as I say. “I’ll look him up later,” she says beneath her breath.
“Theo Young.” I watch her face for the first sign of realization. “That’s his name. I met him…” We’re heading into dangerous territory here.
“Young? Like Ben Young?” Understanding settles behind her eyes when I tell her he’s Ben’s older brother. When I told her I was dating Ben, she always made it a point to mention how happy I looked. Then when we broke up and I told her we were staying friends, she looked at me with such pity I couldn’t stand it. Now the first signs of wariness creep into her eyes. “I see. What does he think of you and his brother?”
I’m done. With all of you.
Of all the people who have come and gone from my life, I’ve never had the satisfaction of a confrontation before Ben. Getting a clean break, no matter the mess that brought it on in the first place. It feels good to finally know where we stand with each other, even if we’re no longer on speaking terms.
“We’re not friends anymore,” I say. “A lot has happened the past few weeks. You probably don’t want the full story.”
“Of course I want to know!” Her voice raises, and maybe it’s her tone compounded with the four walls of my childhood home around me that suddenly makes me feel like a preteen again. The fights we used to have, the blame I used to put on her for something outside of her control. “You’re my daughter. If you’re hurting, I need to know about it. Tell me.”
So I do. I spill my guts, starting from the very beginning. The engagement party, discovering his feelings for Alice, stopping him from confessing them. I tell her about our friendship, but I hesitate to admit our arrangement. It’s not exactly a mom-approved topic of conversation, but I explain around it, and she gets the gist. “I wasn’t supposed to fall for him. None of this was supposed to happen.”
“Aye, mija. She pulls me into her arms. “There is no ‘supposed to.’ It doesn’t work that way. You don’t get to decide who your heart wants.”
“Then what do I get to decide?” I ask her, voice wobbly. “What do I get to control?”
“Not very much, I’m afraid.” She wipes the tears from my cheeks. “Only what to do about it.”
What does that mean? I’m about to ask when she continues. “You get to decide if staying is worth the pain you’ll endure, the sacrifices you might have to make to keep him, all the good things he brings to your life. You get to decide your limits, and when to walk away should you need to. None of those are easy decisions to make, but they’re necessary. For your happiness, as well as his.
“It doesn’t mean you failed if things don’t work out.” She smooths the hair back from my face, wipes away the tears I didn’t realize were falling from my cheeks. “Nothing in this life is certain. We know that more than most people.”
“I love him,” I tell her, and it’s the most conviction my voice has ever held. “He’s worth staying for. He’s worth all of it.”
“Then have faith in him, Marcela.” Her arms wrap around my back, small but strong. “Have faith in yourself, too.”
Faith. That’s what I’ve been missing all along.
When she asks me to tell her about him, I start from the very beginning. I tell her about his mistakes and mine, the ways we helped each other overcome them. I tell her about reenacting the last scene from Before the Dawn and the way my heart leapt when he dipped my body and kissed my cheek, and the way the crowd of teens roared afterward, led by Andy. I tell her about the “touchdown” I made during the date he planned, and how I almost ruined everything with my fear later at dinner.
“I hate how much your father leaving hurt you. I wish I could stop it from affecting you this way.” Her arm tightens around my shoulders.
“Me, too. But you know what?” I glance at her, and suddenly I can’t help the small smile that breaks through. “I’m not afraid anymore.”
“So when do I get to meet him?” she asks again, nudging my side with an elbow.
“Hmm, I don’t know.” I tap my chin in thought. “I’ll bring him around when there’s a ring on this finger.” I hold up my left hand, wiggling my ring finger. She rolls her eyes heavenward and heaves a deep, bone-weary sigh. “Or maybe I’ll just invite you to the ceremony and you can meet him afterwards.”
“You think you’re funny?” Her tone is sarcastic, but her eyes are glittering. She slaps my hand playfully, telling me to be serious, which only makes me take it a step further.
“Or maybe I’ll wait until you’re a grandma.”
She roars her outrage, and I laugh until my stomach hurts.