35. Chapter 35
Mariana
Mornings are not my favorite, but I get going and start my day. Dom is in the shower, I'm finishing my makeup, and I'm ready for my first coffee of the day. In other words, a normal day. So far, so good.
Six days since coming to stay with Dom, he and I are finding our rhythm.
His treatment started, and his focus is on being ready for the Divisional game and the rest of the playoffs.
While he follows every instruction from the Strike's medical team at the Thunderdome, upstairs in the front office, I'm a ball of nerves.
I draw a sharper eyeline today. It makes me feel more in control.
With the gala happening in less than three weeks, I'll borrow confidence from every little thing I can think of.
Sure, everything is on schedule, the people helping me are on top of things, and even my Christmas trip is accounted for.
But the thing about living with generalized anxiety is that you tend to focus on the potential for things to go wrong, rather than the things that are going well.
Even after all the work I've put into learning to manage the way my brain thinks, a flutter still takes over my heart when I look at my to-do list. My stomach still churns when a small thing goes awry.
I still wake up a few too many times during the night.
It's okay. I have a plan. And as soon as the gala is done and the holidays are over, my stress levels will go down, and I'll cope a little better.
I'll start planning my transition back to England.
I'll take what I've learned and I'll start on a proposal that fits with Maisie's vision and mine.
I'll prove that I know what I'm doing, and maybe I'll see respect in my parents' eyes again.
I check the results of my work and decide on a final touch— I paint my lips a muted red, for a not-super-bold, but bold-enough look, and pop into the bathroom. Dom is coming out of the shower.
"I'll go make us some coffee," I say.
He nods and, without a word, taps his lips, asking me for a kiss.
I smirk and roll my eyes, but I give him a quick kiss anyway.
If I'm honest, staying with Dom has been wonderful.
It's a relief to come home to him in the evening.
During those short hours before sleep, we eat and chat about our day, we relax on the couch, and keep things in bed simple to protect his knee.
It's very coupley. It feels nice. I'm soaking it in.
I may never get a chance to build this kind of domesticity with someone again, and the fantasy of a lifetime of moments like this is too tempting.
It's so tempting, in fact, that I need to set another deadline.
I'll leave Dom's place the morning of the Partners' Party, before leaving with my family in the evening for our holiday trip.
It will be a good bookend to this reverie at Dom's place.
But until then, I'll make the most out of it.
Just like I'll make the most out of this situationship with Dom, and the friendship that's been building between his friends and me.
I walk into the kitchen, running my morning plans through my head.
Pen and I need to check in about the Partners' Party fundraiser status, before I meet with Selena about the gala.
I'll definitely need coffee through all of it.
I grab two travel mugs from the cupboard.
It's when I turn to the coffee machine that I see the fridge is open, and Dom's mom stares at me dumbfounded.
I swallow a scream. It comes out as a strangled cry.
The kitchen blurs. Dom's mom stands at the sharp end of my tunnel vision, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide.
I'm frozen, barely aware that I mirror her gesture, but worse.
We watch each other for several seconds.
Our tasks remain disrupted, her with her hands still deep in the fridge, and mine holding metal cups.
She's the first one to recover. She defrosts all at once, with an inner warmth that reminds me of her son. Her eyes sparkle. An understanding slant takes over her mouth.
Her voice carries the same steel I remember, and the same accent as back then. "I suppose it was foolish of me to think that he wouldn't have anyone to take care of him. But the real shocker is that it's you, Mariana. It's been a long time."
I blink and take a quick inhale. To my ears, it sounds a little bit like a gasp.
"Senora! Hola." I swallow. "Buenos días."
I hold on to the mug handles so hard, my nails manage to dig into my palms. My stomach swirls, hard, and I'm thankful that I haven't had more than water so far in the day.
So we didn't get to keep this private from our parents after all.
And it's Dom's mom that found out first, by accident, and what on earth can I say?
What will she think? What if she starts scolding Dom— not that he would break this off because she doesn't approve— she never really liked me and it didn't change anything— but it can't be easy…
"I apologize for the intrusion," she says. "He never has people here at home, and I got used to just barging in without notice. It won't happen again."
"No, no. Please. I'm just… visiting."
I cringe. She smirks.
I've always been a terrible liar.
"I'm working with the Strike," I add. "Since he's injured, I thought maybe I could… help…"
"That is very kind of you." She closes the fridge and gives me a knowing look. "We tried to come back earlier but couldn't…"
"Mari," Dom's voice comes from the hall. "You forgot your bag in the bedroom."
He hobbles into the kitchen, my purse hanging from his wrist, but stops midway when he notices my face. One, two seconds of his eyes reading my face, before he and I turn to gaze at his mom at the same time.
"Mom! You're supposed to be in Guanajuato for another five days."
She raises both eyebrows. "Your grandmother and I decided to come back early. You're injured. I know there's not much we can do, but we could at least keep you fed. We wanted to be around in case you needed anything else."
"That's… sweet." He drops my bag on a stool by the kitchen island, shuffles to her, and gives her a hug. "I told you I'd be fine."
"I can see that now, but I thought you were being stubborn." She purses her lips, a tinge of humor hidden in the gesture. "We were going to surprise you. I brought some pozole your abuela made for you."
"Thank you, Mom. I'll call her later." He steals a glance my way. "Can I— Can we— Do you want something to drink?"
The travel mugs have turned to lead, and they weigh down my hands until they rest listless at my sides. Dom's question kicks me into gear again, and I leave the mugs on the kitchen island.
"I can make coffee for all of us," I say. "Or I can give you privacy?"
I definitely could take my bag and leave early, grab some coffee on the way, and panic quietly in my office. I'm not sure why I need to panic, but it feels like I need to panic. I wring my hands and wait for her answer.
"No, it's all good," she says. "I should be the one leaving. Don't worry about it."
"Mom, it's not like that."
He gives me an apologetic look. I respond with a tiny shake of my head. I'm not sure what I mean by that, but I hope it means something reassuring to him. His mom wasn't supposed to learn of us, especially not this way. The best I can do is follow his lead.
"You're an adult." She smiles up at him. "You will explain when you want me to understand. As long as this doesn't have the same ending as the Callejón del Beso story, I'm sure you'll work it out."
"Mom," he groans.
I know better than to ask.
She pats his shoulder. "I'm going now. Let me know if you need anything."
"Gracias, Ma."
Without leaving his side, she gazes at me. "Thank you for helping him and keeping him company, Mariana."
"Of course," I say. "Happy to help him."
She smiles at me and then studies him. "I think I will text next time I want to stop by."
She gives us a cheeky smile and leaves.
"Now I really need that coffee," I say.
I fill up our mugs, but we sit at the kitchen table for a few minutes. He'll wait for a car to pick him up and take him to the TD. That should happen in about half an hour. Me, I'll wait another fifteen minutes and leave on my own.
We could use the time to process the surprise.
I sip from my drink. "Do I want to know what the Callejón del Beso story is?"
He gazes out the window and sips from his drink too.
Distracted, he runs a hand over his short hair.
The garden faces west and it's shaded in the morning, keeping greens tinted blue.
The roof casts a darkened line over the space, marking the slow journey of the sun toward its winter zenith.
Clear yellow sunlight gains territory in his yard, inch by inch.
A moment later, he sighs and gazes at me. "It's a real story from Guanajuato. Urban legend that's turned into one of those tourist attractions, you know?"
I nod.
"There are a couple of versions to it. The hero has a couple different names, too, but her name is always Carmen.
We'll call him Luis. Anyway. Basically, she came from lots of money and had a very strict father.
He was a poor miner and her dad didn't see him as worthy of his daughter.
But they fell in love, and when the dad found out, he locked her in her room.
Dad wanted her to marry well and, at the time, that meant a rich Spaniard in need of a wife, not a lowly working hand. "
He's pensive now. I keep nodding, with small, barely-there movements. They are an admission. I'm listening, and I'm following, and I'm seeing the connection, too.
"Luis was an astute man in love," he continues, "so he found a smart way to still see her. He realized her room's balcony was only twenty-six inches away from the balcony of the house next door— the alley was that narrow. So what did he do? He bought the neighbor's house."
I laugh. "That's clever."
Wistfulness fills his eyes. A rueful, simple smile tilts his lips.
He takes my hand over the table. "They say they talked for hours every night and kissed across the balcony, hiding their relationship from her father.
Until her dad figured it out and, in a fit of rage, killed her.
Then her beloved died too. Some say he despaired and tried to jump to her room, but fell off the balcony.
Others say he was already there and kissed her hand for hours after she'd passed, only to throw himself into a mine a few days later. "
My heart beats in a deep, loud pattern. It drums in my chest, like a distant, bassy call across wheat fields.
The story hits a little too close to home for comfort.
My dad is not ragey, but he's critical. I doubt he would approve today, just like he didn't back then.
Even back when Dom and I first fell in love, we did what we could to live our romance despite other people's doubts and opposition.
But I still played by the rules of my family.
I pursued the dreams I thought I could make mine, not what I truly wanted.
Then I went on to marry my own version of a rich Spaniard.
Yeah, I can see where Dom's mom is coming from.
"Jesus," I say. "And that's a tourist attraction?"
He shrugs. "People go there and kiss on the third step between the houses. They say lovers get a blessing from him to be happy together for seven years."
"Seven years only? It seems even urban legends struggle to give people more than that."
Dom's brow twists in an incredulous gesture. "That's what you're getting out of the story?"
"No, of course I see the parallels." I squeeze his hand. "I suppose it's different for your mom, having lived there. Not so much a thing for tourists, but a story of her home and her childhood. And when she looks at us…"
He nods. "In her mind, the story is a warning about falling in love with someone above your class. My dad left us, right? He had some money. Then I grew up and I fell in love with someone way above my class. Someone with a strict father who had opinions of me."
"That's why she was kind but she never liked me. Even if my dad doesn't have fits of wrath. She saw our differences and decided it wouldn't end well."
"And it didn't. She saw what our breakup did to me."
My heart twists. Pain and guilt pulse in my chest. They echo each of his words. Our decisions cost us so much and it's just now, more than six years later, that I'm realizing how much of it has hinged on taking every one of my family's rules and making them my own.
Even now, I'm repeating the pattern. I'm in Seattle to do things my way, hoping I'll learn to ignore my parents' opinion to focus on my own, but I'm still moving through the world seeking happiness in the things they told me to fight for.
Working hard to get what I want in my career, just like they taught me to do.
Fuck.
Shame throws an anchor into my guts. More mistakes for me to own and, this time, the logical solution terrifies me.
Defining what matters to me and me alone is hard to contemplate.
Especially when I think of what all of this has cost Dom and me.
And how it all rests on my shoulders way more than on his.
My heartbeat drops into palpitations. I let go of his hand and take a slow, calming breath.
I wrap my fingers around my mug. "I guess this is why you were okay with your mom not knowing about us."
"Now she's going to worry about what may happen if it doesn't work out. But it's okay."
He checks the clock. He'll be picked up in a few minutes. He sips more coffee, then gets up and gives me a kiss.
"She won't see me destroyed this time," he adds. "This time, I won't forget that you're leaving. I'll take care of my heart, so it doesn't get a chance to shatter."
It shouldn't pull at my heartstrings to hear him say that.
To feel the weight of what's coming, until I start grieving him— again— before I absolutely must. But it's yet another reminder of where we stand, and where this domesticity will end.
I better not get confused, and believe the fantasy could ever become real.
The whole point of what we're doing is it will give us closure.
There has to be a way to prevent my issues from causing us more pain than is warranted by our arrangement.
Carmen didn't have a lot of agency, back in the times of colonial Guanajuato. If she had, she might have survived her horrible father and her tragic ending. But I have more of a choice than she ever did. So what the hell am I going to do?
For the next few days, Dom and I return to our new normal.
Treatment for him, event prep for me, and cozy nights.
Even if I don't say anything yet, every quiet moment I have fills me with questions.
It doesn't get easier when we go to the stadium to watch the home game a few days later.
Dom's friends have a thousand questions for us too.