40. Chapter 40
Mariana
I stare at Dom. He looks handsome against the fountain and greenery backdrop, wearing dark blue trousers that hide his brace, and his light sweater and sport coat.
But melancholy surrounds him like stormy clouds.
The way his crutches lean on the basin add to the effect, resting next to him in a haphazard way, like they're an afterthought and could be forgotten.
Gloomy Man on a Sunday. That's the title I'd pick for an artsy shot of the moment.
His friends told me I could find him here and they warned me he might be in a mood, but didn't tell me what mood that would be. I thought he might be annoyed, after seeing my parents again. I didn't expect him to look nostalgic.
"Hey." I sit next to him. "I finally escaped my family for a bit. We have about ten minutes before someone comes looking for me. I'm crossing my fingers it's Cora. Or Maisie. I'm so happy to see Maisie."
"I'm glad she made it." He gives me a small smile. "But that's not a lot of time for us."
"Then we make the best of the little we have right now."
"As you wish." He scans the party and drops a kiss on my face.
"Careful," I complain. "Too many eyes everywhere!"
But I don't pull back. His daring move is sweet, and it sparks happy feelings in my chest. Those, no one can see.
I frown. It's not that he looks nervous, per se…
"If you need an excuse," he says, and his tone sounds the same as usual, "we can go back to the tent and accidentally stand under the mistletoe. Rafa got a kiss out of his friend that way."
"He did?" I let out a nervous chuckle. "You've gotten more than a kiss out of me lately. Don't be greedy."
"Why not? We have plausible deniability if it's our friends using tradition to force us into it. No one has to know we wanted it. I could use a nice kiss from you."
"You could?" I purse my lips to hide my smile.
I think he's flirting with me. It's new, too. Is that why he's mildly agitated? In all these weeks since we crossed paths again, he hasn't flirted. He's in a mood, indeed.
And yet it brings butterflies to my stomach.
"I always could," he says. "Especially now that I won't see you for nearly a week."
He leans closer. His eyes don't waver— he studies me intensely. And his lips take on a teasing smile.
"Are you flirting with me, Dom?" I ask.
"Trying to, yes." His grin turns lopsided now.
"Why? Because we'll be apart until the gala in a week and you'll miss me?"
I don't know if I want that to be the answer. Okay, well— I'd like that. It would mean I'm not the only one feeling things we said we wouldn't.
"You see," he starts, his eyes locked on me, "my plans for the holiday break are simple.
Quiet time with my mom and abuela. Lots of delicious food.
I'll treat them to restaurants too, if they let me.
Anything else they let me do for them. I'll even help them with the posada they're hosting this year. "
"Sounds sweet. And?"
"And while all of that happens, something tells me I'll think a lot about you. I'll wish you were there with me. So maybe, if I flirt with you hard enough now, you'll think of me, too."
The happy feelings in my chest— they turn tender. I soften. This is probably why he looked glum. A week apart shouldn't feel like a lot, but it's going to be a lot. For both of us, it seems.
"I will miss you," I admit. "Of course I will."
"And maybe, if you find the space while watching a sunset or while walking among ancient trees, you'll think of us ending things."
The warmth that gained speed inside turns cold. It stops dead on its tracks.
"Wait. What?" I blink at him.
My face hardens, like it has lost all ability to emote.
A two-ton concrete block has landed on my chest. I don't get it.
Why would he want me to think of us eventually ending things?
We have a few weeks. I still need to prepare for the transition, find my replacement, plan the next season with them…
I could be here until the summer! So for him to bring it up now…
"Are you breaking up with me?" I ask. "But we're not in a relationship— the arrangement and— Dom. Are you ending this?!"
That would be one hell of a way to get what he wanted. That 'telling me no for once' he was waiting for— rejecting me. Building up my dreams, only to knock me down when I'm mellow and unsuspecting.
"Mari—"
"Right before Christmas?!" My voice comes out as a hiss.
He lifts placating hands to me. "No. Mariana. Listen."
He's asking me to be patient. All of a sudden, I'm incapable of it. My heart beats too hard, and my blood is too loud in my ears, and my lungs struggle against the resistance of my ribs.
But he's not vengeful. Even when he was angry at me, he wasn't cruel. My anxiety may be trying to shove me down the worst path possible, but I know better. I know him.
I stop him with a hand. "What is happening?"
"Listen. Please."
He takes the hand I hold between us and brings it to him, until we interlock fingers and we rest them on the fountain. It's a small gesture, but I need it. So I don't pull away from this either, despite the eyes that could catch us and jump to conclusions.
I take deep breaths and watch him closely.
"Mari." His thumb makes passes on my skin. "I haven't had a lot of time to think this through but— fuck, I need to try. So listen, okay? Please."
I gulp. I don't say anything, but nod. We don't have much time.
He takes a quick breath, like he's bracing for something.
"I want you to think of that final break up we promised, not because I want us to end any time soon, but because we'll be apart for a week.
Maybe— maybe we can see it as an opportunity.
Maybe this break will help you imagine what it might be like to fully end things.
Because if there's any part of you who hates it, you might want to talk to me about how that feels, and all the things we could do to prevent it from getting worse. "
I breathe through my confusion, and the pain that's already threatening to stab me point blank.
I frown. "Of course I'm going to hate breaking up with you. I don't need to think too hard to know that."
Or else I'll have to admit just how much I'm going to hurt, and every implication that comes from that.
"Just— think about it, okay?" he insists. "We won't talk on the phone. We won't text. For a week, let's pretend we're over. If we hate it— maybe it's a sign. Maybe we can shift perspectives here. What do you really want us to fix? What do we need to do differently?"
"Dom. Just tell me. These questions— What do you want me to understand?"
"We'll talk after the gala."
"I can't wait until the gala! Don't do that to me. Waiting is the worst. I can't."
"I shouldn't tell you now. We don't have time. And you need— you deserve a chance to figure out what you want, properly, before we talk about everything. If you don't think being apart is a big deal, then that's important too."
"Dom—"
"Go away and think." He squeezes my hand.
"Come back from your trip with what you want to do about next year, and about us and our agreement to end things without any big feelings.
Because if you don't feel much of anything this week, then that can help us decide on a plan, as much as you might hate it. We'll talk then."
"What I want to do…" I gaze into his intense eyes. "What do you want to do about it, Dom?"
My heart beats fast, and this time it echoes the results of a race I didn't want to run, but I'm in the middle of anyway.
He stares at me like he's deciding what to say.
"Dominic Wright," I say. "Tell me."
He looks away. "Your sister is coming to get you."
Cora approaches us, a little smirk on her mouth. He presses his lips together and gives me a small shake of his head.
"Tell me," I insist.
His eyes go to my sister, then to me, then to the party behind her.
The decision clicks in his mind. It comes with determination in his eyes.
He lifts his free hand, takes my face in it, and pulls me to him with hard fingers at my nape.
His kiss is short but intense. Punishing. My lips might get a bit bruised.
He locks eyes with me. "I want us to feel no pain at all."
"Woah," Cora says. "What's going on?"
"That's impossible," I reply.
"Maybe." He arches an eyebrow. "But shouldn't we try?"
"Mom and Dad are asking to leave," Cora says. "Whatever this is, wrap it up over the phone."
Dom narrows his eyes. "Really, really try to find out what you want. Then we'll choose— together. We'll find a way to get what we want and make it work. But if we're not on the same page about that, I don't want to misdirect you."
"As much as I would love to fill Mom and Dad's heads with questions about this," Cora continues, "I don't think it's what you want, hermanita."
She waves a hand at us in a circle, in a gesture that indicates she doesn't understand what's happening.
Well, she's not alone. I don't understand either. All I know is that urgency sizzles in my blood.
I stand and gaze at him. "I'll think about everything."
He nods. "I'll miss you."
His eyes express all the longing I had not seen as we talked. Gloomy Man on a Sunday, indeed.
"I'll miss you, too," I say.
Taking a step away seems impossible until Cora pulls me from my arm. Those stormy clouds surrounding him have latched onto me, and now they follow me as I walk away. When I really, really don't want to leave.
Right before we turn toward the tents in search of our parents, I turn to watch him one last time. Our eyes lock. He doesn't want me to leave early. Somewhere inside, these words mean more than simply departing early from the party.
How ironic, that my anxiety wants me to prevent things going wrong, and Dom is asking me to engage with exactly that.
To think of how to prevent the pain that will come when we break up.
And, for once, I'm not sure if I believe I can.
And that this is the first time I'm not sure if I could ever manage.