41. Chapter 41
Mariana
The house my parents rented is magnificent.
It's not so much its size, but the way it manages to both blend with and stand out from the landscape.
Masonry in stone that seems natural in the environment contrasts with the wooden and white sections on the building.
Large windows trimmed in black allow for views of forest and sea.
Green pockets of lawn and natural growth fill the space between the house, the rocky ground, and the sea below.
I leave it all behind as I follow the flagstone path toward the private pier. A small boat is roped to the structure, but it's not my target. I sit at the end of the dock, where a larger boat may find its place at other times, but whose emptiness gives me a gorgeous view of the sunset.
I told Dom I'd think of him in a moment like this. Something tells me he'd love it if he knew I've done more than that. I've thought about him non-stop.
That moment by the fountain replays itself over and over in my mind. It couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes, but it's a whole movie in my mind. Despite not telling me much at all, he looked at me with such passion and conviction I'm roped into the moment.
Two days into the holiday break, and he got what he wanted. If the way I miss him, the way I think about him every second I get is any sign, it's clear I didn't keep my emotions out of our arrangement. Now I'm swallowed by questions I can't answer.
Except he gave me clear instructions. What do I want? That's what he wants me to figure out next.
My stomach swirls. I clutch the wooden edge under my hands until my knuckles whiten. The one thing I know is that if I could, I wouldn't want to feel pain from ending things either. But if humans knew how to prevent it, we all would. We don't know, and I don't know either.
I welcome the steps that appear at my back.
"Hermanita." Cora sits by my side. "I hope you're okay with some company."
Maisie sits at my other side. "Cora saw you come out of the house and decided we could use some sisterly time before Christmas dinner."
In this part of the world, not everyone has a formal dinner quite the way our family does it.
My parents have always been good about blending cultures and traditions, but Christmas is Mom's affair.
She grew up celebrating it in the Latinamerican style, and so do we.
A big dinner on the 24th, and opening presents at midnight.
The next morning is a time to rest and get cozy, and enjoy the small gifts we give each other— mostly books, since we became adults— and a good, belly-filling brunch.
My parents don't cook any of it, of course.
"Do you know what the chefs are making?" I ask.
Cora shrugs. "No idea, but it will be good."
"We'll have to go change soon." Maisie's accent has always been the most British of all of us. "So I'm curious why you'd choose this time to come out and sit on the dock. You've been pensive, Mariana."
I give her a sideways glance. "You could say that."
"What's going on?" she asks.
I look out to the water. Several small islands emerge from the sea, peppering the horizon, and it's a lovely view.
The sun moves slower up here in this corner of the world.
Clouds cover the width of the sky. Yet enough empty space survives that most of them turn a beautiful gold at this time of day.
"Did Cora tell you anything?" I cock my head at her.
Maisie shakes her head and covers her shoulders tighter in her thick shawl. It's a cold evening, but I like it that way.
"I respected your privacy," Cora says. "Of course."
"I'd love it if you told me." Maisie's mouth curls up at the corner. "Sweeter that way."
I sigh and look out to the ocean again. "Remember Dom? My college boyfriend?"
"Do I remember him?" Maisie chuckles. "I know he plays for the team you two work for. And Mom has mentioned him enough that I know there's something going on."
"Not denying there's something going on," I say. "But what has Mom said?"
"She's been asking me if I'd be willing to keep running the charity if you decided to stay in Seattle."
The world shifts a few degrees. I can't answer. This basically confirms what I suspected. My mom— perhaps my parents— thought I'd backtrack from my plans.
"I said yes, by the way." Maisie leans closer to me, until we're shoulder to shoulder. "You and I have these plans and I'm excited but, if I knew you're happy in Seattle, I wouldn't begrudge you for pursuing that."
"I'm not planning to stay," I say.
"Why the fuck not?" Cora asks. "You like working for the Strike, I think. And you are happy with Dom, are you not?"
"I am! But it doesn't mean it will last. And it means Mom and Dad will— they will—"
"Who cares, Mariana." Cora leans forward until she makes it through to my eyesight.
"I do!" I say. "I don't have a strong, independent career that proves I'm a badass like you, Cora.
And I don't have a six-year track record killing it in the charity world like Maisie.
I moved to England when told, then got married to someone that got Mom and Dad excited, then did what I was supposed to do to fit in with his world.
And then I accepted it when he was done pretending we were happy.
So I came to this part of the world to try to prove myself…
with a job my sister got me. What do I have to show for it? Nothing!"
"To show whom?" Maisie asks. "Mum and Dad?"
I clench my jaw. I hate that that's my answer.
"I don't know where I fit in with the family." My voice is strained. "Everyone is so successful. I can't be the one who couldn't take all the things we were given on a silver platter and went nowhere with it."
My sisters study me. Their gaze feels heavy on me. I breathe through it. Small waves hit the posts below us, and I focus on the calming sounds.
"Is that why you're anxious all the time?" Cora's voice is soft this time. "Because you think you could fail?"
"I need to be anxious," I start.
"Why?" Maisie asks.
What a simple question, so full of implications.
"If I'm not anxious, I may be okay failing," I confess. "And If I'm not anxious I'm just… sad."
My throat constricts word by word, until there's barely any sound left at the end.
Back when I was more actively involved in therapy, I spent a lot of time talking about this with my psychologist. At the time, the solution was to accept this, and simply focus on managing the intensity of it.
I don't know what will come out of this next bout of brain housekeeping, but something tells me I'll have to go deeper than that.
Maisie's hand lands on my knee, while Cora's goes around my shoulders.
"Ah, hermanita," Cora sighs. "Sad because Mom and Dad would be a pain about it?"
I nod. "Because it would mean there was never a point in trying to be good enough. And my goal would have to be to learn to live with their criticism, because I can't stop it."
At the end of the day, that's what I've been avoiding. Disappointment so deep, it could lead to depression. I can't afford being depressed. It would suck me in. I'd stop working to accomplish anything. Success would be nothing but a mirage I failed to reach.
"You can't stop them from being judgmental," Maisie says.
"They love us, and they want the best for us, but they have their own past. Their own stuff they haven't dealt with.
They don't know how to guide us if it's not through their demands, because if we accept their expectations, their version of happiness and success, they don't have to confront their beliefs.
And you know what? That's their trauma. You don't need to listen. You don't need to take it in."
"They've always had an issue with belonging.
" Cora shakes her head in a wistful way.
"Like the modern version of the new money in the Gilded Age or something like that.
With Dad immigrating and building himself up from so little.
And Mom comes from a family who had recognition but lost it. Maybe you inherited some of that, too?"
"They're Mom and Dad. I probably did."
And while they hardened themselves to survive their world and pursue their goals, I shrouded myself in questions. In worries. Because they detect problems before they can happen, and isn't that smart? It's so smart.
Only there are things you can't avoid. Twice I've had to face pain— the break up, then that call and having to block him…
and I'm preparing for a third go at it. Funnily enough, all with the same person.
Perhaps because, with him, I feel free. Like being me, anxiety and all, is fine.
He'll be there and not judge. Until I've stopped asking questions and trying to prevent the consequences.
"And we're your sisters," Cora says. "We can learn from each other too. We're going to be by your side. And even if Mom and Dad disapprove, we're all still going to be family."
"I know." I gaze down at the water beneath my feet.
"That's why I'm here. I want us to be family.
It's the one thing that lasts through it all.
Growing up, our only roots were those we had with each other.
Despite distance, despite the different futures we were reaching for.
We had Mom and Dad telling us we could go far, that we should go far, and a few meals together through the year.
Every other school friend, every other neighborhood, faded into oblivion every time we moved. "
"We were all lonely in our own way," Maisie says.
I nod. "I'm just trying to find my place. A little corner I can defend and say I'm Mariana Sinclair Montt. I get to have a voice and be respected as part of this family."
Maisie smiles. "You don't have to wait to start doing that."
Cora pulls me a little closer. "So what if you do that in this corner of the world? Seattle, to be more precise?"
"With Dom and the Strike and working with Cora," Maisie adds. "That sounds rather brilliant, I think."