Chapter Two Eric
Chapter Two
Eric
Iprobably shouldn’t have poked the bear.
If there’s one thing Juliana absolutely hates, it’s receiving even a hint of criticism about her predisposition to choose work over everything else. But a deal’s a deal, and if a friendly reminder is in order, then so be it.
I wish she would realize that her world won’t end if she leaves her work at work for once.
Her ambition doesn’t bother me at all; it’s the way she pursues it that’s troubling.
Sure, her job as a civil engineer is understandably demanding, but her firm asks too much of her, doesn’t respect her boundaries, dangles vague promises of a promotion to get her to work ridiculous hours.
In the meantime, she’s not living—for herself or with me.
Forget ships passing in the night; our ships aren’t even in the same harbor.
She was pissed when I pointed all this out.
Accused me of wanting to control her. Said I should be supporting her, not holding her back.
I realized then that she didn’t really know me if she thought any of that was the case.
It’s hard to see someone you love being taken advantage of. But it’s her life, her choices. Just as much as it’s my life and my choices. I guess we’re both choosing to go our separate ways. Although I adore her, she’s right: Splitting up is for the best.
Still, it’s hard to believe we ended up here.
I remember when we met at the neighborhood café as if it happened yesterday rather than two and a half years ago.
Not much of a coffee drinker but needing a jolt of caffeine after a rough work night, I was staring at the menu that had been meticulously laid out on the chalkboard and couldn’t make sense of it.
My brain was too fried to figure out the differences between a macchiato, a cortado, and a ristretto.
In the sweetest and softest voice I’d ever heard, the person behind me said, “Breathe,” and then guided me through my options.
When I turned around to thank them, I froze, absolutely poleaxed by the divine beauty staring back at me.
With a twinkle in her eye, she said, “No need to thank me, but if you’d like to make my day, let’s share that table in the corner over there and you can tell me why you’re so exhausted.”
I hadn’t expected the offer. I hadn’t expected her. And even though we’re no longer a couple, I don’t regret a single minute of the time we spent together. What I regret is that we couldn’t make us work.
Thankfully, Juliana’s mother saves me from answering Tia Claudia’s question about babies. Sonia curls her upper lip at her sister-in-law. “Ja chega, Claudia! N?o é de sua conta. Cuide de sua vida.”
Claudia casually waves her off. “Relax. T? brincando com eles.”
“Sorry, Eric,” Sonia says, shaking her head. “I told her that was none of her business and to mind her own. She claims she was only kidding.”
The safest and wisest response to that is no response at all, so I nod and move on. “Okay, well, how do we make the pasteles? I can’t wait to eat them.”
Sonia instructs everyone around the table, organizing us into an assembly line. I’m responsible for folding in the pork filling, and yeah, I use an extra utensil to sneak a taste. It’s delicious. And just like my mother’s.
Before long, the pasteles crew gets into a nice rhythm—Sonia greases the leaves and adds the masa; I add the pork; Claudia wraps the pasteles; and Tio Marcelo ties them up.
I’m touched that Juliana’s family wants to respect my cultural traditions too.
Now if I could get them to make a Great Cake in honor of my Bajan ancestry, I’d be in heaven.
Maybe I’ll suggest that we make one next—no, there won’t be a next year.
I try not to frown, considering Juliana’s already warned me not to pout, but it’s a challenge.
“You okay, filho?” Sonia asks.
“I’m fine,” I reply, hyperfocusing on my part of the pasteles assembly to avoid meeting her stare.
When Juliana returns, she clears her throat, her eyes glinting with humor, and says, “M?e, can you come take a look at the . . . plant—”
“Tree!” Tio Enoque shouts from the living room.
“Sure, the tree,” Juliana says, holding her stomach.
Sonia rolls her eyes. “What did he do now?”
Everyone abandons the pasteles and rushes into the living room. I bark out a laugh when I see it: a dead ringer for the Charlie Brown Christmas tree—except Enoque’s has two ornaments, not one.
“Madre de Deus, what is this?” Sonia exclaims. “How are we supposed to put presents under that? What were you thinking?”
Tio Enoque throws up his hands. “The place only took cash, and this was all I could get with the twenty dollars I had on me.”
“You paid twenty dollars for that?” his brother says. “They scammed you.”
Sonia tugs on her younger brother’s ear. “I should make you stand in the corner and be the tree this weekend. How would you like that, huh?”
“Porra!” Tio Enoque yelps. “Para com isso. You’re messing up my hair!”
Juliana and I exchange a glance, both of us valiantly trying not to crack up.
“Unhand him, Sonia,” Nicole says. Then she gently guides Sonia to the other side of the living room, where they put their heads together and whisper with each other.
A minute later, Nicole straightens and claps her hands.
“Here’s what we’re going to do: Juliana and Eric, you two are on tree duty tomorrow.
Your only job is to get us a decent one.
Take the pickup so you can fit it on the bed.
The Christmas market at Veterans Plaza is probably your best bet. ”
“On it, Captain,” Juliana says, giving Nicole a mock salute.
“Enoque, you’re on dishwashing duty tonight,” Nicole says.
“Fine,” he grumbles.
“And the next night,” she continues. “And the night after that. Now that all that’s settled, let’s finish up the pasteles so we can start family game night.”
“That was fun,” I say as Juliana and I climb the stairs to the second floor of the house.
“Was it?” she asks. “Be honest. Because I, for one, thought you were going to lose it when Tio Enoque’s butt was in your face during that last round of Twister.”
“No, no, it was fine,” I say, shaking my head. “I was just thrown off by his flexibility. And the twerking. Dude should consider auditioning for America’s Got Talent.”
Juliana snorts, the sheen of sweat from her Twister efforts making her skin look soft and dewy. I can’t help staring. This unguarded and carefree version of her is the very one I fell in love with.
A buzz in her pocket ruins the moment, however.
Sighing, I set my bag on the floor and lean on the banister. “I was wondering when they’d try to reach you. And I must say, this is a new low for them.”
She gives me a frosty look. “You don’t even know who it is.”
“Well, then why don’t we find out.”
“You’re not the boss of me,” she says, scrunching up her face. I’m annoyed with myself for noticing how beautiful she is even when she’s pissed.
“No, your job is the boss of you,” I counter.
“That’s literally how it should be.”
“Not at eleven p.m. the day before Christmas Eve.”
She fishes the phone out of her pocket. “Let me just make sure it isn’t an emergency.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Juliana, we made a deal.” I should have known she’d fold within the first twelve hours.
But why am I so pressed? It’s her life, not mine.
Dropping my arms to my sides, I pin her with a look that’s meant to convey my disappointment. “Forget it. Do what you need to do.”
“Thanks for understanding—sort of,” she says as she puts the phone to her ear.
“Hi, Nathan! Everything okay?” She listens intently; then her expression sobers.
“Wait. The client moved up the deadline or you did?” She takes a deep breath, and her nostrils flare.
“No, I’m in Maryland for the holidays. Let me get back to you once I’m settled.
” She shoves the phone in the back pocket of her jeans and warns me with her eyes. “Do not say ‘I told you so.’”
I press a hand against my chest as if I’m offended. “I’d never.”
She scowls at me. “Good night, Eric.” Then she takes her bag and enters her old bedroom. Or tries to. “What the . . . ? The door won’t budge.”
“Hang on, let me see if I can get it open.”
Juliana steps aside. With a grunt, I ram my shoulder into the door as I turn the knob, but it doesn’t open. Fuck, that hurt.
Her mother appears at the foot of the stairs. “Is everything okay up there?”
Juliana leans over the banister. “I can’t get into my room.”
Sonia climbs up a few steps, then says, “Sorry, I didn’t know you were getting ready for bed. Juliana, your old room is off limits for now. We’re repainting it next week and everything’s a mess in there.”
“So where am I sleeping?” Juliana asks, frowning.
Sonia’s eyebrows snap together. “Well, we thought you’d be fine sleeping with Eric. You two are getting married in five months, and you live together anyway.”
Juliana pales as she nibbles on her bottom lip and considers her mother. “You don’t mind?”
“Not at all,” Sonia says. “It’s not a problem . . . unless . . . Is there a reason you wouldn’t want to?”
“Oh no, no reason,” Juliana says quickly. “That’s fine with us. Right, Eric?”
Do I want to be holed up with my former fiancée in a tiny room with an even tinier bed? Hell no. Will I do it despite my discomfort? Yes—because I made a deal with her and I’m sticking to it. Too bad I can’t say the same for her.
For her mother’s benefit, I wink at Juliana and say, “Of course it is.”
Juliana’s mouth thins, until she apparently remembers that her mother’s witnessing our exchange and gives me the fakest smile. Damn, she’s bad at this.
“After you,” I say, holding out my hand.
She hoists her bag on her shoulder and enters the room ahead of me.
As soon as the door is closed, she says, “We’re adults. We can be mature about this, right?”
“Absolutely,” I say, stroking my chin. “I’m not sleeping on the floor, though.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to.”