While I’m lost in feeling, someone from the store announces instructions for the book signing. Picking myself up from the floor, I wipe away my tears and head outside to wait. On the way out, I purchase a copy of Gabriel’s new book, The Loss of Love and Light. My heart aches at the title and the inspiration for it. Taking a deep breath, I try to exhale the guilt. It’s easier said than done. I wanted to be his muse, but not like this.
As people begin to trickle out of the store with their signed copies close to their chests, I flip through the book. My hand freezes on a poem entitled “Mi Corazón, Mi Amor, Mi Tortura” I understand enough Spanish to know it means, “My Heart, My Love, My Torture.” I can’t help but read into the fact that although the book is translated into English, Gabriel kept the title with our nicknames in Spanish. Just as he says them.
My misty eyes scan the page several times before I start to read a beautiful, tragic story about three people living in one heart; a broken man and the two women he loved in two different ways, and enough for two lifetimes.
My trembling lips whisper the words under my breath. Once. Twice. Countless times. The sound of the bookstore door banging shut draws me out of my trance. Glancing up, I realize the crowd has thinned out. I peer into the window to see three people left in line.
I close the book and clutch it to my chest, before walking back into the store to join the queue. Gabriel’s head is down as he signs the book of the man in front of him. Handing it back, he smiles and thanks the guy. His lips drop open as the man walks away and he comes face to face with the final person in the queue. Me.
We stare at each other with wide eyes and healing hearts. So much is said in those seconds of silence. But the first words we speak are simple.
“Ava?”
“Hi.”
He shakes his head, eyes glazing over. Placing unsteady hands on the table, he pushes to his feet and blinks hard several times. “I don’t believe it. It’s you? Y-you’re here?”
My own eyes start to water. I open my arms before letting them fall to the side. “I’m here.”
“I…” Forgetting the table between us, Gabriel goes to take a step forward. He closes his eyes and breathes in the sound of my laughter. I let him have his moment. When he opens his eyes again, my breathing catches. Gabriel’s gaze makes several sweeps across me, setting my body alight.
“I, um, was hoping to get my book signed,” I tell him.
His brows draw together as he looks at the book in my hand. “You…”
“Please?”
He huffs and rubs a hand over his jaw, before gesturing for the book with an impatient flick of his hand. “A year I haven’t seen or spoken to you, and this is the most important thing?” I’d never thought I would miss someone’s anger and grumpiness.
Biting my lip, I shrug. “Your words are important.”
His face gentles, but he arches an eyebrow. “More important than the rest of me?”
I grin and tap my chin. “Hmm. It’s tough to say. Your words are just one of the reasons you’re so talented.”
He laughs before sobering. “God, I’ve missed you. I haven’t laughed since…”
“Gabriel.”
He sighs. “Okay, querida. Let’s do it your way. Give me your book.”
The smile returns to my face, but it’s smaller than before. Gabriel pauses when he notices the bookmarked page. He opens it to see what poem it is, but says nothing. Turning back to the front of the book, he sits back down and reaches for the pen. He’s hunched over the book, so I can’t see what he’s writing, but it seems like a lot.
“Here you go. It’s so good to see you, Ava. You look different. Even more beautiful than I remember,” he says.
My hair is shorter than the last time he saw it, now falling just below my shoulders, and streaked with the sun from my recent travels. But I know that’s not what he means. The biggest changes have been within. “Thanks. So do you.”
My mouth curves when I read his inscription. I recognize the simple Pablo Neruda quote sandwiched in between our names, and it couldn’t be more fitting for us and our story:
“Ava,
My somber heart seeks you always.
Love, Gabriel.”
I look back up to find his eyes on me. “This is beautiful, thank you.”
“Can I come out from behind the table now?”
Laughing through my tears, I nod. Gabriel doesn’t have to be told twice. He pushes to his feet and strides toward me, coming to an abrupt stop. For several seconds, we both stand and stare. Then we move into each other’s arms as one.
Our reunited hearts thump against each other’s ribs. In this moment, I don’t care who is returning to who: me to Gabriel, Charlotte to Gabriel, me to myself. There is no distinction. Just love and relief.
I struggle to breathe when Gabriel crushes me to his chest. But even suffocating, I can’t stop smiling. I don’t know how long we stand there. The store staff has disappeared, or maybe my closed eyes are only seeing Gabriel.
When we’re each convinced that this isn’t a dream, we pull apart. Gabriel’s thumb strokes my cheeks, wiping away tears I hadn’t realized were there.
So much is yet to be said between us. Gabriel seems to recognize this at the same moment I do, because we both take a small step back.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
His shoulders sag as he breathes out. “I would like that very much.”
After locating and thanking the bookstore staff, and his agent, who watches me with a curious look in her eyes, Gabriel grabs his coat and walks to the entrance. Opening the door for me, we step outside into the crisp, sunny afternoon.
“Where do you want to go?” he asks me, faint disbelief still in his eyes.
“I was thinking about that café we went to on our first kind-of date. The one with the good Cuban coffee that I can’t have.”
“Ah, yes. When I wanted to apologize for being Grumpelstiltskin.”
“It never gets less funny hearing you say that word.”
He grins. “I live to amuse you, querida. Come on; let’s go. It’s not too far from here.”
A sudden awkwardness flows between us as we start to walk side-by-side. Keeping my gaze straight ahead, I slip a tentative hand into Gabriel’s. His steps falter before he regains his composure. His warm grip tightens. The atmosphere changes for the better.
We don’t acknowledge the gesture, we don’t look at each other, and we don’t speak for the rest of the walk. It reminds me of the very beginning. The smile on Gabriel’s face when we reach the café makes me think he’s having similar thoughts.
“After you.” Opening the door, he places his palm on my lower back, heating my skin through my dress.
The café is almost empty after the lunchtime rush. Once we’ve placed our orders, the same ones we had on our first visit, we find a booth right at the back, where we can speak privately. It would be easier to go back to one of our apartments, but too intimate. A lot needs to be said before then. We have a whole year to catch up on, and I can’t be the only one whose life has changed in that time.
“So.”
“So.”
We both watch each other over our cups. Smile fading, I sigh. “I would ask how you’ve been, but it seems like such a boring question.”
Gabriel takes a sip of his coffee. “No such thing as a boring question, only boring answers. And boring people.”
“Point taken. So how have you been?”
He looks down. His fingers draw circles on the wooden table. “Not good. Good. Not good. Good… Not good.”
The chuckle that leaves my lips is sad. “I can relate.”
“When you first left…” He shakes his head.
“Go on. Please.”
“When you first left, I didn’t think I could deal with losing love twice, and in such a short time. It was too much for my heart. There was nothing left of it. You had taken all the pieces with you.”
I grip his hand on the tab
le. “I’m sorry.”
“It was bad at first, I won’t lie. I thought it was over for me, but it wasn’t. Each day, I kept breathing, even though it hurt. The ache in my chest was the worst pain I’ve ever experienced. But it didn’t kill me. It was then I realized that the human heart is stronger than we give it credit for. If I could survive loving and losing, not once, but twice, then I could survive anything.”
I nod at the profound truth in his words. Over the past year, I’ve come to the same conclusion myself. My heart may have once belonged to someone else, but that only makes it stronger. It survived because she knew he’d need it. “You can; you’re one of the strongest men I know,” I tell him.
“I know. But surviving is not the same as living. For the past year, I have been in survival mode. Until an hour ago, I had forgotten what it meant to feel alive,” he says, rimming his coffee cup with his finger.
Guilt burns my throat and lungs. In wanting to find answers, and find myself, Gabriel became lost. “I’m sorry.”
“No. It is not your fault. I’ve had a lot of time to think over this year, as you wanted me to do.”
“You have?”
“Yes. And you know what I realized? I placed my life in other people’s hands. First Charlotte, and then you. I lived for you, both of you. And I loved it. I lost myself in love so completely that I didn’t even notice. But when she died and you left, I had no life of my own. That’s my fault. I’d never lived for me. I haven’t for a very long time.”
I freeze. “So what are you saying?”
“That you’re not the only one who needed time to work out life. It was hard, but in the end, you were right. You knew me better than I knew myself. I needed time, too.”
“Did you have enough for what you needed?” I ask.
A wry smile twists his lips. “No.”
“Oh.”
“But at least I worked out what I need to do,” he says.
“And what’s that?”
“Have a life of my own, as well as a life with y—whoever.”
I smile at his near miss. “That sounds good to me.”
“Which part?”
Drinking my herbal tea, I shrug and look up at him through my lashes. “A life of your own. A life with you.”
Gabriel’s bright smile leaves me breathless. His whole body relaxes before my eyes. “You would still like to build a life together? After everything?”
“I would, if you’ll have me?”
“Always.” His voice is gruff. “Always.”
As tempted as I am to move around the table and into his arms, I have a lot to get off my chest first. “You’re writing again? That has to be a good thing.”
“Yes. Pain is an artist’s best friend and worst nightmare. Too little, and there is no depth, too much and you can’t function enough to create. It’s why I couldn’t write after Charlotte died. And after you left, I had to wait until the pain subsided enough to pick up a pen.”
I play with his hands, tracing the small scars on his palm with my fingers. “Well, I’m glad you had an outlet for your pain that wasn’t harmful.”
“Me, too. Enough about me. I want to know all about your year. Where did you go? What did you do?”
“I don’t even know where to start. So much has happened.” Memories of the past year rush through my mind.
“From the beginning. When you left me.” Both of us wince.
I take a deep, shuddering breath. “Well, after I left, I was a wreck. I didn’t leave the apartment for a week. If I was allowed to drink alcohol, I probably would have drowned in it.” Gabriel’s tortured laugh tells me he can relate more than I wish he could.
“After a while, Finn got fed up with my pity party, and told me to snap out of it.” I grimace at the reminder of the painful home truths Finn gave me that day. “He pretty much told me to get over myself and stop wasting the precious gift I’d been given. That I should just be grateful to have a heart, no matter whose it was.”
“That sounds like him.”
“Oh, yeah. It was a classic Finn moment. And I hated him for being right. Anyway, he decided that neither of us had lived up to our promise to ‘live twice’ and enjoy life to the fullest, so we wrote down everything we’d always talked about doing one day. He convinced me to take a sabbatical from work, and we packed up and went travelling a week later.” Gabriel’s eyebrows shoot up.
“I decided to spend some of the leftover savings from my father’s money. Finn talked me into it. He pointed out that my father gave it to me to help me live, so I was still using it how it was intended.”
Gabriel laughs. “I like his logic. Good for you.”
“Thanks.”
“Where did you go?”
“Ireland. Well, at first we did the cliché American road trip, but then we decided that maybe in order to continue growing, we first had to discover our roots. So we went back to the motherland.”
“Did you like it? I’ve heard it’s beautiful.”
“It was incredible. Ireland is just magical. There’s something so spiritual and peaceful about the landscape. Finn still has some relatives over there who we stayed with, and my mom has one cousin in Cork so we visited her as well. It’s crazy to feel so connected to somewhere you’ve never been before, but I felt right at home from the second we stepped off the plane.”
“Connections are about strength, not time. You can feel a stronger connection to people you’ve known for a few days than people you’ve known your whole life,” he says.
“Or people you’ve never met?” I ask. The poignant question hangs in the air.
“Exactly.” Gabriel shifts in his seat. “How long did you spend in Ireland?”
“Six months. We travelled the whole country and visited Northern Ireland, too. Plus, being over there also gave us a great excuse to take weekend trips to several other places like Paris, London, and Rome. I loved Europe so much. I also had a chance to visit the Reina Sofía in Madrid. You were right, it was amazing. I could have stayed there all day.”
“You did?” his voice spikes up.
“Yes. I missed you, though.”
“Perhaps we will have to take another trip, together,” he says, watching me.
I smile and thread our fingers tighter. “I’d like that.”
“Were you able to visit Dublin?” he asks, rubbing his thumb along the back of my hand.
At just the mention of the city, I start laughing at the memories. “Yes. We were there for two weeks in March. Finn’s lifeday is just a few days before St. Patrick’s Day, so you can imagine how crazy the celebrations were. Neither of us drinks, but all the locals were more than willing to do it on our behalf. I’m surprised the country didn’t run out of Guinness.”
“I’ve heard the Irish like to party almost as much as us Latinos.”
I laugh. “Absolutely. They drink alcohol like it’s water.”
Gabriel pauses for a few seconds. “Charlotte loved Dublin. She went with friends before we met, but she would share stories with me about it all the time.” He studies me carefully.
I smile and tilt my head. “Yeah?”
His body relaxes, a brilliant grin lighting up his face. “Yes. This one time, she ended up in Temple Bar, I think it’s called, singing and dancing on the street with a group of people dressed as, how do you say it? With the hats and the beards?”
“Leprechauns?”
“Yes, that’s it.” He shakes his head, smiling. “Then one of the leprechaun’s girlfriends showed up, dressed as a fairy. She was so drunk that she thought Charlotte was flirting with her boyfriend, so she chased her down the street, shouting made up spells at her.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, but I can’t help it. The visual is just too much.”
He chuckles. “There are pictures somewhere. Instead of helping her, her friends were too busy taking photos.”
“That sounds hilarious. I’d love to see them. Charlotte sounds like a lot of fun,” I tell him.
His thumb strokes quicken against my hand. “She was. You would have liked her.”
“I’m sure I would,” I say, meaning it. I no longer fear her name or our shared truth.
“She would have liked you, too,” Gabriel says.
“You think so?”
“I do.”
A weight I didn’t realize I was carrying drifts away. “I’d love to hear more of her adventures someday. Did she travel a lot?”
“Yes, she loved to travel. Like you, she loved Europe.”
The thought of her visiting the same places I have sends a chill through my body. Every single place on earth is filled with ghosts. I know millions of people over the years have walked the same winding streets, sat on the same pieces of stone, and had their breath stolen at the same incredible sights. But this one ghost means more than the others.
My smile is soft. “Sounds like we have a lot in common.”
His tone is cautious when he says, “About as many similarities as differences.”
“She had pretty great taste in men.” I wink, making Gabriel laugh so loud that people in the booth next to us turn their heads.
His blush is adorable. He tries to hide it behind his cup of coffee.
“How did you guys meet?” I ask.
His eyebrows lift at my question, but after a small pause, he answers. “At college. I got a poetry scholarship to UC Berkeley when I was eighteen. She was a music student.”
“So your eyes met across a crowded library and it was love at first sight?”
He laughs. “Not exactly. At least, not for her.”
“No?”
“No. For Charlotte it was more like hate at first sight. She thought I was arrogant and how do you say it? A ladies man?”
“Oh, my God. I can just imagine you in college. I bet she was right.”
He bites his lip and shrugs, a smile in his eyes. “Perhaps. But she changed all of that. She wouldn’t accept any bad behavior from me.” His mouth curves.
“Sounds familiar,” I say.
He grins. “It does. She was refreshing. Different from anyone else I’d met. She constantly insulted me, but I liked it. Plus, she was beautiful.”
This Old Heart of Mine Page 24