The Romance Novel Cure

by Ceves, Nina

  “The colors are so bright,” she murmured.

  “The red is starting to fade here, and here,” he said. “But, that happens.”

  “Well, again, sorry I added a fresh coat of red, unintentionally,” said Alma, shaking her head, stepping back. She had gotten lost for a moment, looking at the colorful, beautiful designs that seemed so evocative. Flustered that she had been standing so close she was suddenly aware that the man by her side was looking down at her, smiling a little. He smelled like warm, clean cotton.

  “Any time. It’s an improvement. I’ll have to keep it this way.”

  She laughed, stepped back further, and began to paint again, frustrated at the slight tremor in her hand, and the fluttery feeling in her stomach. She concentrated on painting carefully between the lines.

  Hearing laughter from across the play area, she bit her lip. She would know that laugh anywhere. Ben. She tried to tell herself to feel happy, hearing him laugh, telling herself that she was glad that he was happy. Her heart didn’t listen, though, and it sank. She took a deep breath, and focused on painting her small section of the mural.

  Laura, her co-worker from Graphite, the local graphic design company where she worked, came to stand by her side.

  “How’s it going?” Laura asked lightly, pushing up her glasses with her wrist to avoid getting paint on them. Alma heard a weight of concern and caring in Laura’s brief question. Asked in such a nonchalant tone so as not to hint at anything heavy, beneath the words conveyed a wealth of empathy and support. Alma’s memory hurtled back into last week.

  * * *

  Ben, their co-worker, had arrived at work, and she, Laura, and their art director Scott all stopped, and stared at him. After more than a year of looking stressed out and sad, Ben was lit up like a farolito on Christmas eve. He stood taller, had a bounce in his steps, and radiated satisfaction, confidence, and hope. After a year and more of struggling with problems in his marriage, it was clear to all of them that he and his wife Greta were back on track, reunited, and more in love than ever.

  And that’s when Alma knew: she had a crush on Ben.

  Looking back, she couldn’t believe it took her that long to figure it out.

  But in that moment, the force of her crush had hit her like a ton of bricks, and she reeled, unable to catch her breath. She had turned to her computer screen, and stared at it blindly. A kaleidoscope of images flooded her memory: Ben helping her on her first day of work. She had completed her internship program at Graphite, and was thrilled to be hired at the place she loved so much. Ben looking troubled during a staff meeting, finally alluding to stress at home. Ben looking lost, his eyes so big and sad, and Alma feeling worried about him, just as her colleagues did. She hadn’t realized that feeling was morphing into something more. She should have been guarding against it. But how could she have prevented the infatuation? He was such a special person. He was also: gorgeous. Lean and muscular, with dark hair and eyes, full lips, he had an expressive face that showed his every thought and feeling. His humor, compassion, and intelligence. His talent, his sense of community, and deep down, his shyness. It all spelled trouble for Alma and she never saw the writing on the wall until it was too late, and her heart felt broken into pieces with longing and shame.

  That day at the office, she had finally had to get up, leave her desk, and hide in the supply room. She placed her hands on a box of paper clips and tried to breathe in and out slowly. It didn’t work. Tears had flooded her eyes and she shook with silent sobs. Just then, the door opened and Scott came in. His eyes had widened in horror.

  “Oh my God, honey, what is it, sweetheart, what’s wrong. Oh, my God. I’m going to get Laura, okay?” He literally wrung his hands and left, returning swiftly with Laura, who was at twice Alma’s age, not just a best friend, but an older sister type of friend as well. Alma was trying valiantly to stop her tears, but having Scott and Laura look at her so sympathetically was not making it easier. Finally, her sobs got further and further apart, she wiped her face with handfuls of tissues from a box that Laura had handed her, from a stack of them on a shelf.

  “Can you tell us what’s up?” asked Laura calmly, but with worry in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” Alma said shakily. “It’s going to sound crazy after this meltdown here, but nothing is wrong. I’m fine, really.”

  “This does not look like fine to me,” said Scott, patting her back in soothing circles. “Can I just do a little energy cleansing here?”

  “Of course, thank you,” she said, mustering a smile.

  “So, I think I know what’s going on, and I just don’t know if you want to pretend it’s not happening, or if having our support will help you,” said Laura, thoughtfully.

  “Oh no,” moaned Alma. “Please, please tell me it hasn’t been obvious all along! I’m so embarrassed. I just realized it.”

  “What? What?” Scott sounded alarmed, and stopped waving his hands over Alma’s head. He looked back and forth from Alma to Laura.

  Laura and Alma looked at one another for one long moment.

  “Oh, we have no boundaries at all in this office,” said Alma crossly.

  “Right?” Laura nodded wryly.

  “What are these boundaries of which you speak?” Scott pretended to look mystified, which made Alma and Laura smile, although Alma’s smile wobbled and broke as tears flooded her eyes once more.

  “You can’t tell Ben,” Alma said, tears filling her eyes again and again, spilling down her cheeks.

  “Of course not,” said Laura gently.

  “Tell Ben what?” Scott whispered. “Oh. Oh, sweetheart. Of course. My God.”

  “Why does it hurt so much?” Alma’s voice shook as she wiped her face with more tissues.

  “That’s why they call it a crush,” said Laura, her expression rueful.

  “They’re crushing.” Scott nodded wisely.

  “How do I stop it? I need it to stop,” Alma whispered frantically.

  “Just give it time.” Laura shrugged sympathetically.

  “Get a boyfriend,” suggested Scott.

  “I have to get back to work.” Alma had straightened her shoulders. “Thanks, really. Thank you so much for being so kind to me.”

  For the rest of the day, Alma had tried to be on autopilot. She had kept her head down and tried to get some work done. But here’s what she found: once she admitted to herself how she felt about Ben, the floodgates were open. Her feelings were like water, released. All that pressure built up and: crash. Crush. She felt as though she were drowning, engulfed by a combination of attraction, tenderness, affection, and awareness of Ben’s every move, across the office.

  All those times they had laughed at similar things they found funny, all the times she had worried about him, all those times she admired him for his strength, the crush had been constructed behind the scenes, ready and waiting. Why couldn’t she go back to being in denial, she wondered desperately. It had happened so fast, and she was miserable.

  “I’ll just act as if I don’t have this crush, and eventually, I’ll get over it,” she had told herself.

  She got through the day, very glad it was Friday. But on Saturday, she got a text from Scott asking if she’d like to meet him and his husband, Patrick, and Laura, and Ben and Greta, to meet for drinks and dancing. Her first instinct was to say no. It would have been easy, she could say she already had plans and skip the impromptu night out. But she thought she should act normally, and get over this crush as quickly as possible, so she simply said yes, and made plans to meet Laura and then meet up with the others at the club. Her stomach was in knots getting ready, and she kept hoping that seeing Ben in the context of the group, and more importantly, alongside his wife, would help her see him as a friend again.

  She thought the worst part of all of this might be the shame she felt. He was married. He shouldn’t be available even in the realm of her feelings or imagination. While putting on mascara, she had tried to analytically trace the trajectory o
f the crush in her memory’s timeline. She thought the tipping point may have been when Ben arrived at work one morning not too long ago last fall, looking so despondent. He showed such vulnerability in asking for help, wanting their assistance in giving him a makeover, so he could be more attractive to his wife. She had melted. For a guy to just put himself on the line like that, for love. It made her want to help him. He had dressed like a college student, and let a long time go between haircuts. But, he was a handsome man. They took him out for a makeover night, and they all had a blast. Alma got to see Ben transform. He went from this casual, youthful looking guy, slightly scruffy, to a more polished, grown up version of himself. It seemed to make him hold himself taller, more confidently. He seemed a little more serious. She guessed it was that night, when she was home by herself, well, she admitted that she thought Greta was so lucky. She admitted that she felt a little… jealous of her. She didn’t begrudge Greta for having Ben as a husband. She felt no ill will toward Greta. She just wished… well, she just wished. That was all. In some alternate universe, she would have wished that Ben belonged to her. She realized that going from her initial feelings of friendship to more involved emotions was as, in retrospect, as horribly simple as connecting the dots: she’s so lucky, and I’m a little jealous, wouldn’t it be wonderful to have someone love me like Ben loves her, wouldn’t it be wonderful if Ben was available, just in some fantasy, and he loved… me.

  It was a slippery slope and she had landed hard on her ass before she even looked down.

  Going out had made it worse. Seeing Ben and Greta on the dance floor, so in love with one another, it hurt her. She could see the charge between them, the attraction that they had for one another. It would have been obvious to anyone. He was looking at Greta as though he wanted to get her alone. His eyes just ate her up. And Greta was looking up at him as though she was falling in love with the man she loved, all over again. She was looking at him as though she would never stop seeing him for the man he truly was. Alma told herself to be happy for him, and for her. It was a happy ending, and the beginning of more happiness. But for her, it felt like the death of a hope that had just been woken up, a hope that she believed was a betrayal of her morals to even have. She had made her excuses, and left early, feeling self-conscious and devastated. Ben had been so concerned and thoughtful, thinking she was feeling ill. Walking with Scott to her car, she realized that she also had a horrible sense of loss. She found it impossible to think of Ben as merely a friend now, so she regretted she had lost that special, comfortable connection she had had with him.

  It seemed like an uncontrollable mess, a disaster. As much as she tried to downplay it, it felt disastrous. She couldn’t stop thinking of him. It was like some horrible sickness.

  * * *

  “You want to take a break?” Laura’s voice cut through her memories, cut through the sound of Ben’s laughter. Alma blinked at the wall in front of her. She set her paintbrush down and nodded shakily, turning to walk with Laura to go get a cold drink.

  Chapter Two

  Daniel stared at the water going down the drain. He closed his eyes, feeling it beat down upon his head, then frowned as it turned a lurid shade of red. Then he realized what had happened. The water had loosened the dried red paint on his arm. He held it directly under the shower, watching the red paint blur and drip off him. Smiling slightly, he grabbed the bar of soap and washed the rest away. He tried to stop thinking about the woman who had accidentally painted his arm. But the truth was, he had seen her from across the playground and had felt drawn to her. He had grabbed a paintbrush and headed to where she was painting. Her hair was so dark, swinging forward to hide her face. When she shook it back, he felt as though he could actually feel that soft, dark brown hair against his fingers. It made his hands tingle and spark. When she had absently swiped the wet, cool paint across his arm, he felt as though he shivered, deep inside. He didn’t know her name. He paused, and straightened, suddenly alert: was that Elijah? He turned off the water, grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist, and hurried out of the bathroom. “Coming, buddy. Hold on, mister.”

  Elijah sat up in his crib, his face flushed and angry looking. He wailed, his little face scrunched up.

  “Buddy, buddy. Mister bud-man. Hey…” Daniel held his baby’s sleep- warmed body close, burying his nose into the crease of his soft neck. “What’s the deal?”

  He couldn’t get used to how Elijah woke up instantly crying, especially from his afternoon nap. It killed him. The little guy would go to sleep so peacefully and wake up looking betrayed, shouting and crying miserably. The only thing that would stop the crying jag was if Daniel did this side–to-side shuffling dance and sang a certain song he had made up for just these moments.

  Hey Elijah

  Little Mr. Man

  Buddy, buddy, buddy

  The nap is over, yeah

  The nap is over, yeah!

  He sang it softly, dancing over to the window.

  “Ah!” Elijah leaned to the window, his voice rough with crying but filled with delight. That was another thing Daniel couldn’t get used to. His baby would be flat out miserable and then in the next moment, full of sunshine and smiles.

  “Da!” Daniel thought that da meant that and referred to pretty much everything.

  “Yeah, that. What do you see, bud? See the cars?” Daniel pointed and Elijah looked intently out the window, breathing softly. His dark blond hair, so wispy, stood up in a peak. Daniel buried his nose into the little area right at the back of his neck. And yet another thing he couldn’t get used to: the absolute soul wringing love he felt for this person. He had never felt anything like it. All the fears he had about being a father, all the stress of the day-to-day moments of caring for a baby, all of it melted away to reveal the rock bottom truth of the fact that he loved his son like nothing else on earth and would to his dying day.

  As Daniel carried him to the kitchen, he felt his damp skin drying in the warm spring air. He tried to push a fleeting thought of the painting woman out of his mind. Those huge dark eyes, how her hair moved forward like that, and then back. That big tee shirt she wore that covered her up completely and his wondering what was beneath. Not even an option, he told himself. He had his hands full being a full time single dad.

  * * *

  Alma set the two containers of tortillas down on the table.

  “Alma, did you put the tortillas out?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Si, Mama.”

  “Are they hot?”

  “No, I thought we’d have cold tortillas today for a change.”

  “What? Alma!”

  “Mama! I’m joking.” Alma turned and faced her mother who was coming into the dining room holding a large bowl of salad. It was Sunday, and that meant everyone was coming over for dinner. Her mother always wanted everything to be just right, but today was even more special. Her mother’s aunt, who they all just called tia, which meant aunt in Spanish, was visiting from Mexico.

  Just then they heard the sounds of the front door opening, and they hurried out of the dining room, through the living room of the ranch style home.

  “Tia!”

  “Elena! Alma!”

  Alma and her mother stopped short and stared. Tia set down her bags and smiled at them. She had transformed in the year since they’d last seen her. She had always been overweight, and Alma had found her generous curves lovely. But Tia’s doctor had given her a wake up call that her health was suffering. In the past, Tia had tried diet after diet, always giving up and gaining back what little weight she had lost, and some more. She had also worked too much and smoked. Now, she stood before them looking strong and slender, her hands on her hips, smiling. After that momentary pause of shock, Alma and her mother, Elena, rushed into Tia’s arms.

  “Tia, you look amazing! You have to tell me about your new diet!” Elena pulled back, unable to stop looking at her aunt.

  “Gracias.” She beamed. “No diet. A new way of taking care of myself
.”

  Cars pulled into the driveway and the sounds of voices filled the air. The three women turned to welcome the various cousins and friends who arrived.

  Elena always wanted to feed people right away, so within moments of reuniting, everyone was heading to the small dining room. Alma sat across from Tia and noticed that she took generous portions of salad with cactus, stuffed squash blossoms, and a serving of rice, but nothing else. She simply passed bowl after bowl to Alma’s cousin Hector’s girlfriend who was sitting next to her. This did not escape the notice of Elena.

  “Tia, you need some tortillas. Alma, pass her the tortillas. Are they still hot?”

  Alma reached for the tortilla keeper, which kept them quite hot. “Si mama, they’re hot.”

  “Gracias, but no. What I have is perfect, mija.” Tia smiled at them so sweetly and calmly. Alma set the container down and nodded. Elena frowned worriedly.

  Later, Alma and Tia were outside in the backyard. Alma had seen her go out the back door after the dishes were done, Tia insisting on helping. Alma assumed she was going to smoke a cigarette, but Tia was standing still, her face up to the sun.

  “Oh, how I have missed this New Mexico sky.”

  “It’s so good to have you back. I’ve missed you.” Alma went to stand by her.

  “I’ve missed you too. I hope you can come visit me.”

  “I’d like that so much. Tia… you aren’t smoking?”

  “No. Not anymore. Instead of taking cigarette breaks, I take… sky breaks!” She laughed, turning her face back up to the bright blue cloudless sky.