“Oh, you can.” Dominique’s nosy lilt laces her words. “And you will. I’ll make sure you do.” To be honest, was I in Vivian’s shoes, I’d think twice before replying with anything that wouldn’t appease our Frenchie. She is wearing her “do not mess with me” expression. She means business. “Vivian, I’m here for you. I gave it some thought, and I’d like to invest in your business, be your partner if you’ll have me.”
My chest both swells and pinches at once. I’m touched by Dominique’s offer, glad for them both; glad because Dominique has found something she’d like to give a chance, glad at the light in Vivian’s eyes that tells how much she likes the idea. The pinch, however, is because I won’t be able to support Vivian, support them both. I won’t be here.
“I’d love that. There’s so much to do though, decisions to be made.” My friends eye me for a stilled beat, one from the bed, and the other from the chair parallel to mine. I wince in return. As the laden stare down comes to an end, Vivian resumes with a monologue about what’s in store, catering services, and an opportunity to open a branch of Café con Aroma in Barcelona. When Vivian’s stream of words becomes excited and she attempts to sit up straight, both Dominique and I jump to our feet, gesturing for her to take it easy.
“Wow, you really thought it all through, uh? But I think that you should try and rest now.” I smile at Vivian.
“You should. I’ll come by tomorrow and we can put together an action plan. I can start dzings rolling while you get better.”
I’ve never felt as grateful to Dominique as I do now. In succession, we squeeze Vivian’s hand and promise to visit the next day.
“Nothing is set in stone, you know. You can still change your mind. No one will think any less of you. On the contrary,” Vivian tells me with a faint but sincere smile. Her words keep hovering in my head long after we leave the hospital.
“I need a drink, somedzing good, somedzing French,” Dominique says, burying her face in her hands and exhaling. I let out a deflated sigh and nod. Me too, I definitely need a drink, and maybe some Dominique time won’t hurt, either.
Three hours, profound conversation, and a couple of Bordeaux later, I lock the door behind me and turn to lean with my back against the cool wood. I kick my sandals off and slide to the floor. I can’t make myself walk further inside the house that appears so estranged with its bare walls. I bring my legs to my chest and hug them, resting my chin on my knees. My eyes roam over the room, at this place I’ve called home for almost a year, at the stacked high boxes manifesting an end of an era, a palpable token of the decision I’ve made which no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop second-guessing. Vivian’s last comment before we left the hospital and the long conversation I had with Dominique that came right after irrepressibly dominate my thoughts. A sudden sense of realization sinks to the depths of my recognition. Causing for a surge of exhilaration to simmer inside of me, one that’s identical to an equally burning one that emerged shy of ten months ago when Kai told me he’d be leaving for an indefinite amount of time.
Chapter 30
“Home Sweet Home”
Motley Crew
“Who would have thought, eh?” Vivian asks to no one in particular, her eyes zeroed in on some indistinct point ahead.
“Who would have thought?” I echo her through a pensive murmur.
A sluggish moment passes in which each one of us ponders the “moment” before we grant each other an animated glance. We are leaning forward, our elbows braced on the counter, over a display of delicious cakes, the three of us, Vivian, Dominique, and I, gazing at the busy café.
“Who would have thought I’d own a business in Spain.” The tip of my lips jumps up as a sense of satisfaction washes over me.
“Who would have thought it would be in the food sector.” Vivian chuckles and winks at me.
“Who would have thought one of your business partners would be a French bitch,” Dominique deadpans and slowly turns our way, her expression a blend of wickedness and humor. We counter her with elated snickers.
“Okay, shall we start getting ready for lunch?” Vivian asks, making us break off our little joint meditative pause. I head over to the back kitchen to make sure all the lunch orders are packed and ready. Dominique takes over the register, and Vivian does what she does best. Besides cooking ridiculously delish food, schmoozing the customers till they pledge allegiance to both her and our café.
Before officially signing the papers, when we’d put our heads together and argued passionately, in an amicable nature of course, about how our partnership would actually work, we came to the unanimous agreement that my part would mostly be behind the scenes and my friends would be the ones who essentially ran the business logistics. In further details, Vivian governs the Serenidad café and the catering, which has been slowly and nicely thriving. Dominique tyrannically overlooks the renovation process of the branch in Barcelona while co-piloting Vivian in the Serenidad café. In the meantime, since both Dominique and I are still reasonably concerned with Vivian’s wellbeing, although she had a fairly smooth and rapid recovery, we still try to help as much as we can, or more accurately, as much as she allows us to. Together, Dominique and I work to reduce the stress factor, which leads to our nearly constant presence at the café.
It’s been more than three weeks since Vivian was released from the hospital. Three weeks since I decided to abort the going back home mission. Three weeks in which I’ve been dealing with everything legal concerning registering our new partnership, starting my residency permit process, extending my lease for two more years with an option to buy it later on, and embracing the wonderful feeling of fulfillment, of being whole. Though, truthfully, there is a missing part to ultimately make my wholeness actually complete. Not a single day goes by that I don’t think about Sebastian, the key to making my wholeness complete.
It took me a while to fully understand how right he was when he told me that I should stay in Serenidad for me, not anyone else. Staying for him, because of him, would have meant, in a way, that I was surrendering my life to him, when what I really needed was to take control of my life. Now that I’ve come to the realization of just how fulfilled and happy I am, now that I have found my own way, I agree with his reasoning. However, there’s this tiny niggling thought that refuses to leave. The well-hidden wish that he would have fought for me, for us. It’s still a persistent cinder weakly burning in the romance struck district of my brain. As hard as I try to extinguish said ember, the damn thing won’t go away. I reason it with the whole princesses and ever after fantasies I’ve nourished throughout my childhood, my naïveté years. What can I say, revoltingly misogynistic as it may sound, after all, my Barbies never ended up running a stellar career while maintaining a monogamous relationship with their battery-operated significant other. They were always the happiest knowing that their well-deserved ever-after was at hand’s reach when Ken’s perfect Chiclets smile sparkled at them, saying: “Hey babe, I’ve got your back. Your forever after is on me.”
The thought of seeing Sebastian excites me, but in equal measure scares me. Just as time has a tendency to soothe a broken heart, it also has the power to harden one. The more time that passes since I last saw him, the greater my longings grow, but I’m not sure if it’s the same case with him, if his heart hasn’t hardened when it comes to me. The nagging thought, which most of the time I manage to keep at bay, does emerge from time to time, reminding me that thus far he hasn’t attempted to contact me. Making me believe he’s let me go.
Honoring my so-called “post-breakup” healing process, my friends tried to not interfere, nor mention either Sebastian or the breakup. They kept it up fairly well, besides one little slip-up on Vivian’s part when she mentioned Sebastian has been away in Barcelona for a couple of weeks. Which I didn’t hold against her because she is, after all, Vivian, and the fact that she held up quiet to that point shouldn’t be easily overlooked.
I pack Styrofoam boxes in brown paper bags and add th
e relevant bill to each bag, getting them ready for takeout pick-ups. I arrange them chronologically on the long table according to the time they were ordered, because OCD-esque as it might be, this is what I do, I put things in order. Troublesome but yet too deeply entrenched.
The cracking sound of the three stairs leading to the back kitchen makes me spin in my place. Following comes Vivian’s voice calling for me from the café, but the rest of her words, besides my name, are swallowed by the loud swishing sound of my blood in my ears.
I’m not certain what I find more challenging, properly breathing or keeping my revving heart safe inside my chest. The sudden anxiety that takes over me forcefully intensifies by the reaction to the person now facing me from across the room.
When he lifts his eyes and they land on me, his face flinches back in a confused, staggered jerk. I can’t really blame him for his reaction, seeing that in his reality I’m somewhere on the East coast picking up on my life right where I left off before I met him. An eon of silence passes before either of us speaks. Sebastian takes a step forward and pauses. I take a generous inhale that does nothing to placate my inward storm. I stand solid, gazing at him as he returns my stare, standing before me in a pinstriped gray suit, charcoal button-down, and a startled expression on his handsome face.
“You are here.” His voice sounds so baffled, it makes it hard for me to determine whether it was a question or an observation.
“I am.” I’m not fully positive my words ever reached him as softly as I uttered them. “Yes, I’m here,” I repeat, having a déjà vu of when we met at the wine event when I got my second chance with him.
Sebastian’s head slightly cocks while the wrinkles on his forehead deepen.
“Um, I’ve decided to stay, after all. For me . . .” I try to keep my voice coherent, which is not the easiest task, what with everything inside me going wild. “Umm, and give living here a chance.”
I can hear his next breath from where I’m standing while the space of a kitchen and a wealth of miscommunication separate us physically and emotionally.
“Are you free for lunch?” Me.
“Let’s have dinner tonight.” Him.
Our sentences clash, leaving a clutter of words hanging between us. Sebastian slowly walks over, stopping two short steps before me.
“I’m sorry. I already have plans for lunch. I had plans for dinner too, but apparently they’ve just been cancelled.”
“Oh.” I can’t help the ring tightening around my chest, caused by the notion of the dinner plans he had. Though he just said they’ve been cancelled, the thought he might have had a date tonight is too painful to entertain.
“I was supposed to have dinner on a plane . . . on my way to Boston.”
Boston? As in my hometown, Boston?
“For business?” I ask, the pace of my heart doubling by the mere implication of his alleged trip having any connection to me.
“For my girlfriend.”
I don’t think that I’ve ever had Sebastian’s eyes as intently on mine. Their weight is almost tangible.
“You have a girlfriend in Boston?” I bite my lip, both to trap a smile and hold my eyes from glossing over. You didn’t give up on me, after all. The emotions currently spreading in me are about to overflow.
“I guess I don’t. Apparently, she decides to stay where I live and chooses not to share it with me.” Ouch.
I shake my head. “It wasn’t like that, Sebastian.”
“Oh, it wasn’t?” He heaves a frustrated exhale. “I can’t do this right now; I have people waiting for me at the office.”
I nod, though the last thing I want is for him to walk out of here right now with our conversation left unfinished, my reason unexplained, and probably pestering the man I love, and more than possibly the man I’ve just royally pissed off. The next exchange between us is too formal, too logistics-esque, too cold. He asks for his takeout, and I hand it over to him.
“Pick you up around seven?” His effort to keep collected doesn’t escape me.
“Yes.” I nod, tacking my hands into my pockets, the only way I can hold myself from running after him, hugging him, and burying my face in the broad gap between his shoulder blades.
A clop of heavy steps, a quick dour glance over a shoulder, and I’m left alone in a kitchen saturated with the aroma of cooked food and a multitude of unnerving questions. I don’t even get to process the moment or even take an amending breath before Dominique and Vivian’s heads pop up in the room.
“Et alors, no sex on dze counter?”
I roll my eyes exaggeratedly and add a small twist of a mouth for good measure. “No sex on the counter, more like a cease-fire with a promise for formal talks between the conflicting parties later on tonight.”
“No one is having sex on the counter, any of the counters, ever.” Vivian points her finger at us. “We have a precious sanitary license we should all endeavor to keep.”
Our lips lift up concurrently.
“Ahem, about that . . . There was one time, Sebastian and I . . .”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Dominique shakes her head amusedly.
“I absolve you from your sins, my child. Never to happen again!” Vivian twists her lips in a feigned scowl. “Now, what have we missed?”
“Let’s see. You missed the part where he told me he was supposed to fly out to Boston tonight, to see me.”
Dominique nods with a small smile, and Vivian’s face takes that same calm and warm expression she wears each time anyone mentions my relationship with Sebastian.
“Right after, he got upset about me being here for over three weeks without letting him know I decided to stay.”
“Querida, what can I say, can you really blame him?” Vivian asks, leaving me in a greater anxiety about meeting Sebastian tonight, one that ripens as the hours progress toward the dinner.
. . .
I’m jittery like a smitten teenager before a date with the boy she’s been pining after forever. The guy whose varsity jacket she is dying to wear. The guy she’s prepared to pledge eternity to. And just like any other yearned for date, I’ve dolled up. As in, I have dolled up! I smooth my red wrap dress that does to my hourglass figure things any good spandex could only strive for. And yes, the thought of how easy it can be taken off had crossed my mind when choosing my attire, more than once. One little tug at the waist tie and tada! Ready to be served.
The outcome is nothing but classy and subtle though, but boy, the care, trouble, and thought I’ve given to every inch of my appearance. Suffice it to say, there isn’t a single hair out of place on my entire plucked, waxed, scrubbed, and lotioned physique. Though my appearance couldn’t be more put together, it feels like my mind is at its most frantic moment to date.
The familiar hum of Sebastian’s bike elevates my disquiet to new levels of edginess. I’m stunned by my own reaction, frozen in my place, not sure if I should wait or go to the door. Okay, this needs to stop, right about now. I order myself to administrate my crazy and head toward the door.
Body language says so much and Sebastian’s is definitely telling me that he is making an effort to keep some distance between us, even before he refuses my offer to come in. Even the traditional two kisses on the cheeks taste controlled.
“Shall we?” he asks, holding his hand out.
Hard as it is to cover my nervous state, I still manage to. “Sure, where to?” I close the door behind me and join him, his hand secured on the small of my back.
His eyes trace over me, hooded and profound. “You look beautiful.”
My reaction unsettles me; maybe it’s his strange, detached behavior, or my own agitation, but my eyes cast down and the apples of my cheeks warm up.
“We have a table at La Villa.”
I can’t help wincing at his place of choice for our dinner. It’s one of the oldest boutique hotels in Serenidad, and as romantic as it may ring, it’s actually at the furthest point on the romantic spectrum possible. It’s the place you’d
take a client to, not someone you were about to fly over three thousand miles to see.
The loaded post long-separation-vibe looping between us is thankfully forced to take a pause during the ride. Here on the bike where only touch counts, I let myself relax. Where the breeze of the wind wafts through the uplifted visor, and the ever warm and soothing descending Serenidad sun caressing with its warmth. Where I can hug Sebastian as tight as I want. Where no intense stares, no tension taking part. Where we’re physically connected. The one thing that had always worked best for us from the moment we first touched, our pull toward each other.
My edginess returns when the ruins of an old fortress, that’s part of a national historic site and also a great part of the beautiful scenery of the hotel we’re about to dine in, appears in our view.
We’re a traffic light away from crossing the mark where countryside backdrop takes over the urban scenery. As seconds drag for the light to change, I feel Sebastian’s body tense under my embrace. I flinch as his flat hand smacks the handle with a vengeance. As though he might have just lost an internal argument or won one. Whichever it is, it prompts him to take a sharp U-turn back into the city. I can’t even try to communicate with him, to ask where we’re heading, as the crazed velocity with which he now maneuvers the vehicle forces me to cling tighter to him. I wedge one hand between Sebastian’s back and my front to close the visor and bury my face between his shoulder blades. I ponder what’s gotten into him, what made his driving turn combative. I trail my hand to rest over his heart, finding it fiercely pounding. When I dare to lift my eyes from their hiding place, my own heartbeat mimics his as the sight of his apartment building is revealed before me. Sebastian kicks down the stand and hurries to mount off the bike. Wordlessly, he helps me hop off, and then without a word, he takes my hand and guides us forward, both helmets in his other hand. Silently, yet hurriedly, we climb up one flight of stairs. I let out a choked yelp, almost tripping with Sebastian literally dragging me after him.
Leaving Me Behind Page 24