by Bianca Mori
“Oh Lord.” I bury my face in my hands. I appreciate my aunt trying to warn him, or remind him about my situation, or give her grudging approval, or whatever this early morning conversation is, but I just wish this would take place with maybe more hours of sleep between us? And the smell of him not lingering in my skin, still?
I get up, intending to splash water on my face. Then I freeze. From Auntie Tilde’s gate, I make out the sound of a familiar car pulling up to the curb. Auntie’s smile fades just as wild-eyed panic settles in my eyes.
“What’s wrong?” asks Luke.
“Marina!” Auntie hisses. I scramble to start hustling Luke.
“What’s going on?” He’s got a forkful of ham in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other as I start chivvying him to--
“What are you doing, Mags?” Auntie Tilde looks at me like I’m going crazy, which I kind of am. “Are you trying to hide him? Where?”
I stop pushing Luke and start flapping my hands. “What is she doing here?”
Auntie shushes me. “Just act normal.”
The door opens and my mother sails into the dining room.
“Ah. Good. You’re all up,” she declares. She peers around the table. Her gaze rests and she raises a brow at Luke. Then she just stands there, expectantly, like some sort of Dowager Empress.
I play my part. “Ma, this is Luke. Luke, my...mother.”
He gets up and waits for her to offer her hand. She continues staring at him imperiously. He offers his, and, because the earth just won’t open up and swallow me already, she refuses to take it.
“And who is Luke?”
“My friend, Ma.”
She shakes her head.
“To what do we owe this honor?” Auntie Tilde cuts in, the tiniest bite of sarcasm in her voice. She gets up to refill the coffee pot. “Will you have milk in your coffee, Marina?”
“No,” Ma makes a face. “I’ve no time. Not knowing whether my daughter here will deign to visit me on Christmas Day, I merely wanted to stop by to deliver my present for Magnus.”
“Who’s still asleep,” Auntie Tilde mutters. “And Christmas is three weeks away.”
“I was in the neighborhood,” Mom snorts.
“At six in the morning. Which is not strange at all.”
Ma looks daggers at Auntie Tilde. I decide to intervene.
“Can I help you get the gift, Ma?”
She sniffs. “I’ll have Mang Ben bring it in. I’ll wait in the car.”
“Ma, come on. Have breakfast with us.”
She shoots Luke a cutting glare. “No. I can see that you’re busy.” Then she sweeps outside the house.
I catch up to her in the garage. I’m embarrassed as hell and all-around cringe-y. Mere hours after having amazing sex with my training mentor and friend is definitely NOT the most ideal time for him to meet my crazy mother.
She swings around, bringing me up short. “Who is that man?”
“I told you. He’s a friend.”
“Is he your officemate?”
“Yes.”
She pinches the bridge of her nose. “My God, Margarita. Do you ever think these things through?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“He is having breakfast in your aunt’s house at six in the morning!”
“You’re here too—that’s not weird?”
“I’m your mother, Margarita, and this is not about me.” She purses her lips. “I knew Matilde wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on you. And why should she? She’s as bad as you ever were. She’s encouraging you, in fact!”
“Maybe because I’m not some sixteen-year-old girl who needs to be watched?” My voice rises, sending a flock of maya birds on the window ledges to flight. “Maybe she believes I can make my own decisions, and maybe that’s something you could also try sometime?”
She rolls her eyes. “When I see evidence of you starting to act your age and capable of making intelligent decisions, then maybe I will.”
The words tumble out of me before I can stop them. “What does that look like to you, Ma? Help me out here, because I’m already doing that.”
“I will not discuss this now. I am late for a breakfast meeting.”
I throw my hands into the air. “Why don’t you just accept the fact that this is the daughter you have, Ma?” I jab a finger into my chest. “I work at a BPO and I’m a single mother and I’m nowhere near your standards of success. If I’m fine with it, then why can’t you be?”
“Because you could aim higher, Margarita!” Ma raises her own voice. “Do better! Get serious and accomplish something substantial for once in your life!” She takes a step back, surprised at the exasperation in her voice.
I shake my head and make for the door, but she reaches out to grab my elbow.
“Haven’t you had enough of this?” She whispers urgently. “You nearly flunked out of school; you spent all your time and money at the beach; you started working as some sort of telephone operator, but oh, was it too much to ask that you work diligently at what you had? No. You hopped from job to job, and the one time you’d shown any promise and were sent to the States, you went and got yourself pregnant!”
Every single recitation of my failures feels like a cut to the heart. I’ve been here before; too many times, in fact, and I respond in the only way I know how when I argue with my mom: I become flippant. Guaranteed to irritate my mother and hopefully hurt her as much as she hurts me.
“Jeez, Ma, if you haven’t figured out after thirty-two years that success isn’t my style, then you’ll never get me.”
Her face looks like thunder. “You’ve got a child now, Margarita. If you don’t care about yourself, then at least improve for Magnus’s sake.”
“I AM doing that!” I cry. “I’m working now at a team that I like, doing a thing I like; is that not improving?”
“Not if you derail yourself by becoming involved with a co-worker, as usual!” she snaps. “How many times does this have to happen for you to learn your lesson? Wasn’t it enough to be involved with that horrid man who embarrassed you all over the Internet? What about Magnus’ father?” She shakes her head. “Now, if you’d only listen to me--”
“What makes you think what you want for me would make me happy?”
“This makes you happy?” She throws a hand out at Auntie Tilde’s bungalow. “That boy you’re with makes you happy? This is all you want out of life?”
I fold my arms around myself. “I don’t know. But I’m tired of apologizing for disappointing you.”
She draws herself up to her full height. “Mang Ben will bring the box down. Good-bye, Margarita.”
I remain standing in the garage long after she enters the car and her driver pulls down the ginormous box, sets it inside Auntie Tilde’s living room, gets back into the SUV and drives away. By the time Luke comes out to join me, the sun has climbed higher into the sky, burning the early morning chill away.
“Hey,” he says tentatively, slipping an arm around my shoulder.
I look up at him. “Hi. You heard most of that, huh? Sorry.”
He gives me an apologetic grin. “Do you need some time alone?”
I nod.
“Okay. I’ll call you later.”
We hug, and though it’s warm in his arms, there’s a chill inside me that not even Luke can thaw.
Chapter 12
For the first time in months, I dread Monday. I wake up feeling heavy and drag myself to work. Once there I try to limit my interactions with other people as much as possible, sequestering a quiet, out-of-the-way desk to work on our presentation.
By the time Luke finds me, it’s past lunch hour.
“Hi,” he breathes. “You hungry?”
I smile at him, even though smiling feels like squeezing toothpaste from an empty tube. We make polite chitchat as we head to the cafeteria. Luke is careful—I get the sense of someone hovering around a china shop with the way he lightly brushes my back as we make our way to a window seat. He o
rders us pad Thai (I’ve given up on jaw-crushing Cinematic Bread) and we continue our weird waltzing-around-each-other conversation over noodles.
He looks up at me, those brown eyes so deep and lucid and full of feeling, and it’s like my heart is being squeezed inside my chest.
“I’m sorry I’m weird, Luke.” I toy with my fork. “Being around my mom...it just messes with my head, you know?”
He nods and reaches across the table to hold my hand. I feel a bit better at the gesture. He is warm, reassuring. He’s there.
“I understand. This—“ he points back and forth between us “—is a little weird too.”
My face cracks into a smile. He gets it. The transition from mentor-mentee to friends to...what were we, now? It’s disorienting.
“Right?” he smiles, squeezing my hand. “I mean, we work together. You’re my mentee. We should do this legit.”
I move my hand back an inch. “Do what legit?”
“Us. You and me. Seeing each other.”
I take a sip of lemonade, my throat suddenly parched. “Are we that?”
He leans forward, his expression serious and full of conviction. “Yes, Mags. We are. I am saying that now. We’re not going to be ambiguous about this.”
“And Magnus?”
“Is Magnus. A wonderful kid, and your son.”
“Oh.” I mull over his words. I’m not used to ‘doing this legit,’ as he says. But being upfront about our...relationship (Lord it is so weird to say that, even in my head) is...well, it’s new. Refreshing, even. Huh. I smile, slowly, and this time it reaches my eyes and all the way down to my heart.
He lets out a breath, laughing a little. It’s an expression of relief.
“Okay,” he says, eyes disappearing into his cheeks. “Okay.”
“Okay,” I agree, starting to chuckle as well.
“Okay.” He rubs his jaw with his other hand. “Good. Good. You can talk to Tina after lunch.”
I yank my hand from under his. “What?”
His smile falters. “You know? Tell Tina about us.”
I push against the backrest of my seat. “Why would I want to tell your boss about us?”
“I mean…” he starts rubbing his hair. “This won’t be news to her. I’ve already told her.”
“You what?” My voice rises an octave.
“Listen, Mags. I like you, okay? I think I’ve made that pretty obvious.” A blush rises to his cheeks; it’s apparent we’re both thinking about last Friday night. Early Saturday morning. Whatever. “But it’s going to be complicated if I continue as your training mentor. I needed to tell Tina, not just for my own sake, but because it’s company policy.”
Oh Lord. Company policy. Not this again. A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead as I scan the cafeteria for a possible escape route.
“Mags?” Luke leans closer from across the table.
“I just wish you’d checked this with me beforehand.”
“What’s to worry about?” He looks genuinely bewildered, like all this is not a big deal to him.
“But our project…”
“Tina will most likely reassign you to someone else on the communications faculty—maybe Michelle now that she’s back from maternity leave. Michelle is cool, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
The inside of my head looks and feels like the interior of a submarine just when it goes on red alert and starts sinking into a deep and watery grave. How can he think that all I’m worried about right now is Michelle?
“C’mon, Magsie. Tina’s waiting.”
“Yeah.”
He gets up and offers his hand. I take it automatically, noting how mine is stiff and freezing inside his palm. “She’s free. And she’s going to want to speak to you alone.”
***
I feel like dying twenty times over the walk to Tina’s office. My sinking-submarine brain has gone on lockdown; all that’s registering is random bursts of panicked static, like “AAAGHHH” and “HOW COULD HE” and “NOT AGAIN” and “WAH MY MOM.”
Tina sits behind her desk, looking inscrutable with her cropped graying hair and cat’s eye spectacles. Michelle, one of the comms leads, is in one of the chairs across Tina’s desk.
“So,” says Tina, looking up at me.
“H-hello,” I answer lamely, hoping my heart doesn’t thud right out of my chest.
Tina folds her hands. “Before we start, I need to establish a few facts.” Her eyes are blank and shuttered behind the cat’s eye frames. “You are aware of Mr. Ignacio’s statement of romantic feelings for you?”
Lord. What is this? This feels like a cross between a witness stand and a dating show.
“Yes,” I answer, stopping myself from adding Your honor.
“And when did you become aware of his stated feelings of romantic intent?”
“Last Friday.”
Tina and Michelle exchange looks. Tina glances at her desk calendar and nods to herself.
“So you confirm that prior to Friday you had no knowledge or inclination about Mr. Ignacio’s feelings?”
“None at all.”
“Hm.” Tina nods crisply. “And is it your intention to engage in a relationship of a romantic, personal nature with Mr. Ignacio?”
“What?”
“Mr. Ignacio stated that you two had not overtly discussed your relationship, er, status.”
It’s complicated NOW, comes the red-tinged S.O.S. from USS Getmeoutofhere. My cheeks start heating. A few minutes ago, I was just coming to terms with thinking of me and Luke as an ‘Us’ without any ambiguity. And now I have to define it further?
“Ms. Abarquez?” Tina prompts.
“Yes. I mean, yes, we haven’t discussed it.”
“Mr. Ignacio seems to think that if the discussion had occurred, you would be in agreement with him. Is that the correct assumption?”
In all my romantic fantasies, ever, I’d never remotely considered pre-agreeing to a relationship in a quasi-legal setting with my potential lover’s superior. This all feels like some sort of arranged marriage.
“Ms. Abarquez,” and now a flicker of concern sparks in her eyes. “Have you ever felt coerced, during the course of the mentor-mentee relationship between you and Mr. Ignacio, into taking that relationship further into romantic territory?”
“Oh no, not at all,” I hurriedly correct her. “Luke’s been, you know, absolutely proper throughout all of this.”
“Good,” Tina sighs, looking relieved. “But you do understand that given Luke’s conflict of interest, we cannot in good conscience allow him to remain as your training partner, given that his evaluation and recommendation would be a major factor in deciding if you should be accepted into the training department?”
Great. We’re back to first names now. “I understand.”
Michelle smiles in the seat beside me. She looks pleasant and kind, and that calms my nerves somewhat. “I’ll be taking over your project,” she says warmly.
“Great,” I smile back at her. I even think it’s halfway genuine.
Tina claps her hands. “Now that’s settled.” She digs out a batch of papers and hands them over to me. “Sign this, please.”
I take the sheaf with cold hands. At the top of the page are the words:
CONSENSUAL ROMANCE IN THE WORKPLACE AGREEMENT (LOVE CONTRACT)
“Oh my God,” I blurt out.
“Nothing to worry about,” Tina says, smiling for the first time since I entered the room. “This is just a standard agreement that states you are not coerced into the relationship, that you and Luke have taken the proper steps to notify your superiors of the relationship, and that your superiors have taken action to ensure a fair, equitable and supportive workplace, not only for you but also for your co-workers—which we have considered by transferring you to Michelle’s supervision.”
I study the contract, noting Tina’s, Michelle’s and Luke’s signatures on the left side of the pages. This is so not how I do the office romance thing. This is
so weird. This is so...
I look up at the faces of Tina and Michelle, smiling expectantly at me.
USS Getmeoutofhere blares its last distress signal, its crew of hardy sailors going slowly insane as it sinks into the darkest depths of the sea.
I gulp and sign the contract.
Chapter 13
Luke is waiting for me at the lobby by the time I badge out. He is smiling, pleased as punch. Things are going great for him. This is a really good day at work for Luke Ignacio.
I wish I could say the same for me.
“Ready?” he says, twirling his car keys in one finger.
“Oh. You drive me home now?”
He looks quizzically at me. “Haven’t I been doing that a lot lately?”
I shrug and follow him to the parking elevator. He gives another confused smile and leads the way to the basement lot, to his hatchback. It jars me to note that Luke has been around so much my son has taken to calling this car Gway Panther.
“You better get used to this,” he winks, opening the door for me. “I offer full chauffeur services to my girl.”
I swallow a lump in my throat as I buckle myself into the front seat.
“So this is going to be the norm now?” I say quietly. Luke frowns as he drives out the basement ramp and onto the city streets. “You’ll bring me home every day?”
He has a long and thoughtful staredown with the intersection traffic light. “Is it a problem?” he finally answers.
“No. It’s not a problem.” I sigh. “It’s what you want, so of course it’s what’s going to happen.”
His gaze flickers to me, troubled now. “What’s the matter, Mags?”
“I just wish I had some fair warning before you sent me to Tina.”
“But I did let you know about it. During lunch.”
“Thirty minutes before the meeting.”
“When was I supposed to tell you? You weren’t taking my calls all weekend and you hid in that cubicle all day today.”
“I was busy.”
“I know. And that’s why I took the time to take you to lunch to tell you what was going to happen.”
“So I should thank you for doing me the courtesy of buying me lunch before humiliating me.”