“Franco and I broke up.”
“Ah!” Leila sipped her wine. “I’d ask what went wrong, but I already know. You two were just wrong for each other.”
“So Nick has informed me.”
“Nick knows about this? You told him?”
“That night I showed up at your place and you were at yoga.”
“That was months ago, Sofia!”
“I know.”
Leila was bewildered. “And he never said anything.”
“I swore him to secrecy,” Sofia said.
“Why is this even a secret?” Leila asked. “So you broke up. So what?”
“I haven’t told my parents yet.”
“You think I’d tell them?”
“No, no!” Sofia took a breath and started again. “I went over there to tell you and I lost my nerve. You and Nick looked so happy, so perfect together, and I was feeling...”
Leila’s over-the-top happiness had made her unhappiness difficult to manage. That was the petty truth.
“We’re happy, but we’re not perfect,” Leila corrected.
“You’re pretty close.”
Nick and Leila the super couple was super annoying, but true love was like that. It excluded friends and made haters out of strangers. Sofia understood this and wanted the same for herself. The kind of love that made others want to run and hide. What she’d had with Franco was a facsimile of love.
Sofia got off the ottoman and joined her friend on the couch. Leila rested her feet on her lap. She wore black pumps with a slender heel.
“Love the shoes,” Sofia said. “Manolo?”
Leila shook her head; a lock of black hair fell over her eyes. “Prada.”
“Nice.” Sofia was a Jimmy Choo girl herself.
“I didn’t think Nick and I had secrets,” Leila said.
Sofia moaned. “Oh, God. This is my fault.”
“No, it’s not,” Leila said. “Sometimes I get the feeling he’s hiding something. He’s been acting so weird. Has he told you anything?”
“He hasn’t. It’s not like we’re sitting around, brushing each other’s hair and swapping secrets.”
Leila laughed. “What are you going to do? Live here forever?”
Sofia hadn’t thought past the anniversary party. After that, she really was free. Then what?
“Maybe I’ll buy a place,” Sofia said. “Maybe I’ll hire you. Is that house on Alton still available?”
Sofia had asked the question as if the answer didn’t matter.
“We got an offer, but the financing is fishy,” Leila said. “Jon didn’t bite. Can’t really blame him now that I think about it. It’s big for one person.”
“He hasn’t made a move?” Sofia asked, nonchalant as all get-out.
“Nope,” Leila said. “I haven’t heard from him for days. He canceled our last two appointments.”
“Ah.”
“Do you want to stay in this neighborhood?” Leila asked. “Because there are some exciting things happening in Brickell.”
For once in her life, Sofia wasn’t looking for excitement. She was feeling like a fraud, lying and pretending. She wanted calm and peace, and some downtime to reconnect with her true self.
And she wanted to know what Jon was up to.
Chapter 9
The week before her parents’ anniversary party, Sofia met with her mother for lunch as she would with any client before the big day. They had agreed to meet at Gesu, the oldest Catholic church in the city. It sat at a busy downtown intersection. Its salmon facade was highly visible. Some referred to it only as “the pink church.” Located steps from her shop, the church offered her mother a calm retreat on busy days. Her parents would renew their vows there, and later entertain fifty close family and friends at the nearby Intercontinental Miami. The next day, they’d take off on a three-week tour of Italy.
It was Friday and the midday mass catered to the faithful few. They came in office attire and rushed back to their desks as soon as mass was done. Sofia arrived just as the priest raised his arms and said, “Go in peace.” Her mother, however, wouldn’t leave without first kneeling before the altar to better launch direct missile prayers.
“Couldn’t you have come a little earlier?” her mother scolded. They made their way out of the shady opulence of the church to the bright, boisterous city sidewalk. Her mother handed a dollar to a homeless man on the corner. He said thanks and called her “a doll.”
“You need prayer in your life,” her mother continued.
“Aren’t you praying for me?” Sofia asked. “Isn’t that what moms do?”
“You’re a grown woman. And I can’t do all the heavy lifting, not anymore.”
The last jab was a reminder of her failing health, a reminder Sofia didn’t need.
They stopped at her mother’s shop, named simply Clarissa’s Fabrics. The storefront window displayed lace, velvet and sequins on sixties-era mannequins. Inside, rows and rows of fabric bails were stacked from floor to ceiling. Cotton. Silk. Crepe. Polyester. The glass showcases held lace trim and even feathers by the yard. Sofia had grown up behind the counter, doing odd jobs. Her duties ranged from sweeping up scraps to counting the cash drawer. She learned all the ways to run a successful business during the good times and keeping it afloat during the hard times. Her mother had had the same two employees for a decade. Sofia chatted with them while her mother went to retrieve the “anniversary binder” from her office in the back of the store. Then, finally, they went to lunch.
Gigi’s, a popular Italian restaurant, was overflowing with guests. They settled for a sidewalk table. Over eggplant parmesan and through a haze of gas exhaust, they went through the binder tab by tab.
“See if the florist will have circus roses,” her mother said. “I’ve ordered special ribbon to match. That burnt orange color is very tricky.”
“I don’t have to double check,” Sofia replied. “I’ve worked with this florist many times. They’re reliable. And they have ribbon.”
“You just never know.”
“I know.”
“Don’t be so stubborn. You’re like your father.”
“I am not stubborn. I’m sure.”
“Ask if we can add a few wild orchids to the bouquet. I’ve seen it done and it’s lovely.”
“Orchids? Really, mom?”
What her mother didn’t realize was that booking the upscale restaurant at the Intercontinental had burned through the budget. Sofia had had to pull favors like never before for the upgraded menu, premier floral arrangements and the Spanish guitar soloist her mother had so badly wanted. If the woman added one more thing, just one more thing, Sofia was going to snap.
“Part of my job is to keep you on budget,” she said.
Her mother shrugged, resigned. “Okay. No orchids.”
The waiter cleared their plates. While they waited for the check, her mother said she looked tired. “Late night last night?”
“Yes, but not like you think. I had an open house in Pinecrest.”
“Don’t you and Franco go out anymore?” her mother asked.
“We go out plenty,” Sofia said.
“When couples settle down, they sometimes lose interest in the things that brought them together in the first place.”
“Franco and I don’t have that problem.”
“Good. We should start planning the wedding soon. Or is he dragging his feet?”
“No one is dragging anything.”
“I told you not to move in with him, but you didn’t listen. You know what they say about the milk and the cow, right?”
“I’m not a cow.”
“I didn’t raise a cow,” her mother said. “As soon as we’re done with this anniversary party, we’re working on your wedding. No more excuses.”
“
Who’s making excuses?”
“You cousin Mercedes called last week. Even she wants to know what’s the hold up.”
Sofia scoffed at that. “She just wants the-maid-of-honor spotlight that you’d promised her.”
“And you should want the bride spotlight. That’s how it should be.”
Sofia looked up at the open skies and launched a missile-powered prayer to the heavens for self-control. Honor thy mother and father. Honor thy mother and father. From across the street something—someone—caught her eye.
In what could only be described as the hipster’s cafetería with chalkboard walls and wood-crate tables, men in business suits were gathered at the counter. One of those men was Jon, and he was looking at her. Their eyes met just before a container truck stopped at the corner light and walled him off.
Sofia blacked out for a second, realizing that she was trapped. Her mother had an inane ability to see through her; she’d see the butterflies fluttering wildly in her chest.
“This was fun, Mom,” Sofia said hastily. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
Her mother stood and gathered her things. “I’ve got to get back to work. You’ve got to stay and settle the bill. The waiter has your card.”
“Shit!”
“Language!” Her mother planted a kiss on her forehead. “Now before I go, can I expect you and Franco on Sunday?”
“Yes.”
“You and Franco?”
“Yes.” Sofia hissed the blatant lie.
Her mother left the table, slowly rounding the corner. With her departure, Sofia’s dread lifted, giving way to a rush of excitement. Traffic picked up and the truck pushed forward. The waiter still hadn’t returned with her credit card. Sofia didn’t bother looking across the street. Jon wouldn’t be there.
She waited.
“Mind if I join you?”
That deep voice... The hairs on the back of her neck rose to it. She pointed to the chair her mother had vacated and watched him get settled. He was a feast for the eyes, and at that moment, he was all hers to enjoy.
The waiter returned with Sofia’s card and receipts. Seeing how the landscape had changed, he asked, “Will there be anything else?”
“Two espressos,” Jon said. “Make mine a double.”
* * *
This woman had made Jon a believer in the power of positive thinking and every other New Age doctrine floating out there. It had been weeks since they’d run into each other, and he couldn’t get her out of his mind. The impromptu coffee break had been an attempt to clear his head. He’d spotted her at the restaurant table right away. He guessed she was related to and had a lot of affection for her older lunch companion. She’d looked relaxed and happy, despite the heated conversation. He hadn’t planned on interrupting, but then she’d spotted him, too.
Her solemn expression made him want to tease her. “Three times is enemy action, Sofia.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“You show up wherever I go,” he said. “Now even my favorite coffee shop.”
“You think I’m stalking you?” she asked.
“I hope you are,” he replied.
“I’m not at your favorite anything,” she said. “I’m at an Italian restaurant, wrapping up lunch with a client and you ambushed me.”
“Ambush?” The waiter returned with their orders, and he reached for a packet of sugar. “That’s an ugly word. We’re friends having coffee.”
“Is that what you do all day? Hang out at the corner cafetería?” she asked. “Shouldn’t you be in court getting some crook off the hook?”
“‘Crook Off the Hook’ is a great title for a kid’s book,” Jon said.
She smiled. He felt as if he’d scored.
“You’re on my turf,” he said. His office building soared over the surrounding strip malls; he pointed to it.
She lifted the espresso cup to her lips. Apparently, she took her coffee black. Jon was impressed.
“My mother’s fabric shop is around the corner,” she said. “And it’s probably been there a lot longer than that glass tower. So you’re on my turf.”
To Jon, that was actionable intelligence. The neighboring shops were modest mom-and-pop operations with longer half-lives than the trendiest restaurants. This added a new element to her profile, a profile that he’d been privately sketching since they’d met. Sofia had working-class roots. It explained her no-nonsense toughness. Under the veneer of style and glamour, long lashes and red lacquered nails, she was hardworking and enduring.
He stirred his coffee. “This client, is she your mother?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Where’s your so-called fiancé?” he asked. “Shouldn’t he join his future mother-in-law for lunch?”
“My fiancé is working,” she said.
She rested her left hand on the table between them, diamond ring on display. This was the second time she’d shoved the thing at him—and for the record, it wasn’t that big.
“I never see you with him.”
“We’re engaged,” she said, irritated. “Not Siamese twins.”
“You never talk about him.”
“I talk about him plenty,” she said. “Maybe not as much as you do.”
“When we’re engaged, I never want you to shut up about me.”
Her smile blew him away. “I think there’s something wrong with you.”
“You may be right.”
“How’s the house hunt?” she asked.
He finished his coffee before answering. “My heart isn’t in it.”
“Leila says there’s an offer on the house.”
“Our house?” he asked.
They shared a look of regret, the truth evident. The house they’d both loved was slipping away.
Jon tried steering the conversation to a cheerier topic. “Why has your mother hired you?”
“I’m planning my parents’ anniversary party,” she answered. “Thirty-five years.”
“Congratulations,” he said. “My parents were married for all of two years.”
Her gaze raked over his face. They were venturing into murky territory now. He rarely talked about his family. And yet, he now told her how his parents had gotten married when his mother was three months pregnant and divorced before he was potty-trained. His dad had sought the divorce. He’d enlisted in the air force, wanting to be free. At fourteen, Jon had packed up and followed him to Europe.
“If my brother had to pick a side, he’d pick my dad,” she said. “I think it’s natural for boys.”
“I didn’t pick a side,” he said. “I picked a lifestyle.”
He had longed for adventure. New places to discover. New people to meet. His life in New Jersey had seemed small. His dad had been stationed all over the country and around the world. Each postcard he’d received from him had fueled Jon’s imagination. When his mother married a middle school math teacher, he took off, joining his father in Germany. Soon thereafter, they transferred to the UK.
“I’ve never lived anywhere but Miami,” she said. “I would love to travel more. Maybe live in Spain a few years.”
“You’d miss your family,” he said.
“Do you miss yours?” she asked. “You’re here on your own.”
“I don’t think any of them miss me,” he said. “They’re used to not having me around.”
His parents didn’t expect to see him very often, not anymore. His mother was well settled with her new family. Since he’d opted out of that family at fourteen, it seemed wrong to request reentry at thirty-two. And after his dad had retired from the military, he bought an RV and continued his adventures, sending postcards as per his custom.
“I can’t imagine that. You’re so...”
He leaned closer, noticing the flecks of copper in her eyes and t
he caramel locks of hair. “What am I, Sofia?”
After a slight hesitation, she said, “You know what you are, Jon.”
The waiter approached with the dessert menu. “The tiramisu is the house specialty. Want to give it a try?”
Jon was about to ask for the check when Sofia said, shyly, “I’d like to try. How about you?”
He recognized the olive branch before him. She was offering dessert—and friendship.
One hour later, they promised to run into each other by accident again soon. They shared a quick hug and parted ways. In the brief moment he held her in his arms, Jon felt a stab of longing.
* * *
Jon had worked as a federal prosecutor prior to joining the Virginia branch of his firm. He’d jumped at the chance to fly to Miami in the dead of winter to help with a case. Some had encouraged him. “You’ll love it! The weather this time of year...perfection!” Others weren’t so positive. “You’ll hate it. So unprofessional! The staff is rude. And the way they dress!”
The weather was perfect, particularly when compared to the arctic conditions he’d left behind in Virginia. The downtown Miami office of the pedigreed law firm was in fact the most unprofessional setting he’d ever worked. Accustomed to conservative work cultures where rules and traditions were strictly observed, the Miami office’s loose atmosphere had surprised him.
Was the staff rude? Yes. Absolutely. But their salty sense of humor was just his thing.
Was the dress code observed? No. “There’s your dress code right there.” A partner in a Hawaiian shirt said on his first day, pointing to a three-piece suit hanging from a hook behind his door.
Was half the office chatting it up in Spanish over Cuban coffee every afternoon at two? Yes, and it didn’t take long for him to join in.
One evening before leaving for the day, the receptionist said, “You should transfer down here. You fit in.”
Jon knew the twenty-year-old was right. He’d been feeling uprooted for a long while. Fate had led him home.
Meeting Sofia again and again and again...that, too, seemed the design of fate.
Unconditionally Mine Page 6