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Lucía’s one of the lucky people who can actually afford to leave. She’s got money and she’s got me. She’s also got family in Mexico. She’ll be able to draw on the money in her US bank account anywhere Visa is accepted. She’ll be fine.
Tonight I’m going to have a meaningful talk with my woman, and then I’m going to make love to her. And then, I’m going to let her go.
We’re outside, at my house in Malibu. This has become our place. It’s where we always come when we need to be alone, but together. The fire pit is roaring and we’ve got a thin quilt thrown over us, as we lie together in the cabana I set up outside last month. The fire’s blue and orange flames, our only source of light.
“It feels like I’ve come full circle, Reece. That Ana Maria has won and Lucía’s having to take a back seat. I can’t believe I’m leaving my home. That I may never come back. That I can’t live with you anymore. I’ve lost control of everything.” She’s not crying. Her voice is clear, reflective as she speaks. Almost as if she’s not talking about herself.
“No, Luc. You’re taking control. You’re making decisions. You’re not waiting for them to be made for you. This is necessary. And we know it’s temporary. You’ll be back. One way or another.”
She nestles her head on my chest, but doesn’t respond.
I’d made a mistake a week ago. I asked her to marry me. We’d been eating dinner with Jess and I remembered that she’d married someone to get her citizenship. That night while we were brushing our teeth, I’d brought it up. She only glanced at me in the mirror and finished brushing her teeth. And then said, “If that’s the only reason we’re getting married, then, no.”
I decided to save my protests for later. I cursed my misstep, but knew that any protests to the contrary would be futile right now.
I want to ask her again tonight, but I know that even if we are married, she’d still have to leave in order to petition for permanent residency.
And I don’t want her, or anyone else, to think that that was the reason I wanted to marry her. So, I’ve decided to wait before I ask again. But it’s coming. I want her to settle into her new life first, before I disrupt her rhythm.
I lean over to kiss her and she smiles as she ducks under my arm to sit up. I raise an eyebrow at her, smiling quizzically as she then rises to her feet. Then she lifts her little red top off and reveals her bare, unbound breasts to the night air. They are covered in gooseflesh, her nipples puckered and pebbled. My mouth waters at the sight of her.
“Come here,” I say to her as I reach down, unbutton my shorts, and pull my stiff cock out. I start stroking it while I watch her.
She shakes her head and then reaches down to pull her shorts off. She stands before me, the ocean as her back drop, her hair flying in the breeze. She’s the embodiment of Botticelli’s Birth of Venus. I promise myself that I’m going to plan a trip to Florence, so I can show her that painting.
I shrug my shorts all the way down and pull my top off. Lucía drops to her knees in front of me. Her eyes trained on my hand as it moves in long, leisurely strokes up my cock. She licks her lips and covers my hand with her own and then she takes me in her mouth. She sucks the tip of my cock while our hands work together. Her hand falls away, and mine does too, she takes me all the way to the back of her throat and I can feel it close around my head. I groan and pull myself out of her mouth.
She comes up eagerly wiping her mouth as she climbs into my lap and then lower herself onto to me. She drapes her hands over my shoulders and clasps them behind my neck. She buries her face in my neck and we start to fuck. She’s moving fast, rotating her hips every time she comes down. My hand goes to her clit and I start to rub her. She whispers my name, as she loses her rhythm. And when she starts to come, I pull out of her, flip her back onto the mattress and eat her down from that orgasm and up into another.
When she’s done I pick her up and carry her into the house.
“It’s our last night in this house for a long time. Let’s make love in our bed,” I say to her as I walk us down the hall into the bedroom.
When I lay her down, I just look at her for a long time. I know I’ll see her again in two weeks, but that might as well be a light year. This move is wrong. We’re separating when we should be moving in together.
As if she’s reading my mind she says, “I wish you could come with me.”
I can’t find my voice. I am lost for words. I trail my fingers across her collarbones and trace the curved silhouette of her left breast and let my fingers rest on the tattoo that’s next to her heart. Freedom. It’s what she wants and what she needs and she’s leaving tomorrow to try and find it.
And suddenly I want it, too. When I met Lucía, I’d thought I had everything I could ever want, but I didn’t know what I was missing. She’s been like a mirror of truth for me. I’ve had to look at myself and confront how I live. It’s humbled me to have to stand back and just watch as the woman I love has to break down her entire life and start over again.
“Distance is nothing,” she whispers, in between the kisses she’s pressing on my chest. “We’ll be okay. And in three ye
ars, I’ll be back. Now, stop brooding and kiss me. I’m going to have to live on what you give me tonight for the next two weeks. I don’t want to waste time talking.”
“Talking is a waste of time?” I say with a smile, I dot her face with kisses, nipping at her cheeks, her chin and her lips.
“Mmmm hmmm . . .” she mumbles, her eyes following the path of her fingers as she strokes my chest. “Our hearts do all the talking for us. Our bodies do the translating. Who needs words?” She pulls my head down and this time, I don’t stop.
When the sun comes up, Lucía’s spent. And I’ve made some decisions. I have to prepare myself for what’s to come. So, I don’t sleep. I just watch her and whisper promises. That I’ll find a way to close the gap, that I won’t leave her alone for long and that tomorrow is just the beginning of our story.
At the airport, Lucía and I stand and hug. She’s holding me so tight that my breathing constricts. It still doesn’t feel like she’s close enough. We stand there, trying to drag out the last few minutes we have together. I let my hands roam her back, memorizing the way her ribs feel as my hands skim them. I run a hand under the fall of hair that’s hanging down her back and caress the nape of her neck. She’s really leaving and even though we planned for it and talked about it, I’m not ready to let go.
“Please wait for me. Please believe that I’m coming back. I love you.” She says over and over as she cries into my shirt.
Her mother comes to us to remind her that they don’t have much time before they have to board their flight. I can’t go beyond security.
I watch my girl walk away, and my heart goes with her. So beautiful and brave. She’s in the pair of ripped jeans she was wearing the first time we met, her black shirt falling off one shoulder. Her hair flowing, her lips red; I make a mental image.
