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“And you’ve been in love with her…?”
“Six,” another gulp is used to shove down the new shame, “almost seven years.”
“Aw,” the woman across from me sweetly coos a second time, tempting me to glance away from the gushing, “love at first sight?”
“Uh…” my beer finds its way back to the table. “Something like that.”
“How’d you two meet?”
“We got trapped in an elevator together.”
Her blue eyes widen to the size of the bread plates I get the feeling will be the only ones we use for the night. “What?!”
“Yeah,” warm chuckles thoughtlessly grace the table, “and it was my first day of work.”
“Ohmygod!”
“Probably would’ve been theworstfirst day ever had I not been locked away with her for three hours.” Recalling the event that’s imprinted into the very fiber of my existence is effortlessly done. “We sat on the floor. Shared a blueberry muffin. Of course when I say share, I mean, she pickedoutthe blueberries tonot eat, so I ate them.” More laughs fall free. “We talked about hockey and space travel and the weird sounds we’ve heard animals make and I don’t know. Time just…flew by. She was the easiest person to talk to that I had ever met.” An innocent shrug is wedged between statements. “Still is. We can talk about anything.Everything.”
“Except you being in love with her.”
Guilt has me redirecting my gaze down to my device. “Except that.”
“And why not?”
One gentle tap reveals the communication situation is still unchanged, which leaves me with no choice but to physically face the interrogation in front of me. “How about we change subjects?”
“How about this is the mostyou’ve saidall night?”
Additional culpability causes me to adjust myself in my seat.
Fidget with my polo again.
Grab my beer and attempt to choke down the humiliation caught in the back of my throat.
This is fucking ridiculous.
I’veneverbeen this bad about hiding my feelings for Arley.
Why am I struggling so much tonight?
Is it because she’s ignoring me?
Is it because I’m worried, she’s pissed and didn’t know how to say it?
It’s not like we don’t fight.
We just…don’t do it often.
And it’s usually over stupid shit like who forgot to put a bag back in the trashcan – me – and why is the coffee table already so fucking sticky when we haven’t even had dinner yet – her.
Real shit?
Real emotional level shit?
That’s rare.
Maybe because we’ve never done that whole song and dance of pretending to be someone, we’re not so the other person we’re with will feel compelled to become more invested in us? Maybe because we let one another see the ugly shit like how insecure her condition makes her or how anxious my trauma makes me? Hell, I think the biggest fight we ever had was me deciding to take an assignment too close to Christmas a couple years back. She wanted us to keep up our tradition of making the long drive out to Ma’s small farmhouse forNochebuena– aka Christmas Eve – and celebrate the same way we had since our first year together when I introduced her to the festivities. She immediately fell in love with the colors and the music and food, so much so that Maalwaysmakes sure to have enoughponche navideño,tamales,andbuñuelosfor Arley to take home at the end of the night, after midnight mass and presents. Typically, in most households, it’s a large event filled with family and music and dancing but because of what happened to me shortly after my 5thbirthday, it became just me and Ma. She would say the angels were with us, so we had more than enough company. She told Arley the same thing when I brought her yet swore, my woman already knew that since she was one in disguise.Thatwas the year Ma confessed that she could worry less about me for the first time in a long time because sheknewI was being protected. That same year, she promised Arley she was welcomed in her home at any time – with or without me. Possibly denying them both a custom that had become such an intricate part of their holiday celebrations had me receiving an earful inbothears and then doing whatever it took to guarantee my ass was on Ma’s doorstep before the clock struck midnight. And I was. I hadn’t showered. I hadn’t shaved. I hadn’t slept in almost fifty-two hours, but I was on her porch ready to escort the two of them to the service. Arley kept herself pressed to me for the rest of the night in relief. Gratitude. Ma even covered her up when she fell asleep on the couch in my arms a couple hours later. I swore to the saints, angels, and the big man upstairs himself in that very moment I would do whatever it took for the rest of my life to be the reason she smiled rather than frowned.
