How Much I Feel

by Force, Marie

  “You don’t think you’re fat, do you?” I’m not at all sure if I should ask that, but curiosity wins out.

  “I think I’m curvier than I should be.”

  “I completely and adamantly disagree.”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “Stop.”

  “I will not stop. I think your curves are luscious, delicious, sexy perfection, and you’ll never convince me otherwise.”

  “You’re very good for a girl’s ego.”

  “Your ego should be very, very healthy.”

  I love the way she smiles at me and continues on her way, list in hand like the well-organized woman she is.

  We return to her place, and when I tell her I want to check out the gym in her complex, she frowns. “Enjoy that.”

  “Come with me.”

  “No way. I’ve already told you I suck at the gym. I don’t need you seeing that for yourself.”

  “Then let’s go for a walk or something.”

  “It’s too hot.” She looks up at me. “You go. I have some things I need to do around here, such as laundry. I can toss yours in, too, if you want.”

  “I don’t expect you to do my laundry.”

  “I know you don’t. I offered. Put it in the bathroom if you want me to do it, and go have your run.”

  “I’d rather hang with you than go run.”

  “You can do both. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

  “You promise?”

  She kisses me. “I promise.”

  I gather my laundry and put it in the bathroom, as directed, before changing into running shorts and a tank top. This is going to be quick because I don’t want to waste whatever time I have with her doing something as mundane as running.

  I want to be with her every minute that I can for as long as I can. Who knows where I’ll be a week from now? All I know is the thought of being anywhere but with her is suddenly unfathomable to me.

  CHAPTER 20

  CARMEN

  In the morning, Jason and I take two cars to get cortaditos from Juanita before parting company to spend the day apart for the first time in a week. He’s heading to the clinic, and I’m going to my office at the hospital to fine-tune his presentation to the board that’s set for Friday at four.

  I show it to Mr. Augustino that afternoon, and he agrees it’s excellent.

  “Can you think of anything else that ought to be included?” I ask him.

  “Perhaps more about the details of his research and how that could bring national and international prestige to our hospital.”

  “Good point.” I make a note to ask Jason for more information about the specifics of his research.

  “This is very well done, Carmen. Great work.”

  “Thank you. Dr. Northrup made it easy by giving me so much to work with.”

  “Is it true that he’s back at the free clinic in Little Havana this week?”

  “He is.”

  “Well, that’s good of him to do.”

  “He really enjoys working there. If he’s granted privileges here, I think he’ll continue to volunteer there as often as he can.”

  “I received an interesting email today.”

  I experience a twinge of anxiety from the way he says that.

  “It was from the woman Dr. Northrup was involved with in New York. She explained the circumstances of their relationship and confirmed that he had no idea who she was or that she was married with children. She took the blame for the entire mess.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s good news.”

  “Apparently, she also sent the letter to the board of the hospital in New York.”

  Even though I already know this, hearing it from Mr. Augustino makes it more official. Of course he’ll go back to New York. I’ve been such a fool to think he’d do anything but that if offered the opportunity.

  “Are you all right, Carmen? I hope you know this is all about courtesy to our sister facility and is no reflection at all on the terrific work you’ve done.”

  I look up at Mr. Augustino, my boss, the hospital president, the man who must never know that I’ve fallen hard for the doctor he assigned me to work with. I clear the emotion from my throat and keep my face expressionless when I look at him. “Yes, of course. I’m fine, and I’m glad you’re happy with my work.”

  But one thing is abundantly clear to me in light of this development. I have to take a step back from Jason, and I have to do it now while I still can.

  I’m on my way home from the hospital when he calls. I think about letting it go to voice mail, but after spending almost every minute of the last week with him, I at least owe him an explanation.

  “Hi.”

  “Hey. How was your day?”

  “Good. You?”

  “Busy. We saw fifty-two patients.”

  “Wow. That is busy.”

  “I’m starving. What do you feel like for dinner?”

  “I, ah, did you talk to the new board chair in New York?”

  “I did. I was going to tell you about it when I see you. Is everything okay?”

  I pull into a parking lot in front of a coffee shop and a thrift store because I don’t trust myself to have this conversation while I’m driving.

  “Carmen? Are you still there?”

  “I’m here.”

  “What’s wrong, Rizo?”

  Hearing that nickname brings tears to my eyes that I try—unsuccessfully—to contain. “What did the new board chair say? Did you get your job back?”

  “She offered me the opportunity to come back if I want to.”

  That news strikes like a knife to my heart. I want to ask him if he still plans to meet with the Miami-Dade board, but why would he? He got back the job he really wanted in the first place. “That’s wonderful news, Jason. You must be thrilled.”

  “A week ago, I would’ve been thrilled, but now . . .”

  “You have a chance to get your career back on track. That’s what you said you want.”

  “It was what I wanted. Before.”

  “Before what?”

  “Before you.”

  My heart does a little happy dance at hearing that, but then reality smacks it down. “You cannot make major life decisions based on someone you’ve known for a week.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because! People don’t do that!”

  “Some people do.”

  “I don’t. I can’t. You can’t.”

  “May I please see you so we can talk about this face-to-face?”

  “I can’t do that, either.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I see your face, I’ll forget about protecting myself in this situation, and that has to be my top priority. It just has to be, Jason.”

  “So that’s it? We’re over, just like that?”

  “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “Do you think I’d just go back to New York and not at least ask if you’d like to come with me or figure out some way to make this work between us?”

  “As much as I love being with you, and I really do, I’m not moving to New York. I just got my dream job. My whole life is here. I couldn’t do that to my parents or Tony’s parents or my grandmothers. I can’t move. I won’t move.”

  Tears run down my face, and the pain in my chest reminds me far too much of how I felt after losing Tony. Not that this is anything like that. Jason is still alive and well, but his life is going to happen far away from mine. And that hurts. It hurts bad. As bad as anything has hurt in a very long time. “I have to go.”

  “Please don’t go. Let’s talk about it.”

  “There’s nothing left to talk about. My life is here. Yours is somewhere else. I had so much fun with you, but I have to stop this now before it leaves me in ruins.” I’ll probably be in ruins anyway, but he doesn’t need to know that.

  “I never intended for that to happen.”

  “I know.”

  “Carmen—”

  “I have to go now. I’ll hope for all good
things for you, Jason. You deserve the best of everything.” I end the call before he hears me break down into heartbroken sobs. My body shakes with the force of my despair. I’m absolutely sure it’s the right thing to stop this now, because it’s not going to be any easier in a week.

  But good God, it hurts now, too. It hurts so bad.

  My phone rings, and my heart lurches with hope that it might be him calling me back. I tell my lurching heart to knock it off, wipe my face and take the call from my mother, who’ll keep calling until I answer. Such is life for the adult only child of a woman who suffered nine miscarriages. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself. What’s wrong?” She probably got a readout on her ESP-o-meter that tells her whenever I’m in distress.

  “Nothing is wrong. I said one word.”

  “That’s all it takes for me to know something is wrong.”

  I should’ve let the call go to voice mail and texted her. “I’m fine. What’s up with you?”

  “Where are you?”

  I look around, trying to figure out where exactly I am. “On the way home.”

  “Come by for dinner. We’ll talk.”

  The last thing I feel like doing is talking about it, or explaining to my family why I’m heartbroken once again. “Mami, I—”

  “I’ll see you when you get here.”

  The line goes dead.

  I could text her and tell her I’m simply not up for dinner at the restaurant, but she would leave work and come to my place to check on me, and I don’t want her doing that, either. “Ugh.” I start the car, back out of the parking space and head toward the restaurant, feeling dead inside. The elation of the last week has been overshadowed by devastation.

  I wouldn’t have missed spending the time I did with Jason for anything. He made me feel alive again and showed me that I can still have strong feelings for a man. That’s all good news. But the thought of never seeing him again . . .

  My eyes flood with more tears that make it hard for me to see where I’m going. I fumble around in the console and find a pack of tissues. At a red light, I mop up the tears and give myself a stern talking-to about getting it together so I won’t have to explain red, puffy eyes to my family.

  I take a deep, shuddering breath, hold it and then release it slowly, repeating the process several times until I feel calmer. The light changes, and I accelerate through the intersection, intent on keeping my focus on the traffic while trying to ignore the ache in my chest.

  The last place I feel like being is at the restaurant where I’ll be the center of attention, but if I don’t go to them, they’ll come to me. They’re too busy at this hour to leave work, so I go to them. This reminds me of being summoned to appear every night at dinnertime as a teenager so we could pretend to be a normal family that ate dinner together.

  I used to hate that I had to go there every night at six o’clock or run the risk of being tracked down by one or both of my parents. Rather than face their wrath, I did what I was told and showed up on time, especially after they got me a car and told me I was to use it to get to dinner on time or lose the privilege of having my own car.

  Now that I’m older, I realize the value of what they did by making sure I wasn’t home alone every night while they were at work. I did most of my high school homework while sitting at the bar at Giordino’s, which was as much my home as our house was. The habit of stopping in for dinner continued after Tony and I were married. We both enjoyed spending time with my family—and not having to cook on our rare nights off.

  I did a lot of my college and grad school homework there, too, more out of habit than anything. I discovered I wasn’t as efficient at home alone, so I found myself right back there long after the choice was mine to make. Not to mention my parents kept me in food and drink while I worked, so there was that. That’s why they joke that they got me through college and grad school, which isn’t far from the truth.

  They’ve gotten me through everything, and as I pull into the parking lot behind the restaurant, I’m comforted to know they’ll get me through this new heartache, too.

  I pull down the visor to view the damage in the mirror. My eyes are a little red and watery, but overall, it’s not as bad as I expected. Although, my appearance doesn’t matter much, because the people closest to me will take one look and know that something has happened.

  Resigned to my fate, I grab my purse and head inside through the back door, which takes me past the bustling kitchen. The smells coming from there make my mouth water, reminding me that even in the worst of times, my appetite is always robust. That became a joke of sorts after Tony died, and I ate as if nothing had happened. Food has always been my friend that way.

  My stomach rumbles in anticipation of dinner as I make my way to the bar. My dad is holding court, as usual, and leans across the bar to kiss my cheek. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t lie to your old man.”

  “There’s nothing old about you.”

  He raises an eyebrow, letting me know he’s not letting me off the hook.

  I take a seat at the bar. “Bump in the road with Jason. Nothing to worry about. What’re the specials tonight?”

  He puts a glass of chardonnay in front of me and hands me the printout of specials.

  I appreciate that he doesn’t immediately start peppering me with questions the way my mother and grandmothers would. “Where’re the ladies?”

  “Tending to a private party upstairs, which buys you a little time.”

  I share a smile with him, appreciating that he gets that I need that bit of time before the inquisition begins.

  “It’s not terminal, I hope.” He speaks quietly so he won’t be overheard by the other patrons at the bar. “I like him.”

  “I do, too, and I’m not sure if it’s terminal. He might be going back to New York.” I shrug as if that’s not the worst possible outcome—for me. “It’s the best thing for him. That’s where his life is.”

  “Nothing says your life couldn’t be there, too.”

  I glance at him and catch the hint of sadness in warm eyes the same shade of brown as mine. “You trying to get rid of me, Pops?”

  He leans his elbows on the bar. “Not even kinda, but it’s been nice to see you sparkle again.”

  “It’s been nice to feel that way, but nothing says he’s the only one who can make me happy.” The words are no sooner out of my mouth when I call myself a liar. I don’t want anyone else but him.

  “True.”

  I can tell my dad wants to say more but is hesitant to say too much. I nudge his hand. “What?”

  “It’s just that it took five years for you to meet someone who made you want to take a chance again.”

  “And look at what happened when I took that chance.”

  “If you don’t mind me saying, you seem to be giving up rather easily, sweetheart.”

  That has me sitting straighter. “I’m not giving up so much as taking a step back out of self-preservation. I don’t want to live in New York, especially after I just got this job and finally started my career.”

  “Jobs are replaceable. People aren’t. You know that better than anyone.”

  “Jeez, Dad, go for the jugular, why don’t you?”

  He shrugs. “Just speaking the truth. If you care about this guy, and I think you really do, don’t let him go without a fight. Tell him what you want. You might be surprised to discover he wants the same thing you do.”

  “As I said to him, we can’t make huge life and career decisions based on someone we’ve known a week. That’s insane.”

  “I knew two days after I met your mother that I’d never be happy without her in my life. Did I know for sure that I’d marry her and have this amazing life with her? Nope, not yet, but I knew I could not and would not be happy without her.”

  Of course, I know my parents were instantly attracted to and smitten with each other, but their story takes on new meaning for me in light of current events.


  Dad wipes down glasses coming out of the steaming dishwasher. “I’m just saying, if he’s the one for you, you’ll figure it out. Don’t give up on him, sweetheart. He’s a good guy.”

  “I know he is, and that makes everything so much harder. I’d love the chance to get to know him better and to spend more time with him, but I’m not willing to move to New York for a guy I just met.”

  “So do the long-distance thing for a while and see what happens.”

  “And how will that go when he works eighty hours a week?”

  “I have a feeling he’d make time for you. The man never takes his eyes off you.”

  “That is not true!”

  “It’s absolutely true.” He tosses the dish towel over his shoulder. “What do you want for dinner? Dante’s marsala is outstanding tonight. Had some earlier myself.”

  “That sounds good.”

  “House salad, too?”

  “You know me.” I love our house salad with its crispy romaine, tasty roma tomatoes, cucumbers, carrots, black olives, house-made croutons and shredded parmesan cheese. I get it without the red onion.

  “I know you as well as I know myself, and seeing you with him . . . I liked the look of that. Be right back with your salad, love.”

  His sweet words bring new tears to my eyes. While he’s gone, I take the time to check my phone and find a text from Jason that I devour.

  I’m so sorry this has gotten complicated, but one thing isn’t complicated. I like you. A LOT. A LOT. A LOT. I think about you all the time. In one week, you’ve made yourself essential to me in so many ways, most having nothing at all to do with our “project.” I’ve got a lot to figure out, and I completely understand your need to protect yourself in the midst of my madness. I get it, even if I already miss you like crazy.

  “I miss you, too,” I whisper, rereading his message at least ten times before my dad returns, bringing my salad with the house Italian dressing on the side, just the way I like it.

  Dad lifts his chin to ask what’s up.

  I hand over my phone to show him the text.

  He reads it quickly and hands the phone back to me. “Have I mentioned I like this guy?”