Nine Years Gone

by Shelly Cruz

  “You know?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. He responds with a nod and a sexy lopsided grin.

  When he drives up to my house, I’m gathering my things to say goodbye and make a run for the front when Massimo says, “Hang on, I have an umbrella. I’ll walk you.”

  “You don’t have to. It’s okay if I get a little wet.”

  “I like you nice and wet too.” He winks, before continuing, “But I want to. I’m not ready to let you go just yet.” I can feel the heat rise to my cheeks at his remark. Good thing he’s turning to get out of the Jeep.

  He meets me at the passenger door, and I exit, where Massimo wraps his arm around me so we can both be under the umbrella.

  Once at the front door, underneath the shelter of the balcony’s roof, he tosses the umbrella to the floor and steps into me, grasping onto my hips.

  “I had such an amazing time last night and this morning. I’m not ready for our date to end.” His voice is low and husky. He squeezes my hips and kisses my beauty mark.

  “Me too,” is all I can manage to say. His proximity makes it hard to think clearly.

  “This is gonna sound crazy, but I’m gonna say it anyway,” he says with a crooked grin. “I know you’re off tonight and then work for the next few nights. What do you think about hanging out again later? I don’t think I can wait until next week to see you, and I can’t just go to the bar tomorrow like I always have. Things are different now, and it’ll be near impossible for me to sit there and just watch you work and pretend that small talk will be enough. Not after last night and this morning.”

  “You’re right. It sounds crazy.” His face falls when he hears my words. “But I like crazy, so yes.”

  He’s grinning again, rubbing his thumbs back and forth over my cheeks. “Want to come back to my place? We can order takeout and watch a movie.”

  “Only if we can watch Rocky.”

  “Get outta here. You like Rocky?”

  Nodding, I say, “It’s one of my favorites. I love them all. If you don’t like Rocky, I don’t know if this—” I gesture my hand between the two of us “—will work out.”

  “Like it? I can basically quote all the movies. ‘Together we fill gaps,’” he says, with a big toothy smile.

  I’m ecstatic over the quote he chose. “You’re so cheesy!”

  “Oh yeah? Come here. I’ll show you how cheesy I am.” He starts kissing me as if it’s the last time he’ll ever see me, and I respond in kind.

  “You guys gonna stand outside and make out all day?” Luci asks, interrupting us. I look over at her, and she’s leaning against the doorjamb, still in her sweatpants and T-shirt.

  “Hi, Luci. This is Massimo.” I gesture to him, and he’s already extending his hand and leaning in to give her a cheek-to-cheek kiss. I remove my glasses using my shirt to wipe them clean before putting them back on.

  “Hi, Luci. It’s good to finally meet you.”

  “You too, although I feel like I already know you, Lena talks about you all the time.”

  I could kill her! I can’t believe she just said that to him. Of course, Massimo loves it because he’s grinning from ear to ear.

  “That’s good to hear. Here I thought I was barely a thought in Lena’s mind.”

  “You’re right, Lena. He’s cute.”

  I shake my head and laugh. How embarrassing yet typical.

  “Yeah, I think so too,” I respond.

  “I’ll let you two get back to your make out session. It was nice to finally meet you, Massimo. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again.” She smirks before going back inside, closing the front door behind her. I can see her walking toward the kitchen through the door’s glass pane.

  “She loves to do stuff like that to me.”

  “You know you love her for it.”

  “I do. She keeps it real. So, what time do you want to meet later?”

  “Whenever. Just let me know, and I’ll come pick you up.”

  “You don’t have to. I’ll drive to you.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind.” He steps closer to me, pushing back the curls falling over my eyes.

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “Okay. Call me when you’re on your way.” He gives me one last peck, grabs the umbrella, and sprints to the car.

  I watch him back out of the driveway and then go inside. As soon as I close the door, I hear Luci say, “Holy shit, Lena! You weren’t fucking lying when you said he was hot. Damn, that man is f-i-n-e FINE!”

  “You have no idea! He’s so… I don’t even know how to explain him. He’s sexy and sweet and an incredible kisser!” My fingers trace my lips as I say the words, remembering the feeling. I sigh and head to the cabinet to pull down the coffee to make a pot of espresso in the Bialetti coffee maker.

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “How was he in bed?”

  I stop what I’m doing to look at her, leaning into the kitchen counter. “So good. So. Fucking. Good! I don’t think I’ve ever had an orgasm like that.” I grab the coffee maker and twist it open to fill it with water, and place the coffee basket back in.

  “Ugh!” she sighs. “I need to get laid so I can have that look on my face too.”

  “You do, especially by a man like that. He must’ve given me at least five orgasms, between last night and this morning.”

  “Damn, girl, look at you as you talk about him. You’re glowing.”

  Turning back to finish making coffee, with a spoon, I scoop some coffee grounds into the coffee maker, twist it closed, and put it onto the stovetop. “I really like him, Luce—like a lot! I know it was just our first date, but it didn’t feel like it. He was funny, sweet, flirtatious, asked a lot of questions as if he’s genuinely interested in getting to know me. Most guys I dated in the past loved talking about themselves.”

  “Before interrupting you, I was being creepy and watching you guys through the door and the way he stares at you. That man is in love!”

  “No, he isn’t!” I open the cabinet door, grab two espresso cups, and place them onto the counter.

  “Oh, he totally is. Mark my words.”

  “Is it crazy of me to think I could see myself falling for him too?”

  “Yes and no. I mean, yesterday was your first date, but you’ve known him for a while, so not really. When are you seeing him again?”

  “Later tonight.”

  “Already?”

  “I know. I feel like I’m rushing, but I can’t help it. It was his idea, though. Said he couldn’t wait until my days off next week to see me.” I gnaw on my bottom lip as thoughts of Massimo swirl.

  The aroma of the coffee brewing hits my nose. I turn the stove off, grab a spoon to stir it, and pour some in each of our cups, handing Luci hers before sitting.

  “Follow your gut; it never steers you wrong. You’ll be fine. You already learned that mistake the hard way, so I know this time you won’t ignore it.”

  “Seriously. Had I followed my gut instinct, I would’ve broken up with Stefano long before things ended the way they did.”

  “Let’s not ruin a great morning, enough about that jerk. Are you still doing laundry today?” she asks.

  “Ugh, yeah. If I don’t, I won’t have clothes for work this weekend. When I’m done drinking coffee, I’ll go change, and we can head out. After we get everything into the washer, we can have lunch next door while we wait.”

  “Hi, beautiful.” Massimo answers my call on the second ring.

  Luci and I did laundry and had lunch. After putting my clothes away, I showered and got dressed, then called my parents and one of my sisters to chitchat. I didn’t want to call him too early and sound eager, but it was torture waiting for time to pass.

  “Hi. Whatcha doing?” I ask in a breathy voice.

  “Just got in from visiting my parents. I haven’t seen them since Sunday, and my mother gets worried if she hasn’t seen one of us for more than two days. Old school, ya know?”

  “You have a
good relationship with her?”

  “Very good. I either see her or talk to her every day. She gives great advice and always knows what I need. Usually before I do.”

  “That’s awesome.”

  “It is, especially since I don’t have one with my father.” His candidness surprises me, considering we’ve only been on one date.

  “I’m sorry. It’s never easy when relationships with parents are strained.”

  “It’s fine. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about my father. Are you still coming over?” Wow, that change of tone was like night and day.

  “I am. What should I bring? A bottle of wine?”

  “Just bring all your sexiness. I got everything else covered.”

  “I think I can handle that. I’ll leave now.”

  “When you get here, pull into the lot and give the guard my unit number. He’ll direct you to the visitors’ spots.”

  When I exit the elevator and turn toward Massimo’s unit, he’s in the hall waiting for me. He’s barefoot, jeans hanging low and a T-shirt that’s too short for him, giving me a peek at the skin between the top of his jeans and the hem of his shirt. His hair is unruly and sticking up in all directions. As soon as I get close to him, he kisses me.

  At first, his kisses are soft, his lips caressing mine. But then his tongue penetrates my mouth and swirls over and around fervently, his hands grasping onto me with possessiveness.

  I pull away and look around, afraid that one of his neighbors may interrupt us. “Hi,” I say. My fingers linger on my lips, my breathing heavy.

  “I missed you,” he confesses.

  “I see that,” I respond, biting my lower lip while smirking.

  “Come inside.” He holds the door open for me, and I step in, slipping my booties off and placing them on the mat to my left.

  When I enter the living area, I see the table set. There is a bottle of red wine in the middle of it next to a vase of red roses in full bloom, the cupped petals perfectly symmetrical. I place my pockabook onto the end table, opening it in search of a cloth to wipe my glasses. Once they’re clean, I drop it back in my bag.

  “Everything looks nice, and these flowers are gorgeous.”

  “For you.”

  “Thank you, that was sweet. Want me to pour us some wine?”

  “That would be good. Then I can call the restaurant to order. One of my guys will bring it to us.”

  “Great. I eat pretty much everything—except no veal and no swordfish.”

  “Okay. I’ll order a few things to share. A caprese salad, and bucatini all’ amatriciana. Do you prefer involtini di pollo or grilled lamb?”

  “Let’s do the chicken.” I pad over to the dining table to open the bottle of wine while Massimo calls in the order. I pour, swirl, sniff, and sip it. It’s delicious.

  When he’s finished, he saunters over, and I hand him his glass.

  The melody of the music streaming through the speakers is hauntingly beautiful, and I ask, “What are we listening to?”

  “Andrea Bocelli’s ‘Aria: The Opera Album.’ It’s one of my mother’s favorites, and it grew on me.”

  “I’d never take you as a guy who likes opera.”

  “I’d never take you as a girl who likes Rocky.”

  I purse my lips and nod before turning toward the balcony’s sliding doors. “Can I open it, go outside?” My hand is resting on the handle.

  He strides toward me, stands flush at my back, and murmurs, “The answer is always yes,” softly at my ear. It sends shivers down my spine. With his left hand, he covers mine with his, unlocks the door, and slides it to the right, opening it.

  It’s the tail end of the day; the sky is changing colors as the sun sets behind the city skyline. It’s so peaceful out here. I rest my arms on the railing, taking in the deep oranges across the horizon and hiding behind the tall buildings. “What an amazing view.” The city’s skyscrapers fill the sky to the right, with the Boston Harbor extending wide across. In the distance to my left, Logan Airport’s control tower stands tall. “Do you come out here often?”

  “No. I work too much.”

  I glance at him. “But you must take a day off at least once a week, no?”

  He shrugs. “Not really. I took last night and tonight off to be with you but haven’t had a full day off in months. Between the restaurant and helping my parents, I’m always busy. It’s good to have my head occupied though, keeps me out of trouble.”

  “You’re definitely trouble. It’s written all over here.” I lift my hand to touch his face, swiping my thumb across his right cheek. I begin leaning into him, wanting to taste him and press my lips to his, jutting my tongue out in search of his, and he complies. Our tongues twist and swirl, deepening our kiss, but his phone ringing interrupts us.

  “Sorry,” he says, his breathing heavy. “It might be our dinner. Otherwise, I wouldn’t even have the phone on me.” He checks his phone and then answers it. When he hangs up, he says, “I’m going to meet Kevin downstairs and bring everything up.”

  “Do you want me to help you?”

  “No, I’m good. You relax. I’ll be right back,” he says and jogs out toward the door. I linger on the balcony, taking in the last few minutes of dusk, enjoying the brisk air. My fingers rub my swollen lips, remembering his kisses. I would give anything to have an apartment as sweet as this one. I’d sit out on this balcony every day, the weather permitting; enjoy my coffee; and read my books. It’s heaven. If things continue as they’ve been, I may be able to do just that. I really like him and hope we’re not rushing only to realize he’s too good to be true. I’m not ready to have my heart broken again, and I know he would shatter it.

  “I’m back.” I hear him say.

  Massimo pulls the DVDs from the entertainment center and drops them onto the coffee table, and we sit on the couch to relax.

  “Oh, you have all five movies.”

  “My brother and I used to watch these movies all the time growing up. We’d love catching them on TV back in the day.”

  “Ah, the good ole days.”

  “Which one do you want to watch?”

  “All of them, but let’s start with the first.” At that, he rewards me with a crescent-shaped smile.

  “Yo, Lena, let’s do this.” He winks and gets up to put in the movie.

  CHAPTER 6

  Noche Buena

  MARIALENA

  Two Months Later

  “BABE, WHAT SHOULD WE do for Christmas this year? It’ll be our first together,” Massimo asks.

  “What do you usually do?” I respond.

  “I’m with my parents on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. What about you?”

  “Christmas Eve, or Noche Buena as we call it, is the big night for my family,” I begin telling him. “We celebrate that night more than Christmas Day. We usually go to my Tio Ramon’s house for Noche Buena; his house is known as the party house. Christmas Day, we go to my parents’ house to open gifts and have an early dinner. We keep it chill.”

  “Do you want to do the twenty-fourth with your family, and we can have Christmas Day with mine?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  I load the car with the gifts I have for my aunts, uncles, and cousins. My mom is making the potato salad to take, and she asked me to make coquito. Earlier this week, when I was making it, Massimo came over to hang out. He was curious about the drink since he’d never seen it. Puerto Rican egg nog was the easiest way for me to explain it. Coconut milk, sweetened condensed milk, evaporated milk, egg yolks, rum, and cinnamon. It’s my father’s recipe. I hope everyone likes it as much as they like my dad’s, although his is undoubtedly better than mine.

  When he backs out of my driveway, Massimo asks, “Where in Cambridge are we going so I know which way to go?”

  “Broadway, near Kendall Square. I usually take the Pike and get off at the Allston-Brighton exit.” I’m searching the radio for some music and stop when I hear *NSYNC singing “It’s Gonna Be Me” and crank u
p the volume. As he’s driving, Massimo is stealing glimpses to watch me sing along, trying to hide his smirk.

  When the song ends, he turns the volume down and says, “You and your boy bands.” He chuckles.

  “You jealous?”

  “Nah.” His hand lands on my leg and he runs it up toward my apex. “This is all mine.”

  I bite my lip at his gesture and my heart pounds in my chest.

  “Are you ready for the Puerto Rican house party?” I ask.

  “What should I expect?” he responds, glancing over at me before switching lanes to get off at the exit.

  “There’s gonna be a ton of people there. Tio Ramon is my father’s brother. All of my aunts and uncles from the area go over, plus most of my cousins and my cousins’ kids. You’ll see. It’s a serious house party with a lot of people, loud music, dancing, drinking, and tons of food, which is my favorite part.”

  “Of course, it is. It’s one of the things I love about you; you enjoy food as much as I do.” He lifts his hand, brushes his fingers across my cheek. My heart skips a beat at his admission.

  “Oh, and my dad and uncles sing old school Puerto Rican folk songs with their instruments.”

  That catches his attention, and his eyes widen when he asks, “What kind of instruments?”

  “My father plays the güiro, which is this long wooden percussion instrument. It’s open on one end and has notches cut into one side. It’s played by rubbing tines along the notches to make a ratchet, scratching like sound—tsch, tsch, tsch, tsch—like that. My tio Ramon plays the cuatro, which is a small guitar with five strings. And, depending on the night, one of my other uncles plays the conga drum. My father is the one who likes to sing the most.”