“For five nights. I leave this Friday and I’ll be back on Wednesday.”
I tried not to look happy as the wheels in my head started spinning about having a weekend without Aaron. “Okay, let me know if you need me to pick up your dry cleaning before you go.”
Aaron looked up from his paper and gently pushed his glasses back up. He seemed slightly surprised at my offer, but I always did things like that for him. I guess he just thought the magic maid took care of all the household necessities.
“Thank you. That would be very helpful.” He reached into his pocket and took out a few hundred-dollar bills. “Will this be enough?” he attempted to joke.
“I think it will just cover it.” I smiled at him.
“Well, you take the change and buy yourself something pretty.”
“Thank you, Aaron.” I smiled and tucked the money into my cleavage. “I better jump in the shower. I have to get Arielle to school. Have a good day.”
But all I got was an “uh huh.” In a matter of seconds, I had lost him to the newspaper.
I took the fastest shower I could. I was dying to call Tyrone to see if he could come over while Aaron was in Tokyo. My niece was having her birthday party on Saturday afternoon, and my sister had already invited Arielle to stay for a sleepover. I couldn’t believe my good fortune.
As soon as I dropped off Arielle at school, I raced back to my car. My hands were shaking when I picked up the phone to call him.
Two rings and his sexy voice was on the other line. “Hey, baby. How are you?”
“I’m great! How are you?”
“Good, baby. You sound excited. What’s up?”
My heart was racing. “So Aaron just told me he has to go away this weekend and my daughter is going to my sister’s so I was wondering if you could come visit.”
“Wow, really? You want me to come over? Would you rather get a hotel?”
“No, Ty. I want you to come to my house. I would love to make you dinner. And guess what prescription I got from my OB/GYN?”
“No shit, for real? You went on the pill for me?” He seemed genuinely surprised.
“I sure did, a month ago, so it’s officially safe for us to have sex without a condom.”
“You’re incredible, darling. I’m going to fuck your brains out. What time do you want me there?”
I squealed with elation. “I’m bringing Arielle to my sister’s around four, so how about six o’clock Saturday night?”
“Oh, baby, we should be fucking all day, every day. You are pure sex, Julia. I can’t wait to see you. I miss you so much.”
My heart skipped a beat. “I miss you too, Ty. Can’t wait for Saturday night.”
MARIA
I used to think that I loved my kids more than I loved myself, more than I loved life itself. And I did … until I didn’t.
It probably hadn’t happened overnight, but that’s how it felt. One cold day, I woke up and just didn’t want it anymore. I was tired. So, so tired, like I had a hangover that radiated through my bones, through my pores. I could even feel the exhaustion in my fingertips.
I longed to be just me. Not a copy editor or a mom or a cook or a chauffeur, not a referee or a tutor or a punching bag. Being that needed was no longer exhilarating. It was sucking the life out of me, and I couldn’t do it for one more day.
Telling Zack that I needed a break wasn’t an option. He was so damn important at work, it was like the world would end if he took a day off. I knew he would never let me take time away to recharge my batteries. I arranged for the kids to spend the weekend at Liz’s house and left Zack a note that said I was going to my grandma’s house for a few days. I said she was sick, and I needed to spend some time with her. He would buy that story so easily.
My suitcase was staring at me from my huge walk-in closet. I barely remember packing, but somehow a few days’ worth of jeans, cute tops, dresses, and shoes made their way into it.
When I got in the car and turned over the ignition, the noise startled me from my daze. It was like my last chance to turn around, go back in the house, back to my life. But I couldn’t. I had to go see if my heart was right.
I put my Jeep in reverse and pulled out of my driveway. The entire way down my block, I could see my house getting smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. It was just like my life. What was once vivid and vibrant about me was barely visible. I had become my tiny house in the rearview mirror.
I’d like to say that I didn’t know where I was going that day. I simply decided to take off, to just drive and let the road take me someplace. But I’ve done enough lying to the world and to myself to buy that line. I got in the car and drove up the coast. Lakewood and all of its splendor was calling my name.
I drove down the Pacific Coast Highway letting the salt air relax my cares away. The sun beat down on my car, but the cool breeze from my open window kept the interior the perfect temperature. It was the ideal day for a long drive.
On my drive, everything from Rihanna to Kenny Chesney kept me company. One pit stop, a Diet Coke, and ninety minutes later, I arrived in Lakewood. Home sweet home.
Enrique was there. I knew he was. I had just read on his Facebook wall that his mom had passed two days ago after a long and painful battle with cancer. He would be staying at her house for a couple weeks, cleaning it up and getting ready to sell it.
Calling would have been the right thing to do, but I was on a streak of doing the wrong thing. What was the point of stopping now? After I checked into the Winston Hotel, I took a quick shower. Looking in the mirror was difficult. Not because I needed some Botox, but because I didn’t feel like I recognized myself. Maria was buried under “Mama.” I needed to uncover her again.
I should have spent more time on my makeup—God knows I had more makeup than a whorehouse—but I decided to put on just the basics. Ten minutes later I had some color to my cheeks, my blue eyes looked awake, and my lips were shiny. I wasn’t sure if people were still at his house for the wake, so I put on my black dress and heels.
Enrique’s childhood home was only a few minutes away from the hotel. My knees were shaking the whole drive there. “Deep breaths, Maria, in through your nose, out through your mouth,” I repeated in my head.
The driveway was full, and cars lined both sides of the street. Mrs. Martinez had been a kind, loving woman, so seeing so many people there to pay their respects wasn’t surprising. The house looked the same from the outside. Like all the other houses on the street, it was a typical three-bedroom, middle-class home. It was painted a cheery shade of yellow; there were three trees in the back yard, bushes in the front, and a driveway to the side. It looked like his mother had replaced the roof since the last time I’d been here. I grew up just a few blocks away in a house almost exactly like this one.
I looked through the screen door to see the front door was open. Slowly I turned the knob. The house was full of people of all ages, laughing and talking about Mrs. Martinez. Her house was always open to neighbors, friends, and church members, and she was like a mother to the entire neighborhood. It was only fitting that her friends and family meet here one more time.
“Oh my goodness, is that you, Maria?” Enrique’s younger sister, Rebecca, gasped as she ran over and hugged me.
I hugged her back. “I was so sorry to hear about your mom. I really loved her.”
I looked up and there was Enrique, no more than two feet behind Rebecca. He furrowed his brow, looking confused to see me but relieved as he walked over to me.
“Maria? I can’t believe you came. How did you even know?” He hugged me tight; his arms felt so muscular and protective. I relaxed into his arms before he let me go.
“I saw it on your Facebook.”
“Oh, yeah. Duh. Wow, but you’re really here. You drove all the way here for my mom?”
“Of course I did. She was like a second mom to me in high school.”
Enrique grabbed his coat. “Hey, let’s take a walk. It’s getting stuffy in here
.” He put his hand on my back and guided me out the door.
We walked down the block, and before we turned the corner, Enrique very gently took my hand in his. We walked like that until we got to the park. Neither of us said a word on the way there, but I knew where he was taking me. That was our spot in high school. That’s where things started, where they ended, and now, apparently, where they would begin again.
My heart was hurting for Enrique. I knew how close he was to his mom, how much he loved her and would miss her.
He was looking off in the distance, so I squeezed his hand to get his attention. “How are you holding up?”
He turned his face away from me before he spoke. “I don’t know. I’m still kind of numb, you know? My mom was in so much pain for so long that I thought I’d feel some relief when she finally passed. Like I’d be glad she wouldn’t have to go through chemo anymore or fake her way through a smile. But it’s not like that at all. I just miss her. I know it’s selfish, but I just wish she was still here.”
He looked back at me with tears streaming down his face. Seeing him in so much pain instantly brought tears to my eyes as well. We sat on our park bench and quietly cried together. I reached into my purse and pulled out a pack of tissues. I tried to hand one to Enrique, but he didn’t take it. He wanted to cry, and I knew how that felt. So I pulled his head in close to my chest.
“It’s okay, Enrique. Just cry. Go ahead. Let it all out.” He nodded in agreement and cried buckets and buckets of tears. I held him close, my head resting on top of his. I wanted to be strong for him, but my well was too full to keep it in anymore. The two of us sat there for at least fifteen minutes just crying, holding onto each other for dear life. At last, I felt like I had finished. I lifted my head, grabbed a tissue from my purse, and blew my nose.
Enrique lifted his head and noticed my chest was soaked.
“Oh my God, I’ve ruined your dress!” Enrique was mortified.
“Eh, you should see what I did to your head.”
We both started laughing, and it was good to see a smile on his face.
“Maria, thank you. I’ve been working so hard to be strong for my mom and my sister, my kids; I haven’t had time to cry. I really needed that.”
“See, women aren’t crazy. A good cry can be very therapeutic.”
“Apparently,” he chuckled. “So are you okay? Something tells me your crying isn’t just empathy for me.”
I choked back the tears. “I’ve been better. But that’s for another day.”
Without knowing how broken my marriage really was or how broken I was, Enrique leaned over and softly kissed my lips. I hadn’t felt this whole since we were together last year.
I started shaking. I wasn’t sure if it was the cold air or the way Enrique sent shivers up my spine, but he noticed.
“Hey, it’s getting chilly out here. Let’s head back to the house.”
I nodded, and we walked back to his mother’s house holding hands. It was the most natural thing in the world. I didn’t really care if anyone saw us. Enrique was the first boy I ever loved, my high school sweetheart, the keeper of my heart. I was going to hold his hand and that was that.
Rebecca was sitting on the front porch when we got back to the house. Her eyebrows arched a little when she noticed we were holding hands, but she didn’t say anything.
“Enrique, Mrs. Lewis wants to know if she should bring more food by tomorrow.”
“Sure, tell her that we really appreciate it.”
Rebecca stood up and held the door for us. “You guys coming in?”
“We’ll be there in a minute. You go ahead.” Enrique turned back to face me. “Maria, the funeral is tomorrow morning at nine o’clock at Our Lady of Peace Church. I’ll be doing the eulogy. It would mean a lot to me and to my family if you could come.”
“Of course I’ll be there.”
Enrique reached down and quickly kissed me again. “Thanks, baby doll.”
“No problem, amor.” I turned to leave and then, just like we were eighteen years old all over again, I tugged my right ear once and placed my fist on my chest. It was our secret code for “I’ll always love you.”
His eyes welled up with tears again and then, under the fluorescent porch light, the first boy I ever loved signed to me that he would always love me too.
That night I lay in my hotel room bed replaying the evening’s events again and again. Had I imagined how tightly he’d held me while we were crying on the bench? And his lips! That anything felt so good was proof to me that yes, there was a God.
I fell asleep hugging my pillow, imagining it was Enrique. My dreams were fitful and crazy. I was running down a highway and not able to stop. Then I was in the backseat of a car that was spinning out of control because no one was behind the wheel. But I saved the best for last. Right before I woke up, I dreamed Enrique and I were making love on a tropical island and all I could see was him and a beautiful sunset in the distance. I woke up smiling to the beep of my iPhone alarm clock.
Back home, exhaustion had become a part of my daily life, working all day and contemplating my life all night. I threw on my workout clothes and headed to the hotel gym. A quick thirty-minute run on the treadmill and my head felt a little clearer. Staying in shape is the fortunate side effect of my needing to work out. I spend most of my days holding my breath, afraid of what will happen if I let go. Running forces me to breathe.
I had an hour to get ready for the funeral. I spent a little time on my makeup, put my hair up in a French twist, and arrived at the church a few minutes later. I sat in the back so I could see Enrique and his family coming in when it started.
The limo pulled up in front, and Enrique and Rebecca climbed out. Their dad had passed away many years ago, and it occurred to me that they were now orphans. Grownups, of course, but still, I couldn’t imagine that kind of emptiness.
Enrique put on his Ray-Bans and ran his hand through his silky hair. He always did that when he was nervous or contemplating something. He searched the crowd, and then our eyes met. I put up my hand in a half wave. He gave me a half smile and I smiled back, reassuring him that I was there for him.
Enrique, his two best friends, and his three cousins were the pallbearers. They counted to three and hoisted the coffin onto their shoulders. It was so hard to believe. The woman who carried him in her womb for nine months, delivered him, nursed him, fed him, loved him for thirty-eight years was gone.
They say that with age comes wisdom, but life and all of its insanity was making things harder, not easier, to understand or make sense of.
After the priest said a few words, Enrique walked up to the pulpit with a paper. He was trembling with sorrow; the paper with his notes shook in his hands as he began to read.
Almost exactly three years ago, our family and our closest friends were in this church on a beautiful day, just like this one, celebrating my nephew’s baptism. And my mama, Angela Martinez, was the proudest abuela in the whole world.
The baptism was beautiful, and at one point I had tears in my eyes. My mom motioned for me to stop crying. Afterwards I asked her, “Mom, why did you do that? I was just happy.”
And she said, “No crying today. We’re supposed to be celebrating.”
So I know she wouldn’t want us to cry today. She would want us to celebrate her life.
She certainly celebrated her life and all those who knew her. She loved to have a good time and to spend time with friends and family. She knew how to live life to its fullest; she drank in every day and squeezed every drop out of her life.
My mom loved to travel and spent the last few years going to Europe and visiting family in Argentina. She came home with stories of her amazing adventures and showered her loved ones with gifts.
What she didn’t realize was that we didn’t need presents from her. She had already given us the best gift possible: her unconditional love. Her enthusiasm, her steadfast support of her children, her devotion to us was evident every day. No mat
ter what was going on in my or Rebecca’s life, she was there for us.
When I wanted to start my own company, most people thought I was crazy. After all, what did I know about running a business, right? My mom listened to my sales pitch, put her hand on my shoulder, and said, “Enrique, is this what you really want?” When I told her it was, she said, “Then do it. You will succeed. I know you will. I believe in you.”
Her support inspired me to move forward. I pursued my dream and I love my job.
When my sister Rebecca was pregnant, she almost lost the baby. Rebecca had to go on bed rest for her final trimester. My mom went to her house every day; she cooked and cleaned and took care of her. When Rebecca went into labor five weeks early, my mom was her rock. She bounced between taking care of Rebecca after an emergency C-section and holding my nephew, Angel, in the NICU.
My mom would hold Angel close to her heart and sing him Spanish lullabies. The nurses were all amazed at how his vitals would improve every time she did that. My mom said it was no miracle, that love was more powerful than any IV or drug. For Angel, feeling her heartbeat and hearing her voice was soothing to him because it was like being in his mama’s womb.
My mom was right; there are no medical miracles. There was nothing that could save her from the cancer that killed her. But she was right about love and its power.
During her last few days, my mom was mostly sleeping and unconscious. But when she was awake and lucid, she just wanted to hold our hands. She was so weak she could barely speak, but she would reach for my hand and squeeze it, and I could see her lips moving, barely audible, but she would whisper, “I love you,” and then close her eyes again.
The day before she died, my mom and I sat together in her hospital room and just cried together. I told her how much I loved her and how much we would miss her. She made me promise that I would be okay, and I said I would. The last words my mom ever said to me were, “Enrique, I love you. Life is short. Be happy, mi angel del cielo.”
She never missed an opportunity to tell us how much joy we brought to her life. In life, I was her “angel del cielo,” her angel from heaven. And as devastated as I am that my mom is gone, I know, now… she is mine.
Sex and the Social Network Page 19
