by Tamara Lush
Rafa seems to be the only genuine person in the room, and he radiates sincerity and warmth. Which is probably why everyone gravitates to him. I’m silent as I observe him mingle.
He’s so different here than when he’s with me alone. He has the mannerisms and charm of an experienced businessman: an ability to remember people’s names and joke and glad-hand. When I observe him shoulder-to-shoulder alongside Florida richest men, it occurs to me that Rafa symbolizes the essence of Miami: self-made, filled with hustle, always changing. I admire this part of him, although it scares me, because I’m so different.
I down a glass of champagne. My roots are in St. Augustine, a city that looks to the past. Rafa has no roots and thrives in this crazy, transient city. He’s the future.
We aren’t meant to be together. My ruminations are slightly buzzed and sad. I drink another glass of bubbly, quickly, and Rafa looks at me with raised eyebrows and a conspiratorial smile.
He introduces me to everyone, and I keep quiet, smiling gracefully, tenderly, at each new person. There’s no use in being snarky now. The bitterness ebbs out of my body, and a heavy wave of weariness washes over me as I scan the room.
I can’t help but notice that many women are taking an interest in me. One, a bombshell brunette who is on the arm of an older businessman, can’t stop staring at me, to the point where I wonder if I have food between my teeth or something. Rafa and the businessman are deep in conversation.
“So how do you know Rafael?” the woman asks. I’d forgotten the woman’s name about ten seconds after meeting her, flustered by her obvious wealth and aggressive sex appeal. She has that Miami sheen that comes from years of spas, surgery, and seduction—a tiny, tight black dress that makes her breasts spill everywhere, evenly tanned skin, glowing white teeth. Being around people like this annoy and fascinate me. Even though I’m from old Southern money, a fortune that’s long since run out, the overt flaunting of wealth makes me uncomfortable.
I press my lips together before I speak. “We’ve known each other since college.”
“Oh. And?” The woman cocks a perfectly plucked eyebrow at me. Her lush, ruby mouth curves into a knowing smile.
I blink. “And…?”
“Are you dating?”
I nod weakly. “Yes, I guess, yes, we are.”
The woman laughs. “Most women have the same reaction with Rafael. They’re not sure where they stand. I know. I was one of them.”
I must look shocked, because the woman touches my hand and I feel the tips of her nails on my skin. Like claws.
“It’s okay. I’m no longer interested in him. He’s a wonderful man, but super commitment shy. He can only give so much. I think a woman in his past really hurt him. That’s what he said to me. If he can get over that, he would be the perfect husband.”
I’m that woman who really hurt him, I nearly blurt.
“Who would be the perfect husband?” Rafa breaks in, grinning and sliding his arm around me. I wobble uncomfortably in my high heels. A spot near my toe is rubbed raw from where the strap cuts into my flesh. It’s been a bad month for my feet.
“You,” giggles the woman, who irons an invisible wrinkle on Rafa’s tuxedo lapel by running her hand down his chest. I’m not angry or jealous, merely incredulous that the woman is so bold.
Rafa moves a little closer to me and away from her. “I will be an excellent husband for the right woman. Justi, you look hungry. Let’s go find some appetizers for you.”
We bid the woman goodbye, and I’m relieved to get away from the awkward conversation.
“You dated her? Who is she?” I don’t really want the answer. If I thought about it too long, I’d start comparing myself to that gorgeous creature and spiral down a rabbit hole of insecurity.
“I took her out twice. I never had sex with her.” Rafa plucks two artfully arranged shrimp cocktail glasses off a waiter’s tray. “She doesn’t work. She got a huge divorce settlement from a condo developer.”
I nod and, as I pick at my shrimp, spot at least two other women staring at Rafa. And at me. A sickening realization washes over me: this is how it will always be with Rafa if I live here with him.
At least until he becomes bored with me or until I become one of them.
Hours later, we’re back at his penthouse condo. I’m in love with the camel-and-tan hues of his home and wish I could revel in the serenity. But everything about the evening has made my stomach fizz uncomfortably. I walk into the bedroom, and Rafa follows.
“I can’t. I can’t do this.” I sit on the bed gingerly, as if it hurts to move. I slip off the strappy heels that are so tight that indentations are left behind in my skin.
“You can’t do what?” Rafael asks. He stands in front of me and strips off his tuxedo jacket, looking down. He throws the jacket on the bed and undoes his bow tie. He tosses that on the bed, too.
How I love watching him remove his cufflinks. I stare at him, wanting to remember the motions of his hands rolling up his sleeves forever, wanting to imprint the sight of his muscled forearms in my brain.
“This. Miami. You asked if I would close the paper and come here to live with you. I can’t.” My voice is wistful.
Rafael kneels and rubs his thumbs over my raw feet.
“Amor. ¿Que? What? Why? You’re exhausted. I don’t think you know what you’re saying.”
“I’ve thought about it all week. I’ve been so torn. But tonight, at the fundraiser, that’s when I made up my mind. I can’t live this lifestyle, Rafa. It’s not me. I don’t belong here in Miami. I don’t like this whole scene, this glitz. I’m a small-town girl. If you want to kill me, move me here and put me in the company of all these plastic people. I’m not like this. I work. I enjoy my work. I’m not interested in charities and designer fundraisers and cocktail hour. We would hate each other after a while if I had to live like this. I know myself.”
Rafael’s eyes are wide, and I’ve never seen him look so afraid.
“And I can’t close the paper. I’m begging you not to close the paper. Take it digital, sell the building, do whatever you need to do with it. But don’t close it.”
He rests his forehead against my knees, and I stroke his hair with both hands.
“You’ve put me in the worst position, Rafa. You’ve made me choose between the two things I love the most.”
Rafa raises his head. “And once again, you’re not choosing me.”
38
Everything Counts in Large Amounts
I swallow hard. “What can I say? I want both. But I have to think of something other than my own needs.”
And yet, the pain on Rafa’s face tells me that I’m making the wrong decision. Again. Is there a way for me to start this conversation over? I chew on my bottom lip.
“Coño, Justine, we could have the best life here together. Every woman in the world would jump at the chance to be here with me. I’ll take care of you. I’ll buy you anything you want. I’ll give you a fairytale life.”
I cradle his face, and his cheeks are fever-hot. “I’m not just any woman, Rafa. And what would my fairytale be like if it didn’t have a happy ending for the paper? Or for the people who work there? Think about Diana. And everyone else who has worked there for thirty-plus years. I can’t be that selfish. I won’t.”
Rafa squirms out of my hands and stands to pace the room. His voice takes on an edge and rises in volume. He punctuates each sentence with sharp gestures with his hands. “Do you know that I have thought of you every day, every night, every fucking morning since you left eleven years ago? Every morning, I have reached for you in bed, and until a month ago, you weren’t there. And now that I finally have you in my life, you’re going to walk away? Again? Do you know how that makes me feel?”
I stare at the floor and try to stay calm. “I’m not walking away from you. I have an obligation to my business. I want us, but not here in Miami. I’ve never stopped loving you. Not for a minute. And none of this would be happening if you had told
me you loved all those years ago and asked me to marry you.”
Rafa’s back is to me as he stares out the window.
“You’re the only woman who has ever said no to me. And you’re the only woman—hell, the only person—that I can be myself around. Do you understand that? I can’t be real with anyone but you.”
I swallow a giant lump in my throat. “And I feel the same way about you. My defenses are down when I’m with you. All I’m asking is for you to compromise. If I have to compromise for the paper and sell the building or take it all-digital in order for it not to close, you should have to compromise, too.”
He spins around with blazing eyes, stabbing his finger through the air. “Open that nightstand drawer near you. The top one.”
As if moving through thick liquid, I reach over to slide open the drawer of the boxy, modern nightstand. One thing is inside: a lone, black, leather-bound book.
“Take it out,” he commands. I do and set it on my lap.
“Look inside.”
I open it slowly, knowing what I’ll find. It’s a photo album, my photo album, one I’d compiled for him so long ago. I shut the cover.
“I know what this is. I don’t need to look.”
He walks over and flips the cover open. He pushes words out between gritted teeth.
“Look at it.”
I flip the pages, trying not to cry. A photo of me at the Venetian Pool in Coral Gables, laughing in a bikini. One of me and Rafa on the UM campus, kissing. I gasp when I turn to the next page. There are the erotic photos I’d taken of myself. There are also a few others of me that he’d taken back then, haphazardly stuck in between pages.
“Oh, Rafa,” I breathe. “What do you do—”
“What do I do with these? What do you think?” he snarls. “What you wanted me to do with them.”
I thumb through to find more images of me. I was so young and happy, and it makes my heart plummet to think about how uncomplicated everything was back then.
I extract one loose photo, a black-and-white of us making love. I remember when he’d taken it and how he’d set up a tripod and a time-release shutter with my digital camera. He was on top of me, his naked body lithe and sensual, his lips on my neck. I was also naked, my head tilted back in ecstasy, my long hair spreading over a pillow, my leg wrapped around his.
I trace the silvery image with my finger. It’s not raunchy or pornographic. No, it’s beautiful and sensual, a portrait of two people who absolutely adore each other.
“God, we were gorgeous. This was us, Rafa. This was how we used to be. Like one person.”
“It’s how we still are, Justine. You’re the only one who doesn’t see it.” He clasps his hands together in a prayer gesture. “Why don’t you believe in me? Why don’t you trust that I’ll take care of you? Why can’t we get over this last hurdle?”
“I guess because I’ve been taking care of myself for so long. Because I still hurt from what happened when I was pregnant with our baby.”
His hands ball into fists, and those words suck all the air out of the room.
Finally he speaks. “Let me handle everything. Please. Just say you’ll be with me. Trust me. Confia en mi.”
Frowning, I shake my head. “Maybe I don’t want you to handle everything. I know that if I close the paper and don’t have a job, I’ll totally surrender to you. In every way. And I don’t know who I’d be anymore. I’d lose myself, like I did when we were together before.”
“Jesus, Justine.” He raises his arm and goes to punch the door, but stops. I shrink back, stunned. He’s never been like this before.
He spins around, his voice rising in volume. “Do you think I would let you lose yourself? Why would I do that to someone I love?”
I try and fail not to sob. I’m ugly-crying now, snorting and sniffling loudly. I wave the photo in the air. “We can’t get this back if we stay together, Rafael. Too much has happened between us.”
“Look in that other drawer.”
I shut the book softly and set it back on the nightstand. Sliding from the bed to the floor onto my knees, I cry harder. I barely know what I’m saying, what I’m feeling. I paw around in the drawer and look up at Rafa.
“They’re all my things,” I whimper. “You’ve kept them all these years.”
My University of Miami sweatshirt. A silver necklace I’d left behind. A four-inch thick packet of letters and cards I’d sent to Rafael when I was in Latin America.
“You never answered these.” I hold them up in his direction.
Rafael paces, then sinks to the floor, his back against the floor-to-ceiling window. His eyes are swollen, and he looks defeated.
I inspect each thing in the drawer, my heart sinking. A stuffed flamingo I’d given him when classes ended one semester. The first generation iPod I bought him for Christmas. A Paulo Coelho book I’d put in his Christmas stocking.
I had copied a quote from the author onto the title page: “When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.”
If only that were true.
I spot something unfamiliar. It’s a small, black velvet box. Trembling, I pluck it from the drawer.
“Rafa, what’s this?”
“Open it,” he says hoarsely.
It’s a small diamond ring set in rose-gold.
I walked over to the window and kneel in front of him. Tears are running down my cheeks. “When did you buy this?”
“A month before you left.”
I shake my head. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you ask me to marry you?”
Rafa stands and goes to the open drawer. Crouching, he picks up the pack of letters and flips through. Extracting one from the stack, he walks back to me and drops it in my lap. I stare up at him, then down at the letter, brow furrowed in confusion. He paces the room.
I notice the return address. It’s from my father.
“What is this?”
I open it, and the familiar, cursive writing is inked onto black-embossed stationary.
Dear Rafael—
I appreciate that you had the guts to ask me for my daughter’s hand in marriage.
However, I will disown my daughter if she marries you. So if you love her, it’s in her best interest that you don’t ask her.
Edward Lavoie
I shake my head, bewildered. “No. No. This can’t be. I know he didn’t like you, but he wouldn’t have been this cruel.” I twist to look at Rafa, who’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.
With the letter in one hand and the ring in the other, I stand up. “And you listened to him? You did what he asked?”
Rafa doesn’t say anything.
“Answer me,” I say, my voice rising.
I set the ring box on the nightstand and read the letter again. Noticing there’s something behind the letter, I flip the page. What I see feels like a kick to the stomach. It’s a check, signed by my father and made out to Rafael.
For two million dollars.
“What the fuck is this?” I whisper. I’m now standing over Rafa, furious.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, his head still in his hands. “I figured I needed to finally tell you.”
“My father paid you two million dollars to stay away from me?”
Rafa lifts his head, but his eyes are still closed. “I never cashed it.”
I might vomit. “Why?”
“Why didn’t I cash it? I thought about it, but I couldn’t. I was angry at you, but not angry enough to take your father’s money.”
I stare at him, gaping.
“Justine, you didn’t ask my opinion about going to Latin America. I was so pissed that you thought only of yourself. You didn’t consult me. It was as if I was nothing to you, as if we hadn’t been together for years. As if you didn’t fucking respect me at all. You came home one day talking about how your dad would pay for your trip and wasn’t it wonderful and how you would finally achieve all of your goals. I’d always admired yo
ur ambition, but hated how it got between us.”
I sit next to him. Twisting to face him, I wave the papers in his face.
“When did he give this to you?”
“A couple of weeks before you left. I thought you’d come to your senses and not leave. I couldn’t take the money. I hated him for trying to buy me off.”
“But you kept this, all these years? The check? Why? Because you knew you would show it to me one day?”
He shrugs, and the muscle in his jaw bulges. “To motivate me to succeed, probably.”
Hot tears run down my face. “Why didn’t you tell me about this? I called you when I got to Nicaragua. You didn’t even pick up the phone.”
Rafa reaches his hands out as if to cup my face, but they remain suspended in the air, mere inches from my skin. As if he dares not touch me.
“In my anger, I still had so much love for you. I decided to leave you alone because I didn’t want you to be without your family. Your only family. I knew what it was like to be without parents. I decided to step aside so you and your father could maintain a relationship. And as long as he was alive, I knew I couldn’t be in your life because I hated him that much.”
“Jesus Christ. Couldn’t you have told me about this so I could have made that decision myself?” My chest constricts, and I breathe shallow.
He strokes my hair. “You didn’t consult me when you decided to leave.”
I shudder a breath. “That’s because I was so upset with you for being so cold after the miscarriage. I thought you had stopped loving me. And talking about ambition, you were relentless back then. Working all the time. So I thought we needed space. And you didn’t try to stop me.”
His hands clamp around my face.
“You’re right. I didn’t tell you how I felt. I shut down, I know that now. I wanted everything to be perfect before I asked you to be my wife. I wanted to be making money. I wanted to be worthy of you. It’s like I’ve never been worthy of you.”
