Mia Like Crazy

by Cordoba, Nina

  A few minutes after he disappeared into the kitchen, Drew returned with a plate and set it down in front of me. It contained scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast with butter. I realized I really was hungry, despite the heavy feeling I’d had in the pit of my stomach all morning.

  “Is there someone in there cooking this?” I wondered out loud.

  “Just me,” he answered.

  I began eating and was surprised at how quickly I cleaned the plate.

  “Wow, do you always eat like that?” he asked.

  “I think I’m in a calorie deficit from yesterday, and this is pretty good. How is it you know how to cook?”

  “It was my prison job.”

  “Oh.” I was sorry I asked. That was the last thing I wanted to talk about this morning.

  He smiled, apparently pleased he’d made a fool of me. “Actually, I learned when I was a kid. Satan didn’t like to take care of me, and I didn’t want to live on cold hot dogs and peanut butter sandwiches, so I taught myself to cook.”

  So, the first distasteful statement was a joke, and the second heart-wrenching one was the truth. I wondered if I would ever get used to Drew’s weird sense of humor or his sudden bursts of brutal honesty.

  Not knowing what else to say, I told the truth, too. “My dad wasn’t around and my mom…well, couldn’t take care of me much of the time, but it didn’t teach me any homemaking skills.”

  “Yeah, I noticed.” He appeared to be teasing me more than judging me, so I smiled at him.

  It was as though my smile reminded him of something. His expression became more serious. He stood up and went back into the kitchen without a word. I patted my lips lightly with my napkin, placed it on the table, and scooted my chair back a few inches. I wondered if I should take my plate to the kitchen or wait until he finished whatever he was doing in there.

  Seconds later, he reappeared and looked as though he was about to do something else, but noticed my dishes still sitting on the table. “Oh.” He grabbed my plate and utensils and hustled them back through the door.

  He came back once more, and I steeled myself for what was coming. He was going to offer me the three million dollars again, and I was going to say…?

  Suddenly, he was down on one knee directly in front of me. My heart stopped as he began what sounded like a prepared speech.

  “Medina, I know we haven’t known each other long, but I feel like we’ve got a connection…or something.” He faltered, but recovered quickly. “I can’t imagine that a more beautiful, brilliant, or unusual woman exists on this planet, and I’m afraid of space travel. So, will you marry me?”

  As he said the last few words, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a little black box. He opened it to reveal the most perfect marquis-shaped diamond ring I’d ever seen. He stared down at it for several seconds, then his eyelids lifted slowly until his deep brown eyes were locked with mine. They were dragging me into him again. I stopped breathing. Tears welled up in my eyes so fast I thought there was no way I could blink them back.

  This was what other women always dreamed of. I never knew until that moment that somewhere, deep inside, I must have dreamed of it too. A real proposal. Just like on TV.

  I felt like I should reach out and touch him. My hand jerked forward but stopped in mid-air. I still sensed that invisible force field between us, so I concentrated on trying to blink the moisture from my eyes.

  Apparently unable to keep quiet through a mere three seconds of silence after his big proposal, he added. “See, this way, when we have to convince them the marriage is real, you can describe the proposal and everything.”

  The tears of happiness I was about to shed turned into liquid humiliation. It was too late to exercise my iron will. The drops began streaming down my face, which I quickly covered with my hands. Drew seemed bewildered by what was happening, but managed to produce a box of tissues.

  I tried to dry my eyes, but the dam had broken and there was no stopping the ensuing flood. When I glanced up, even through the blur of waterworks, I could see the boyish confusion on his face. It squeezed my heart even as the anger of the fake proposal stabbed through it.

  “Drew,” I choked out. “You can’t do that to someone. It’s not right. Surely you know…” I couldn’t seem to form a sentence that would sum up what he’d done and how I was feeling. The look on his face brought to mind the fact that he’d grown up without a mother. Maybe he didn’t have a clue he’d committed such a heinous act. I decided to put it into words he might relate to. “Look, you can’t mess around with the proposal thing, and the one knee, and the ring and everything. It might be a great scam to you, but—”

  His eyebrows pushed together. “So, I screwed it up?”

  “No, that’s the problem. You didn’t screw it up. It was beautiful and heart-warming and special. Any woman would have wanted a proposal like that. Who’d you pay to write the speech for you, Meri’s social secretary?”

  “No. I wrote it…for you.” He sounded crushed by my accusation.

  I felt another onslaught coming, and couldn’t bear to do any more crying in front of this cynical, child-like convicted felon who had no clue when it came to basic human emotions. In the most cowardly act of my life, I fled up the stairs.

  When I finally pulled myself together, a half-hour later, I changed into my most comforting around-the-house clothing, consisting of a pair of soft, stretchy, pink exercise pants, which fit like a second skin, and a white tank top. I went into my bathroom and washed the streaked makeup off my face. As I did, I wondered how Drew had gotten a fabulous ring so fast, and whether it had anything to do with the early morning visit I thought I’d imagined.

  Then, I sat down on my bed with a legal pad and pen. It was time to reclaim the Mia Medina I knew—the one I had created myself, from nothing. I would approach this situation with logic and good sense, regardless of any lunacy that was taking place around me.

  I knew the first thing I had to do was put the problems down in writing. This proved more difficult than I thought because there was one I didn’t want to face, but I decided to start with the easier ones and work up to it.

  I began making notes: Need money, job, clients. I stopped. These weren’t my real problems at this point.

  I began again: Want to stay here. There, I’d almost put it on paper—no, if I was going to do this right, I had to tell the truth.

  Once more, I started writing: I want to stay here because I want to be with Drew. I don’t know if it’s the one thing that could help me find happiness or the biggest mistake I could ever make. The fact that I would get three million dollars in six months even if it doesn’t work out is no longer important to me (shocking). I think about him constantly. I dream about him. I want to be with him. I just met him and I want this marriage he’s proposing to be the real thing. I may be setting myself up for disaster if I take him up on this. By marrying a convicted felon, I could ruin my professional reputation, which, until now, was all I ever cared about (besides money). I might lose my license for marrying a client. I’m not a risk-taker. I’m not sure I could handle the stress. Absolutely anyone else (except his sister, the Queen of Denial) would tell me to run, not walk out of this place and never look back.

  I realized I had to be my own best friend in this situation and give myself my own advice. Throwing down the pen and pad, I marched over to the closet.

  I yanked the hangers full of clothes out, laid them on the bed, then started grabbing my undergarments from the drawers, flinging them into my suitcase, while repeating a mantra, “I won’t, I won’t, I won’t.”

  I wouldn’t ruin my life over a man the way my mother had. I wouldn’t overcome being abandoned by my father as a little girl, only to take up with this…man, who was devoid of any normal human emotions, who changed from sincere to sarcastic from one word to the next. A man who had no emotions to give, who would break my heart, suck out my soul, and spit it on the ground.

  I wondered when I had become so melodramati
c. I knew when. It was the day I walked into this apartment, and when I walked out, I would again be Mia Medina, strong, intelligent—

  There was a light tap on the door. I had just finished tying my shoes. I looked around to make sure all my belongings had been shoved into one bag or the other. Snatching my makeup case from the bathroom, I walked to the bed, and bent over to zip up my luggage. The door opened, and a voice behind me murmured something that sounded like, “Wow.”

  When I turned my head, I saw that Drew’s eyes were locked on the backside of my stretch pants. I straightened up and turned around, and only then did he seem to notice my bags were packed.

  A panic-stricken look crossed his face. I wanted so badly to know if he was distressed at the thought of never seeing me again or at the idea his ninety million was about to run out on him.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “Back to New York.”

  “Why? I’ll pay you more. Name your price.”

  “It’s not about money. I wish it were.”

  I put my purse on my shoulder and grabbed a bag in each hand. He didn’t offer to help. Since I was trying to reserve my strength to make myself walk out the door, all I could manage was a “Goodbye Drew,” as I started toward the stairs. I made the mistake of looking up at him when I said those words and my plan was almost thwarted by his bereft expression, but I had my game face on. No, I was a soldier, and I was following orders from my brain, not my heart.

  I reached the bottom of the stairs and started across the living room. The goal was in sight. I was going to do this. Then, I would be free.

  But before I reached the door, my purse fell off my shoulder, causing me to stop and reorganize my belongings. I felt him move past me. When I looked up again, he had his back against the front door and was facing me.

  “Move, Drew.”

  “Look Medina—” His use of my last name, considering the emotions I felt for him, infuriated me.

  I set my bags down on the floor. “Do I have to fight my way out?”

  His voice was harsh again, like the first time we’d met. “You’d have to be crazy to throw three million dollars away—”

  “And I guess you’d know about crazy. I don’t want to talk about money. Let me out.”

  He took a deep breath and began again in a calmer tone. “Okay, look, after you started bawling your eyes out—” He must have seen the anger flash in my eyes. He began again. “After you went upstairs, I called Meri, and she told me how I screwed everything up and I’m…sorry.”

  Although I could see the effort it took him to get the last word out, I was determined. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve thought it through. Being here with you…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. “Look, Drew,” I finally blurted out. “I’m not, normally, this crazed emotional basket case you see in front of you. I’ve always prided myself on my logic and self-control. Did you know I hadn’t cried since I was seven years old? But since I met you, it’s like I’m falling apart at the seams.”

  “Yeah, I guess I have that effect on people,” he said somberly.

  “I’ve been having dreams, nightmares, migraines—”

  “Are you afraid of me, Mia?”

  It was the first time he’d called me by my given name. He looked so deeply into my eyes, it was as if he was trying to peer into my very soul for the answer. Now, I could see the family resemblance, since his expression was identical to the one Meridith wore at the diner, when she’d asked me to give Drew another chance. And it was having the same effect, but I couldn’t let myself stay, could I?

  After several seconds of silence, he let go of the knob he’d been holding with his left hand and pushed himself off the door. He stepped a safe distance away from me. “This is probably pretty scary,” he said. “I guess I kidnapped you from your hotel, and I know I don’t act normal. Then, there’s the fact that I’m a convicted—”

  “Drew,” I couldn’t let him finish, and I couldn’t leave him here, believing I was running away because I thought I would be the infamous Drew Larson’s next victim. I closed the distance between us, looked up at him, and touched the lapel of his jacket. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  He stared into my face for what felt like a long while. I tried to identify the emotions I saw there—the distrust of a child who’d been hurt too many times, the hopefulness of a man who wants a woman to—

  I mentally shook myself and tried to bring my thoughts back to the reality of the situation. If I stayed here with him, regardless of his feelings for me, could he give me what I now knew I desperately needed—kindness, caring, emotional and physical intimacy, trust…? The list went on and on, and my heart sank with each item on it because I knew he was even more ill-equipped for that kind of relationship than I was.

  When I’d thought about it, I had always imagined ending up with someone from a big loving family who could show me how normal people maintained normal relationships. In the rare instances I’d allowed myself these fantasies, I always married into a family like the ones I saw on television, since they were the only positive role models I had. Until now, I had never wondered if there were really families like that, or if they were just something from the fertile imaginations of writers in Hollywood, who, like me, were dreaming.

  Since his hands were still at his sides, I removed mine from his jacket lapels and stood quietly in front of him, still uncertain as to what to do. Finally, he spoke, and it sounded almost like a dare.

  “If you’re not afraid of me, then why are you passing up three million dollars when you have no job and no other clients? I know you like money.”

  Money? He was bringing up money at a time like this? I took a step back. “And that’s why I should stay? For the three million? That’s the reason?”

  “It’s a pretty good reason.”

  I began picking up my belongings again.

  “Okay, Medina there’s another reason…um…I like you. I mean, I like to be around you, and that doesn’t happen very often. Most people, I wish would fall off the face of the planet.”

  I was unmoved. At this point, I needed more than reassurance that he didn’t dislike me.

  He took in a deep breath and expelled it. He turned his face away from mine, but I could see him close his eyes tightly and then swallow hard. He looked back at me again.

  “It’s not only the money. Iwantyoutostay.”

  The sentence was so rushed it came out sounding like one big word, and he appeared relieved afterward, as though he’d been afraid it would stick in his throat. When I didn’t respond, he forced himself to continue. “And, I’d…miss you…if you were gone.” After the last statement, I thought he looked like a fourth-grader who’d just managed to recite the Gettysburg Address from memory.

  I stared at him, my mind telling me to run out the door, my heart telling me to stay. In the end, my body made the decision. The bags dropped from my hands.

  “Great,” he said enthusiastically. “Let’s make some plans.”

  Not so fast. I had to regain some control over this situation.

  “I have a couple of conditions. If you can fulfill those, then I’ll do it.”

  He looked nervous and very serious. “What are they?”

  “You’re going to propose again, and you’re going to do it right. First, you’re going to call me by my first name. Then you can do your little speech, minus the part at the end about convincing people it’s real.”

  “Yeah, I know. Meridith already told me.” He sounded like a big kid again.

  “I’m not finished. During said proposal, you’re going to take my left hand in both of yours. If I am satisfied and I say ‘yes,’ you’ll slip the ring on my finger and kiss me like any self-respecting fiancé would. Do you understand?”

  I was fully aware my demands were much more drastic to Drew than they would be to any normal person, and he might not be able to go through with it. I felt strong again, though. I’d laid out the terms of the contract and now it was up to him to s
ign it, so to speak. If he didn’t want it—or me—badly enough to meet my demands, I would leave. Simple as that.

  He didn’t respond for a moment. He seemed to be contemplating whether or not he was really capable of such a feat. Still feeling powerful and attorney-like, despite my skimpy exercise garb, I marched over to the scene of the earlier fiasco and sat down in my chair near the dining table.

  Drew fumbled in his pocket as though he was making sure the ring was there, but I suspected he was stalling. Only a few seconds passed, but it was enough time for me to become alarmed.

  This actually might not happen and I might have to pick up those bags and walk out on him.

  He took a deep breath and, with his head lowered, paced toward the table. For the second time that day, he knelt down in front of me, but this time, with a very uncertain right hand he reached into my lap and picked up my left. He placed it lightly on his left palm, and then covered it completely with his right. It wasn’t exactly what I had meant, and the thought crossed my mind that, in this position, he looked as though he was about to start praying instead of proposing marriage.

  After staring down at our hands for several seconds, he realized something wasn’t right. He rearranged them until he had my fingers draped over the index fingers of both his hands with his thumbs resting on top in a more traditional proposal position.

  I nearly broke out in nervous giggles at the sight of his complicated ministrations. I’d thought the aversion to physical contact and controlling his wayward tongue would be the only challenges involved, but he was so out of touch with convention and normalcy, it was like being proposed to by a Neanderthal.

  Finally satisfied with the hand positions, he looked up into my face. My temptation to laugh disappeared when he focused his deadly serious gaze on me.

  “Mia…” he said my name so softly and reverently my eyelids closed involuntarily for a split second, and I took in a sudden, shallow breath. “I know we haven’t known each other long, but I feel like we have a special connection. I can’t imagine that a more beautiful, brilliant, or unusual woman exists on this planet, and…” —Uh-oh. I felt an ad lib coming on— “and I would miss you, if you went away. Will you marry me?”