by Alexis James
Our waitress returns with our orders and while I squirt a puddle of ketchup onto my plate, I ask. “Do you have plans for Christmas?”
She pokes at her chef salad. “No.”
“Join us.”
“What? No. I can’t do that.”
Reaching for her hand again, I dive right in. “I want us to spend Christmas together. I hate the idea of you being alone, but I hate the idea of us being apart even more.” I search her face to get a sense of her hesitation. “Please, babe. Please say you’ll come.”
“Won’t it be weird, you know, for your family?”
“No. Not at all. It wasn’t weird at the hospital.” She gives me a doubtful look. “Okay, it was weird with me and you, but not with Mama or my siblings. And I know you’ve been to see Papa, so it can’t be too weird.” She has no idea how grateful I am that she has forged ahead and not allowed our situation to keep her from making sure my family is doing okay.
“What if they get the wrong idea, about us I mean?”
Disappointment washes over me. “I’ll make sure they all understand you are there in a friendship capacity only.”
“Can I think about it?”
“No. Because we both know you’ll find a reason not to come.” Squeezing her hand tight, I lean closer. “Tell me what your first instinct was when I asked? Was it a yes or a no?”
“It was yes.”
“Then you’ll come.” Letting her go, I swipe a fry through the ketchup. “I’ll find out all the details and call you.”
Setting her fork aside, she shoots me a worried expression. “This might be a bad idea.”
“How bad can it be? We spend a few hours with the family, stuff our faces, drink too much, and then we go home. Easy.”
Amita rolls her eyes. “Well, when you put it like that …”
Mission accomplished, I grasp my burger. “How can you resist?”
“Right?”
The feeling of elation lasts right up until I park in front of her building, and she looks at me suspiciously as if I’m going to jump her. That’s a very appealing idea, but I’m not a fan of forcing myself on women, so I keep the motor running and my hands locked on the steering wheel. “Thanks for coming to lunch with me.”
“Thanks for the invite.” She steps out onto the curb and leans in the car. “See ya, hot stuff.”
“Bye, sweet cheeks.”
The minute I step into my condo, I place a call to my brother. He greets me like he usually does, but I’m way past the point of niceties. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that Amita propositioned you?”
Cruz chuckles. “She was drunk and upset about seeing you. We both know she didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Did you tell Mia?”
“Of course I told Mia. We had a good laugh about it, and Amita felt terrible the next day and couldn’t apologize enough. What difference does that make to you?”
“You should have told me.” I’m being stupid, I know, but I can’t set aside the jealousy that’s been there since she revealed this bit of news.
“You’re being an ass. It was the booze talking, Little Brother, nothing more. You know how that girl feels about you.”
“No, I don’t.” Sure, she was upset when we split, and she may have gone a little bonkers, but she’s never once come right out and told me how she feels.
I hear Mia’s voice in the background and a moment later she comes on the line. “You’re being a jerk about this. She can hardly look at Cruz now she feels so badly.”
Okay, so maybe I’m overreacting just a bit. “I’m sorry. I was just thrown, that’s all.”
“How’d your lunch go?”
I give her a brief overview then tell her that Amita accepted my invitation for the holiday. “Will you help me get her there?”
“Let me think.” There’s a long pause then what sounds like fingers snapping. “Okay, here’s the plan. I’ll invite her out here Christmas Eve. You can show up or something, we’ll eat and hang out, kinda like old times. That will help break the ice for the next day.”
“She may not agree, you know that.”
Mia chuckles. “She won’t say no to me. She owes me, especially since she asked my husband if she could have a threesome with us.”
My mind wanders briefly and all too inappropriately. “You’re a devious little bitch, you know that?”
“Devious, yes. Bitch, no.” There’s some loud yelling in the background, which I assume is her husband threatening my life.
“I love ya, kiddo. I’m hanging up now, before Cruz kicks my ass.”
“I’ll get it all arranged. No worries, okay?”
“If you say so.”
I will worry. I have been worried. As I set the phone aside and take a seat on the balcony, I have to wonder if this whole thing won’t backfire right in my face. Any wrong move or even the slightest suggestion that we’re anything more than friends, could send her running.
I think about what she told me: the opera fixation, the addiction to Netflix, and all that transpired after I left her at Mia’s that night. Every sign points to strong feelings toward me, but I’d be a fool to assume anything at this point. She might love me … maybe … hopefully … but that doesn’t change what happened. It doesn’t detract from the fact that I walked away or that I did so with no explanation. It certainly does not erase the fact that I hurt her terribly. Her broken heart is once again in my hands, and this time I’d better not fuck it up. I have one more chance to make things right and to show her that I’ve grown, that I’ve changed … and that I love her.
When I knock on Mia’s front door around noon on Christmas Eve, I’m still waffling between being seriously pissed off and scared as hell. Getting me here today took a whole lot of begging on her part. When I still hesitated she did the unthinkable, something besties never, ever do. She threw one bad, very awful and embarrassing night right in my face.
“Yes, you will come, Amita. You owe me. You propositioned my husband for crying out loud.”
It was a very dirty, underhanded side that I’ve never seen before from my sweet, kind, and very honest best friend, and yet it had exactly the result she was shooting for: I agreed to spend today with her, Cruz, and Marco. She’s promised profusely that it will be very casual, friends only, and the perfect way to kick-off the holiday. I’m doubtful and worried and so darn nervous my hands are shaking.
Since lunch the other day with the handsome Spaniard, our communication has grown considerably. He now calls more than he texts, and he’s confirmed our holiday plans at least half a dozen times. Yet after all that, I arrive before he does, so I have to wonder if maybe he hasn’t changed his mind after all.
It’s a silent, unspoken thing, but I think we’re both aware this is a game-changer. It shouldn’t be; after all, we are friends. We’re slowly working to regain the trust we used to have, trust I fully believe we both took for granted. This is a big step for both of us. Even though he and Mia have promised that the family understands we’re nothing more than friends, I still think that tomorrow we’re going to get a whole lot of expectant looks and hopeful faces. Scares me silly to think about it.
Hands full of packages and wine, I push the bell with my elbow and tighten my grip so nothing slides to the tiled porch. Cruz greets me after the second ring and unloads a few items from my hands while Mia scurries over and claps her hands.
Her smile fades as she does a quick inventory of my trove. “Where’s your suitcase?”
She’s been begging me nonstop to stay over tonight, citing that it makes so much more sense than driving back out here tomorrow. While I appreciate her offer, I’m hesitant to comply. There’s a good chance this whole thing with Marco will go kaboom, and I sure as hell want to be able to take off in a hurry.
“It’s in the car.”
“But … you said …”
“I said let’s see how it goes.” Handing over the five pound box of See’s candy and one of the bottles of wine, I urge, “Com
e on. Help me unload this crap in your kitchen.”
By the time Marco arrives, Mia and I have consumed two glasses of wine, half the box of chocolates, and Cruz is threatening to cut us both off. Marco sends me a warm look, greets his brother and Mia with a hug, and helps himself to a beer from the fridge.
“So, kids, what’s the plan?”
Cruz rolls his eyes at his brother. “These two need to switch to water. And we might want to think about getting some real food into them.”
I scoff, which comes out sounding like a snort. “Right here, dude. Quit talking like we’re in another room.” Yep, that’s me, working on being uncensored—again. Thank you very much, red wine. Let’s just hope that I don’t start propositioning people again.
Both men chuckle and Mia practically throws a tantrum when Cruz tries to take her glass away. Then Marco dares to try to put the lid on the candy, and he gets a hand slap from me and a “don’t even think about it mister,” from Mia. It’s comical and it feels so darn normal it terrifies me.
We do manage to work our way through another glass of wine, then Mia suggests we play a game so we gather around the table, munching on chips and pretzels. Cruz suggests Monopoly, which I immediately veto, so Mia suggests Yahtzee and Marco protests. After ten minutes of back and forth, we finally settle on Life. We keep up a lively conversation while we play, and Mia tries to cheat. After the first game Cruz pulls out the tequila and four shot glasses and really gets the party going.
So much for cutting us off, I muse. We drink and laugh, drink and try to play the game, but after a while forego that idea and instead sprawl across their couches, attempting to watch a Christmas movie and still remain upright.
“Having fun?” Marco whispers, leaning over to me.
“I am. It feels good to laugh.” My eyes drift to his. “It feels good to hang out with you.”
“Agreed.” Taking my hand in his, he asks, “Is this okay?”
I should probably say no. Saying no would keep my heart intact. Saying no would guarantee that we stay right where we are—as friends. But saying no is the last thing I want. I want to curl up in his arms like Mia is with her husband, lay my head on his chest, and be soothed by the feel of his heart beating in my ear.
Smiling, I whisper, “This is perfect.”
And it really is … with the huge tree all bright and twinkly in one corner and the sense of rightness that has settled over the two of us. It helps considerably that Cruz and Mia take it all in stride, foregoing expectations and just accepting that Marco and I are attempting to find the easy place where we once existed together.
It feels different though. Better. Stronger than what we used to have. He’s changed. I’ve changed. I firmly believe it’s because we both realize how close we came to losing one another for good. Forever.
When the credits finally roll, Mia and Cruz are sacked out on their couch, and I’m dozing off and on against Marco’s shoulder. Tipping my head back, his blue-green eyes meet mine briefly before doing a slow sweep of my entire face and settling his gaze on my lips.
“I really need to kiss you right now,” he whispers, and we both smile as we recall those exact words he said in his condo so long ago.
I play right along. “Kissing me will be bad, bad, bad.”
“Ah, babe, it’s going to be good, good, good.”
We share a quiet laugh, careful not to wake our companions. His fingers play with mine and even though I’m not leaning against his chest, I swear I can hear his heart beating. This is a good place to be. One more step forward in our quest toward one another.
“I really need to kiss you too,” I say, grinning when I hear his gasp of shock.
He glances down at me. “You sure?”
I shrug. “Yes. No. But I suppose I’ll never know until we do.”
His free hand comes up to cup my chin, forehead falling down upon mine. “How stupid is it that I’m nervous?”
Chuckling, I thread my fingers in his hair. “Not stupid at all. I’m terrified.”
But when his lips softly touch mine, the fear fades immediately. Nothing has ever felt so right, so very perfect. Although this kiss is the furthest thing from something sexual, it does prove to me that we are meant to be together. It reminds me of the kiss we shared on the boat that day so long ago, back when we were just new, just starting down the crazy path to something more. So much has happened since then and yet as he lifts his head to look at me and confirm that I’m doing okay, I don’t believe I’d change anything. We never could have reached this place of appreciation, of understanding, without first losing one another.
Marco pulls me into the crook of his arm as our hearts settle gently, and we take a moment to breathe it all in. My gaze drifts to my bestie, to find her looking at me with tears in her eyes. She gets it … she gets me … and she knows what a big deal this is for both Marco and I. And when she mouths “I love you,” my heart tumbles happily.
Who needs blood family when you can surround yourself with amazing people like these three? For years now I’ve felt so alone, so convinced I didn’t need a ‘real’ family around me. But family isn’t about who gives birth to you or even who raises you. It’s about those people who are there for you, no matter what, regardless of what mistakes you make or choices you decide on. Mia is my family, the sister I never had, and by extension Cruz is now my brother. The jury is still out on what place Marco will have in my family, but I never intend to allow distance to come between us like it has. We might not work out as a couple, but I’m never, ever letting my friend go again.
Cruz wakes a few minutes later, declaring that he’s famished and pulling the three of us into the kitchen. The music is turned on, beers are opened, and glasses of wine are poured as we work together to make dinner. We’re keeping it simple, just burgers and fries, and by the time we settle down to eat, it feels like nothing has changed since the last time we were all together like this. Gone is the pain of the recent months, gone is all the worry, the doubt, the fear. Well, most of the fear anyway. I have a hunch some is bound to linger for quite a while.
Marco takes my hand in his once again and gives me that cocky Moran grin, and I know with a doubt there’s no more going backwards for us. We’re racing headlong into the future. One baby step at a time.
I wake the next morning before dawn, fuzzy headed and brewing a nice headache from all the alcohol the day before. After pulling on shorts and a T-shirt, I make a quick stop in the bathroom before padding into the kitchen to get the coffee going.
The house is quiet at this early hour, giving me plenty of time to just soak up everything that’s happened between me and Amita. I’m well aware there’s still some major sucking up to be done, but it sure as hell does feel like we’re moving forward.
Part of me wants to walk down the hall, stomp into the room where she’s sleeping, and make her mine. But we’ve come so far in the past twenty-four hours, I can’t risk it. Not even for that. It was practically impossible to sleep, knowing she was two doors down, but I am grateful she stayed here with me, grateful that I have another whole day to enjoy her by my side.
With a full cup in hand, I make my way out onto the deck and down to the dock, settle in with my feet dangling just above the water like I did a year ago with Amita by my side. Who would have thought that those two people we were back then would now be fighting like hell to hang onto one another.
Being with Amita does something to me. There’s this sense of rightness about her and about how we are as a couple that can’t be explained or even fully understood. I’m aware of it the moment she steps into the room, each and every time. It’s like we were made for one another. I know that sounds cheesy, and maybe it is, but there’s no other way to describe it. All I know is that in my thirty-one years I’ve never wanted to be with just one woman. I’ve been content to shop around, enjoy myself, and allow my morals to become very loose. I’ve been afraid of the unknown—that supposed suffocating feeling you get when you become an ‘
us’. But from day one Amita has never made me feel anything at all like that. The fear I had was solely of my own doing. I was scared of committing, terrified of losing myself to her, and when I eventually did, I lost myself too. I haven’t been able to breathe right since then.
“Hey, hot stuff.”
Looking up, I see Amita strolling down the dock, cup in hand. She’s got on a snug T-shirt, barely-there cotton shorts, wavy dark hair spilling down around her shoulders. She’s sleepy eyed and there’s a crease on her cheek from the pillow, but she’s never looked more beautiful.
She settles in next to me just as she did last year, content to enjoy the silence together. Reaching out, I weave our fingers together and attempt to get a handle on the emotions that have flooded to the surface all of a sudden.
I don’t want to spend another day without her.
I don’t ever, ever want to let her go.
“I can breathe again,” I whisper.
She shoots me a sideways glance. “Huh?”
“When I walked away from you, I stopped breathing. Not really, but you know what I mean.” Our eyes meet. “I can finally breathe again.”
“Me too.”
Setting down my coffee cup, I cradle her face in my hands. “I don’t ever want to let you go again.”
“So don’t.”
What she doesn’t say I comprehend fully. This is my last chance. I screw up this time or run away because something freaks me out and there will be no do-over. I might hate the idea of it, but I can more than understand her need to put her foot down.
Wariness floods her features as she looks at me from under dark lashes. “I should let you know that I’ve applied for jobs in other states.”
Stunned, my mouth falls open soundlessly. If I ever wondered what effect our breakup had on her, I now have my answer. She was willing to relocate to put space between us, to let us each learn to breathe again. She was willing to walk away forever to give each of us a chance to find happiness. She was prepared to leave everything behind—her job, her best friend, me—because the idea of staying was simply too painful.
