“I don’t want to break up, but I think we should break up,” she whispered, staring down at the bottom of the boat.
“But I don’t want to date other people,” Domingo mumbled, looking away from her.
“Me, neither,” Carmen added. “But I don’t think this is about other people. I want this to end when we’re still happy with one another. Instead of waiting until you feel like it is a burden to come see me, or that it takes you away from the life you should be leading with all your heart and soul, almost five hundred miles away.”
“Mi amor, let’s not say the words,” Domingo implored her. “Let’s not use the words break up or ending or done or finished. Not now. Not yet.”
Carmen leaned across the little turquoise rowboat and put both of her hands on his. “Is I will always love you okay?”
Domingo nodded and kissed her.
Carmen pulled away and looked at him now, not afraid anymore, not wanting to look anywhere else.
“Is I’ll miss you okay?” she asked.
“I think it is,” Domingo replied. But this time when he kissed her, she could feel his tears wet her cheek, taste them salty against his skin.
Then he did something unexpected. He laughed. “We’re too mature,” Domingo said, quickly wiping the tears from his face. “I mean, look at us. We’re sitting here being all cool. Why aren’t you screaming?”
“I know what you mean,” she agreed. “We should drag this out. Have a big nasty fight around Thanksgiving…”
“We could make up around December twelfth, after I take my last final,” Domingo continued, playfully.
Carmen laughed then, too. “But the thing to do would be to totally ruin Christmas. We’d have to break up again. And out of decency, we’d both have to spend the entire Christmas and New Year’s in mourning. Which would suck.”
Domingo began to row the little boat back to the Ramirez-Ruben family dock. “If we break up now,” he wondered aloud, “would I be over you by Christmas?”
Carmen raised an eyebrow. “Possibly. But remember, we weren’t going to use the words break up.”
“So what do you suggest?” Domingo asked, as he tied the rowboat to the little dock and helped Carmen onto the shore.
Carmen smiled, held his hand, then kissed him with all the wild abandon of a telenovela star. “We’ve got six days before you leave for college. Let’s see how many different ways we can come up with to say, ‘I love you.’”
Domingo placed his hands over his heart, then pointed at Carmen and smiled.
“What’s that?” Carmen asked curiously.
“It’s sign language for I love you,” Domingo replied, slinging an arm around Carmen’s shoulder as they walked back into the Ramirez-Ruben home. “There’s a busboy at Bongos who’s hearing-impaired. He’s been teaching a bunch of us at the restaurant how to sign.”
“Let me see that again,” Carmen asked coyly, as they stood at her front door.
Domingo repeated the gesture.
Carmen shook her head. “I don’t think that means I love you.”
“Really?” Domingo asked, his eyes widening. “I didn’t know you signed. What does it mean?”
“It means please don’t put so much starch in my shirt” Carmen said, before collapsing in giggles.
Domingo smiled. “Very funny, loca. How will I ever find anyone who makes me laugh the way you do?”
To be continued…
Playing for Keeps Page 13
