More Than Words

by Jill Santopolo

  Nina leaned over and kissed him, and he tasted like red wine and determination. “Well, polls aren’t always right, but it’s your campaign, you’re the boss.”

  “I know,” Rafael said. “I’m just so afraid to let all of them down. My team. They’ve put in so much time, so much passion. They believe in me, all of them. And I don’t want to mess it up—for them even more than for me.”

  “You won’t,” Nina said. She’d been getting used to seeing this vulnerable side of Rafael, ever since their trip to the Hamptons. It made the relationship seem balanced, somehow. She needed him. He needed her. “I believe it—en mis tripas.”

  Rafael smiled at her. “By the way,” he said, “I’m cooking tonight.”

  Nina raised her eyebrow. “You are?” she said. He’d been her sous chef up in the country and out at the beach a few times over the past weeks, late at night, when his campaign obligations were done for the day, but he hadn’t made anything for her on his own.

  Rafael picked up a plastic bag. “I bought ingredients on the way home,” he said, “to make picadillo. My abuela’s recipe.”

  Nina agreed to be his sous chef this time and started chopping peppers at his request. Half an hour later the two of them were sitting at the kitchen table with steaming plates of picadillo in front of them.

  “This is delicious,” she said, after she took her first bite.

  “Gracias,” Rafael said. Then he paused. “Now you say it.”

  “How come?” she asked.

  Rafael smiled at her. “Because I think the way you speak Spanish is especially sexy. That hint of a Castilian accent? Makes me crazy.”

  “Delicioso, gracias,” Nina said, giving him what he wanted, her c more like a th than an s.

  “How did I get so lucky?” he asked her.

  “How did we get so lucky?” she answered.

  * * *

  • • •

  Later that night, Rafael lay in Nina’s arms. Even though he had a king-sized bed, they took up maybe three feet of it, the way they slept, twisted around each other, their legs scissoring, woven tightly together. Rafael said that when he was in bed with her, it was the only time he could sleep through the night.

  77

  The next morning, Nina used the service exit to leave Rafael’s building while he walked out the front door. They were lucky she had, because the same photographer who’d ambushed them at the Dublin Pub was there taking Rafael’s photo in his workout clothes. Nina got home and saw it on Twitter: Rafael O’Connor-Ruiz Calms His Pre-Election Jitters with a Run in Central Park. That, she realized, would be her life with him if he won. Pictures in the papers. Her clothing analyzed in the New York Post. She knew now wasn’t the right time to talk to Rafael about her worries, so she called Leslie.

  Leslie had been as supportive as ever when Nina caught her up on everything that had happened. Breaking her engagement to Tim, sleeping with Rafael, Rafael’s willingness to be with her in spite of what her father had done. Nina had told Leslie about that, too. It felt wrong, keeping anything a secret from her best friend. And Leslie had been outraged at first, like Nina had. But now that Nina had made her peace with her father, Leslie had, too.

  “Auntie Nina!” Cole’s voice came over the phone in an excited shout. “My mommy says we can come visit you soon! We’re going to see all the dinosaurs.”

  “That’s awesome, sweetie,” Nina said. “I can’t wait. You know what else is in the dinosaur museum?”

  “What?” Cole asked.

  “The biggest whale you ever saw in your life!”

  “I never even saw a small whale,” Cole told her.

  “Well, then it’ll be your lucky day when you come. Your first whale will be enormous.”

  “Can we go tomorrow?” Nina heard Cole asking Leslie, no longer paying attention to Nina on the phone. “Or maybe today?”

  “Maybe in a few weeks,” Leslie said. “How about you go draw a whale for Auntie Nina and we can send it to her?”

  Nina heard the phone clatter to the floor.

  Then Leslie picking it up.

  “Hey,” Leslie said. “I was thinking maybe we could come for Thanksgiving this year. Since it’ll be your first without your dad.”

  Tears pricked her eyes at her friend’s words. “I love that idea,” Nina said, sitting down on the couch in her living room and wiping her eyes. “I’ve mostly been ignoring Thanksgiving, but I think it’s time to face it.”

  “It’ll come anyway,” Leslie said.

  “Like death and taxes,” Nina said.

  Leslie laughed. “Just with more gravy.” Then she said, “So what’s up? How’s your secret hunk of a boyfriend doing?”

  Nina sighed. “He got paparazzi’ed this morning.”

  “Ugh,” Leslie said.

  “That’ll be my life, Les, if I’m with him. Even if he’s not mayor now, he’s a politician. He’ll keep running. He says he’d be happy doing something else, but I don’t know if that’s really true. Or at least how he’d be happiest.”

  “And?” Leslie asked. Nina could hear her washing dishes on the other side of the phone.

  “I hated it so much when I was a kid and we were in the newspapers and magazines the year my mom died. And my mom hated it, too. I can’t help but think it’s part of what messed up my parents’ relationship. What if it does that to me and Rafael?”

  Leslie turned off the water. “Listen, Neen. I’ve never seen you as happy with anyone else as you’ve been with Rafael. And you’re older now—and much tougher—than you were at eight. Plus you’ve grown up in this world in a way your mother never did. You’ve got tools she never had. And you’re going into it with your eyes wide open. What’s the alternative? Stop dating Rafael?”

  When Leslie put it that way, the paparazzi didn’t seem so bad. Nina thought about how she felt when she was with Rafael—desired, adored, needed. And loved for every aspect of who she was. She didn’t want to give that up. “You’re right,” she said. “Thanks for talking me off a ledge.”

  “What else are friends for?” Leslie said. Nina imagined her smiling. “And . . . for whatever it’s worth, I think you’d make a great mayor’s wife.”

  Nina laughed. “You’re ridiculous,” she said.

  “And that’s why you love me,” Leslie answered.

  As the conversation went on, Nina thought about all the people she loved. Leslie was happy that Nina and Rafael were a couple, and Caro had come around, after the three of them had lunch together. But Nina still hadn’t heard a word from Tim. And as much as she adored Rafael, as much as she wished she could shout about her relationship with him to everyone she met on the street, it still made her sad that the decision had to be an either/or instead of an and.

  78

  On election night, Nina was standing with Rafael at campaign headquarters. They were in the conference room off the elevator lobby, just the two of them, and Nina was helping him get ready. There had been a media blitz starting the previous afternoon. Spots on all the local stations, on the radio. New speeches in English and in Spanish, talking about both sides of his family. Targeted ads flooding every social media platform. Rafael was interviewed on practically every website in the city.

  They didn’t know it if had worked—wouldn’t know until the votes were counted—but they were optimistic. Or at least trying to be.

  Nina resisted the urge to run her fingers through Rafael’s hair, since it was stiff now with hair spray.

  “Are you ready?” she asked as she fixed his collar.

  “Are you?” he asked.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.” She was so nervous she hadn’t been able to eat all day.

  He smiled and kissed her cheek to avoid another lipstick fiasco.

  “You didn’t forget your azabache today, did you?”

  “Never,” Rafael answered, patting
the collar of his white button-down. “But if I lose, it’s okay, too.”

  “Of course it is,” Nina said. They’d talked about it last night—what would happen if he won, what would happen if he didn’t, when they would go public with their relationship either way. Slowly, they thought was the best way to do it: a date or two out in the open, then more, then something posted on his Twitter account. Let people get used to it. It meant keeping things a secret a while longer, monitoring their time together, but they could be patient.

  “Do you know about the theory of the multiverse?” Rafael asked, wrapping his arm around Nina’s waist.

  “Is that like in Back to the Future, where there’s a second 1985?”

  “Kind of,” Rafael said. “It’s the idea that every time something important happens, a new world is created based on each potential outcome. There’s a world where I went to law school and another where I didn’t. A world where your grandfather bought a hotel and another where he didn’t. A world where your father never met your mother in Barcelona.”

  “One where my mother didn’t die. Or my father didn’t have an affair.”

  “Exactly,” Rafael said, fiddling with his tie pin. “I read about that concept after my dad died, and I found it comforting. I liked the idea that there was another universe out there—maybe more than one—where he was still alive. And if I lose this election, there will be another universe where a different version of me won. But if that Rafael doesn’t have a chance to be with you . . . well, I don’t envy him the win. He can have it.”

  “There is something kind of comforting about that,” Nina said, turning toward him and smoothing his lapels. It was hard not to touch him. “We’re just living one version of the present, but the other ones are out there. They all would’ve happened, regardless of the choices we make.”

  “That’s precisely it,” Rafael said. “They’ll all happen anyway, but we get to live this version.”

  He kissed Nina’s forehead. Maybe, she thought, she should stop wearing lipstick.

  There was a knock on the conference room door, and then Jane called, “The results are in.”

  Rafael walked out the door first, Nina a few minutes behind. The rest of the team was gathered around the television set in the corner.

  “Here it comes,” Mac shouted from the other side of the office.

  Rafael walked closer to the television.

  “Ninety-four percent of the vote has been counted,” the newscaster said. “And the race is . . . still too close to call.”

  Everyone groaned. Mac walked out of the room.

  “It’s okay if I don’t win,” Rafael said, almost as much to himself as to everyone else. “If I lose, there’s another Rafael in another universe who won and all of you were part of it.”

  Jane looked at him as if he were speaking a language she’d never studied.

  “He’s talking about the multiverse,” Nina tried to explain.

  “Breaking news!” said the newscaster. “Ninety-six percent of the vote has now been counted, and we can declare a winner in the race for Gracie Mansion!”

  Nina felt the room take in a collective breath and hold it. Their media push could’ve changed everything. Or nothing at all.

  “And the next mayor of New York City is . . .”

  “You’re killing me!” Jorge yelled at the screen.

  “Rafael O’Connor-Ruiz!” the newscaster shouted.

  Jane started crying. Nina felt tears in her eyes as well—tears of shock and relief and happiness.

  Rafael crossed the room in two giant steps and kissed Nina, dipping her backward.

  “We’re still supposed to be a secret,” she said as she tried to pull away. Cell phone flashes went off.

  “Remember how I ran as my whole self?” he said to her quietly. “And I won? Well, part of that is that I’m dating you. And I want the world to know.” Then he kissed her again.

  “Can I post this?” Samira asked.

  Rafael quirked an eyebrow at Nina. Slowly she nodded.

  “Post away,” Rafael said. Nina knew this would be all over the Internet in about five seconds, but she didn’t care. Whatever came next, she could handle it. They could handle it together. They were partners. She felt Rafael’s tears on her cheeks—and wondered if he kept kissing her so no one would see him cry.

  She pulled away from him, just a centimeter, so their lips were no longer touching, but their noses were. “I love you,” she whispered, so quietly that even in a room full of people, only he could hear. It was the first time she’d told him that. The first time she realized it was true.

  “I love you, too,” he said.

  Then he wiped the tears off his cheeks and faced the room to thank his staff before they headed over to the victory party, where Nina would meet his family for the very first time. She wished her father were with her, her own piece of family, but Caro was meeting her there instead. Priscilla and Brent, too. Family by choice instead of by blood.

  79

  A week after Rafael became the mayor-elect of New York City, and a week after the world found out that he and Nina were a couple, the Vorpal Sword Philanthropic Foundation got its official 501(c)(3) designation and was open for business.

  “How do you want to celebrate?” Rafael had asked Nina a few days before, while they were having dinner in Nina’s apartment. “My schedule’s insane, but it looks like I’ve got an hour and a half on Saturday. Maybe we can do something then?”

  Even in the midst of all of his meetings, Rafael made time for Nina whenever he could. And she loved it.

  “Have you seen the people taking trapeze lessons along the Hudson?” she’d asked back, as he refilled her water glass.

  “I actually have,” Rafael said. “Though I’ve never done it myself.”

  “Me neither,” Nina said, “and it scares the hell out of me, but I want to do it. Let’s celebrate this weekend by flying on a trapeze.”

  When Leslie and Pris heard what was happening, they wanted to be part of the celebration, too—Leslie said she’d take the whole week of Thanksgiving off and come to Manhattan early with Cole and Vijay. And Caro said she’d love to fly, as long as she wasn’t too old. Nina assured her that she wasn’t. And then called Tim and left him a voice mail inviting him as well. He hadn’t called her back.

  “I don’t mind if you want to invite TJ, too,” Caro had offered. “I know he misses you.” The two of them were talking, trying to find a way back.

  But Nina hadn’t been ready yet. “Maybe for Thanksgiving,” she’d told Caro.

  When Nina got to Pier 40, she looked up at the ladder she’d have to climb, the platform she’d have to jump off.

  “Maybe this wasn’t my best idea,” she said to anyone who was listening.

  “Are you kidding?” Leslie answered, Cole in tow. “This was absolutely your best idea. Well, after starting a charity with your family’s money. We’re gonna fly, Nina!”

  “I’m gonna be a superhero!” Cole said. He was wearing a T-shirt he’d made himself with a big lopsided C on the chest and had already had what he declared was the very best day ever because he got to meet the NYPD detail that traveled with Rafael.

  Rafael left the officers behind and came over to put his arm around Nina. She noticed a few people surreptitiously snapping a picture of the two of them, but she didn’t mind. She and Rafael had decided that they wouldn’t hide anything. They’d be themselves, be open with the media, live their lives authentically in the spotlight and hope that authenticity would make them real to everyone—no façades, no glamours. And if they were criticized, so be it. It made living a life on display easier when you weren’t trying to hide anything, when you were simply being yourself.

  “I love you,” he whispered into her hair.

  “More than words,” she answered him.

  And even though she di
d, she loved him more than anything, she still loved Tim, too. And missed him. She looked around, hoping that he’d show up, even if he hadn’t called her back.

  “He’s not coming, darling,” Caro said softly, realizing who Nina was looking for.

  Deep down, Nina already knew that. She felt a shiver of sadness blow through her, until Rafael rested his hand on her hip. “Are you ready?” he asked.

  She looked at him, squaring her shoulders, raising her chin. “I am,” she said. “Let’s fly.”

  Nina climbed up the ladder, her heart racing. I can do this, she told herself, even though her hands didn’t want to move to the next rung. Her feet wanted to stay put, too. She’d faced so many things in these past two months—losing her father, losing Tim, taking over a corporation, starting something new from scratch, being in a public relationship with someone she loved so much that sometimes she was gutted by the power of it. She could handle this, too.

  When she got to the top of the platform, one of the people working at the trapeze school handed Nina the bar.

  “Hold on tight,” he said. “And on the count of three, jump!”

  Nina’s heart raced even faster; it was like every molecule of her DNA was telling her not to jump.

  “You can do it, Palabrecita!” she heard Rafael yell. “Superhéroe!”

  “Go, Nina, go!” It was Pris.

  Nina looked down at her friends—her family really—and smiled. And then she jumped, soaring over Manhattan, happy, strong, and free.

  And as Nina looked out over the city she adored, time stretched. She thought about the past and the present and the future and decided that, regardless of the sadness she’d experienced, she was glad she lived in this universe.

  It was a beautiful day to be a New Yorker.

  Poetry Note

  The poem “Jabberwocky” by Lewis Carroll is referenced throughout More Than Words. It’s a poem that is important to Nina’s father—and to Nina herself. She grew up hearing about it. I did, too. Like Joseph Gregory, my grandfather had a boat that he kept docked in East Hampton (though his boat was much smaller than the one I imagined the Gregorys sailing on). And it was also called the Mimsy, though it wasn’t named for the line in “Jabberwocky”—it was named for my grandmother, who herself was named for the line in “Jabberwocky.” My grandmother, Mildred, was nicknamed Mimsy from the time she was born because her own father was a huge fan of Lewis Carroll. And, perhaps because of the provenance of her name, she was, too. I still have the copy of Through the Looking Glass that she bought for my father when he was a child, which contains “Jabberwocky”—and a pronunciation key for the nonsense words therein. When I was thinking about a poem that I wanted to run through the heart of More Than Words, this one came to mind because of the story I always imagined when I read it—a boy, a son, sent out alone to slay some unimaginable foe and given love only when that deed was accomplished. I imagined that was how Joseph Gregory would have felt as a child, worthy of love only when he achieved what was expected of him; that’s why I had him connect so deeply with “Jabberwocky.” As for my great-grandfather, I’m not sure what he saw in the poem, though I wish I could go back in time and ask him.