Deep Surrendering: Episode Nine (4 page)

“So, yeah. That’s what’s been going on here. Other than classes and everything that is the same old, same old.”

“How’s Boston? I sometimes pull up pictures of the city and stare at them and imagine I’m there. I’ve traveled all around the world, and it’s the only place I want to be. But that’s probably because of who is currently in Boston.”

“I hope that’s me you’re talking about.”

He laughed. “Yes, sweet girl, it is you.”

I almost made a joke about Sapphire, but stopped myself. “The city is the same. The food trucks are still out, the summer tourists are still around, and the ducks are still in the park. Oh, and I still miss you. So much.” I knew I said it a lot, but I really did. It was so much worse this time because I didn’t know when he was coming back. Not even a ballpark.

“Hey, do you have any idea how long this is going to take? I just . . . I don’t need a date, just a general idea. There are a lot of charity events coming up and I’d love for you to be there with me, if you could be.” I couldn’t stop the fantasy of me in a gown and Fin in a tux, sweeping down a staircase together and then waltzing all night, drunk on champagne.

“I know you want to know. And I wish I could give you an answer. But it’s looking like this is going to be a long game instead of a short one. I have to make absolutely sure I can do this right.” I really had no idea what he was talking about, since he hadn’t told me anything. I just had to trust him, and that was getting harder the longer he was gone and the longer I had to wait with little to no news.

“Fin,” I said with a sigh. I didn’t know what I wanted to say to him.

“I know that’s a terrible explanation. I wish I could give you more. I just . . . I wish so many things.”

So did I. “I feel like I’m in limbo here. I don’t know when you’re coming back, and we barely get to talk, and when we do you don’t say much and it’s just hard, Fin. I’m going through things here and I need you. I just need you.” I didn’t mean for all of that to spill out, but I couldn’t hide the way I felt anymore.

“I can’t imagine how frustrating this is for you. And I know you’re having a hard time. I can’t tell you that you have to stay with me. I can’t do that to you. I can’t make you stay with me. So . . . If you want out this is your chance. I’m giving you the opportunity to end this. I understand if you want to.”

Whoa. WHOA. I did not say that. I definitely did not say I wanted to end things.

“Hold up. What part of I love you do you not understand? I love you, and just because I’m frustrated and missing you doesn’t mean that’s going to go away or just magically turn off. I’m in this for the long haul, however long that may be. Love isn’t bailing at the first sign of difficulty,” I said. The pasta was cold by this point, and I was going to have to reheat it, but this was more important right now.

“This isn’t the first sign of difficulty, Marisol. You’ve already been through a lot. I keep wondering what your breaking point is going to be. You’re so strong, but even you must have a point that makes you draw the line.”

Yes, I did have that point and we hadn’t crossed it yet. There were several deal breakers for me.

“Do you want to end this? I don’t want to force you to be with me either. Maybe this would be a lot easier if we took a break. It would be less pressure on you and less pressure on me. Maybe you could get done what you need to get done faster without worrying about me.” The words cut deep as I said them, but they had to be said. I didn’t want to be the only one working and fighting for us to be together if that wasn’t what he wanted anymore.

“No, no, no. I don’t want to end this. I only wanted you to know if you wanted to, I would be fine with that. Well, not fine, but . . .” Yeah, I wouldn’t be fine either.

“So what we’re trying to say here is that neither of us wants to end this, but we both agree if the other one does, no hard feelings. I think that’s what we’re getting at,” I said.

He chuckled. “Agreed. After all the beating around the bush. I don’t want to end this, you don’t want to end this, but we’re both frustrated and needed to let the other one know,” he said.

I was about to say something else, but my father walked in.

“How’s dinner coming? Need any help?” I turned around and pointed at the phone and mouthed “it’s Fin.” Dad gave me a thumbs up and backed out of the room to give me privacy.

“Who was that?” Fin asked.

“Just my dad. He asked how things were going with us and I told him they were good. Don’t worry, I’m not telling him anything. I haven’t even told Chloe much. Not that I know a whole lot.”

“You could if you really wanted to. I hate to think that you’re lying to your family. I don’t want to cause even more problems for you,” he said.

“No, no. It’s fine. I’m not used to talking to my family anyway. It’s no big deal to just . . . not tell them much. Besides, I don’t really want to give my dad too much else to worry about. He’s got enough on his plate.” And then some.

“But if you wanted to tell Chloe, I wouldn’t mind. You need to have someone to confide in.”

“Do you have someone?” I asked. Other than Sapphire, I’d never heard him talk about anyone like that.

“Well, it used to be Sapphire, but now I guess it’s you. I’m not really used to confiding in anyone.”

“But you need to have someone other than me to talk to. About me.” I laughed a little. I wasn’t the most eloquent tonight.

“I know I should. But I don’t get along with that many people.”

“You need a guy friend. A bromance, if you will.” I took the pasta out of the sink and put it back in the pot, threw in a jar of sauce, and turned the heat on low.

Fin laughed loudly and I congratulated myself for making it happen.

“I can’t foresee a bromance in my future, but I’ll give it a shot. Maybe I could be friends with that fellow Rory is seeing.” Now that would be interesting. And convenient for both Rory and me.

“Well, when you get back we can make the two of you go on a man date or something.” I pictured the two of them getting dressed up and having dinner at a fancy restaurant and maybe playing footsie under the table. Actually, that was kind of hot.

“It’s a plan.” I could tell he was going to say he needed to go, and then he did.

“It’s okay. I’m having dinner with my parents anyway,” I said, stirring the pasta and sauce so it didn’t stick to the bottom of the pan.

“I want to see your face. I’m hoping we can video chat sometime this week.”

Ooohh, I was definitely looking forward to that. Not even for the potential of cam sex. I just wanted to see his face, his smile. I’d missed it. Fin wasn’t big on pictures. The only physical one I had was from his chubby days in school.

“I would love that,” I said.

We said goodbye and hung up. I set my phone on the counter and turned my attention to the pasta. I finally got it hot again and took it to the formal dining room my parents always used. Dad came back leading Mom who was sleep-rumpled and had a grumpy expression on her face.

“But it’s nine in the morning,” she protested. “We can’t have pasta at nine in the morning.” Dad guided her to her seat and she sat. She had a satin dressing gown on over her nightgown. And she looked old. My parents had had me when they were older, but now I was realizing just how old they were getting. That was a sobering thought. I didn’t want to think about my parents being old.

“It’s seven in the evening, dear. You’ve slept the day away,” Dad said with forced cheerfulness.

“It is?” She glanced up at one of the clocks on a high shelf. I could see the confusion on her face as she tried to figure out what time it was.

“Oh, it is.”

“Hi, Mom,” I said, putting a smile on my face that felt wrong.

“Oh, Marisol. What are you doing here?”

“I came to have dinner with you. Is that okay?” I’d never shown up unannounced for dinner since I’d graduated high school and gone out on my own. And even when I lived in this house I tried to skip dinner as much as I could.

“Well, I suppose. But you really should have called ahead of time. What if there’s not enough food?” I didn’t get into the fact that I’d made said food. That would just launch her on another tirade about me cooking.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll remember to do that next time,” I said, swallowing my pride. I was going to be doing that a lot tonight.

“Doesn’t this look good?” Dad asked. He had that tone that people use with children and the sick. I hated it. Mom might be losing her mind, but she was still Mom. Keep things consistent.

“Why are you talking like that?” she asked Dad, glaring at him.

He looked at me and shrugged. “No reason.”

He served all of us and I passed around a salad.

“Is this it?” Mom said, wrinkling her nose at the plate in front of her. “This is pitiful. What are we paying cooks for if this is what they turn out? I think I need to go back and have a chat with the staff.” She started to get up, but Dad put a hand on her shoulder.

“The cooks had the night off, remember? Marisol made this for you.” I cringed when he said my name.

Mom turned to me. “Marisol made it?” She was highly skeptical and gave me that look I’d seen so many times before.

“Yes, I made it, Mom. It’s nothing fancy, I know, but I did make it.” My mother looked down at her plate as if it was going to bite her. Fine, if she didn’t want to eat it, she didn’t have to.

I dug into my salad and Dad started eating as well. Mom picked up her fork, but only to be polite. She would always try a bite of something so she didn’t seem rude. That woman never changed.

“So, Marisol, how was the chat with Fin?” Dad asked, sipping from his water glass. Actually, it was a wine glass filled with water. My parents always had wine with dinner, and I guessed he wanted to keep up the illusion, but wine might interfere with some of my mother’s medication.

I really wished he hadn’t mentioned Fin, but I knew why he did.

“He’s fine. Really busy with work.” And that was all the detail they were going to get about Fin and what he was currently doing.

“Hmm,” Mom said, pursing her lips as she speared some of the pasta with her fork. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

“Well, that’s nice. Isn’t that nice?” Dad was trying to keep the conversation going, but if Mom didn’t want to talk, nothing was going to make her into a Chatty Cathy.

“So he works for his father, does he?” she finally said, putting down her full fork without eating anything. I finished my salad and moved on to the pasta. It was fine. Nothing fancy, but edible.

“He does.” But not, I hoped, for much longer.

“His father is a very ambitious man,” she said, and got that faraway look on her face like when she’d seen Fin for the first time.

“I hope Fin shares some of his father’s ambition.” I hoped not, actually. I searched for some way to change the subject.

“I’m on the committee to organize the gala to support victims of domestic violence.” Okay, it wasn’t the greatest topic change, but it was the best I could come up with at the moment.

“Marisol, please. Let’s talk about this later,” Mom said, and I had to grind my teeth to keep from saying something back.

“I was just making conversation,” I said with another fake smile. Usually, I’d invite them to come to such events, but that didn’t seem like the thing to do right now.

“This is really good, Marisol,” Dad said. This was going south fast. I started shoveling the food into my mouth.

“Thanks,” I said. Mom still hadn’t had any. So much for trying to feed her.

I finished my plate in record time and drained my water glass.

“Well, I should really, um, get back. Homework and so forth.” That made Mom look even more disapproving. They were never going to get over the fact that I valued my education more than, say, money.

“This has been nice. Hasn’t this been nice?” Dad asked. He was trying way too hard.

“Yes, very nice,” Mom said in a way that was anything but nice.

“Well, I’ll, um, be in touch,” I said, pushing my chair out and standing. Dad stood with me, but Mom stayed sitting. Fine. I walked around the table and gave her a kiss on the cheek anyway.

“See you soon, Mom.” She ignored me. Awesome. I’d done something to piss her off and she wasn’t going to tell me what it was. I couldn’t count the number of dinners that had ended this way.

Dad gave me a hug and a sympathetic look. “I’ll try to get her to eat something,” he whispered in my ear. “Thank you so much for dinner. It was really sweet of you.”

“Let me know how everything goes tomorrow,” I whispered back, and Mom cleared her throat to break it up. God, that woman made it hard to love her.

I headed out the front door and called for a taxi. I waited on the front steps instead of waiting inside. The cab finally came, and I got in, feeling like I’d just run a marathon.