Page 32 of Back to You
Sometimes, talking to him feels like stepping back in time, like slipping into a version of myself that I thought I’d lost. It’s effortless—the way we fall into conversation, the way we tease, the way he makes me feel like no time has passed at all, like we’re seventeen again, as if we’re still those kids who had no idea what heartbreak really felt like.
Then reality crashes in, heavy and unrelenting; I’m not seventeen anymore—I’m a woman who has lived through things I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
A woman whose past is littered with pain, loss, and choices that left scars in places no one can see. A woman who buried her husband and carries the weight of his choices like a stone in her chest.
Sebastian doesn’t know any of it, and I’m grateful for that, because when I talk to him, I don’t have to be the version of me that’s haunted by the past six years. I don’t have to see the pity in his eyes or hear the whispered poor Mariana like I’m some tragic story people tell in hushed voices.
With him, I can just be me—the version of myself I thought was lost, the one who existed before the weight of the past buried her.
I wonder, briefly, if he ever suspected. If, deep down, he had an inkling that I wasn’t happy, that the life I chose wasn’t what I had dreamed it would be. Would he have said I told you so? The answer comes instantly. No. Not him. Sebastian isn’t like that; he never has been.
He’s a good man, a rare kind of good. The kind that loves without conditions, the kind that doesn’t keep score. And maybe that’s why, after all these years, after everything that’s happened… he still feels like home.
There’s a knock at my door, so I run downstairs and swing the door open to find Analyse standing there. I look around to see if Seb or Maya are with her, but she appears to be alone.
“Seb is at the station, and Maya is at a playdate.”, She says.
Confused, I say, “Okay… Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what are you doing here?”
Analyse looks me up and down, taking in my pajamas, and says, “Seb says I need friends. So, get dressed; we’re going to have a boozy brunch.”
The late morning sun spills golden light across the patio, warming the wooden tables. The scent of sizzling carne asada and fresh tortillas hangs thick in the air.
El Torito has been my go-to brunch spot for years—before I moved to Seattle, before everything changed.
There’s something comforting about being here, about the relaxed chatter of other diners, the promise of bottomless mimosas, and the knowledge that, within minutes, I’ll be digging into the best huevos rancheros and chilaquiles I’ve ever had.
I swirl the stem of my champagne flute between my fingers, watching the bubbles rise, before glancing across the table at Analyse.
She’s scrolling through her phone with a lazy kind of ease, her sunglasses perched on top of her head, her hair catching in the sunlight. We were never close growing up. She’s two years younger than Seba and me, which, in high school, might as well have been a lifetime.
We never ran in the same circles, and never had the type of friendship that existed outside of the fact that I was dating her brother.
But we did spend a lot of time together—birthday parties, family cookouts, Sunday dinners where I sat at the Garcia family’s kitchen table while their mom quizzed me on whether I was eating enough (probably not), and their dad playfully gave Sebastian grief about how he “better treat his girl right.”—that version of life feels so far away now, so much has changed, yet, somehow, Analyse is still here.
I take a sip of my mimosa, the tartness of the orange juice cutting through the dryness in my throat. When she showedup at my door this morning, sunglasses on, keys dangling from her fingers, saying simply, “Get dressed, we’re going to boozy brunch.” I hadn’t been surprised—Analyse has always had a way of deciding things for people.
If I’m being honest, I’m glad she’s willing to be here with me—willing to still be my friend despite everything that happened between Sebastian and me.
She has every reason to hate me, to be angry, to resent me for breaking the heart of the person she loves most in the world. Instead, she’s sitting across from me, sipping her coffee like it's just any other Saturday, like I’m still welcome here, and I don’t take that for granted.
Analyse tilts her head, running her finger along the rim of her mimosa glass before taking a slow sip. She sets it down with a soft clink, swirling the golden liquid as she glances at me. "So," she says, her voice light but probing. "How’s it going at the bakery?"
I brighten immediately, pushing my mimosa aside and leaning forward. "Really well! Aside from all the work that needs to go into these renovations."
"Right, right." She quirks an eyebrow, lips twitching. "Seb is there every chance he gets."
Guilt tugs at my chest. "Lyse, I’m so sorry if he’s there too much. I know he helps you with Maya—I don’t want to take him away from her or from you. If it’s too much, I can tell him to cut back on hours there. I mean, it’s not like I’m paying him or anything."
Analyse lets out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. "Mari, chill. You’re fine—he does help with Maya, but that doesn’t mean he can’t have his own life and do his own thing. Besides, he’s still helping out a ton. More than I need, really."
"That sounds so much like him." A grin pulls at my lips. "Being there for everyone and everything."
Analyse takes a slow sip of her coffee, studying me over the rim of her mug before she lowers it. "So, it’s been going well between you two?"
I pause. "What do you mean?"
She shrugs, but there’s something too knowing in her expression. "I just mean… are you guys friends? Or is there something more going on?"
