Page 27 of The One You Chose

Arms still crossed, my mother was silent. Point taken.

“I may have been a little less than forthcoming about who I was.”

My mother made a dangerous “mmhmmm” sound that echoed my childhood memories of being in trouble. I explained what happened as best I could, leaving out the late-night details of our two meetings. I was not about to talk about sex with my mom.

“I wrote her another email asking her for another chance, but I don’t know if she’ll respond, she was mad.”

“Because you’re acting like a fool.” My mother shook her head. “I didn’t raise my son to be like that. You know better.”

I nodded. After emailing Lina, I realized she wouldn’t respond. In the small town we were bound to run into each other again. I knew it was likely a lost cause. She had told me that first night she didn’t like liars.

I shooed my mom away to the living room, while I started handwashing the dishes. My mother refused to get a dishwasher, insisting that she could clean it better than an old machine. Hank, my cat slinked around my ankles, hoping for a spare piece of food to be dropped on the ground. My hands deep in hot soapy water I heard the back door click open. In the doorway was an older gentleman holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a wrapped gift in the other. I dried my hands on the dishtowel, studying the man. He was close to my mother’s age, with salt and pepper hair and tan skin. He was dressed in a red and green flannel. I looked from the man to my mother. There was a scrambling sound from the other room and my mother was in the kitchen again.

“Oh, Domingo.” My mother stepped between them, fumbling with her wineglass. Her eyes darted from the gentleman to me. “Uh, Domingo, this is my son, Fitz.”

To the man’s credit, he smoothly set the wine down and stuck his hand out to me. “Domingo Garza. I’ve heard a lot about you from your mother.”

Taking the man’s hand, I shot my mother a quick look. “Is that so?”

“Domingo moved in next door about six months ago. He is the principal at the middle school. He showed me how to train my cucumbers to grow on the trellis last summer.”

I got the feeling a lot more than the upkeep of creeping vines was going on. The man had a firm handshake and apparently a good job. It had been ten years since my father passed. I wasn’t going to tell my mother what to do.

After a minute of awkward conversation, I excused myself, heading up the stairs to hide in my room like I did when I was fifteen. Some things never change when you go home.

eighteen

Maybe

Lina

Christmaswasasloudand busy and warm as I knew it would be. My little cousin TK accidentally kicked a hole in my father’s antique stereo. Uncle Chester got sent to no-man’s-land of the garage after pinching Aunt Bea’s middle and commenting that she was looking “tubby.” My mother grumbled the whole time about how many people were in her home even though she was the one who insisted on hosting Christmas Eve dinner every year. I was two glasses deep of oinomelo, a mulled honey wine, and dusk was falling outside in shades of muted pink and orange. A dull drizzle painted the streets outside with a shine. As it was almost every year in the Pacific Northwest, a white Christmas was unlikely. For some reason we got good snow storms in February typically a week after everyone got their snow tires taken off. Glancing out the window I saw their neighbor’s, The Pryce’s, had set up a large outdoor Christmas display of tasteful wire animals lit with small lights. Not to be outdone by Janine Pryce, my mother had my father on the roof for hours setting up their display; the whole of Avonwood Ponds illuminated by the thousands of lights on their roof. The week before, Santa had ridden by on the fire truck, handing out candy canes with the help of elves, a local tradition put on by the fire department.

Taking a sip of my mulled honey wine, I thought back to the holidays before this one. All the same. The bickering between sisters, the kids getting into trouble, the husbands hiding in the garage listening to whatever sport was playing on the radio. Yia-Yia sat in the corner sipping her white wine and eating pistachios. I loved my family and the holidays, but I couldn’t get rid of the ache in my chest. I grabbed a melomakarona off the plate, munching on the honey cookie to sooth the pangs shuddering through me.

No matter that this holiday was one of my favorites, I couldn’t stop wondering where Fitz was, and if he truly meant what he said in his email. From my wallowing spot in a chair, I watched as they opened gifts, ate dinner, and reveled together in holiday spirit. I feigned a smile or two, but couldn’t muster much more.

“Darling, what is wrong with you?” My mother asked, frowning as she looked from the frown on my face, to my empty wineglass, to the cookie crumbs scattered over the front of my scarlet velvet dress.

“Nothing.”

“Evangelina, I know when you are lying. What's going on?”

I opened my mouth to make an excuse and began to cry.

Ten minutes later we were hiding out in her bedroom, sitting on her California king with its white and blue floral comforter. My hands clutching a big mug of steamy tea, I told her the story as best I could. The way we met after I was stood up, the missed connection the next day. The emails we sent each other and the growing intimacy of our communication. Seeing him again to find out he was the same man I was emailing this entire holiday season. The only thing I left out was the gory details of our nights together. She didn’t need to hear that.

“... and everything about us felt like fate pulling me to him only to rip us apart. To see him again that way, it felt like it was meant to be. But to find out he lied? I don’t know if I can forgive him for that, Mama.”

My mother pulled my hands in hers. Looking down at our joined fingers I noticed the way her pinkies had a slight curve the same as mine.

“I don’t love that you spent the night with a man, but I won’t say anything more.” Her face soured as if she wanted to say more, but was martyring herself on the alter of restraint. “Maybe this is fate, maybe not. But what it can be is an opportunity. What is your heart telling you to do? Not that sweet rational head, but your heart?”

I paused as I thought about her question. Why did I want to assume the worst of Fitz for not telling me? I knew my answer. It had been the same since that night at the bar when he took my hand in his and led me away from the crowd.

He fit me. We fit together. I craved him. For the first time in my life, I felt seen, heard. It didn’t matter that we only spent a few hours together. What we had was special. I couldn’t let that go over a misunderstanding, could I?

When I didn’t answer, my mother patted my hand. She must have known that I didn’t have a good answer. “Why don’t you sleep here tonight. Daddy will make you Christmas breakfast in the morning.”

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