I did say 'hope to wrap up in exactly two parts' – emphasis on 'hope'. But the next part will be the last, so there you go. Promises, promises, eh?
/
Bianca finds herself thinking about fate; thinking about destiny. A sequence of events that is inevitable and unchangeable, that's what fate is and that's what destiny is all about. It is the idea that no matter what path a person may choose, the destination will always be the same.
The notion of fate can be a saving grace or a cruel joke – depending on which side of the coin you call out as it spins in the air. Will it be heads and love lasts forever? Or will it be tails and everything ends?
Sitting at this stop sign as the rain falls in sheets and as the driver of this taxi wipes at the windshield with the palm of his hand in order to see the road, Bianca wonders if this country is actually going to let her leave without a fight or are bigger plans in motion after all.
She tries, in vain, to listen to the driver as he talks into the two-way radio but her Spanish is rather limited. Whatever words Bianca catches of this one-sided conversation are like missing puzzle pieces to some bigger picture she cannot see. After what seems like a really long ten minutes, the driver turns around and delivers the not-so-good news.
"The roads are flooding. Too much rain too quickly."
Bianca notices, with some amount of weary irritation, that the man's English is perfect.
"But I have to get to the airport. Isn't there another way to get there?" Bianca questions as calmly as possible. Her hands, though, are gripping those folders to the point of creating indentations. The driver shakes his head first – in the negative – and then vocalizes the reality that Bianca wants to ignore.
"It is worse near the airport, ma'am. It's a really bad storm. You need to stay here in the city tonight."
And none of this is part of the plan.
This was supposed to be a quick trip, albeit a painful one, and she was supposed to arrive back in Pennsylvania late tonight. She was supposed to use that time up in the air to silently grieve, to order a drink (or two or three) and say good-bye to a future no longer viable. She was supposed to be able look at the sleeping faces of her girls tonight and, with that vision, be able to remind herself that not everything is lost; not everything is wrong in her life right now.
Fate, though, will have its way. And so destiny deems that Bianca Montgomery remain in Mexico City for a little bit longer.
/
By the time she turns out the lights and locks the door to the office, the rain is moving sideways through the air. The traffic has ground down to a stand-still, all blinking turn signals and engines idling as people wait out the deluge of water falling from the skies.
It's a bad day to be caught outside, that's what Marissa Tasker thinks with a disappointed groan.
It's a bad day to have decided to walk those five blocks to work, that's what Marissa Tasker knows without a single shred of doubt.
The rumbling of thunder has not left the heavens, nor have the flashes of lightning lessened. This is one storm that seems to want to stick around and make an impact. Marissa could wait it out like everyone else; she could turn right back around and sit in that office. She could eat the somewhat stale pack of crackers that she keeps in her right-side drawer and called that dinner. She could stay dry, she could stare at the walls or read over old client files, she could watch the wind blow over the streets and turn all those puddles into mini-waves – all from the office windowsill.
But that just does not appeal to her in the slightest.
It's not been a long day. It's been an odd day, though. It's been a day where the past got just a little closer than it needed to; it's been a day where Marissa did a couple of things that she doesn't normally do.
And so she wants to go home. She wants to go home and take a long bath and push the world away.
Marissa isn't even in the right kind of shoes for running along slick concrete but to run is the only way she'll make it to her apartment without being washed away. Five blocks is a leisurely walk on a sunny morning, coffee in one hand and briefcase held in the other hand. Five blocks is a decent work-out if you are the kind to jog at five a.m., before the vendors come alive and before the business men rush those corporate gates.
During weather like this, though, five blocks is like some brutally unexpected segment of boot camp.
By the time she reaches Colonia Roma, Marissa is soaked through and through. As she drips water everywhere she steps within the relative quiet of her building's foyer, Marissa hears the faint sing-song tune of her cell phone coming from her coat pocket.
The number is unfamiliar…
"Marissa Tasker speaking."
"Ms. Tasker, uh, this is Bianca Montgomery."
…but the voice that greets her isn't unfamiliar at all. There is a momentary jolt that races through Marissa's body the second she recognizes the woman's voice over the phone line.
That's just another thing about this day that has not made sense to Marissa - her reaction to Bianca Montgomery. Sure, she knows that this unspoken connection between them where Pine Valley is concerned does play a part but that's just not all there is to it.
Of course, Marissa isn't sure she truly wants to know all the other parts of this puzzle.
"It's Marissa… remember?" Marissa replies softly with a smile already forming on her lips.
But just like that, the fine lines are erased once again and she is responding to Bianca Montgomery as if she has known the woman for much longer than just a day.
Marissa is opening the door without a second thought and, for the first time in a long while, she wants someone to walk in.
/
"It's Marissa… remember?"
Bianca isn't sure what is going on, only that it is happening and she isn't fast enough to stop it. Or, rather, a part of her doesn't want to stop whatever is going on – so she calls this person, this lawyer who was only meant to be in her life for a short period of time, and she reaches out when every voice in her head says to be still.
"I remember." Bianca returns in kind, her own voice like a whisper. She clears her throat, though, and tries for some semblance of control. Because this isn't the day for something like this, whatever this is. This isn't the day; this isn't the right moment. This is not how things should happen.
Bianca doesn't want an experience with fate right now. She is done with destiny today; she's done with fairy tales and forever-and-ever-after kind of daydreams.
"So… is something wrong with the paperwork? Do you have more questions?" Marissa prompts and Bianca is called out of her determined inner-speeches.
"I do have a question but it is not about any of that. I, uh, need some suggestions for somewhere to stay tonight. The roads are flooded and I called the airport to rearrange my flight. I won't be leaving until the morning."
And Bianca isn't sure what is going on but she is holding her breath, as if she knows something is coming and she cannot be certain if she'll make it through any of this – not the divorce, not this storm in Mexico City, not this rush of want that pushes at her insides without the slightest provocation or invitation whenever Marissa Tasker speaks.
All her plans are falling forward, one by one, and Bianca could try to turn the tide. Or she can step back and see where these chips will fall. It's not picking a path; it's not a clear choice being made. It is interest mingling with trepidation and this is not the right time for such an interaction. Of course, with her track record, Bianca does not know if there is ever a 'right' time for anything in this world.
There are just moments and nothing more. There are just seconds to feel something for someone and then it passes.
And perhaps, for Bianca, living in the moment is not as terrible as it once seemed.
/
"You can stay with me if you'd like."
Fate.
Destiny.
It's something, though neither of them can put a name on it – not yet.
And Marissa's suggestion just tumbles out, not a bit of forethought or warning to it. It is an undiluted statement, coming from somewhere deep inside Marissa's soul and coming from someone caught up in a sudden gust of longing.
And instead of immediately balking and backpedalling, Bianca does the complete opposite. Instead of being cautious, Bianca throws caution to the wind.
"Okay. I'll stay with you."
/
For a few minutes or so, they sit there in a somewhat awkward silence.
Bianca said 'thank you so much for this' as she walked through the door and Marissa waved off the gratitude in a nonchalant sort of way, saying that it was 'no big deal '. After that exchange, though, neither one of them seemed to know quite what to say.
But then they both look at one another – Marissa with a sheepish grin and Bianca with an amused roll of the eyes – and the stalemate of conversation is broken.
"Well, that wasn't at all uncomfortable or anything was it?" Marissa jokes as she pushes herself off the couch and walks towards the kitchen. Bianca follows the woman's movements – the opening of the refrigerator, the rummaging around in cabinets – and then she shrugs her shoulders in a relaxed manner when Marissa is facing her once more.
"Hey, that's the best five minutes of totally weird silence I've ever shared with someone I barely know."
Bianca smiles after she says this, a really warm and wonderful kind of smile, and Marissa feels her damn heart actually skip a beat. And she should be so scared of this; she should feel so terrified about every single part of this.
The reaction Marissa decides upon, though, is to grab two bottles of beer and offer one to Bianca.
"Then I think we should get to know each other better… you know, to make the next quiet time a little less strange. Sound good to you?"
Bianca takes hold of the dark brown glass bottle with a small nod of acquiescence.
"Sounds perfect."
/
"What about the twenty questions thing?" Marissa suggests as they sit there and sip their drinks.
"I can do that. Just, you know, no boring questions."
"What's a boring question to you?"
"Like asking what my favorite color is or—"
"But you can tell a lot about a person by what their favorite color is."
"It's just a color."
"And it can say a lot about a person…"
"Uh huh."
"So… what's your favorite color?"
Bianca finds herself laughing softly as Marissa takes another pull from her beer, quirking one eyebrow in challenge. So, Bianca sighs in temporary, albeit pleased, defeat.
"Well, I guess… I don't know, green… maybe?" Bianca makes it sound more like a query than an answer and that causes Marissa's body to shake with quiet amusement. The initial discomfort is gone and Bianca is feeling more at ease with this woman than she usually does with anyone – even family – so she takes the tip of her shoe and almost playfully nudges the side of one of Marissa's legs.
"Are you laughing at my color choice?"
"Not at all."
Bianca looks skeptical and Marissa grins even more. In fact, Marissa cannot remember the last time she has smiled this much and this genuinely. It's like there has been this invisible and previously unknown tightness in her chest; a knot she has learned to live with. But now those ropes unfurl, now those ropes loosen and spread out in release.
"So, c'mon, what does the color green say about me?" Bianca asks as she sits her empty bottle on the floor by her feet.
"Oh, it says so much about you…" Marissa intones in a voice of mock seriousness and Bianca smirks just a bit in response.
"I don't think you have a clue what it means. You are all bluff… just like a lawyer."
Marissa gasps in good-humored shock. And this time she is the one to lean over, to continue this crossing of all lines that probably should not be crossed, and she lightly slaps the back of her hand against Bianca's thigh.
"I totally know what it means!"
"Then prove it!"
Marissa can prove it, too. During the long hours of studying (or sometimes frantically cramming) for exams in law school, she would take a weekend to read just about anything that had absolutely nothing to do with law. And one day that just happened to be a book on the meaning of colors. For whatever reason, Marissa never forgot the interesting tidbits of information in that book.
And so she knows that blue can mean sadness or magic; red can mean love or aggression; yellow can mean optimism or cowardice. The color that someone likes can reflect the dual nature of that person – the best and the worst all in one hue – and Marissa finds that endlessly intriguing.
Even now, with Bianca Montgomery watching her with a mirthful gaze, Marissa is tallying up the meanings of the color green in relation to this woman.
But Marissa isn't ready to go there just yet. It's not late enough yet; she's not had enough to drink just yet. And, yet, Marissa knows that tonight will be a night of revelations – hers, Bianca's – and the likelihood that it will go far beyond favorite colors is high.
"It means you have an unnatural love for St. Patrick's Day." Marissa states with a mischievous little smirk and Bianca rolls her eyes once more.
"I was right. You have no idea what it means."
"Fine, fine… Moving on to the next question."
/
Around eight p.m., Marissa brings out a couple of plates of whatever she could find in the kitchen – which turns out to be a combination of cheeses, warmed-up tortillas, some stale corn chips, and some salsa verde that she whipped up herself three days ago.
"Sorry, it's not much. I haven't done any real shopping in a week." Marissa apologizes.
"I'm not complaining. Food is food." Bianca assures the other woman and it is not a false statement either. If one of her children were here, she might feel compelled to wish for more than a few odds-and-ends of the edible world. But with a stomach steadily filling up with beer, Bianca is more than happy to wrap one of the tortillas up with cheese and salsa and call it a meal.
So, they eat and continue to drink and carry on with their game of twenty questions. They have bounced between the frivolous and the not-so-frivolous during this verbal exploration. But neither one of them have backed down from giving an answer – even if the answers are sometimes a little more evasive than directly honest.
Marissa learns that Bianca's favorite time of the year is winter.
"Because my girls love it, you know, Christmas and all of that. I get to see the holiday through their eyes and that makes it wonderful."
Bianca learns all about the song that Marissa calls her favorite.
"It's one my father used to sing to me as a kid; it's called 'Forever More'… Just hearing it in my head can make me feel better on a crappy day."
Neither one of them really believes in ghosts but, if they have seen a horror film, they still turn on every light around them – just in case. Marissa has always wanted to go to Ireland; Bianca has always wanted to see Machu Picchu. They get into a very amusing debate over which food is best to eat in the middle of the night – Bianca's vote goes towards cold leftovers ('like Chinese or pizza') whereas Marissa opts for the sweeter approach ('a slice of chocolate cake'). They agree to disagree on that one.
And all the while, the space between them is narrowing and not just in the metaphorical sense either.
With each question and each answer, they have found a way to move closer and closer to one another. If Marissa were to stretch her leg out, it could easily go over Bianca's lap. If Bianca were to reach out now, she could slip her arm comfortably around Marissa's waist.
Then there are the looks going on between them ; sometimes quick, sometimes lingering. Marissa turns her head to the side, giggling over something said, and Bianca notices the blush of pink to the woman's pale face; she notices the way Marissa's red hair tumbles and falls over the skin of the woman's throat.
Bianca will deliver an answer with some personal anecdote attached and, in listening, Marissa will find herself getting lost in those brown eyes; she follows the curve of Bianca's lips and catches herself wondering what it would feel like touch those lips as they move.
There are other questions they have yet to ask, though.
Are you gay? Are you straight? Does it really matter?
They are so close to each other now; they are talking in between laughter and whispers, in between soft admissions and solid bantering.
Are you flirting with me? Do you want me to return the favor?
It is the gleam within Marissa's gaze; it is resting in the corners of Bianca's smile. It strengthens each time they touch – tactility born of quick comfort, easy excuses for contact.
Is this happening? Do you want it to happen?
Somewhere, there is the ghost of Reese. Somewhere, there is the ghost of J.R. Somewhere, there are all the mistakes and all the stumbling and all the regrets. But those things are not here, not now, not when Marissa and Bianca look at each other for a second too long.
Will this be one night?
Bianca moves her body, just a little bit, and the cushion beneath her dips. And like ripples in water, Marissa's body moves as well and rocks into Bianca – just for moment, just the faintest brush of their shoulders. But that's almost enough to bring down that last border; that's almost enough to cause them to truly collide.
Or will this night be more than that?
And around ten p.m., that still raging storm finally takes out all the lights in Mexico City.
/ / /
To Be Continued-
