Chapter Eight (Jane POV)
"Okay, it's almost go time. Let's review the ground rules again."
Hands clasped behind my back, I stop pacing for a brief moment to address my family, much like a general closely inspecting her troops before war. Mom, Dad and Abuela are focused on me in rapt attention, ready to hang onto every word I say. Dad has even gone a step further and has pen and writing pad at the ready so that he can takes notes. Mateo, on the other hand, has the attention span of a typical child and has already moved on to more interesting things in his opinion. He is currently staging a makeshift monster truck rally on Abuela's living room coffee table. And Rafael…well, he's here.
He mostly hangs out in the background, on the periphery of the family's activity, his expression sullen and unenthused. While I appreciate that he wants to be a supportive presence in what I'm anticipating will be an awkward and emotional experience, a tiny part of me wishes he weren't here right now. After all, today is the day that I officially reintroduce Michael to my family. I'm excited, nervous and firmly determined not to let the evening end in disaster.
When Rafael offered to be present when I informed him of my intention to invite Michael to dinner, I initially turned him down. This was going to be an incredibly delicate situation and I didn't really think Rafael glaring daggers at Michael the entire time he was here was going to help matters. Furthermore, Michael really has no context for why Rafael would be glaring daggers at him in the first place (though he has mentioned that he thinks in the scenario that's been recounted to him that he should be the one to hate Rafael and not the other way around). He knows the history but he really doesn't feel anything about it. Therefore, he really has no investment in the past rivalry between them and, because he doesn't care, I imagine that is only going to tick Rafael off even more.
I've told Rafael on numerous occasions already that there is absolutely no reason for him to stay, especially when I know he doesn't really want to be there in the first place. But his answer has remained consistent throughout the morning. Mateo. He wants to be present for Mateo's sake. In his mind, our son is going to have some sort of childish breakdown when he comes face to face with Michael. But I've learned over the course of the last few days that Mateo is much more resilient than I first thought.
When Rafael and I had first sat him down to gently explain to him that Mommy's dead husband wasn't so dead after all, I had been filled with apprehension and doubt. I love Mateo dearly but he can be willful and temperamental when he doesn't get his way. I couldn't be sure if he would see Michael's returned presence as an obstacle to his parents being together again and spiral into a fit of tantrums. The way Rafael kept going on and on about the "potential trauma" Mateo faced that was fully what I had expected to happen. I even did a bit of research on how to help your child adjust to major life changes just so I could be prepared. However, much to my and Rafael's utter shock, Mateo had taken the news surprisingly well.
"Does that mean Michael is going to come live with us at the new house?"
It is the last question I expect him to ask and so I dart an uneasy glance over at Rafael. There are no tears, no explosions of rage, just an abundance of curiosity and excitement. It's…strange. Rafael plainly agrees with that. The expression on his face can be aptly described as horrified. Eager to diffuse the situation before it escalates further, I turn back to address Mateo, who is regarding me in wide eyed wonder.
"No, baby," I tell him gently, "Michael isn't going to come live with us."
Further shocking, Mateo is actually disappointed. "But why?" he whines, "Then he can be a family with me, you, Daddy, Petra and the twins."
Rafael clears his throat and, after making several attempts to speak, finally manages to reply to our son, "That's not really appropriate, Mateo. We're a family and Michael has his own family."
"But can't we be his family too?" Mateo insists stubbornly, "Mommy loves Michael and Mommy loves you so we should all be together because we all love each other. That's what you told me, Daddy. When people love each other, they should be a family."
I shake the memory of that day from my mind. Since that disastrous first discussion, Rafael and I have worked tirelessly to convince Mateo of all the reasons why Michael living with us cannot work (which essentially boiled down to there being no room for Michael because he's too big). What else was I supposed to say? I had prepared for every contingent and possible reaction except Mateo actually being happy about the news.
But, of course, Mateo couldn't take no for an answer. My determined little son had a solution for making room for Michael too. "Michael can stay in my room!" he had piped excitedly. Clearly, from Mateo's innocent standpoint, Michael's presence wasn't going to detract from his family unit at all but instead enhance it. I credit that to the fact that I made Michael very real to him as he grew up and always emphasized how very much Michael had loved him. I'm sure it also helps that Mateo's family is about as unconventional as they come.
But while I had been pleased by Mateo's obvious attachment and willingness to accept Michael and believed it was a good and healthy thing, Rafael had not been at all pleased. He had confronted me about it that night after we put Mateo to bed. Truthfully, it had been one of the biggest fights we'd ever had since Michael's return and the hurt feelings and resentment that resulted from that confrontation still linger now.
"Why would you tell Mateo all those stories about Michael?"
"What are you talking about? You knew I told him about Michael."
"I knew you explained to him why you were sad. I didn't realize you built Michael up to superhero status in his eyes!"
I immediately stiffen at the accusative undercurrent in his tone. "I didn't build him up to 'superhero' status. I told him the truth,'" I reply, "Michael was a significant part of Mateo's life, Rafael!"
"Oh, you told him the truth, did you? Did you also tell him how Michael resented the fact he'd been conceived at all, that he didn't even want you to have Mateo?" Rafael hisses angrily, "Or the fact Michael punched me while I was holding him or that Michael gave the woman involved in his kidnapping a pass because he was sleeping with her? How about all of that?"
"What is wrong with you? You make it sound like Michael was out to deliberately hurt Mateo!"
"Does it matter if it was deliberate or not? It happened and yet, you've built him up in our son's mind to be something he wasn't!"
"Excuse me? That is not what I've done!" I cry, "I told Mateo that Michael loved him, which was true! He adored Mateo and he was looking forward to raising him and watching him grow up!"
"What love are you talking about? Michael was barely in Mateo's life a year and the only reason he bothered was because you and Mateo came as a packaged deal!"
I glare at him, the tenuous thread holding my temper in check snapping completely. "Are you kidding me with this right now? Michael wasn't some casual boyfriend I had back then that just passed through Mateo's life and then was gone! He was my husband and Mateo's stepfather. He rocked him to sleep. He fed him! He changed him! He took care of Mateo when he was sick! He loved Mateo like he was his own son! He didn't walk out on Mateo! We thought he died and if that hadn't happened, Michael would have had a major part of our son's life! So, you can check the self-righteous attitude, Raf, because I don't want to hear you imply that Michael was less than ever again!"
Realizing he had provoked true rage from me, Rafael softens his words and attempts a verbal backtrack but the damage has already been done. "I just don't understand why you had to create this mythical image of Michael to Mateo at all. Now, he won't ever be able to look at this situation realistically."
"He's five. Besides that, I loved Michael and he was still a very real part of my life. I wanted him to be real to Mateo too."
Even thinking about it now, I can feel my anger reignite all over again. Rafael's disdain for Michael has always been a source of irritation to me, mostly because it seems to ebb and flow depending on the situation. There are times when I think Rafael has come to terms with Michael and the place he had in my life. And then there are times when it's clear that his resentment towards Michael is as strong as ever, when everything that happened with us all those years ago is still fresh.
Once upon a time, I had been able to tolerate that particular character flaw of his and even excuse it but not now. Not after I've learned the extent of what Michael suffered when he was taken from us. Now, I can't abide Rafael bad mouthing him because it truly angers me to hear it. It's not surprising then that, beyond the necessary discussions we had to have in anticipation of Michael's arrival, Rafael and I have largely ignored one another. Were it not for Mateo, we likely wouldn't have interacted at all.
At this precise moment, I'm okay with that. He's not on my list of favorite people right now. And even if he were, even if we tried to talk it out I know we'd eventually find ourselves right back in the same, circular argument. No matter how many times we discuss it, analyze the situation or confront our feelings, Michael continues to be a bone of contention between me and Rafael. I get the sense that nothing less than me cutting off complete contact with Michael will make Rafael happy. And that is where we will always have a fundamental difference…because I have no intention of ever cutting Michael Cordero out of my life.
I try to put those bad feelings out of my heart and head as I survey my family and review the game plan for Michael's arrival one last time. "Okay," I say after a quick glance at the wall clock, "Michael should be here in less than hour. It is very, very important that you not be too clingy or fawn all over him. Tears and hugs are fine but anything more demonstrative than that will make him uncomfortable." I look over to my father, who is furiously scribbling away. "I'm talking to you specifically, Dad."
Dad stops mid-scrawl. "What are you talking about?" he brazens, "Have you forgotten that I am a very gifted actor, Jane? I am master at concealing my true emotions."
I favor him with a smirk of pure skepticism. "Right." My sarcasm then gives way to earnest pleading. "Please, please don't overwhelm him, Dad. He'll run and I'll never see him again."
"I will do my very best to restrain myself, Jane," he promises, "I want him to be comfortable as much as you do."
"Good."
"Is there anything special we need to know before Michael gets here?" Mom asks, "Is talking about the past off limits? Should we do things to try and jog his memory, remind him of the things he likes and doesn't like?"
"Absolutely not," I tell her, "Michael lives very much in the present now so if you want to have a conversation with him, talk to him about that. Treat him as if this truly is the first time you've met him. Try not to pressure him to remember the past."
"¿No quieres que mencionemos el pasado en absoluto?" Abuela asks.
"You can bring it up and tell him all the stories you want," I reply, "But don't put the pressure on him to fill in the blanks. And if he does something or says something that wasn't typical for him before, try not to draw attention to it."
"Got it," Dad says, "Anything else?"
I offer the three of them a grateful smile. "No. Thank you all for doing this."
In the thirty minutes we have left before Michael's arrival, Mom and Abuela finish up dinner in the kitchen while Dad sets the table. Rafael keeps Mateo occupied with his cars and I try not to go out of my mind with waiting. Every time there is the slightest rustling from outside I sprint to the door and fling it open only to be disappointed when Michael isn't on the other side of it. And when I'm not doing that, I'm compulsively glancing out the window in anticipation of his arrival. I think I hear creaking out on the porch and I'm about to dart for the door yet again when Mom intercepts me.
"Jane, you need calm down," she soothes me with a smile, "I'm sure Michael hasn't forgotten how to knock. You don't need to keep running to the door to check."
"What if he's changed his mind, Ma?" I fret, "What if he doesn't come?"
Mom cradles my face in her hands, much like she did when I was a little girl, and presses a tender kiss to my forehead. "Stop it. He's going to be here."
"But what if-,"
"No, we're not going down that rabbit hole," she interrupts, shushing any efforts I make for an argument, "He is going to be here. Say it. I want to hear you say the words, Jane."
I'm aggravated by her methods by obedient to her bidding nonetheless. "He is going to be here."
She smiles. "Good. Now go sit on the sofa because you're driving me crazy with all this pacing!"
As I flop down onto the sofa to watch Rafael and Mateo play together, I know on some level that I'm being ridiculous but I cannot shake the fear that is always with me that Michael will disappear again. I have actual nightmares about it, terrors that awaken me in the night and leave me crying in a cold sweat. I'm so desperate for him to form some kind of attachment to his family, to me and my family, to anything at all because I know if a bond can be built he won't find it so easy to walk away. But when I try to look at the situation through his eyes, I honestly can't fathom why he would want to stay.
He was kidnapped, held prisoner and tortured for years. Every time I think about what he endured I feel sick, sicker still when I remember that I was falling in love and having sex and making a new life while he was rotting. And then, he returns to his old life to discover that everyone he loves has moved on without him. But, the irony is, he's moved on too and has formed a deep attachment and affection for another woman. He also has no memories of the life he once had, nothing to spark a yearning for his past and nothing to hold him back.
I am acutely aware that, at any time, Michael could very well decide that reconnecting with his old life wasn't worth his time. He could very well decide that he preferred his happily ever after with Lorena Diaz in Texas. I don't know what I will do if that happens. The very prospect paralyzes me with fear. Sometimes it feels like I can't even breathe.
If, in the end, Michael decides to turn his back on his past and ignore our existence, I'm not so sure that I could move on as easily and ignore his. I'm not so sure anything would ever be the same for me again. I have five weeks left to convince him that he's where he belongs and I honestly don't know what I will do if I don't succeed. Failure is literally not an option.
I'm so lost in my despondent thoughts that I almost miss the shadow that crosses the front door. In a flash I'm off the sofa and jetting for the door. I yank it open just as Michael starts to turn away and head back down the walk.
"Hey?" I say to his retreating back, "Where are you going?"
He stops in his tracks and slowly pivots to face me with a sheepish expression. "I…I really don't know," he stammers, "I've been standing on your porch for the last five minutes but I couldn't bring myself to knock. I was too afraid."
Without taking my eyes off of him, I pull the door up firmly behind me so our conversation can't be overheard by those inside and slowly close the distance between us. "Why are you afraid?"
"You know, same old thing. I don't want to disappoint anyone."
"That's not going to happen. This is a run-of-the-mill family dinner. There's no reason to be nervous."
"Oh yeah? If it's so 'run-of-the-mill' then why am I sweating profusely right now?"
"Maybe because this is Miami," I venture with a sweet, cajoling smile, "Heat is what we do. If you're not sweating, you're not doing it right." When he doesn't so much as crack a smile, I switch my tactics from humor to tender reassurance. "Please don't worry. It's only my family."
"Yeah, that reminder is not helping."
"Why not?"
"Because it's your family and I want to make a good impression on them…you know…because of you."
"Because of me?" There's something about the way he says those three, simple words that go straight to my heart. I know there's a 1000 watt smile on my face right now but I don't even care. I can't stop grinning.
"Yes. You are becoming very important to me, Jane Villanueva, and I want your family to like me."
"Then you're already ahead of the game, Michael, because they love you."
"That doesn't count," he says, "They love who I used to be. I want them to love who I am now."
The quiet sincerity in his words that leaves me a little breathless. Or maybe it's the fact that this moment doesn't feel like we're preparing for a casual dinner but instead for something infinitely more profound. I find myself getting lost in his fervent, blue gaze and it feels like the world has fallen away from around us and we are the only two people left. I remember the last time he made me feel that way. It had been on the eve before our wedding day when he had recited his vows to me in private.
A curious flutter settles in the pit of my stomach before creeping upward to warmly cradle my heart. I feel my throat constrict with emotion. Hoping to distract myself from the sudden feeling inundating me because I'm not yet ready to acknowledge what it means, I direct my attention to the bottle of wine on which he currently has a death grip.
"Is that for me?"
"Um…yeah," he replies, passing it over to me, "I don't know why but it felt wrong for me to show up here empty-handed."
I want to tell him that's because his mother deeply ingrained in him the importance of being a gentleman when he was a boy and those lessons have become an integral part of who he is. I want to tell him that some things just can't be forgotten but, I hold my tongue. Although I believe that Michael is still the same man he has always been, I also know he's not ready to reconcile himself to that idea. I can't prod him into being the man I knew. That has to evolve naturally and I need to be patient while it does. After all, that was the very thing I had warned my family against doing earlier.
"This is one of my favorite brands," I observe as I turn the bottle over in my hands, "How did you know?" However, there is an unspoken question that punctuates my words. How did you remember? The desperate hope is surely written all over my face.
Michael answers the question as if I had voiced it out loud. "It's not what you're thinking," he prefaces gently, "You mentioned it in passing when we were on the phone last night. When I saw it in the store, I had to get it for you."
"Thank you. That's so sweet."
"You've done so much for me. I wanted to do something for you too."
My initial disappointment at learning that he hadn't regained a memory after all is salved by the realization that he wasn't simply indulging me last night when we found ourselves locked in conversation until nearly 2 a.m. What had begun as a brief goodnight text from me had evolved into several bantering ones which eventually escalated into an actual phone conversation. I had laughed more in that 2 and a half hours than I had in an entire week. By the time we finally said our goodbyes, my jaws were aching from so much grinning.
But then the next morning came and with it uncertainty and doubt followed. I began to second guess myself and Michael, questioning whether or not the previous night had been organic or if I had pressured Michael into it. After all, I was the one who had sent the initial text and I was the one who called him. By the time I was done agonizing, I was convinced that he had merely tolerated the conversation out of courtesy rather than actual desire. But it seems that couldn't be further from the truth. Michael hadn't felt obligated at all. He had actually wanted to talk to me. When I express my wonder over that fact to him, Michael chokes out a stunned laugh.
"Of course, I wanted to talk to you, Jane. I like talking to you very much."
"Really? I couldn't tell because you never text or call me. If there's conversation between us, I'm always the one to initiate it, Michael, so what else am I supposed to think?"
"You're right," he acknowledges in a gruff tone, "But it's not that I don't want to call you. I have to stop myself all the time."
"Why?"
"It makes me feel guilty, that's why."
"What do you have to feel guilty about?"
"Lorena," he whispers, "She's that person for me, the one I could always talk to about anything. And she used to be the only person…until you. I'm not used to that and I'm not really sure how I feel about it."
I'm left speechless by the admission. But by the time I unglue my tongue from the roof of my mouth to speak, Michael abruptly jumps in startled reaction. His brows snap together as he suddenly becomes engrossed with something just beyond my shoulder. Curious, I follow his line of sight only to discover my parents and grandmother crowded in the window, their faces pressed against glass as they eavesdrop without an ounce of shame. I groan inwardly.
"So, I'm thinking that's your family," he drawls with a wry smile.
"Yeah. Why don't you come on inside before they humiliate me any further?"
I can sense the tension radiating from his body as we step inside the house together. I give him a reassuring shoulder nudge. As I do, I lock eyes with Rafael and note the displeasure darkening his handsome features. My heart quivers in anxious reaction but I can't allow myself to become distracted by Rafael's unhappiness. This moment isn't for him and it isn't for me. It's for Michael.
With that determination, I deliberately turn away from him and focus all of my attention on introducing my family to Michael. I begin with Abuela. "Michael, this is my grandmother Alba Villanueva."
"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Villanueva. Thank you for having me."
Despite my earlier warnings, my grandmother reaches forward to cup Michael's face in her hands and plants a firm kiss to each of his cheeks. "Mi querido hijo, es tan bueno tenerte en casa. Te Hemos extrañado."
Michael favors her with a discomfited smile. "I have no idea what you just said but…thanks, I think."
"Abuela," I admonish in a hiss, "did you not listen to a word I said before?"
"Tranquilízate, Jane. Este es un regreso al hogar."
"It certainly is," Mom murmurs in agreement, stepping forward to pull Michael into a brief but fervent hug, "I can't believe I'm actually looking at you right now. Even though I've known for a while that you were back, this is the first time it feels real."
"And who are you?" Michael wonders with a nervous smile.
"I'm Xiomara, Jane's mother. And don't you dare call me Ms. Villanueva or I swear I will break your kneecaps."
I had warned Michael ahead of time that Mom has cancer in the hopes that we could avoid any uncomfortable faux paus over dinner. But it heartens me to know that, either Michael is really good at covering shock or my mother doesn't look nearly as unwell as I think she does. Whatever the case, I'm glad their introduction goes so smoothly.
"Should I call you Mrs. de la Vega instead?" Michael asks politely.
"No. My name is Xiomara. You can call me that or you can call me Xo."
"Got it. I'm pleased to meet you, Xiomara."
I might have sunk through the floor in abject humiliation were it not for the fact Michael is smiling and appears somewhat relaxed at the moment. The real test, however, is going to be my father. Still struggling with some measure of apprehension, I turn my attention to the next introduction, my father, but Rogelio takes the reins before I can even open my mouth.
"I know you don't remember me, Michael," he says, "But we have a very rich history, a great friendship that defies time and space and even death. I have faith that someday you will remember our bond and our great bromance can begin anew."
"You must be Rogelio," Michael determines with short laugh, "Jane's told me a lot about you. I heard that you named your daughter after me."
"I did. It was the greatest honor that I could pay your memory. I am very happy you're home, Michael."
"Thank you."
"I'm going to embrace you now. You should prepare yourself."
"Oh…oh…okay."
In the end, I literally have to pry Rogelio off of him but Michael largely takes my father's emotional enthusiasm quite well. He doesn't seem offended or put off at all, which is a great relief to me. But I still have one more introduction to make before I can relax completely. After gulping down a calming breath, I beckon Rafael and Mateo forward.
"Michael," I begin with a shaky breath, "you've already met Rafael. But this…" I reach over to grab Mateo's hand and draw him against me, "…this is my son. This is Mateo."
To my surprise and delight, Michael actually crouches down low so that he and Mateo are at eye level when he shakes his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Mateo. Your mommy has told me a lot about you too."
"She's told me a lot about you," Mateo replies candidly, "When did you get back from Heaven?"
Michael coughs out a strangled laugh while the rest of us cringe in mortification. "I actually haven't been to Heaven, Mateo."
"That's where Mommy said you went after you died." I'm frantically racking my brain for a way to change the subject when Mateo does it himself. He cocks his head to one side and squints at Michael with dissecting intensity. "You look really different. How come you have a beard now? You don't have one in Mommy's pictures."
Michael blinks in surprise and self-consciously rubs his whiskered chin. "I don't?"
Mateo shakes his head. "No. I can show you!" Before I can stop him, Mateo tears away from me and scampers off to retrieve the family photo album which Abuela keeps in a small hutch. He peels through the album for several minutes, ignoring my, his father's and my family's sharp admonishments to leave it alone in his usual headstrong way, until he finds what he is looking for. Then he scampers back over to Michael to proudly present him with what he's found.
"This is a picture of you and me," he crows triumphantly, "I was just a little baby. And see? You don't have a beard. I don't think you should have a beard."
"Okay," Michael agrees with a smile before he looks down at the snapshot.
There is a collective suspension of breath as we all watch Michael intensely while he studies the photo. It happens to be a candid shot I caught of him and Mateo when they were fast asleep together on the living room sofa. Michael is still upright, his head lolled back against the cushions while a fourteen month old Mateo is curled up asleep on his chest and loosely draped in his arms. It is one of my most prized pictures and one I have shown to Mateo countless times over the years.
Michael traces his finger over the glossy veneer and then gasps softly, as if he were just unexpectedly jolted with electricity. He lifts his head to regard me with glassy, blue eyes. "Oh my God…I remember this day," he utters slowly, "You were working on a story and I kept Mateo with me."
I stare at him, wide-eyed. "What?"
"You needed to concentrate because you were trying to meet a deadline," he continues softly, no longer present with us but back in that day, that memory. "He was fussy and so I took him so you could work. I sat with him on the sofa and made silly faces to keep him entertained. He giggled so much and every time he laughed, I laughed too."
I can practically feel my heart thumping in my throat. I don't want to move or breathe or do anything that might upset the delicate, precarious nature of this moment. I don't know if everything is going to come rushing back to him in a dramatic wave of events or if his memory will return in gradual stages. Whatever the case, I feel like I'm poised on the edge of a cliff, mere seconds away from going over completely.
It's rather ironic but, in hindsight, not so surprising that Mateo should be the one to help Michael finally unlock the door to his past. Their bond had formed from pure, unconditional love after all. In the end, I hadn't been able to break through. His parents hadn't managed much success in that regard either. Only Mateo, specifically Michael's love for him, proved to be strong enough to penetrate through years and years of repressed trauma.
Somehow I manage to croak, "Can…can you remember anything else?"
He closes his eyes, his features scrunched in concentration as he tries to access more dormant memories but, less than a second later, he opens his eyes and they are filled with discouragement and self-flagellation. Michael shakes his head sadly. "That's it, I think. That's all. There's nothing else. I'm sorry."
"It's okay. This is enough," I whisper and I'm surprised to realize I mean it, "It's really okay, Michael."
Even with the crushing disappointment I feel right now, there is also a flare of hope as well because we've finally made some sort of progress. My headstrong, little son literally threw out every rule I had in regards to Michael and…he succeeded where I had failed. I've never been more grateful for Mateo's hardheaded stubbornness than I am at that moment. This is the first time that I truly let myself believe and not just blindly hope that Michael will regain his memories.
And it's an incredible start.
