Chapter Twelve (Jane POV)
"…and I really thought he was going to kiss me, Ma!"
I dart a sideways glance over at my mother and, almost immediately, I feel guilty for talking her ear off the last fifteen minutes about Michael. She has her head pressed back against the headrest of the passenger seat. Her eyes are closed but she doesn't appear to be sleeping. Instead, she looks like she's trying very hard not to be ill.
Following her chemotherapy infusion, I had asked her if she was feeling nauseated but she had denied it. According to Mom, she didn't usually feel sick on the day of her infusion. It was the several days that followed that she constantly battled with dry heaves. Now I feel guilty with the thought that she's been feeling horrible this entire time and all I've been doing is rambling about Michael.
"Do you need me to pull over?" I ask solicitously, "You don't look too hot."
Although she doesn't open her eyes, Mom says, "No, I'm okay…just a little dizzy today." I suppose when she senses that I'm still looking at her in concern, she decides to finally open her eyes and favors me with a wan smile. "Stop looking at me like that!"
"Like what?"
"Like you expect me to drop dead at any second! It's creepy!"
"I'm sorry! You look really bad."
"Well, I have cancer! Plus, I just had poison pumped into me over the last hour and a half. I should look like walking death, which I'm sure I do!"
"Ma…"
"Please don't make it a big deal. I'm okay. Keep talking. I need the distraction."
I'm not so easily deterred. "Maybe you should take your anti-nausea medicine."
"No. Remember they gave me a big dose with my infusion today. I can't take more until bedtime."
I recall the instructions given to us from Mom's nurse prior to leaving the infusion suite. Mom has two different prescriptions for nausea and one medication meant to serve as a backup for the other in the event her nausea isn't well controlled. "What about the other one? Can't you take that one?"
"I don't like that one. It makes me too sleepy." I'm about to argue when she gives me an exasperated look. "For goodness' sake, I told you I'm fine! I don't want to talk about anti-nausea medicine. Tell me more about why you think Michael was going to kiss you." When I continue to hesitate, she reaches across the gear shift to give my shoulder a brief but reassuring squeeze. "Please, Janie, let me do this for you. I feel like I can't do too much now that I'm sick but the one thing I can still do is listen. So talk to me."
After a few seconds more of internal vacillation, I finally acquiesce but mostly because I need to talk about it like she needs to listen. "Okay, so…it was right after he told me about the nightmares he's been having," I recount softly, "We were in the middle of the woods, sitting there together, holding hands and-,"
"-Wait a minute…you were holding hands?"
"Platonically, Ma! Can you please focus?"
"Right. Platonic handholding my ass."
"Anyway," I persist in a deliberate tone, "I was sitting there with him and it felt like…"
"Like what?" Mom prompts when I drift off into silence.
"Like coming home. It felt good. Familiar. Safe in a way I haven't felt since before he left."
"Oh, Jane…"
"I guess I'm not really sure if he was going to kiss me or not," I consider in hindsight recollection, "He had just finished telling me he thought we were better off as friends and he does seem rather adamant about that. But I felt like he wanted to and I had wanted him to so there's that."
Yes, there is that. The remainder of that camping trip had been an utter fiasco. Michael busied himself with every task imaginable for the sole purpose of avoiding me. In turn, I also did everything in my power to avoid Rafael, which proved to be unnecessary since, after I returned his ring, he also went out of his way to avoid me and Michael. Poor Mateo was stuck in the middle the entire time, being pulled in multiple directions by multiple people whenever any of us grew desperate enough to use him as a buffer. Michael ended up cutting the trip short because the levels of tension became too ridiculous to bear. Since that day, I've only spoken to him a handful of times and even then we've mostly stayed on neutral topics, namely Mateo.
As a result, there is much that remains unsaid between us. On the one hand, I understand Michael's hesitancy to explore our feelings for each other and even agree with him to some extent. The fallout would be monumental. Furthermore, the trail of broken hearts we would very likely leave in our wake is not something I relish thinking about.
But, on the other hand, I can't imagine denying what I feel for Michael for the rest of my life simply because it would unsettle Mateo's vision of family or even break a few hearts. I don't want to hurt my son and I don't want to hurt Rafael but I also can't pretend I don't want Michael. I'm stuck between the proverbial rock and hard place and it sucks. Quite simply, Michael and I need to talk about it and decide, realistically, how we should proceed. I was thinking about forcing the issue but that plan was put on hold when Rafael came by to pick Mateo up for his weekly sleepover.
That first encounter between us following the camping trip had been painfully awkward. We had stood in the middle of my Abuela's living room like two strangers meeting for the first time rather than two people who shared a child and years of history as we tried to make small talk. It hadn't been pretty. Not in the least. I spent the entire time mentally willing Mateo to come out from the back so that the agony could end. Those few minutes seemed to go on for hours.
"He's still packing his bag. He shouldn't be much longer."
"Right." He shoves his hands deep into his pockets, unable to make eye contact. I stare down at my bare toes and the pearly pink polish that adorns my nails. The silence feels unbearable. I would gladly welcome a yawning hellmouth to gulp me down whole right then if it meant I could be put out of my misery. When I think I can't stand another second, he finally asks, "How's work?"
"It's work. Busy."
"Still picking up shifts at the Marbella?"
"Only when I need to."
"Petra mentioned that she hasn't seen much of you lately. So much for Saturday brunch, huh?"
"You know how it is. Life gets in the way…for both of us."
Another discomfiting beat of silence ensues before he asks, "So…how is Michael?"
"He's good. He's really good. Therapy is going well. He…uh…he decided to move back in with his mother until he can figure out what he wants to do next."
His eyes flare wide at the revelation. "Wow. So he's living in Fort Myers now?"
"Yes. For the last week."
"What about the two of you? How is that going to work with him in Fort Myers and you in Miami?"
"Michael and I are friends, Raf. That's all."
"So you've told me before but I saw you that day in the woods, Jane. You didn't look like friends."
"We're friends who share history. That's what you saw."
"Is that what you and I are now? 'Friends who share history?'"
"I don't know what we are, Raf."
"Yeah…that makes two of us."
It wasn't the greatest start but our subsequent conversations since that day have gotten progressively easier. Gradually the awkwardness began to dissolve and, eventually, we reached a point where we could joke with one another again. It almost began to feel like old times between us and I have to admit that I've missed that. I have missed Rafael's friendship so much. Our effortless teasing eventually became banter and that banter has now become the easy companionship that we have shared for more than seven years. Somehow we've ended up full circle.
Which is why I guess that this morning, right before I left to take my mother to her chemotherapy appointment, Rafael had asked me on a date. Naturally, I completely panicked and went on a rambling rant about why a date wouldn't be appropriate or advised. Of course, he'd smoothly covered by emphasizing the "date" would be a "family dinner" with Mateo instead. He'd then fortified his argument with the reminder that it had been quite awhile since our last family dinner and we owed it to Mateo to provide him with some sense of consistency. I hadn't given him an answer before Mom and I left and I still don't have an answer for him now.
"So…" Mom drawls, interrupting the thoughts tumbling through my mind right then, "…what are you going to do?"
I survey her with a blank look. "You mean about Michael?"
"I mean about Rafael," she clarifies, "Have you decided whether or not you're going to accept his invitation to dinner?"
"I don't know, Mom," I sigh mournfully, "It's not we haven't gone out to dinner with Mateo dozens of times before but this time feels different."
"How so?"
"I can't be sure what Rafael's motives are for making the offer and I can't be sure of my own motives if I accept."
Mom takes a moment to process my explanation before she speaks. "Okay. Let's take the first part of that," she says, "You think Raf invited you to dinner because he wants you back."
"I know he did. And he's using Mateo to do it. He knows we'll always have a connection because we have a child together and he uses that to his advantage."
"Can you blame him?" Mom asks, "He loves you, Jane, and now you're all conflicted over another man. He was going to propose, remember? It makes sense that he would want you back."
"Well, he's the one who ended the engagement," I mutter, "And, in the end, it was the best thing to do because he was right. He's been right this whole time. I still have feelings for Michael and I can't be with him as long as I do."
"Which brings me around to the second part," Mom interjects, "Are you thinking of saying yes to dinner with Rafael because Michael is in Houston visiting his girlfriend right now?"
"She's not his girlfriend!" I snap more sharply than I intend.
Mom isn't the least bit ruffled by my outburst, however. She has become strangely Zen since her cancer diagnosis and very little seems to faze her these days. I suppose when you find yourself staring into the gaping jaws of death you learn not to sweat the small stuff. I admire her resilience even as it aggravates me because she continues on with her argument as if I hadn't said a word.
"You said that he's in love with her, right?"
"That's what he thinks."
"Regardless, if that's how Michael says he feels about her then she's his girlfriend, Jane."
"If that's the case then I'm his girlfriend too," I retort carelessly.
Mom frowns at me, clearly appalled by my unapologetic candor. "Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?" she asks, "Since when have you ever considered going after a man in a relationship? When I was dating Bruce you never let me hear the end of it."
I wave that argument away like I'm swatting a pesky insect. "Bruce was married, Ma. Michael is not! Actually, he's not even in a relationship with her so it's hardly the same thing!"
"Just because you choose not to acknowledge it that doesn't make it less true, Jane."
I really, really hate when my mother is reasonable, especially because there had once been a time where "reasonable" and Xiomara Villanueva didn't even belong in the same sentence. Damn cancer! I hate the fact that she's right even more. Until very recently, Lorena Diaz had been a non-entity for me. While I was well aware that Michael kept in close and frequent contact with her it had been easy to put her out of my mind because she was several states away. There was more than a 1000 miles between them. What possible threat could she serve? I had maintained that confidence until Michael informed me of his intention to fly back to Houston to "get his affairs in order." And, since that day, I've been trapped in a whirlwind of panic.
He left three days ago. In the past 72 hours I've spoken to him a grand total of two times. Both of those times he spent the bulk of our conversation talking with my son. His reticent demeanor was beginning to make me crazy so I decided to confront him about it during our second phone call.
"Are you mad at me?"
"You know that I'm not."
"I don't know anything. You won't talk to me."
"I'm trying to give you space."
"I didn't ask for space."
"Okay, maybe I'm the one who needs space then. I can't think when I'm around you, Jane."
"What's wrong with that? Maybe if you listened to your heart for a change we wouldn't be having this conversation. I thought you were a fighter, Michael."
"I am but not everything is worth fighting for, Jane."
"Are you honestly going to tell me that you don't think we're worth fighting for?"
"I really can't do this with you right now. I gotta go."
He is beginning to seriously frustrate the hell out of me. I get that he's overwhelmed and that he doesn't want to upset Mateo's world (probably because he knows exactly how that feels) but, eventually he has to realize that he's not doing me or himself any favors. We've already lost so much time together, years of birthdays, anniversaries and chances to make babies together. I don't want to waste another second being apart, I don't care how honorable the reason.
"Maybe you should accept Raf's invitation to dinner."
I don't realize how long I've been sitting there silently stewing in my thoughts until Mom makes her outlandish suggestion. I look at her as if she just sprouted horns. "Have you lost your mind? I can't do that!"
"Why not?"
"Have you not been listening to me for the last half hour?"
"Actually, I have," she replies serenely, "which is exactly why I think you should go. It might help to put things into perspective."
"What perspective?"
"That you and Michael might actually be over this time."
Although her tone is tentative and gentle the words impact me like a physical blow and I actually flinch. "That is not true," I deny thickly, "Why would you say that? Why would you ever say that to me?"
"Sweetie, he's with another woman!"
"I thought he died, Mom! Don't you get how huge that is? I never thought that I would see him again. And now he's back and I can talk to him. I can touch him. I'm not giving that up. Not again. Not ever."
"Maybe it's not for you to decide."
"I don't believe that. Michael loves me."
"Has he told you that?"
"Not in so many words but-,"
"—Since when has Michael Cordero ever hesitated to tell you he loves you, Jane?" she interjects softly, "That's not who he is or ever has been so, if he hasn't told you he still loves you maybe that's because something has changed for him."
I truly want to argue with her. I know with absolute conviction that Michael still loves me. I can see it on his face when we're together, hear it in his voice when we speak. Even when we're fighting, even when he avoids me, I know that he wants me. His feelings absolutely have not changed. I have no doubt that the more he remembers, the deeper they become.
That's the real reason he ran to Texas in the first place. He wants to convince himself that the future he imagined with Lorena is the one he still wants. He doesn't want to risk his heart and face the possible fallout that comes with loving me. He refuses to surrender to his feelings. And that's really the crux of it. Michael does love me but, as of right now, he's unwilling to do anything about that. For him, a future with me isn't worth the risk and, somehow, that knowledge is more painful than if he had never loved me at all.
I quickly brush away the tears that spill over with that thought. "How is going to dinner with Raf supposed to change anything, Ma?" I sigh tiredly, tearfully, "I feel what I feel."
"I'm not saying that you will ever stop loving Michael. Maybe you never will. But that doesn't mean you can't rediscover your feelings for Rafael and move on from this. I hate to say it but, in a lot of ways, Michael is still dead to you. The man he is now isn't the man he was."
Yet again, I can't argue with her reasoning. So much has changed since Michael's absence, for me and for him. Our paths have diverged in completely opposite directions. Right now, Michael is trying to figure out his life, who he is and my place in it. But me? I know who I am and what I want and what I want the future to look like. The love between us still exists and I'm starting to believe it will always exist but we're not on the same page emotionally speaking and I'm beginning to wonder if we ever will be again. But even with that realization dawning on me, I'm not certain Rafael should be an option.
"I don't know. I don't want to give Raf false hope. Besides that, he deserves better than to be my second choice. That's been his biggest insecurity when it comes to Michael."
"He had to know on some level that's what he was anyway," Mom replies, "You and he would have never started again if Michael hadn't 'died.'"
"It doesn't matter. There's too much baggage there. I've rejected him to be with Michael more than once, Mom."
"And he keeps coming back, doesn't he? If Rafael loves you then that means accepting every part of you, even the parts that still love Michael," Mom reasons.
"That seems like a lot to expect."
"Well, you've had to accept a hell of a lot more to be with him. All of that Solano drama that comes with loving him. Petra and her crazy, murderous mother. His lush of a sister. Hell, even Sin Rostro wreaking havoc in your life is partly due to Rafael! If you can deal with all of that he can deal with your feelings for Michael, damn it!"
"I'm sorry, are you making a case for him or against him right now?"
"I'm saying relationships are about compromise."
"It seems like a pretty big compromise to accept that the woman you love has feelings for another man."
"Not if you're upfront with him from the beginning and you tell him exactly how you feel. If Rafael knows all the gory details and he still decides to move forward with you then that's his decision."
"It sounds like you want Rafael to be my fallback guy, Mom, and that's not right. I'm not going to settle for him just because it can't work out with Michael."
"That's not what he is. He's the father of your child, Jane! Three months ago you wanted to marry him and you were wondering whether you were always meant to be with him!"
"Three months ago I thought Michael was dead. I can't go back, Ma."
She settles back into her seat with a longsuffering sigh. "I know. I thought you might feel that way."
"Then why did you suggest it at all?" I cry in exasperation.
"Because I miss seeing you happy. I miss seeing you smile."
"Michael makes me happy. He makes me smile." And he's the one I want, I add in my heart.
"But Michael isn't an option anymore, is he?" she counters softly, "Meanwhile, you and Rafael have managed to make a life together, Jane. Maybe it's time for you to focus on your future and let Michael be the past."
My mother's words are still ringing in my ears that night when I'm seated with Rafael and Mateo at our favorite restaurant for dinner. I have the realization that ever since Michael returned, my life has been stagnant. I'm spinning my wheels in every aspect of my life…as a daughter, as a friend, as a writer and, most importantly, as a mother. This entire time I've been frozen in place, waiting, hoping, wishing for the day when everything will fall into place and I will recognize my own life again.
Naively, I had believed Michael and I could simply pick up where we left off, as if five years hadn't passed and we both hadn't undergone incredible growth. Michael, conversely, hasn't been plagued with my same sense of inertia. He has picked up with his life and moved forward. I know that it is time for me to do the same.
And so, while I munch on gooey pizza with my family, I don't think about Michael at all for the first time in quite a long while and it feels nice. I have a pleasant time joking with Rafael and making silly faces with my son. It feels like old times again, the easy friendship that had once existed between us gradually being restored. Rafael and I chat about the lack of progress I'm making with my novel (mainly due to the fact that I've been severely blocked ever since Michael returned), his continuing love/hate relationship with his real estate partner and how close he is to building his dream hotel.
"We'll be breaking ground in four weeks," he tells me excitedly, "I can hardly believe it. If Petra hadn't agreed to put up some of the capital, it might not be happening this soon."
"Wow, that's generous of her. I can't believe you and Petra are going to be business partners again," I note with some surprise, "That should be interesting."
"She and I have really grown since the last time. She's with JR now and things are looking better for her legally speaking. This time it's going to be great. I can feel it."
"Well, I'm happy for you. I know how much you wanted this."
He smiles at me, his fingers lightly brushing the ridge of my knuckles. "We did it together. I never could have gotten this far without your support, Jane."
Gently but resolutely, I withdraw my hand and fold them primly in my lap. I might have made my peace with my non-relationship with Michael but that doesn't mean I'm ready to move forward again with Rafael. His smile falters a bit after I shrink back from his touch and so I attempt to take the sting out of my unspoken rejection and restore the relaxed atmosphere between us with my next words to him.
"I don't deserve any of the credit," I tell him, "This was all you, Raf. You worked very hard for this. I'm really proud of you."
I almost breathe a sigh of relief when his smile returns. "Thanks."
"Have you thought of a name for it yet?"
"Not yet. I'm still mulling over ideas."
"Well, I think you should name it The Greatest, Most Biggest Hotel Ever," Mateo pipes in, no doubt driven by his childish need to be a part of the conversation, "What do you think of that, Daddy? Can we name your new hotel that?"
Rafael disguises his appalled laugh behind a cough. "Um…well, I'll definitely keep that one under consideration, buddy."
"You should call it something that holds personal meaning for you," I suggest after taking a swig from my beer bottle, "After all, this hotel will be your legacy, Raf. You want a name that reflects your history."
Fervent emotion is swirling in the brown depths of his eyes when he whispers, "What about The Villanueva?"
I'm so floored that I barely register Mateo's overenthusiastic cheer of agreement. At least a dozen implications as to why he would want to do it go tumbling through my mind right then and all of them make me uneasy. "Oh…oh wow, that's…" It's difficult to know how I should react. I'm touched that he would want to but, at the same time, it feels weird. I don't want to torpedo his idea, especially when he seems so sincere about it but then I also don't think he should name his hotel after me.
"Raf, I'm…I'm so flattered that you would want to do that. I really am but-,"
"—You said I should name it after something that has personal meaning for me," he reminds me, "And that's you, Jane. You and Mateo are very personal to me. The Villanueva name is your history so…it's my history too."
"Of course. I understand. You think of us as family-,"
"—We are family. The Villanuevas are my family."
He's not overstating that either. For the past 4 years at least, he's had dinner with me and my family on a regular basis. He's become an almost daily fixture in the Villanueva household. He has a place with us. It's little wonder he would want to name his hotel after my family because, in essence, they have become his family too. This moment also provides deepening insight into what Michael has been trying to tell me all along. Me choosing to be with him will go far beyond simply hurting Rafael. I will be excising him from the only family he's ever truly known. No wonder my mother was pushing me at him so hard this morning.
I shift uncomfortably in my chair, acutely aware of both his and Mateo's intense gazes as they eagerly await my response. I survey Rafael with a meaningful look. "I just think under the circumstances-,"
"—This isn't a play for you, if that's what you're thinking," Rafael interjects softly, "I don't have any ulterior motive here. I want you to know how much you mean to me, Jane."
I don't really have a ready response to that and our family dinner, which had started out with such promise, has now fizzled begun to fizzle into an awkward encounter. And though Rafael does his utmost to reassure me that he hadn't intended to pressure me, I can't help but feel pressured. He's making his grand telenovela gesture, the kind he knows I tend to be a sucker for but his timing couldn't possibly be lousier. I'm still licking my wounds over Michael and the last thing I want is to do is rekindle my relationship with Rafael when I don't even know how I feel.
It doesn't help that Mateo is here with us because he wants everything that Rafael wants. I can't come right out and tell Rafael how inappropriate he's being or chastise him for being so forward. Our son is eating up his every word, which of course, paints me as the lone holdout. In Mateo's eyes, it can't possibly be Daddy who's delaying the marriage and moving in business. No, that's all Mommy. I suppose it would be too much to expect that both Rafael and I could sit down together and gently explain to him that I am going through a very difficult time and I'm not ready to marry anyone right now.
In the end, my frustration and anxiety ultimately drives me from the table. I need a moment to collect my thoughts, the take a few breaths and overcome the sudden feeling I have of being boxed in. I'm making a mad rush to the ladies room so I can give into the tears that are threatening in private when I nearly mow down a passing patron in my haste. When I lift my head to offer a quick apology, the words lodge in my throat as I find myself standing face to face with Michael. I'm so shocked to see him that I blurt out the first words that come to my mind.
"When did you get back in town?"
"My plane landed a few hours ago. I called your cell to let you know but it went straight to voicemail. I left you a message."
"Did you know I was here?"
The corner of his mouth tips in an ironic smile. "No. This is pure coincidence. I just finished up at the police station and thought I'd stop in here to grab some dinner."
Even through my brain is telling me to end the conversation right there and politely say my goodbyes, my heart is screaming at me to stay, Stay, STAY! And so I listen to the latter and, inevitably, keep asking him questions. "Why were you at the police station?"
"I remembered some more details about my kidnapping."
"You did? What kind of details?"
He shoves his hands into his pockets, his smile widening. "It's not something I can really get into when we're in the middle of a pizza parlor," he says wryly, "I was hoping that maybe you and I could go someplace quieter…you know, to talk."
I gape at him incredulously. "You want to talk?"
"Jane, I've been thinking and you were right about everything you said and I…"
He abruptly trails off in the middle of that fervent declaration, his attention becoming fixated on something beyond my shoulder. I know before I turn around that Rafael and Mateo are standing behind me. Like I said before, the timing is really, really lousy. While all of us adults are busily trying to decide how we should react around each other, Mateo simply launches himself at Michael with a gleeful cry. He wraps his tiny arms around Michael's legs in an exuberant hug.
"Yay! Michael's home!"
Michael reaches down to tousle his hair with an affectionate smile. "Hey, buddy, I missed you too."
"Did you come to have dinner with me, Mommy and Daddy?"
The instant Mateo asks the question I want to groan aloud in mortification and that's before I note Michael's stricken expression. While his blue eyes had been soft with vulnerability only seconds before now they become shuttered and guarded once more. He gently extricates himself from Mateo's grasp.
"Actually, I was just passing through. I'm about to head back to Fort Myers now."
"I wish you could stay and have fun with us. My daddy's going to name his new hotel after my mommy," Mateo preens proudly.
I feel gutted listening to their exchange and that's before Michael says, "Nah, bud. This sounds like a family affair. I don't really belong."
Somehow, I manage to keep my tears at bay as I watch him walk away, even after Rafael asks me if I'm okay and throughout the ride back to Abuela's place. I don't break down completely until I'm huddled on the living room couch and I listen to the voicemail Michael left on my phone earlier that night, long after Mateo has been tucked in for bed.
You're right. I want you…and that terrifies me. It really does. But the feeling isn't going away so maybe we should talk about it. Call me, okay.
Yep. Lousy timing for sure.
