"I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul." –Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets.
Martin's flat was very neat and clean, and that didn't surprise Marisol at all. What did surprise her (even though she should've expected it) was that every free shelf was full of either plants or books. They co-existed in harmony, textbooks, novels, poems and flowerpots all over the place. Her own mother would've said that was a sacrilege. A garden is a garden, a house is a house. Martin's flat looked like freaking greenhouse. Those were the only things which existed in abundance, because the lack of stuff in the apartment was evident, unless Martin was a fan of minimalist style. There was a two-seat green sofa, a laptop on a coffee table in front of the sofa... and that was it. The laptop was clearly obsolete, but Martin probably didn't have the money to renew it.
The kitchen was minuscule, and Marisol was stunned to see an oven, a countertop, a microwave and a refrigerator fit all in it. She opened the refrigerator and encountered a thousand vegetables and stuff. A couple packs of hamburgers were in the freezer and Marisol turned around to face his boyfriend, looking deeply offended.
"Are you going to tell me the only thing you eat every single day of your life is hamburgers and salad?" Martin, who had been expecting critics on anything but his eating habits, shrugged, not knowing what to say.
"I'm a terrible cook, and I barely have time or money for anything else." He admitted.
"Holy Hephaestus, a child of Demeter who can only do hamburgers. May Hades spare him." She exclaimed, dramatically. "I'm so making you a decent dinner." She said, and before Martin could stop her, she was all over his kitchen, leaving a mess everywhere, staining all the kitchen he had so impeccably clean. Martin decided to go change while she was at it, so he wouldn't have to deal with the urge of dragging her away and cleaning up the mess she'd created.
He was taking off his shirt when he felt that dreadful sensation of somebody staring at you. He turned towards the door, to catch Marisol's elfish features, shining onyx eyes and delighted grin standing on the doorway. Martin's stomach dropped to his feet.
"What are you doing here, Aster?" He asked, scandalised.
"Admiring the view." She said, as if she had been staring at a sunset.
"Get out of my room, Valdez." He walked towards her, and turned her around to push her out of there.
"Aw, don't be cruel, couldn't you stay ignorant of my presence a little longer? I've already seen you shirtless, you know. I was hoping I could see something else." She teased. He kept pushing her until she was out.
"You said you'd make dinner, so go do that." He said, and he shut the door, making sure to lock it this time. He sighed. She would be the end of him, seriously. He turned to his room, a closet on one wall, a small desk, and a shelf full of more books and plants. A lamp stood on his night table, next to a pair of glasses he wore only at night. His bed was perfectly done, next to the wide window that brought should bring light in, but half of it was interrupted by a black-out curtain, due to the need of shade of the plants in his room. After he changed, he lied on his bed for a couple minutes, staring at the empty, white ceiling. What should he do with Marisol? He was starting to think he might like her more than he had planned to, more than he ever expected to. Yet she represented many things he was still not sure of, and as time went by, he would have to make up his mind the sooner or later. Because just as she had proved the day before, Marisol wasn't going to wait forever for him to decide whether he was in or out. He got up and prayed to be up to whatever she needed from him, because one thing was sure for him: he did not want to lose her.
He opened the door, and realised it was no longer locked. He opened it, panicky, but Marisol was in the kitchen, serving dinner. She looked quite nice in such a domestic ambience. He imagined her looking so every day for him, for the first time ever, and felt embarrassed at the thought. He had never pictured her still around him in such a long term, yet now he had. He went to where she was and stood awkwardly in the kitchen, telling himself every five seconds to ignore the mess. Marisol, on the other hand, was radiant and looked very proud of herself. Martin stared, and was a bit ashamed when she caught him doing so.
"What are you looking at, Martín?" She smirked sideways, and he knew she'd done it.
"Did you unlock my door?" Marisol rolled her eyes.
"Now, would I ever do so?" She chuckled. "I might have. I might have only a quarter of godly blood, but there's no one who's related to Hephaestus and can't pick a lock." She saw Martin's alarmed expression and laughed louder. "Don't worry. I didn't spy on you, I promise. I decided to respect your privacy, but now you know a locked door won't keep me out. You should beware next time."
"Noted." Marisol's veggie stew was delicious and, even though Martin wasn't a stew fan, he had to admit she was the best cook he had ever met. She made even stew taste marvellous. When Marisol left, his apartment went back to being quiet and lonely and it weighted him like when he had came back from Camp Half-Blood by the end of the summer. How long had it been since he was back? A month? Two months? He checked a calendar. Just two weeks. The what. Time went so slow whenever he was alone, and so fast whenever Marisol was laughing at him and hanging from his neck. How long have they been dating? Two, three, four... weeks. A month? Holy Demeter! He thought as he checked dates. The thirtieth of July. And today was the twenty ninth of August. Uh-oh. He went downstairs and made a couple calls. Then he went back upstairs and checked every single one of his plants, hoping to find the perfect one. Daffodils? Roses? Carnations? Madonna lilies? Gerbera daisies? Tulips. Yellow ones, variegated ones.
As any other Demeter child, Martin knew what flowers meant. Some of them were more compromising than other ones, and he felt it as some sort of crime to gift flowers you don't mean. He gazed at the cream coloured tulips he had in his apartment. Soon, he thought. Maybe.
Marisol parked in front of Martin's high school and waited patiently. Nervous. She knew she shouldn't be expecting anything, since a month was nothing special, and none of her previous boyfriends had either lasted that long or done a thing to celebrate. They had all let her down one way or another. But she had her hopes up for Martin, since he'd proved himself different. How different... well, she was about to find out. She had found herself putting on lip gloss that morning; she had even painted her nails light green. She felt very silly, hoping those things would do for Martin to realise it was a day which was supposed to be special. She'd even had to ask to pick him up as a condition for driving him home. And her day was definitely not going to pick up in the next few minutes because the stupid girls from the day before were walking towards her.
"I think she's downright dumb." The brunette, Helen, stated. "I have to admit I'm impressed you came back after what happened yesterday, but I'm telling you, Mexican scum, I'll make sure you don't feel comfortable coming back ever again." Marisol rolled her eyes and was about to answer, when Martin showed up with a handful of flowers.
Marisol felt as if she might cry. She could still remember him the day before, and how he'd activated her inner magnetism to bad boys, making her remember how she never wanted to feel again. Now, instead, he was smiling to her, looking so incredibly hot in his private school uniform, holding a tulip bouquet. She was really going to cry, but Marisol Valdez was over all kinds of romantic stuff, so she couldn't. She wanted to cry, though. She got off her motorbike ignoring for completely the girls who'd been messing with her a couple seconds before.
"You remembered!" She exclaimed, as she jumped over him, Martin catching her midair by the waist, before she got to hang herself from his neck. Seriously, just one more time she did so and he would have a sprained neck.
"Of course I did." He chuckled as she kissed his cheek repeatedly. "I promised to be a proper boyfriend." Marisol was put back on the floor delicately and was offered the bouquet.
"They are beautiful." She said, and the tenderness in her expression was so pure, Martin was overwhelmed. After all the teasing, flirting and suggestive expressions and looks, he had deleted the possibility of her being capable of such an innocent face. Just her being very glad over a bouquet. He leaned and caught her by surprise, which won him a tiny high-pitched cry from her when his lips found hers. She smiled against his lips, and Martin got apart and tried to get rid of his doubts.
"Aster... do I make you happy?" He blurted out and Marisol kissed him on one of his eyelids, so softly, Martin was stunned by the kiss's delicacy.
"Why, of course you do, silly. You make me happier than anyone before you. You are the only one who has made me happy without making me feel awful at the same time, you amazing flower nerd." If Marisol had known those were the magic words, she would've said them a long while ago. Martin kissed her, ever so gently, but he deepened the kiss little by little, until he tipped his tongue shyly against Marisol's lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she let him in, taking the lead so they could find an easy rhythm, and Marisol discovered Martin was sweet even while French kissing. The feeling it gave her was so ineffable she could do nothing except to kiss him back and play with the hairs on his nape. Martin finished the kiss softly and perfectly, giving her a brief kiss on her nose before he got away.
"When my lip gloss said 'irresistible' on the tag, I never thought it worked so well." Marisol said, lovestruck. Then she looked down and tossed the bouquet to Martin, alarmed. Martin's eyes, which had been so happy and kind, shone with preoccupation.
"Is everything alright, Aster?" He asked, dreading he'd done something wrong. Marisol shook her head, but mouthed 'my hands' to Martin. He looked down, and saw the problem. He looked to the tulips' stem and saw they were a bit burned. He nodded with an amused smile on his face and grabbed one of her hands, hiding it in his, curious.
"It feels weird... but nice. It's like it should hurt, but it doesn't. It actually tickles." He noted, chuckling. Marisol bit back the need to kiss the air out of him. All guys had been scared, worried, or had at least hesitated, but Martin just took her hand in his like he was invincible. Maybe he was. He pulled her hand, dragging her towards the motorcycle, and Marisol laughed, relieved. "Come on, let's go." He hurried her. There's no need to say that all of the girls who had been picking on Marisol were speechless. They got on, Martin wrapping himself around Marisol.
"To your place?" Marisol asked.
"Sort of." He said. "Just drive, I'll tell you the way."
They parked in front of Camomile and when Martin pointed the place they were heading to, Marisol thought he was kidding. She wasn't even the kind of girl to go to a 'natural' café. Thinking better about it, neither was him. So which kind of joke was this one? Because she wasn't able to see the punch line yet. "You know this is not a place for a first month celebration date, do you?" She said, slightly disappointed. She tried to not let it get to her. He'd remembered, at least, and that was a first. Martin just walked up to the door and held out a hand for her to grab. "If you wanted to go vegan, you could've just told me. If what you want is to go back to natural, I don't mind taking all these unnatural clothes off for you." He finally gave her the reaction she was looking for. His face reddened and he stammered.
"Could you just—" he sighed. "Trust me this once. Okay? I promise it ain't what it seems." She rolled her eyes at him and took his hand.
"Okay. But I just need to let you know you're not allowed to look at any other naked or half naked girls. Or boys. You've never stated your opinion on boys, so maybe you're bi and I simply don't know it." He turned to look at her, scandalised. He wasn't homophobic, not at all. It was just that his girlfriend came up with such ideas, seriously.
"Valdez." He warned her, his eyes wide. She giggled and he pushed the door open, dragging her in with him. They went straight past the café, and he pictured the greenhouse as he walked through the back door. As they walked into the greenhouse, Marisol went speechless. Christmas lights were decorating trees and plants surrounding a single table, where a candle flickered on. You couldn't tell which time it was, just that is was dark. When Martin'd discovered he could change the time of the day in the greenhouse to his will, he couldn't believe how perfect the place truly was. He kissed her cheek, tenderly.
"Happy first month, Marisol." He said. "You make me the happiest, so I thought I should let you know." Martin led his awestruck girlfriend towards the table and called on Jenny. She appeared a second after, with the meal. "I hope you're hungry." Marisol's eyes widened.
"You cooked dinner?" She asked in disbelief. "But I thought you were a terrible cook!" It was obvious in her face the fact she felt betrayed just for having cooked the day before for him when he could've done it very well on his own, except he couldn't.
"I am indeed a terrible cook." He said. "So please excuse me if this kills your taste buds."
"Oh, I don't think that's—" Jenny left a very strange-looking pasta plate in front of her. It looked like it could grow legs and a conscience of its own any time. It was amazing in a very terrifying sort of way, because, how could you cook something like that? "Possible." She finished the thought. Marisol took a little courage and took a bit of pasta with her fork. The dish seemed poisonous but Marisol shut her eyes and told herself Martin had cooked it. The fork was already almost in her mouth when Martin stopped her.
"Okay, no need to do it." He said, grabbing the fork midair. "I wouldn't want to kill my girlfriend." Marisol was bewildered.
"You were testing me?" She narrowed her eyes.
"I simply wanted to know if you would be willing to taste something horribly disgusting just because I had cooked it." He apologised. "But you don't have to."
"The problem is now I'm curious." Marisol explained, and she took the fork into her mouth before Martin could try and stop her again. The pasta was chewy and it was stuck altogether and what should be some salsa with cream, tasted only like ginger and pepper. It wasn't poisonous or uneatable, but it was bad. She tried to keep a stern face, but she'd clearly failed, because Martin was arching an eyebrow.
"Told you" he said. Marisol stuck out her tongue to Martin, and he smiled, amused. "I did think of some eatable food, though." They ate pizza, and Marisol didn't know which pizzeria was it from, but it was a really good one. It took away completely the taste of ginger and pepper. Soon they were over, drinking orange juice and laughing over Helen and her friends' incredulous faces when they were leaving.
"No, but seriously, even I was impressed." Marisol admitted. "You're so good it's hard to believe you lost your first kiss barely a month ago. Even that one was quite good." She narrowed her eyes, setting them on Martin's flushed face. "I sometimes wonder whether you were telling the truth about it." Martin felt plain insulted.
"You offend me, Marisol." His expression was overdramatic and Marisol couldn't help a laugh. "I am always honest with you." He lifted his right hand, his thumb over his pinkie, and his other fingers up straight. "Scout's honour." He joked.
"Well, then, you won't mind answering how did you find this place." Martin snapped his tongue.
"You're going to ruin the magic."
"You told me you were hone—"
"Okay, okay, your mother showed it to me."
"You talked to my mum?" Marisol was now the incredulous one.
"I called your house the day before yesterday, so maybe I could talk you out of being angry at me. But you wouldn't pick up, so instead I had to deal first with Sebastian's sermons over how I shouldn't upset you, and how he was going to kill me if I didn't fix it. Then I—"
"Please don't tell me my dad picked up the phone." She looked like she might die of how embarrassed she felt.
"No, your mother did. She was very nice."
"Right, she plotted with you against me, trying to make me believe it was Evan on the phone. That," she noted, "was very low."
"She suggested so!" He excused himself. "Anyways, she told me we should talk and told me to meet her here, and before I could say anything she hung up. So I showed up and I wanted to disappear because— which kind of mother gives the impression of wanting to feed her daughter's boyfriend a free-everything-worth-eating something?" He waited for Marisol to nod, then he continued. "But she wouldn't take no for an answer and dragged me in here and told me I should fix the stuff between us because I was better than all the guys you'd dated before—"
"Oh, what a liar!" Marisol interrupted him, and he felt low. Wasn't he the best? He had been told so many times it was a bit of a letdown getting to know it wasn't like that. Marisol saw his disappointed gaze and rushed to correct herself. "I meant, what a liar because she always told me she was happy if I was happy, and that she had no opinion about any of the guys I've ever dated and now turns out she does agree with dad and Seba." Her exasperation was obvious and Martin felt a bit amused by it, mainly because she looked cute when exasperated.
"So after that I asked her if I could come here from time to time because, just look at it, this place is amazing." She looked around at all the green in there and she thought Martin must've had a plantgasm when he first walked in, because he was a flower nerd and this place was full of flowers.
"Then show it to me." She said, standing up, and Martin's face lit up with excitement, like whenever he talked about anything green which lived by making photosynthesis. He gave her the full tour around, naming each flower and its precedence, its meaning. She would've kicked him silent, tired to listen, except for the fact he had heard her patiently (and at least faking interest) whenever she talked about motorcycles or forging, engines or circuits. Marisol was pretty sure he didn't get a thing, but he still listened, because he was polite and politeness included listening.
"And these ones are stargazers, these ones are Madonna lilies, and these over here..." he pointed to ones who looked like stargazers, but weren't. "These are Anastasia lilies."
"Why are there so many lilies?" Marisol asked after the Anastasia lilies. There was a whole hallway in the greenhouse for moonlaces, though, but they hadn't reached that part yet.
"Because there's a huge variety o them." He said. "Does your mother have a thing for moonlaces, though? There's a whole hallway for them, and it's her place after all. She told me the gods had given her this place as an apology." Marisol shook her head, incredulous. Why would mum get peace offerings from gods? Popped in her mind. Calypso hadn't been very specific of her story. She'd only made it clear she was the daughter of the titan Atlas, and that after meeting Leo her life had changed, but, how? Then she thought about it, and remembered his dad every April, bringing a bouquet of moonlaces home every week of the month. She thought of the pictures of their wedding, in which her mother looked like a Greek goddess and her dad looked like an actor. A handsome one. A little anachronistic too, looking like a gentleman from World War II. She'd always thought they'd had some friend of theirs Photoshop it, because they both looked too good. Leo in that photo didn't match the image Marisol had of him. Whenever she thought of his dad, he thought of a man full covered in motor oil, thin but strong, who smiled like a madman whenever he had a brilliant idea. Anyways, in the picture, her mother's bouquet was one of moonlaces.
"Yeah," she said, positive. "I think she does have a thing for moonlaces." Martin smiled. He smiled a lot. He smiled whenever she said something or did something, no matter how annoying it was. His smile confused her, because she couldn't tell if he smiled because he was happy; or because he was being nice, and it was the nice thing to do.
"What do you have a thing for?" His expression was sly, and Marisol's heart almost jumped out of her chest. She'd never imagined Martin saying anything like this with a face like that one. Holy Hephaestus, she thought. I think I miscalculated. And indeed she had, because Marisol hadn't planned to like him at all. That summer's resolution had been not to fall for any guys, yet she had fallen for Martin. Now she looked at him, asking her about more than just flowers, and she wasn't sure she could handle it if Martin gave into her shameless and capricious petitions. She felt her throat dry and swallowed.
"Do you really wanna know?" She looked at him sheepishly, and could see his eyes shone differently... in a way they never did when she was a tease and was a little too straightforward.
"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know the answer." Marisol sat by the lilies, looking at a fake starry night beyond the greenhouse's glass roof. The Milky Way was a beautiful shiny thing very, very far away. Martin sat beside her and their hands found one another. The Christmas lights on the trees made it look as if fireflies were making ambience for them.
"I have a thing for dogs. Not rat dogs like Chihuahuas. Big dogs, furry dogs, friendly dogs; like golden retrievers. I have a thing for strawberries, when they are sweet but slightly sour, when you dip them in chocolate." She leaned on Martin and he didn't back off, so she thought it was okay. "I have a thing for tea, tea with milk actually, before going to sleep. I have a thing for warm sweaters, a thing for leg warmers; warm, sweet cappuccinos with so many sugar in them I can't fall asleep at all afterwards." He began brushing her hair kindly, kissing her crown sporadically, and she turned just a bit, enough to press her cheek against his chest, clench a bit of his shirt in her fist. "I have a thing for winter, for motorcycles, for flying machines. I have a thing for fire, for forges, for chimneys." Even though it was late afternoon, this fake night made Marisol sleepy. "I have a thing for bad boys." She could feel Martin frown at this.
"I thought..."
"I don't think I'll ever be over it, really." She was sincere, because lying to herself was no use. She knew bad boys drove her crazy and they made her forget her name, her dignity, and everything that mattered. "But I try to keep away from them. I changed them for someone better." She kissed his chest, over his shirt, ever so gently, ever so innocently. "I have a thing for strong backs, tanned backs... a thing for amber eyes, a thing for nerd flowers."
"Nerd flowers?" Martin asked, chuckling.
"Fuck." She swore, groggily. She was, indeed, sleepy. "Flower nerds. I have a thing for flower nerds who choke on cigarettes and are lame cooks. Who are very shy and take it slow, and torture you forever before they expose you shamelessly by French-kissing you." She looked up, and Martin looked down at her. He smiled guiltily. Like saying 'guilty as charged' and really meaning it. "I have a thing for you, Martin." She told him.
"Like you have a thing for golden retrievers and for leg warmers?" He lifted an eyebrow at her and she giggled.
"No. I have a thing for you, like I have thing for breathing and smiling and being alive." Before she could say anything else, Martin's mouth was already on hers, and there was no asking, no premeditation, no dramatic pause. Her lips received his parted, and his mouth was already open. He tasted of pizza and orange juice. Mainly orange juice. He paused for a moment.
"I have a thing for you too, Marisol. But it's more like the thing flowers have for the sun and water. Is more like nothing, because it's nothing to be compared to. I have a thing for you like I have a thing for you." Martin kissed her, and Marisol held on to him. The bricks guarding the lilies behind them made him feel quite uncomfortable, but he wasn't going to tell. Because he had a thing for Marisol like the bricks sticking into his skin and bones.
Marisol went the whole way out to Long Island and Half-Blood hill, because she needed it. She left a Friday afternoon and cancelled all her plans with Martin and decided to stay through all the weekend. He'd sounded down on the phone when he'd say he had to study anyways. She wanted to stay for him, hold him for a whole afternoon, and watch him study. He was always studying when he wasn't being a freakishly amazing boyfriend... when he wasn't kissing her softly, making her skin tingle without him having to put his hands anywhere but in hers.
She went to Camp Half-Blood because she was freaking out, because she needed advice. Marisol had Sammy, Freddy and Hugo in mortal school. But Sammy, Freddy and Hugo where good to hang out with, to skip classes with, have lunch with. Not to talk about boy stuff, about freaking-out-state stuff... about any stuff at all. They weren't good advisers. Sammy would always tell her women were nicer and funnier and I don't mind if you experiment with me, really; batting eyelashes. Freddy had advised her a million times to date bad boys, so he was out of question. And Hugo... Hugo might say something sensible but, then again, he was high half of the time so, really, there was not enough sensibility in his opinion, to her taste. They all read good books and were smart, that's why she liked them.
But, right now, she needed Kristin. She needed Evan.
Evan was Marisol's first crush, and he was her first friend, and her first best friend and the only one to tell her to forget about him, because he wasn't into her that way.
"I like you a lot, silent steps, Sol. I really do." He'd told her when Marisol had told him she liked him, after kicking his butt in sword skills class. "I simply don't like you that way." He hadn't let awkwardness stand between them, and Marisol knew she would never be completely free from his spell. But she didn't mind, because Evan was nice and he was her best friend and she liked him better as such. She had the dark suspicion that, had she dated him, he would've broken her, just like all the boys had done with her. All except for Martin.
She was welcomed by Kristin, who was stunned yet happy to see her, asking her to take her side, and sleep in her cabin, sit at her table. Marisol would've ignored the strange petitions, except it was Kristin, and you never just ignore Kristin.
"What's wrong?" Marisol asked her.
"Evan." She said, angrily. Of course it's Evan. They should've thought it better before they began dating in the first place. To Marisol, Evan and Kristin together meant either disaster or a romantic comedy and she was hoping for their friends' sake it would be the second one. She wanted them to be together, they were good together. But they could also be bad, really bad.
"You know I'd love to sit at your table and sleep in your cabin, but that's against camp's rules." Marisol sighed. "Also, according to your dating agreement, I'm only allowed to act as an adviser, referee or to take Evan's side if that's fair."
"Why?"
"Because he was my friend first." Kristin was open mouthed.
"You say that's our dating agreement."
"Yes."
"Mine and Evan's."
"Yes."
"And I agreed to it." Kristin just couldn't take it in.
"Yes." Marisol, confirmed, once more, exhausted. "Look, you were very excited about dating Evan at the moment, and you just said yes to everything because you were so sure you'd never have a fight."
"I'm such an idiot. That sucks." Kristin sighed and, to Marisol, looked more confident, more cheerful, and more open. Maybe dating Evan wasn't such a bad thing to her, maybe they only had to sort things out. She also didn't look sad nor hurt, just angry. That was also good, it meant it wasn't as serious as Kristin made it seem. "Anyways, what brings you here?" She asked. "You didn't iris-message me about it. It must've been a pretty rushed decision." Marisol nodded. "Oh my gods, did Martin and you break up? Did he turn out to be an ass?" Marisol shook her head almost instantly.
"I actually think I would feel better if he were bit more of a jerk." Kristin blinked, lost.
"You got me, Marie. Don't know what are you talking about."
"I think I like him too much, Kris. Like dangerously too much." Kristin rolled her eyes.
"As if that were a problem." Marisol glared at her.
"I'm serious here, Kristin." But Kristin just wasn't in the mood, which made it a first. She was always in the mood for advising, she was always in the mood for being a friend. More importantly, she was always in the mood for Marisol. She really had to fix her fight with Evan right away. "Just for you to know, Kris, I'm going to try to solve your issue. But you're being a very great female dog right now." Marisol couldn't bring herself to call her lovely Kristin a bitch just because she was being one. She cared too much about her.
So she went to Evan. She had already planned to go to Evan. He always had the right answer or, at least, the answer she needed. And Evan was a boy, which meant he probably didn't trouble himself being mad at Kristin when she wasn't there. Marisol entered her cabin, and saw Evan lying on her spot, the way he always did when she was off after summer.
"Once again, Evan, that's my spot. Even when I'm gone." She could feel him ready to ask. "The name is written on the middle beam." He didn't move though, and she fell next to him, cuddling with him.
Evan was her safe spot, and when they were alone —truly alone, like now— they would act like an old couple, very used to each other, very comfortable with each other. Marisol would lie if she said she'd never thought of kissing Evan. He had rejected her when they were twelve, but when they were fourteen, he'd offered her a kiss, maybe just kidding, but she turned him down. She had already moved on, and had started dating bad boys. Evan knew her inside out, and was able to tell almost immediately, by the easiness he could wrap his arms around her tiny waist, that she was worried about something. She would usually try to slide out of it, arguing someone might see them and think what it wasn't.
At this point, for Marisol and Evan equally, cuddling and hugging was like doing it with your childhood most favourite stuffed animal. The one you told all your secrets and the one you held tightly to sleep when you were scared. They were like siblings.
"What's wrong, Sol?" He asked, sleepy. He was clearly taking a nap before he walked in. Chiron could be really soft with year rounders sometimes, seriously. Letting them take naps.
"It's not like there's something wrong." She admitted, trying not to make the same mistake she'd made with Kristin.
"I am pretty sure something's troubling you." He was talking to her ear, and it tickled her. Now she knew the difference because, had Martin done the same, she would be a mess of feelings. Had Martin just lied with her on a sleeping bag on the floor, she would be a mess of feelings. It wouldn't just tickle her. That was what defined the situation as an absolutely non-romantic one.
"It's Martin. He's great, he's the greatest, in fact." She told the pillow, because Evan was behind her, and she couldn't see his face. "The problem is I like him. I like him a whole lot more than just 'a lot'. I like him way too much, and I hadn't planned to like him at all. It troubles me, because he doesn't give me the certainty I'm going to crush and burn bad boys give me; and he doesn't give me the feeling he's just not enough for me. I feel he's all I ever wanted, and I'm afraid to go and get it, even though he already has my name all over him." She was freaking out, and Marisol did never freak out. Ever.
"So you're telling me your problem is that you like too much a guy who likes you back and most probably won't break your heart." Evan summed up. When he put it like that, it was pretty stupid.
"Yes, is idiotic, I know. But if I could just know—"
"Know what?"
"That I'm not going to fuck it up." Evan sighed.
"You are scared that if he's not the one to break you, you'll crush him instead." He deduced.
"Yes." She said, relieved. She knew Evan would understand.
"Well then, just don't. Don't cheat on him, don't lie to him. If you don't do either of those and something goes wrong it can't be your fault." Marisol turned around and kissed his cheek with a loud 'muack'.
"Thanks, Evan. You're the best." He shrugged.
"I know."
"Is there something I can do to help you fix things with Kris?" She asked.
"Nah, I got it under control." He said, relaxed. She doubted his confidence.
"How?"
"I made her mad on purpose, so I can cause a greater impact when I tell her." Marisol sat up, both curious and dreadful.
"Tell her what?" She asked, and Evan grinned. His eyes sparkled in a way they never had before. Mischievously, yet tender.
"That I love her, of course." Marisol smiled and messed Evan's hair. They were a good couple, after all.
"You're such a romantic guy, who could've known." Evan blushed.
"Shut up, Sol. You're also pretty ruined by that Martin of yours."
"I know." She said, feeling that weird flutter in her stomach she got whenever she thought of him or heard his name, or saw him, or... anything. It was just Martin... her Martín.
As Martin had to worry for senior year stuff, like tests and classes, Marisol worried for problems of her own. She did have tests and classes as well, but her thoughts were elsewhere. After her visit to camp and listening the confident and witty way Evan had said he loved Kristin, she thought about her own feelings. Did she just like Martin a lot (or a lot more than 'a lot') or did she feel something else for him? All her life, dating had been a thing of deadly attraction, not a thing of liking; of loving.
She would lose it and shout 'ughh' while messing her hair desperately whenever she stayed until late thinking of this. She was working on Martin's birthday present, which had to be ready by November. Working on it helped her keep her mind off the daisies. I love him, I love him not.
Since Marisol liked to spend time with Martin (and so did he), but he had to study; they had to come up with a good solution: she would pick up Martin regularly and spend most of her time in his flat, watching him study. Soon enough, she was studying as well. Marisol had never attempted studying before that, and her grades rose considerably when she began checking her copybooks at Martin's. Mainly because she had to pay actually go to class, pay attention and take notes in order to study with her boyfriend. Marisol was a smart girl, but before spending time studying with him, she couldn't care less for school.
"I can't believe your geekiness is a contagious thing." She complained one afternoon, sitting on the floor in front of him. Her legs were spreading under the coffee table, and her feet were toying with his.
"I've never asked you to study while you hang around here." He said, calmly, his eyes focused in his reading. If he could be so concentrated in his studying while she was around... did it mean he didn't love her? He just liked her?
"If I study here, I have an excuse to sit beside you and invade your personal space when I don't understand something." Martin chuckled.
"You don't need excuses to invade my personal space." He informed her, and Marisol grinned maliciously. Had he been looking at her, he would've known it hadn't been a good idea to tell her so. Marisol stood up and fell beside him, moving the couch under her weight. She wrapped herself around Martin, being careful not to block his sight, resting her chin on his shoulder. Martin turned to look at her, his expression between amusement and reproach.
"Marisol?"
"Yes, Martín?" She batted her eyelashes, playfully.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm not needing an excuse to intrude into your personal space. That's what I'm doing." She looked so childish while doing so... he couldn't help to think he liked her like that. Cheerful and playful. She looked like a little girl, and he remembered something. Now I can mock her, he thought.
"You can stop now, Maddie." Her eyes flickered with surprise.
"How do you know that?"
"I'm your boyfriend, and I'm bound to be a good one. It's my job to know all the possible nicknames applicable to you." Marisol pouted.
"I don't like it. Took me forever to make Seba stop calling me that. My mom will never stop, because it makes her nostalgic of the time I was a baby and Seba couldn't pronounce my name. Not you too."
"But you already call me both Martín and pretty boy; what's fair is fair. Plus, it suits you way better than Aster." She rolled her eyes but didn't move.
"Fine. Call me Maddie. I'm staying here." Martin forgot the pen and his book and turned to his girlfriend, glaring kindly at her.
"Let me study, Valdez. Or else..." he thought of some useful threat.
"Or else?" She mocked him, knowing him powerless. He poked her at the waist, wondering. She jumped in surprise.
"You are ticklish." He smiled at his new discovery.
"You wouldn't" her eyes widened, alarmed.
"Oh yes, I would." He began tickling her and Marisol let go of him, erupting in laughter, which echoed around the empty apartment.
"Stop!" She pleaded, trying to catch her breath. "Martín, please stop!" She was now lying back on the couch, and Martin had crawled over her to keep his tickle attack. "Stop" she whispered, out of breath, and Martin stopped. They both took a deep breath, Marisol because of the laughter, Martin because she was blushing from the tickles. She was lying on his couch, at his living room, in his apartment. Marisol gave him a knowing look.
"Oups. Guess I got you." She said, teasingly, and Martin rolled his eyes, beginning to retreat. Marisol held him from his uniform tie, the knot a bit loose now he was home.
"I have to study, Aster." He told her. She blinked, hypnotically slow, making him concentrate on her eyelashes. How long are they?
"Call me Maddie." Her voice was less than a whisper, yet still audible.
"I thought you didn't like it." He was still trying to break free, but each time with less insistence. Marisol was very intoxicating, her scent wrapping itself quickly around him, preventing him from wanting to get away from her.
"I like it when you say it." She leaned a bit forward, pressing their lips together, and Martin followed without complaints. He positioned himself at her sides, and Marisol gasped.
"Maddie." He tried.
"I know, you have to study." She said, shrugging. It was inevitable.
"Later." She looked at him, and was taken aback by the tenderness in his gaze. "I really like you, Maddie." She smiled sweetly, and sat up slowly, moving a little to make room for him beside her. The sofa was small, but she was tiny enough. She put their foreheads together while she guided his hands to rest on her hips. He was like a puppet, a pleased puppet, letting her do what she wanted with him. He kissed her nose and Marisol shut her eyes. Martin made her sleepy, but good sleepy, like she was in the most peacefully place on the planet while by his side. He also made her nervous; because he never attempted anything... but then there were those few times he'd surprisingly taken the initiative. And she never knew when he might do that again.
"I really like you too, Martín." She kissed him, and he brought her closer and played with her lips.
"I..." he hesitated. "I think I may be falling in love with you, Marisol." She blinked, lazily, and kissed him. Shut up, she thought. I don't know where I stand. Don't force me to decide already. Yet the flutter she felt inside her chest was undeniable.
You never talk about it with your parents. Talking about love with your parents out of Disney movies' context is as secretly forbidden as sex talks or asking them about whether Santa and the Easter Bunny are real. Don't even mention Jack Frost. Just don't. Then again, since they're parents, they definitely know about sex, and they might also know a couple things about love that you don't. Still, Marisol thought she had to be extremely desperate for recurring to her parents.
Children usually know when things are wrong between their parents, and Marisol had the impression her parents had a pretty happy marriage. Except for the fact that her mother was immortal and was very likely to eventually walk away from her husband and her children but, hey, that was another thing. They only fought about little things, like how Leo kept supposedly flirting with the women who brought their cars to the garage, and how her mum should really stop trying to bake, or accept handsome men in her gardening classes.
"They just come to learn about gardens, Leo" she would usually say, with her eyes focused on her new work, some new variety of some flower. To Marisol, her mother's plants looked all the same, which was curious, because she didn't think the same about Martin's.
"You are just too busy to notice how they look at you." Her mother would smile, always looking like an actress taken from old movies, beautiful in the most natural and amazing ways.
"How do they look at me, then?" Her father would gift her mother a playful grin and would walk to her, to bend forward and kiss the point where her marble neck met her ear.
"They look at you like you're not taken; like you're not mine." Marisol's parents made her feel like they were surreal, as if they were some sort of alternate reality, or as if her life were a movie, or a book. Calypso remained beautiful and young, like a painting, while her dad aged with the quick pace of life. But he still stared at her with loving eyes and, to Marisol, that was a miracle. That was love of some kind, for sure.
That's why she decided to talk to him, because he might know something that might help her figure herself out. She went downstairs to the garage next to the building they lived in. They owned the whole top floor of the two stories tall building. According to Leo, they only owned one of the two apartments on the top floor, but with her and Sebastián, they needed more room for everyone. So they kindly talked their neighbours to move out (Marisol was pretty sure her mom had brought Aunt Lou to work the Mist on them).
She found her dad working on some sort of mechanism for some automaton. She recognised it from the one her cat Jerry had. Her dad had insisted in an automaton pet instead of a real one, and Jerry was indeed a wonderful cat, until he tried to eat a rat and made something go wrong in its system.
"How stupid, I should've thought of it" her dad had tried to apologise.
Buford the amazing table, rubbed one of its edges affectionately against Marisol's leg. She smiled and sat on Buford, as she got used to, since the time she was little and spent hours watching her dad, her dark eyes glittering with awe when he used fire.
"Papá." She called. Leo turned around surprised, clearly not expecting her. He stood up, and ruffled her hair with a grin on his face.
"Hey there, kiddo." Then he looked down at Marisol's seat, Buford, and frowned. "How many times do I have to tell you not to bully Buford into becoming your chair?"
"Buford is happy to serve me as a chair, papá." In many ways, and for a long time, Marisol had been daddy's little girl. He'd taken care to spoil her, carefully instructing her how to do homework on the very last minute, or how to play pranks. Good pranks.
"After you leave he's always moody." He argued.
"That's maybe because you exploit him, don't you think?" She joked. He shook his head, but smiled.
"What brought you down here, mi niña[1]?" He asked, as his hands lit up on fire to bend a piece of celestial bronze he had in his hands. Marisol looked down at her hands as she played with her own fingers. She didn't know how to say it. The only reason she'd chosen to talk about it to her dad instead of her mum, was that he was going to be as awkward about it as her, maybe even more. She didn't feel like asking her mum, who couldn't help to start mumbling about an island and the gods; and Hades, curse them all. Her dad, instead, wasn't good with most organic life forms, would be uncomfortable and would speak his own weird experience. She decided just to drop it.
"How did you know you were in love with mum, papá?" Leo dropped the scrap of metal he was holding and turned to face his daughter, blushing slightly. Marisol thought how weird was to see a grown man blush, and giggled, amused. Leo usually couldn't help sometimes to feel nostalgic while looking at his daughter. In many aspects, she looked so much like his own mother, he sometimes thought he'd gone back in time to meet the teen version of Esperanza. Then Calypso's eyes would stare at him from Esperanza's face, and he would remember he was facing his daughter, not his mother.
"Eh..." he scratched his head, uncomfortable. "Do you wanna have the talk, cielo[2]?" Marisol blushed and moved her hands as a negative answer, desperate.
"Gods, no, papá. I just wanna know how did you know you were in love with mum, nothing else." Leo sighed, clearly relieved.
"Good, good. That means your mother has stuck to our agreement. She was the one who was supposed to give the talks, not me."
"Why her?"
"She lost a bet." Marisol's mouth fell open.
"You betted on who would have to give the sex talk to us?" She couldn't believe it.
"It was funny at the time." He said, grinning mischievously, which was Marisol's favourite kind of smile to see in her dad. It made her think of all the puns he knew and hadn't told her yet. "So, how did I know I loved you mum, huh?" He seemed way more comfortable with that question than Marisol had thought he would be. Apparently, it had only worried him the possibility of having to explain how were babies made. He stared down at his work for a while, and passed a hand through his hair, pulling it back.
"I would tell you to keep this between us but I have the terrible feeling I have already told these cheesy stuff to your mum myself." Marisol chuckled a bit. It would be difficult for anyone to imagine Leo Valdez saying cheesy stuff, but not for her, who was a daily witness of the adoration her dad looked at her mother with. Like she was a miracle, his personal miracle. Part of that adoration reached his children, and Marisol knew her dad loved her. He didn't need to tell her, but she knew.
"So?" Marisol insisted.
"I guess I knew because I sort of figured it was the only possibility. We had quite an encounter and after some days, it was obvious to me."
"How long?" Marisol wanted to know.
"Something like a couple weeks?" He said, clearly troubled by dates and such.
"You loved her after a couple weeks?" Leo could see the preoccupation in his daughter's eyes, so he hurried to correct himself.
"Yeah, but it was under different circumstances." Very different ones, his suddenly sad gaze seemed to say. "Is there something wrong, cariño? Why did you want to know that?" Marisol rolled her eyes.
"If I tell you, you'll be mad. You're always mad about that kind of stuff." Leo grinned. The way she looked, like she was about to throw a tantrum, was the exact same way she had looked when she was a little girl and did not want to tell him Jerry had eaten a rat.
"I think I can manage not getting angry this time, but just this once." He offered.
"You know my boyfriend, Martín?"
"I know of his existence, that's a statement." His eyes flickered with more paternal jealousy than real anger. He wasn't truly angry at the guys Marisol dated, he was more worried of his daughter's safety. Calypso was always cooler about it than he was, yet she was always slightly more nervous than usual when Marisol was in a new relationship. Except this time. Maybe it meant it was right.
"Papá." She glared at him, 'behave' she instructed him.
"Okay, okay, go on."
"We've been dating for three months now, and I really like him. He's the best, really. He's even managed to get me to study."
"But studying is boring." Leo noted.
"I know," she agreed. "But he's a smart guy, and he has a scholarship to maintain and he studies like, all the time. So studying is a way to spend more time with him. He really cares about me, papá. He's nothing like all those jerks I've dated before." Those were two good things to hear. That she understood she'd been dating complete asses and that, at least according to her, he wasn't one of them.
Problem was she seemed deadly serious. So far, whenever she ended up crying, it was over. She never cried twice for the same guy. This time it looked like she could cry and suffer and be miserable about him a million times, but it wouldn't stop her from coming back to Martin.
"I've got an idea." He hoped it was a good one. "Bring him home to dinner sometime. If he passes it, you'll know he's worthy."
"Yeah, like that will happen. He's already worthy."
"Don't sass me, young lady. I'm your father." Leo enjoyed the sass-offs, they gave him more jokes for later.
"Yeah, and I'm Leia so not joining you to the dark side." She stuck his tongue out to him. "Not bringing my boyfriend for you to scare him off or burn him till crispy, either."
"Think about it, though. Dinner, not the dark side. We do not take moody teenage girls in the dark side." Marisol rolled her eyes once more and stood up, taking herself out of the repair shop.
"Because you're a bunch of old men in the dark side, and my youth would startle you." She smiled, though. She liked talking to her dad. Even when he was a bit crazy and he could catch fire. Even when he was little too much like herself.
"I'm your father, señorita[3]! Show me some respect!" He faked anger at first. "I didn't have many problems with familiar reunions, so your boyfriend should be safe!" He yelled from inside the repair shop. Of course, Marisol thought, your father-in-law is a titan locked forever in Tartarus and she doesn't have any other family around. But I doubt neither you nor Seba would like to hang elsewhere to make things easier for Martín.
[1] My girl, as in my daughter.
[2] Lit. sky. In this case it's to be meant "sweetie" or "honey".
[3] Young lady.