"You don't love someone because they're perfect, you love them in spite of the fact that they're not." —Jodi Picoult, My Sister's Keeper.
Marisol stepped in, grateful by the warmth inside Martin's apartment. She took her coat off. She didn't like coats very much, she preferred jackets or hoodies, but it was too cold outside for her jackets, and the clothes she was wearing were no clothes for hoodies. Marisol loved winter, nevertheless, which was why she arrived in an excellent mood.
"Hey, pretty boy." She said, taking off her gloves. "Gods, it's freezing outside, I had to be crazy to have accepted to come to dinner. My bike does terribly when the road is so cold and slippery, gee." She tapped his shoulder, and he kissed her briefly.
"Hi, Maddie."
"What's with all the shyness, babe?" She frowned. "After all the times you've slid your tongue down my—" she stopped herself when she saw Martin's alarmed expression. Oh. "I assume, your father is already here." She guessed, and peeked at the sofa, hardly visible with Martin standing tall like a wall in front of her. Seating on the couch, with no specific expression, was Martin's dad.
Mr. Windflowers was a man of those whose age you can't tell at all. He was obviously past his forties but, how much? No clue. He could've been forty two, or he could've been sixty. Not that he looked old, he looked ageless. He had Martin's hair, short and properly combed; and golden eyes. She guessed Martin's eyes were amber due to some mixture between Demeter's brown eyes and his father golden ones. He was neatly shaved, wore a button-down white shirt and jeans. Also, he wore glasses. She found it amusing to realise Martin's geekiness had been inherited from his dad. She walked towards him, lifted her hand and smiled charmingly.
"Hi, Mr. Windflowers. It's pretty cool to finally meet you. I'm Marisol Valdez." She said, as he shook her hand. His grip was firm and determined, which was kind of odd for someone who sold flowers for a living, but she chose to think of it as something good. He was definitely handsome, which curiously didn't appear like the reason he had courted a goddess.
"Hello, Marisol. It's good to meet you." He said, dryly, and Marisol smiled wider to make the moment less uncomfortable. Okay, awkward, she thought, because he didn't look any happy for her presence at all.
"Uh, dad, she's who I've been telling you about. Marisol's my girlfriend." Mr. Windflowers nodded, and looked at Marisol like criticising everything about her. She felt bad.
"Hey, Martín, is there anything I can help you with, for dinner?" Martin looked troubled.
"You know, Maddie, about that—"
"What?" She asked. "We are having a proper dinner, aren't we?" Martin winced. "Holy Hephaestus! For Zeus' sake, Martín, it's Thanksgiving! There should be turkey, and pumpkin pie and—"
"I don't cook, and neither does my father. We usually just order pizza and watch the best games of the season." Marisol looked like she was about to lose it.
"Okay, no way. I'm cooking something." She stormed towards Martin's kitchen and checked everywhere. "There's nothing to make something decent!" She cried.
"Aster, I already told you—"
"Okay, okay. Got it. Pizza. Gods, that's lame. Shame on you. A Demeter child who eats pizza for Thanksgiving, for the love of Hera." Marisol sensed she'd said something wrong the moment she felt Mr. Windflowers' eyes piercing through her. Clearly, he didn't like to be reminded of his sweetheart.
"Tell me, Marisol, in which cabin are you?" He asked.
"I'm in cabin eleven, sir." Marisol couldn't remember the last time she'd called anyone 'sir', but she didn't want to take her chances by not doing it. "That's Hermes' cabin. I'm there because both my parents are demigods, so I'm no gods' child."
"Oh, that's interesting, I guess." You're mean, I guess, Marisol thought. Martin gave her an apologetic look, and he came closer to drag her towards the couch. They sat on the sofa, Martin in between. Marisol kept answering questions that made her feel more and more awkward.
"What do your parents do for a living?" Mr. Windflowers asked.
"My dad runs a repair shop, and my mother currently teaches gardening in one of her greenhouses."
"Oh, she enjoys gardening?" Martin wondered.
"Yeah, she's crazy for flowers and plants." This did not win her a safe spot, just won her mum one. As if she needed it.
"Are you studying, miss?" Marisol hated it whenever someone called her 'miss'. It made her feel as if it were in some ultra polite society instead of the real world. And she wasn't comfortable in that parallel society.
"Yes, sir. I'm a junior in Fort Hamilton."
"How are your grades?" Marisol faltered.
"They... they are."
"Do you plan to seek university studies after high school, miss?"
"She isn't sure yet, dad." Martin intervened. Marisol took and deep breath and thanked Hephaestus. That was probably better, but the thing was Marisol was pretty sure she didn't want to go to uni. Clearly, Mr. Windflowers was unimpressed. He was judging her with every fibre of his being, and Marisol sat very uncomfortable when Martin stood up to answer the door (probably the pizza guy). The main problem was she was not being directly attacked, she was being criticised in silence, leaving to her imagination the horrible things her current father-in-law thought about her. She was more tan relieved when Martin sat between them again.
"Who wants some pizza?" He asked. They began eating, and Mr. Windflowers passed his attention to Martin and, at first, Marisol thought everything was going to be better, but she was wrong.
"How have you been doing in school, son?"
"Nice as usual, dad." He answered.
"Oh, he studies so much, sir. I've never seen anyone who studies as much as your son." Marisol said, but for the way Mr. Windflowers stared at his hands, she was clearly uninvited to this part of the conversation. Marisol lowered her eyes and ate her pizza.
"I have been keeping track of your grades. You have an A minus and a B. When were you planning to tell me?" Martin also looked down.
"I'm sorry dad. But my average is still A. I talked to the teachers, they say it won't affect my college application at all."
"Your teachers don't expect you to apply for Harvard. For any college, maybe, those grades will do. But if you intend to get a scholarship at Harvard or Yale, then you're not doing well enough. This is the last year, for the gods sake!" Marisol couldn't take the way Mr. Windflowers was telling off his son. Martin was a great guy; he didn't deserve this, just for two stupid grades who couldn't possibly affect his future at all.
"Sir, pardon my intromission, but Martin has studied harder than ever and he does his best at every single test. I don't see any problem with his grades, really."
"You wouldn't understand, Marisol. My son looks up for excellence, for the best of the best." Martin widened his eyes, knowing this was it. Marisol wasn't going to back down.
"Excuse me? I could get into any university I want, just as much as your son. I have other projects, which is different. But I'm capable of excellence and the best of the best, sir." Mr. Windflowers glared at her.
"Martin, I think dating is not something you should be doing now. I think you've been getting distracted." Marisol's mouth fell open.
"Dad, I appreciate your concern, but Marisol has nothing to—"
"I insist. Look at your grades, you've never gotten an A minus in your life. Let's not even mention a B. You're more than this, son. You can date later, I'm sure this young lady won't find any better while you finish high school."
"Dad, please, don't—"
"A B! In all of your scholar years, never an A minus, and now you've gotten a B!" He exclaimed. Marisol stood up.
"Look, Mr. Excellence, Martin is the smartest guy I've ever met and he's also the best boyfriend any girl could wish for. I'm not breaking up with him just because he got a B. Got it?"
"You're a bad influence to my son, I knew it the moment you walked in! You are not a proper girlfriend for my son, he deserves better."
"Dad, Maddie, please." Martin tried, with no success.
"I don't care what you think I am! I am a terrific girlfriend! Were you here when your son turned nineteen? Because I was. That B had nothing to do with me; it had to do with you and your horrible parenting. Your son was sick and missed a crucial lesson! Who took care of him, living in New York all by himself? Me! Who made sure he was okay for the next week, so he wouldn't skip any more classes? Me again! Where were you, Mr. Windflowers? I care for your son, sir. I care for him like I care for no one else in this horrendous world, and I think so should you." She walked towards the entrance, and put on her coat. "I'm sorry Martin, I'm going to be late to Thanksgiving with my family. The pizza was nice. Thanks for inviting me." And so, she slammed the door behind her.
"Why would you do that?!" Martin turned to his father, who smiled dryly.
"I'm truly sorry, son, but I had to be sure. You should pay attention to your grades." He laughed, suddenly. "And you should go after her, quickly. It's been a while since anyone reminded me of my flaws." Martin glared at him.
"Great way to test my girlfriend!" He exclaimed, and rushed towards the door. "I'll be right back."
He chose the stairs, as the elevator was never coming up. He ran till he was outside the building. Marisol was getting onto her motorbike, and he could see she was crying. Fuck, he thought. I made her cry. He got closer to her, and put a hand on her shoulder.
"Not now, Windflowers." She shook his hand off of her.
"I'm really sorry, Maddie, my dad can be an ass when he thinks he's—"
"I understand your dad can choose not to like me, he can behave however he pleases. But you did nothing about it, you just pleaded weakly. You didn't stand up for me, Martin."
"I thought it was Martín." He tried. She turned her face to glare at him, and he swallowed.
"I'm sorry, but my Martín would've stood up for me and would've told his dad how nice I am. You're just Martin, the stupid boy who denied me in front of his classmates and stayed silent when his dad said I wasn't good for you." He looked down.
"Will you call me?" He asked.
"I don't know. Don't call me before I do." She hit the gas, and drove away. Martin cursed under his breath and went back upstairs. His dad apologised once more, and he forgave him, because Marisol was right. It wasn't his dad's fault, it was his.
"What can I do, Julian?" Martin asked his seat mate, the same one he'd been explaining Chemistry outside the school the first time Marisol picked him up.
"Do you have the answer to the question thirteen?"
"Primates. Now, could you—"
"And the sixteen?"
"Mammals. So, what do you—" but it was clear he wasn't paying him any attention.
Martin was growing more and more impatient. Marisol had asked for space, and he'd given it to her. But it had been a week since then and she wasn't calling. He'd thought of everything, and he couldn't come up with something original for her to forgive him. And he'd had a million exams. He couldn't do both, he was going crazy. The class was soon over, and Helen and her friends went up to Martin.
"Hello, Martin." Helen said.
"What do you want now?" He asked, tired.
"Oh, I'm selling tickets to prom. I know you never attend such events, but since it's our senior year, I was hoping you might wanna come." Martin was half a heartbeat from telling her not to bother but, right then, he had an idea.
"Yeah, why not." Helen was surprised. "How much is each ticket?"
"Well, that's super nice. It's five dollars each, you know, for charity and such." Martin winced, he didn't exactly have ten dollars for prom tickets. "Do you have a date for prom? If you don't, you might wanna go with me. You would need no ticket." Her eyes shone with incitation.
"Uh, no. Thanks." He looked in his pocket, took ten dollars (not without feeling like he was getting rid of a lung) and gave them to Helen. "I want two tickets, please."
"Who are you inviting then?" Helen asked, while putting the ten dollars in a safe box, and taking out two tickets.
"My girlfriend, Marisol. You already know her, don't you?" Helen winced.
"You sure it is a good idea? She might feel bad surrounded by thousand of designer dresses, while wearing a cheap one." Martin snapped his tongue.
"I think she'll manage. She's tough enough." He took his tickets, and began making plans.
"Hija![1]" Leo shouted.
"What do you want, papá? I'm busy!" Marisol yelled from her bedroom.
"Come here!"
"Why can't you come here instead?"
"If I tell you to come here is because I need you here, cariño!" Marisol sighed with exasperation, put away Othello, and walked towards the living room, where her dad's voice came from.
"What is it, papá? Seriously, I was busy." Leo rolled his eyes at his daughter. "Also, shouldn't you be at the garage?"
"That, I should be doing, but I happened to encounter an enormous rose bush, and I think it belongs to you." He faked wiping a tear off the corner of his eye. "I first thought they were for me, and I felt so flattered, it's a shame you go around making guys feel guilty, otherwise those could've been mine." Marisol lifted her eyes to the ceiling, clearly not happy of her father's childish ways.
"Where is it?" Marisol demanded.
"Where is what?"
"The rose bush, papá!" Leo grinned.
"Oh, that." He walked towards the door and opened it. He put his left foot on the way so Martin tripped when he walked in, barely able to see by all the roses he was carrying. Martin didn't fall, and he looked at Leo, puzzled. Leo grinned with complicity, and Martin smiled, grateful. When he'd gone to the repair shop asking for his help, because he was sure Marisol wasn't going to open the door for him, he'd never expected Mr. Valdez to actually take pity on him.
"Oh, they're beautiful. You shouldn't have bothered, really." Leo had exclaimed when he saw Martin's face behind the roses in his garage. "You didn't cheat on her, did you?"
"No, sir. Never." Martin'd answered right away, and then told Leo what had happened.
"I will take you upstairs in pure masculine empathy." He'd told Martin. "But whether she forgives you or not, that's up to Marisol and only Marisol." Martin had thought it was his lucky day or, just maybe, Mr. Valdez had decided Marisol was breaking up with him anyways.
"It's your problem now, not mine, have fun, your mom is coming soon so no passionate reconciliations, I'm going back to work." Leo told his daughter, and took off. Marisol looked at Martin and all his roses with mistrust.
"Well, you might have gotten my dad in your pocket, but you are still not okay with me." Martin sighed, and dropped all the roses, yellow roses, on the couch.
"Marisol, I'm sorry. I should've told my dad you're the best girlfriend ever, because you are. I should've told him not to treat you like that because I love you, and it's not okay for him to talk like that about the girl I'm in love with." He passed a hand through his hair, and Marisol could see a cut on it. "Please forgive me, Maddie. I really miss you. And I know you told me not to call before you did, so I didn't call."
"What's that cut on your hand?" Martin looked at his hand, confused, then surprised to see the cut.
"Oh, I guess I got scratched by a thorn, you know, from the roses—" Marisol looked more carefully, and saw he was actually scratched all over. She took a hand to her forehead and shook her head, grinning sideways.
"You silly flower nerd." She got closer to him, and took his hand, kissing the cut on it. "Why do you have to self-inflict you damage to make me forgive you?" She whispered. "Seriously. Smoking, cutting yourself... why don't you just avoid making me mad and save yourself some pain?"
"Because I'm a boy, and even when I try to be a good one, we boys are terribly stupid, and I can't fight the impulse to do stupid things from time to time." He shrugged. "Would you forgive me?" Marisol grinned.
"Just kiss me, babe." She told him, passing her arms around his neck.
"Your mother is going to be soon." He said, pulling her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist.
"Shoot." She made him lean, so she could whisper in his ear. "If we go to my room, we have a couple extra minutes." She smiled. "I gotta kiss you for everyday you were alone, just reading. You will become a full time nerd otherwise."
"Sounds like a plan." He kissed her, happy to be able to do so again. Marisol led him to her room, and she pushed him to lay on the bed. She laid next to him, and brushed his hair off his face. "I really love you, Maddie." He told her.
"I really missed you, Martín." She kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him. Not wanting to process the fact he loved her. He stopped to catch his breath. He took her face in his hands and kissed her left eyelid.
"Aster, darling, I wanted to ask you something." He said. Marisol froze. Not why I haven't said 'I love you yet' please, not that, she prayed.
"What, Martín?" He took the tickets off his pocket.
"Do you wanna go to prom with me?" He asked, and Marisol went speechless.
"Prom? At your school? With all those girls who will probably look like princesses?" Martin frowned.
"You don't have to go if you don't want to. It's only if you wanna go."
"I just thought you wouldn't want to take me, since that's going to most probably be a very fancy event."
"I'm just going because I thought you might want to go. You're the only reason I bought the tickets. If you're not going, I'm not going either. Showing off my beautiful girlfriend is the only reason I would ever want to go." Marisol grinned.
"Do you have to suit up?"
"Yeah, it's compulsory." She bit her bottom lip.
"I bet you look so hot in a suit..." she let the phrase hang in the air, and Martin blushed. "Okay. I'll go. But we're going in style. No lame rich limos. We're going on my motorcycle."
"Wouldn't have it any other way." Marisol laughed.
"Don't act cool, I just saved your ass. None of us has the money for a limo."
"Touché." She kissed his cheek.
"I'm happy you don't mind taking me to boring social events." She said.
"If you are there, I don't see how can it be boring." He was about to kiss her when they heard the flat's door shut. Martin sighed, and Marisol's eyes gleamed with interest. Was he really that disappointed her mother had arrived? "I guess that's your mum."
"Yup." Said Marisol, sitting up straight on the bed. "Come on." She pulled him from his shirt. "I'll drive you home."
"And then I took a glass full of punch, and poured it over him and his other two dates." Marisol told Martin, who chuckled a bit, as they entered his apartment, holding hands. Marisol's hands were rougher and warmer than most girls'. She didn't need to hold hands to keep her hands warm in the cold. She had cuts and scars on her fingertips and all over her palms. The way she still managed to have perfectly polished nails was still a mystery to him. "I was so pissed... I think it was one of the few times I was mainly mad, not really sad."
"I'm scared now. What if I pick the wrong wrist corsage for you? I'll be screwed." Marisol rolled her eyes and gestured around her.
"Have you seen your place? It's a freaking greenhouse, Martín." She giggled. "There's no way you can get it wrong. Not when it comes to flowers." Martin leaned over and kissed her briefly.
"Thanks for the confidence. And the ride."
"It was nothing. I like your place. I like being here with you. I like making a mess of your kitchen." He laughed.
"Yeah, you definitely like that."
"I like you, too." She confessed, in a moment she wasn't paying attention to what she was saying. She'd been avoiding to say anything like 'I like you' or 'I love you' in order to avoid Martin coming to realisation. She didn't want to hurt him for three stupid words she couldn't bring herself to say.
"I'm happy to know my only competition is the possibility of making a mess of my kitchen, and this apartment."
"I like those things because of you." She laughed, a bit relieved. "I like you more than any of them."
"Do you?" He put a lock of her hair behind her left ear.
"Yes, I do." She pulled him towards the couch. "I like you, Martín. I really do. I like you, and I like the way I can say we've slept together." He blushed.
"Not like that." He rushed himself to clarify.
"I think I would know it if I had done more than just doze off by your side." She laid back, kicking her shoes off and settling her legs on Martin's lap.
"What do you plan on wearing for prom?" He asked.
"Probably some punk, sassy dress that matches my troublesome personality. Combat boots. My army vest jacket, something like that." She saw the confused look in Martin's face and giggled. "Oh, you meant for your prom. Well, definitely the blue bra with the white lace, that one is really comfortable and it gives the illusion my boobs are bigger" she stared down at her chest. "Don't worry girls, I'm okay with your size, but we wanna cause a good impression, don't we?" She smiled. "And of course—"
"Marisol" he said, a hand on his face, embarrassed. "Please." She laughed, moving and crawling to his side of the couch to kiss his cheek.
"Come on" she said. "Don't expect me to believe you haven't looked at my chest not at least once. Whether to notice the existence of boobs or the lack of cubic centimetres in them, but you have." Martin rolled his eyes, red as a strawberry. "We've been dating for four months, don't be a liar."
"I just can't tell you I've ever looked at you that way." He told her.
"Then you have." She said, moving onto his lap, for him not to be able to look away, giving him a playful look.
"Marisol..." he warned her, his hands grabbing the couch at her sides, doubtful where to settle on.
"Don't be like that, guapo[2]. It's not a bad thing. It would worry me if you didn't look at me." There was amusement in her voice, and Martin locked eyes with her all blushed and flustered, just to glare at her. Marisol gasped. She could tell him she loved him when he looked at her that way; angry, but not really, for teasing him like that. She felt suddenly small and too embarrassed to look at him, so she hugged him and hid her face in his neck. "I look at you a lot." She confessed. "I stare at everything you do, everything about you." She whispered. Martin felt her tremble, suddenly too shy to even look at him. He smiled and brushed her hair.
"Really?" He asked, more to encourage her to speak her mind than to hear how much she looked at him. Not that he minded hearing so.
"I look at interesting things, like the wide of your back, or the way your skin tenses when I touch it. I look at silly things like the way you purse your lips when upset, or the way your smile starts shyly on one corner and slowly takes hold of all your mouth. The way your eyes shine under sunlight or they darken and deepen when I tell you stuff like you're smart and you're kind and I'm crazy about you." She retreated a bit, enough to look him in the eye. "I stare when you look at me like I'm amazing when I've done nothing special at all. I stare at your hands and fantasise about them, and their firm, yet delicate grip. I stare when you swallow hard, and your throats makes this weird move." He swallowed, just like for proving her point and she smiled. "Just like that." She agreed, hypnotised by him. By the way he smelled so much like grass and sun, and she knew it was a silly comparison, because the sun has no smell. But he smelled just like that, like the scent clothes get when you let them dry outside on a sunny summer afternoon. Not quite a scent, but that warmth and energy you get from sniffing it. He also smelled a bit spicy, probably his deodorant. She could feel him completely, sun, grass, deodorant and shampoo. Normal, cheap shampoo. Marisol swallowed, and unconsciously draw herself towards him and kissed him on his neck. A brief kiss just where his Adam's apple was. She felt Martin's chest rise and fall heavily under her, in an everlasting sigh.
He did not even bother to call her name. She was inescapable. Maybe giving in was the only way he could get any hold of the situation. He did not bother to move her away from him. Not just yet, her sun kissed skin so close to his, her lips touching spots so sensible on him. It was cold outside, almost December, winter roaring through the wind. Yet Marisol was warm. Warm, soft and addictive and so, so easy to fall into. Who was he kidding? He did look at her, the way she pouted, when moody, like a little girl. The way she regarded him with a smile whenever he showed up to their dates with a flower in his hand. The way she shushed him with kisses whenever he told her, he loved her. His hands looked for the hair band that held her pony tail on its place and undid it. Her wild and soft big curls fell to the sides of her face and Martin pulled her in for a kiss. He didn't know much about kisses, true, but he liked the way Marisol kissed. She kissed like she was made for kissing him, she kissed him hard, and she kissed him violently, like everything she did. She kissed him like giving up everything and laying it all in front of him. He always answered gently, smoothly, keeping up her pace yet balancing it to one a bit more calmed, way more lasting, and way more enjoyable. Her lips were soft and warm, like every single bit of her except her hands, which were a bit rougher. He dug his fingers in her hair, and Marisol sighed in his mouth like she needed air that just wasn't there. There was a brief pause.
"When is this prom of yours?" She asked.
"A couple days before Christmas. On the twenty second, if I'm not wrong." He answered, taking a brief look at her flushed face and her suddenly dark eyes, the very dark brown in them a small ring restraining the darkness. He kissed the place in her infinite and flawless skin where her regal neck met her shoulder. He did think of her. In some unflattering ways, with short dresses and long, silky gloves. He thought of her and the sensation of his fingertips tracing her shape over her clothes, under her clothes. He thought of her bare skin and he was not proud of it. But she was everywhere he looked at, she'd crept into his mind and his heart and had made herself a freaking mansion in them.
"I love you, Marisol." He murmured against her skin, holding her waist. She froze. She froze, then she trembled and when she spoke, her voice cracked. His senses rang the alarm, he'd messed everything up. Marisol kissed his forehead.
"I can't do it." She mumbled. A lonely tear carved its way down her cheek, and Martin wiped it with his thumb.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He said right away. "I didn't want to push you, I never thought—"
"It's not that, Martín. I don't mind having you kiss me, having you touch me. It troubles me in absolutely no way." She looked down, pained. "I can't say it."
"Say what?" Asked Martin, just a bit relieved, but lost as ever.
"Say it." She said, as if 'it' were obvious. "I can't say it back." Martin's face softened with understanding and kindness. She was probably the best thing to have ever happened to him. And to think at first he didn't want her to happen at all.
"Maddie, it's okay." He said, meaning it. "I don't tell you I love you because I want you to say it back. I tell you because I want you to know I do. I tell you because I want that when you're feeling lonely and sad, you can remember I love you. I tell you because I want that when you get mad at me for something stupid I did, you know I love you despite whatever I said, whatever I did." She didn't seem to feel any better.
"I want to tell you and I can't. I like you like I have never liked anyone before. I care about you more than about anyone in this world. I would face a Titan army by myself just for you, and I would never consider you a lesser price. And I can't manage to bring myself to do it. I just can't." Martin helped her off his lap and onto the couch.
"You don't need to rush it, darling. You can take as much time as you need, just don't get upset about it, because I'm totally cool with it." She looked at him with teary eyes.
"You serious?"
"Of course. Let me just take you to the Charismas' Prom at my school and brag I've got the prettiest girlfriend in front of all the other students." Marisol smiled for a second, but suddenly her smile faded.
"I can't" her voice seemed to crack again and she covered her eyes with her forearm.
"Why?"
"My dad prepares a flying car every other year to go to Greece during Christmas, since my mum gets homesick. I won't be in town." She laughed, which was not a complete laugh nor was it any cheerful. "Gods, I won't even be in the States." Martin tried not to look disappointed, and failed miserably.
"Oh, well, that's..." he looked for the right word. "Unexpected." He said.
"But promise me you'll go. I don't want you to miss your senior prom just because of me."
"Maddie, I already told you—"
"Promise." She urged him, and fixed her sad dark eyes on him. "Please."
"Alright." He said. "Do you want some hot chocolate? I bought more ingredients after the last time. It's nice to drink hot chocolate when it's cold outside." He was worried, he knew something was off with her, and did not know how to help her. Marisol had so many issues; it was easy for Martin to find himself unable to do anything to fix them.
"Maybe another day." Marisol said, and Martin had no more suggestions. Suddenly the ambience got awkward.
"Should we do something?" Marisol sat up and began putting on her boots.
"I'm going home." Martin got up behind her and followed her to the door.
"Should I accompany you on the way down?"
"No, it's okay." Marisol was like strange, distant... like gone. And Martin didn't like it, she was his personal ray of sunshine, his own star in this sad starless world.
"Are you sure you are okay, Maddie?" He questioned her, worried, taking her face in his palm, feeling her oddly cold. "I can listen; I want to listen, whenever you need someone to."
"I'm just... upset with myself right now, Martin." The way she'd said his name right didn't go unnoticed. "I'll call you later, okay? We'll meet up again between your exams and before I travel during Christmas, I promise." She gave him half a smile, which made her look quite like herself, so he kissed her forehead fondly and regarded her with a wide smile.
"Okay. I love you, Marisol. Keep it on mind." Martin said before she waved goodbye.
Marisol didn't call him that week. In fact, Marisol didn't call him at all until Christmas holidays had begun. He used to look at his walkie-talkie with worry, then frustration, then anger, then sadness. But Marisol wouldn't call, nor would she answer his desperate calls. And fate had fixed it that his exams didn't allow him to go to her place until it was too late.
He'd been toying with the idea of seeing her on the street, when he walked out from school, or when he looked out the window. When he was at the subway and the wagon began to move slowly, and he couldn't get off to check whether it was really her or not. His father would be slightly pleased, knowing she was no longer around. But her absence was more distracting than any other thing, making him draw her in every blank page. Chocolate cosmos and asters filled up all the margins of his copybooks. He would find himself doodling them even on his tests. He was losing his head, with her image sealed in the back of his eyelids, smiling at him every time he closed his eyes. Martin missed Marisol so badly, he didn't care about being angry or sad anymore, if she could just come by his place, he would hug her and chain her by his side and never ever let her go. But Christmas' holidays had begun, and it was physically impossible for him to meet her until she came back from the end of the world. He couldn't help but think it was his entire fault. She'd said it was because she couldn't say she loved him, but he was sure it had been him, touching more than he should, letting himself go. Yet, the thought of her also reminded him of her last promise. We'll get together between the end of your exams and the day I leave. But she never called. And when he thought of it, he got angry, because it hurt. Marisol had teased and flirted the way into his heart without even asking for permission, and now she wasn't sure about it. Whether it was or wasn't what she wanted. Missing her only helped to fantasise with her being there, though. He'd be mad if he actually saw her, but as long as her absence loomed over him, he'd make her ghost walk by his side everywhere he went.
Martin would've loved to take her out then, with the Christmas decorations lighting up New York, snow giving the town a magic glow he'd love to share with her. It wasn't usual for it to snow in Manhattan, and it was a shame he didn't get to make it a memory with her.
He began making the knot for his yellow tie and sighed, resigned. How pathetic was it for him to keep a promise like that one? The only reason to keep it was the hope to retrieve a long lost love. That was when, as his tie was almost done, his walkie-talkie biped.
"Hello?" He said, wondering whether they could work so far from one another.
"Martín? Thank Hephaestus, you answered." She sounded both relieved and scared. "Could you do me a favour? I left a rather important object at my apartment, and I was wondering whether you could pick it up and place it somewhere safe?" From all the things he'd been waiting to tell her, to ask her; 'Why did you go?' 'Why would I listen to you?', he made only one question.
"Are you talking about your flat in Queens?"
"Of course I am." He needed no more.
"Marisol, I think there're at least a thousand topics we should discuss before I agree to do anything for you. Now, I'm going to be late to my prom, since I do not break my promises." He hung up, fixed his tie, got his jacket and took the subway. It was his senior prom, after all. His one and only opportunity to feel like a normal scholar, not a demigod, not something different. Maybe he could stand awkwardly like he was supposed to, maybe he could even gift some needy girls a couple dances.
He couldn't get her voice off his head all the way to his prom. Why did she have to call just then? And what was so important for her not to be able to wait until she was back? Did she actually think they were okay?
He had to walk a couple blocks to reach his school, but when he got there, he froze. A motorcycle was parked in front of the building, and a sad-eyed girl sat with a dark blue cloak on. Her bronze skin shone soft under the nightlights, and her dark eyes shimmered with relief when she saw him. She stood, and she was the exactly the same as always. He thought it unfair, how she could go on with her life as the same, when for him there hadn't been a moment he hadn't thought of her. She was the same, only now she was a few inches taller; as if she were wearing... she was wearing high heels. Dark blue strapped ones.
"You are wearing high heels." Martin stated the obvious, looking utterly surprised. Marisol wasn't one for uncomfortable clothing, she never wore skirts or dresses, or any shoes which weren't her combat boots or her sneakers. She giggled, not happy, just suddenly amused.
"Sometimes even I wear high heels. Mainly because nothing else fitted the dress." He was about to ask 'Which dress?' when he realised that, even though he missed her lots, there was something called self respect. He couldn't just act as if nothing had happened.
"Excuse me; I'm going in, nice to see you." Marisol grabbed his arm. He looked so handsome it hurt her to look at him like that, so gorgeous, so distant.
"Martin please." She did not dare to call him 'Martín'. Her eyes were begging. "Let me explain." He sighed, and sat on the steps.
"Okay, I'll hear you out." She sat next to him, and looked down.
"I know I did wrong, but I freaked out. I just couldn't bring myself to figure out where was I, where I stood when it came to you. It was splitting my head; I needed time to sort things out. What we had... was anything like the other relationships I've had and I couldn't decide whether that was a good or a bad sign. I didn't want to get hurt again, and I didn't want to hurt you."
"I get you may need time, I can wait for you to figure things out. But you can't just walk away and shut me out, letting me believe everything's okay. You can't because everybody deserves better, and because I deserve better. You went out and made me fall hard for you, and the least I expected from you was not to play me around. I know you. Something else is going on with you. You should've let me know, you should've let me help. You can't expect me to welcome you just like that." He snapped his fingers. "You were just protecting yourself when you left, and didn't even think of me, how it would affect me. You say you cared, but what you did makes me highly doubt it, Marisol. I was sad, I was angry and I was upset, but over all things, I was hurt." She lifted her eyes and focused them on his face, shattered. She knew she had no excuses for the way she'd gone away. But she couldn't go on without him.
During those few weeks, she'd gone back and forth at every single room in her flat. She'd re-read Shakespeare and Andersen over and over again, hoping to find answers. She'd torn off the petals of a dozen daisies and she'd messed up a hundred simple, easy jobs at her dad's garage. Leo'd had to gently wave her off before she could destroy anything he couldn't fix afterwards. If there was anyone who could break something to a point of irreparable, it was his daughter. Even her mother had accepted without questions to sew her a dress. She'd seen Marisol so depressed she only hoped for the dress to cheer her up. She had barely eaten all those days. Only the expectation to see him again had made her look stunning for that night.
"I know I didn't make it right, but I know something for certain, Martin. And it's that I wanna be with you. I care about you, and I'm so sorry I sorted things out the way I did. I am all in, Martin. All in for this, all in for you. Just give me one more chance." Martin bit his bottom lip, troubled. He wanted to believe her, but it wasn't so easy.
Looking at her like that, so regretful and sorry, made him bend his will. He had a soft spot for the Marisols of the Earth.
"Then prove it. Prove what you're saying is true. If you are all in, as you say, then work your way through." He did not agree completely with his own decision, but if she made it, he wouldn't have to regret it. "Show me you care. You've got four dates."
"Four dates for what?" She asked, hopeful but also confused.
"For making me fall for you all over again." Marisol gasped. "Shouldn't be that difficult," he observed. "You've already achieved it once."
"When do I get my first date?" Martin looked down at her high heels.
"What about now?" Marisol grinned.
"You won't regret it, I swear."
"We'll see about that." He stood up and offered her his hand. "Let's go, Valdez." She flinched; it had been four months since the last time he'd called her by her surname. "Don't wanna be late."
The school's gym was simply huge, and the decoration was breathtaking. Delicate and beautiful crystal snowflakes hung from the ceiling, and over every table and the stage, snow piled up, flawless and white. She knew it had to be fake, because it wasn't cold at all in there, but Marisol couldn't help thinking it looked so real.
At the entrance, a guy (was him a waiter?) offered her to take her cloak and Marisol handed it over. Martin went speechless when he saw her without the cloak. The dress was a little retro, white on the upper bit, the skirt of the dress beginning at a cut right after her ribcage. It had a classy neckline, the fabric falling loose between her shoulders, in a very elegant way. An extra pair of straps, navy blue, tied behind her neck. The skirt began by a navy blue lace which had a yellow-white aster on the left side. The skirt was also navy blue, but covered by white tulle, both the skirt and the tulle falling right past her knees, the tulle a bit longer. Over the lace around her waist and over the tulle, several gemstones, like diamonds, scattered around, shining over the blue skirt like stars in the night sky. The tulle finished with tiny white asters on the end, giving the illusion the stars turned into flowers. Martin was stunned. There she was, his Aster, wearing asters. He thought he might lose it anyways and would make this the fourth date and tell her she'd done it. She'd won his heart.
"Holy Aphrodite." Martin let out. "You look splendid, Marisol. So, so gorgeous." She blushed.
"Really?" She was incredulous; after all, she was being tested. There was no space for being flirtatious or way too smart. Martin seemed to recover from the impression.
"Uh, yes. I'm sorry; I don't have a corsage for you, what a shame."
"Oh, but I do." She showed him a corsage made of white asters. Then, she took out an extra flower and put it in his jacket's breast pocket. "There. Now it looks like I'm your plus one." He noticed the way the flower she put in his breast pocket had been perfectly cut.
"Did you read a gardening book?" She looked away.
"How can you even think I would do something like that? You know I hate studying." She said, but he could tell she was being insincere.
"Come on; let's go hit the dance floor." He told her grinning, a little too happy, trying to hide how much he liked the idea of her studying just for impressing him, half his brain telling him to stand his ground.
"Do you dance?"
"Not really, but I believe it can't be that bad." Retro music was playing, as if on cue to Marisol's entrance and her dress.
"You'd be surprised."
Martin had been lying, he knew how to dance. Marisol knew very little, since she'd always stayed inside his dad's garage, learning about engines and circuits instead of how to walk properly. She would give a few drachmas now for going back in time and taking some dancing lessons. Marisol was a mess on heels, and Martin found that very amusing. Thankfully for her, dances were supposed to be led by the man, which made her suck slightly less being Martin as good as he was.
"How come you're not a million miles away?" He asked when the music turned a bit slower. Marisol had to catch her breath, exhausted, before answering.
"I sort of... got off the car in the very last moment, without them noticing." She flinched at the memory. "My mother yelled at me for an entire hour when she got off the car in Spain and could send an Iris message. My father approved my rebellious attitude but, after an angry look from my mother, said it wasn't the time or the place for me to pull it off." She sighed. "Anyways, I had already stayed and they were already gone, so I apologised and entered our house." She lifted her eyes to the ceiling. "I had made my mom do me this dress, when I was already going back and forth whether asking them to let me stay or not."
"Your mother did it?"
"Yeah."
"Wow, she must be amazing—"
"Amazing at it, I know." She looked down, suddenly blue. What was she doing? She wasn't completely sure of what she felt by Martin, yet she had gotten off a car on its way to Greece and was dancing in high heels to retrieve him. It was unusual crazy for her, and she was worrying for her own sake. She was certain as Hades she liked him a lot, but he loved her, and if she wanted to be with him, she'd be expected to correspond that feeling sooner or later. Martin felt suddenly guilty as he noticed how much she'd done to try to make things up. He smiled.
"Hey, it's okay." He lifted her chin. "How about we sit for a while? I can tell you're tired." He grinned. "You must be; being a terrible dancer must be very tiring." Marisol's face was full of surprise, since he never used to mock her like that.
"I was just trying to make you look good." She made up. "It is very tiring to fake I'm terrible at dancing for your sake." Martin gave her a doubtful look, but led her to one of the few tables scattered around. A guy with gentle blue eyes, messy blonde hair and distracted appearance came up to them halfway. Julian.
"Hey, Martin, you came!" He exclaimed, astonished.
"Yeah, I made a promise, so I had to come." Martin eyed Marisol, who looked away, trying not to look responsible.
"I should probably get myself a dance partner because the world will be ending soon." Julian joked. Then he noticed Marisol. "Whoa, Martin, who's this beautiful girl by your side?" Marisol smirked, pleased with the comment, and the curve of her smile only made her look more gorgeous.
"Julian, this is my date, Marisol. Marisol, this is one of my classmates, Julian." Martin introduced them. Marisol winced inside as she noticed how Martin introduced her as his date and not as his girlfriend.
"Nice to meet you, Julian." Marisol smiled sideways. "You look like the kind of guy who takes advantage of Martin's good manners in every class." Julian lifted his hands, and Martin dreaded he might find Marisol's comment rude.
"You got me. May I know how did you guess?"
"I harass the smartest ones in my class as well." Julian laughed.
"You do?" Martin turned to Marisol.
"Come on, otherwise I would've been expelled already. I make my way to hand in my homework." Martin rolled his eyes.
"Do you mind if I borrow her for a dance?" Julian asked Martin, who shifted uncomfortable. Before he could agree (because Marisol knew he would since he didn't have a polite reason to decline), Marisol answered.
"I'm sorry, I'm very tired. Plus, I came here with Martin, and I intend not to let him out of my sight." She smiled politely but dismissively, and dragged Martin away. They sat down, and Marisol rolled her eyes.
"Really?"
"What?" Asked Martin, having that dreadful feeling guys usually have of having done something wrong.
"You were about to give me away." Martin winced.
"I wasn't!"
"Yes, you were. If it were you the one in probation, and not me, I would've already ended this date." Martin sighed, and his eyes flickered.
"Of course you would have." He sighed. "But I'm not in probation. You are." Marisol looked away.
"Martin... you know I'm sorry, don't you?"
"I do. I can't be sure I'm able to trust you, though. I had just tried my best for you not to be angry at me and you ran away, without a proper warning, without an explanation. That hurt." He stood up.
"Where are you going?"
"Outside. I'm going to take a walk, I need to think."
"Then I'm going with you." She said, standing up, but Martin waved her off.
"No, I'll be right back. Just wait me here." He was upset, she could tell that much. She didn't like it, but sat there, sad eyed, resigned to wait him.
[1] Daughter.
[2] Handsome, gorgeous.