"But you keep the promise anyway. That's what love is. Love is keeping the promise anyway." –John Green, The Fault in Our Stars.
She didn't like it, but sat there, sad eyed, resigned to wait him. Just as he disappeared beyond the entrance, a beautiful brunette in a green dress showed up. The green she was wearing brought up her light green eyes, which looked like jade gems.
"What a nice surprise to find you here!" She exclaimed, and Marisol sighed with irritation. How did these kinds of girls always have a perfect timing to be their most annoying? At least, she reckoned, she was alone.
"Yeah, who would've thought?" Marisol faked surprise.
"What a lovely dress! A little bit... old fashioned, but charming, I guess."
"Yours make you look like a lettuce, but a healthy one, I guess." Helen pretended she felt insulted, but Marisol knew she was faking.
"Where's your little boyfriend, Aztec princess?"
"Having a walk."
"And he left you here? You poor little thing, getting dumped like this."
"You are just jealous Martin never paid any attention to you. His type was always the queen bee, but you could never get the title. And now it's senior year and you finally are the queen bee, he doesn't give a fuck, because he has me."
"I would never be jealous of an insolent Mexican witch. Martin must be bewitched to be fond of you."
"Watch your words, impertinent clay-headed harpy." She stood up; her heels making her stand more or less tall against Helen. "Aztecs were known for eating the still-beating hearts of their enemies."
"Maybe you ate Martin's heart." Marisol was about to answer, when Martin stepped in.
"Maybe, maybe she didn't. But that's not of your business. Or is it, Helen?" Both Marisol and Helen couldn't believe Martin. He was always contained and polite, and he would always find the nicest way to say the rudest things.
"Well... uh... I just thought she might be troubling you." Helen stammered.
"Whether she troubles me or not, it's only mine the pleasure to deal with Marisol." The pleasure to deal with me, Marisol's thoughts echoed. "I want you to please quit bothering her." Marisol could only think of Martin as terribly hot as he told Helen off. Helen nodded and walked away. Marisol was staring at Martin wide eyed; he became shy under her gaze and scratched his nape, a bit embarrassed.
"Was I that rude?" He asked, as they both sat down.
"You were that hot." She stated. Then she went back to her senses. "Why would you do that?"
"I realised that since you're doing your best at these dates, I should at least let you try. You know, it's a date after all. You should have a fair shot. Not one made way more difficult by my doubts." Marisol blushed.
"Well... thanks. For everything." Martin smiled.
"Actually, I have been waiting forever to have an actual reason to tell Helen to back off." Marisol made an incredulous face.
"Really?"
"Really."
"No way! She's totally your type." She exclaimed. Martin rolled his eyes.
"How is she my type?"
"You know, popular, untouchable, drop-dead gorgeous." Martin chuckled.
"Why would you think that's my type of girl?" Marisol simply gave him that 'Please' look and Martin laughed more. "Okay, okay. Got it. But I think my type of girl has improved a bit in the past few months."
"How so?" Marisol looked at him curiously, hopeful.
"I think my type now is caramel skinned, dark eyed, dark haired tiny girls who can, and most certainly enjoy, letting themselves hang from my neck. Honest girls who lead me to love them even when I don't expect to. Flirtatious girls who can even flirt with objects."
"My favourite one is the oven. Because you have to heat it up, you know." Martin let out a soft laugh, and then let it die.
"You're not far from being my type, then." Marisol smiled.
"It's getting late."
"I don't have a limo."
"I don't care. I have a motorcycle."
"Motorcycle sounds good." Marisol stood up and Martin followed. She got her cloak back, and they walked outside. They hopped onto Marisol's motorbike, Marisol driving, Martin behind. He was slightly reluctant to hug her, but before he could decide anything, Marisol turned around.
"Do you wanna drive?" She asked.
Martin didn't know what to say at first. Marisol's motorcycle was sacred to her, and no one could ever drive it but herself. She'd even never allowed anyone but him to ride behind her. She was like an overprotective mother when it came to her bike. Yet now she was offering him to drive.
"I don't know how to ride a motorbike." He thought it was the more sensible way to decline the honour of riding.
"Come on, I'll teach you." She jumped off and waited for him to move forward. He held the handlebars with caution, and waited for Marisol to sit behind him. He regretted his decision as soon as Marisol pressed herself into his back, and accommodated her face in the curve of his shoulder, to speak to his ear. She touched his leg, and Martin turned to look at her.
"Marisol?" He wondered, but he saw the professional, concentrated look on her she'd had when he'd first met her, and she'd studied his arm trying to picture the perfect sword for him. There was no flirting in her, not then and not now.
"You put your foot here..." she instructed. He obliged, his heart pounding so hard and fast, he feared she might hear it and understand what she did to him. "Exactly, and then put one hand firmly on the brakes... perfect. Now turn the key, hold the brakes, yeah. And slowly turn the gas... no, not like that." She didn't sound stressed, like most driving instructors. She sounded calm, even delighted. She pressed gently her hand onto his, driving with his hand. "Like this. Softly, like when you change a plant from one flower pot to another." Martin was surprised by the analogy, but he followed her instructions, and the bike hummed between his legs. Marisol laughed in joy. "You did it!"
"Thanks to you." He admitted.
"Wait, not done yet." She put her other hand on his. "Let go softly of the brakes..." they moved forward and along the street. Slow but steady. "You got it, babe." Her voice was so proud in his ear, Martin needed to turn to look at her, but as he turned to get a short glimpse, she tensed. "Eyes on the road!"
"Sorry!" He apologised. "Just that you called me 'babe', you know."
"Oh, sorry. My bad. Anyways, you shouldn't let anything distract you." She smiled. "Not even me saying how a nice ass you have, and what a perspective I've got from here—" She waited for it.
"Valdez!" Martin wanted to turn around, but Marisol stopped him.
"Eyes on the road, pretty boy." Martin wanted to get mad at her. But he had allowed her four dates, and this one hadn't ended yet. "Sorry I made you uncomfortable. But I'm happy." She confessed.
"Are you?" At night, with a lower traffic, Marisol's voice was perfectly audible over the roar of the motorcycle.
"I'm very happy you gave me a chance, Martin. I really am. I'm very happy you told Helen off. I'm very happy you're driving my bike without a license."
"Wait, that's no good." Martin reckoned, and she laughed.
"I was supposed to give you a nice first date, but you gave me it instead." Martin said nothing, and a few minutes after, they parked in front of his building.
"Have I won over a bit of thy heart, Sire?" She tried, as Martin got off her bike. He first looked at her quizzically, then let go of a smile.
"Just the tiniest bit, my lady." Marisol bowed from the motorcycle.
"Then I shall take my leave. I'll await thy call, Sire." Martin chuckled.
"Await then." He told himself not to, but he took a step in her direction and kissed Marisol on the cheek. "I thank thee for a fine date, Marisol." He disappeared quickly behind the building's glass doors, but Marisol stared at the empty space he left behind for a couple absent minutes. Her cheek tingled the way it had when he had 'apologised' to her for friendzoning her.
She didn't sleep that night, lying on her bed staring at her empty ceiling, walkie talkie in hand. Morpheus finally got her when dawn was approaching, and she awoke near midday, to find herself still in last night's dress and with the splitting headache little sleep often gifts. She woke up, had an apple for breakfast and took a quick shower before checking the repair shop's list of clients. Better do something productive. She picked the clients who had asked to be taken care of during Christmas if possible. The mortal clients. Demigods' needs were always something she didn't want to mess with. Mortals usually had simple things, like a change of spark plugs or problems in the electric system. Those last ones would normally have no salvation, but she was a granddaughter to Hephaestus, and electric systems were like the simplest thing ever to her. She put on her dark red overall and braided her hair, with the hope to get less motor oil on it. Getting no oil at all was an impossible task. She went downstairs to the garage, her walkie talkie in hand. She waited for the first client to arrive. She promised to be ready by the afternoon, which was a lot more hours than it would actually take her, but she hated it when people decided to wait there and overlook her work. The old woman, who had brought an equally old car, did not doubt Marisol, who spent enough time in the repair shop and did enough little jobs there for some clients to recognise her and even prefer her. Mainly because Marisol was always free, while her dad was usually under a huge pile of things to do. Leo could get a simple mortal car problem fixed in five minutes, but he had a thousand five minutes jobs in his to-do list. On the other hand, it took Marisol ten to fifteen minutes, and she did not have much to do.
She worked all day, The Rolling Stones on the radio, earning some extra cash. If she kept the pace, she would make enough money to renew her motorcycle completely. It indeed needed some updates. By that afternoon, the old woman, Mrs. Jenkins, came back for her old car.
"Hello, Marisol, you look as lovely as always, my dear." She greeted as she walked in.
"And you're sweet as always, Mrs. Jenkins." She smiled. "Let me fetch your car. It's done, I left it like new, you'll have no trouble with it for at least a semester. Sounds good, huh?"
"I'd prefer for it to never again give me any problems." Marisol laughed.
"But it's just not the way your car works, Mrs. Jenkins. He's an old fellow; he needs to be taken care of from time to time." Old Mrs. Jenkins chuckled, although the laughter died into coughing.
"You sound as if you spoke to my car." Marisol smiled, then went to the back of the repair shop, hopped onto the car and drove it to the entrance. I only wish I could, she thought. She'd learnt Morse code, but machines just wouldn't talk to her. They only spoke to her dad. The godly blood in her simply wasn't enough.
"Here you have. It no longer makes the rumbling which worried you or the high pitched sounds which startled you."
"Thank you, my dear. How much do I owe you?" Mrs. Jenkins had a low pension and she was very humble. She always gave Marisol candy when she was little, and Leo had never had the heart to take a penny from the old woman. Just like him, Marisol couldn't bring herself to take part of the little money the poor woman had to live with.
"You owe me nothing, Mrs. Jenkins. As always, this problem with your car was due to something we didn't notice in the previous check. I wish for it to never happen again, but if it comes to that, we'll fix it for free." Mrs. Jenkins smiled, grateful.
"I know you want to save me some dollars dear. And I thank you." She said, before getting in her car and driving away at ninety miles per hour. That was Mrs. Jenkins. Walking at a relaxed and soft pace, driving with furious velocity. She had spirit, which made both Leo and Marisol grin every time she drove away.
She went to sleep, exhausted, hugging the walkie talkie, and waiting for her call. Martin did not call that night either.
It was December the twenty fourth, Christmas' Eve, and she woke up quite early. She ate some cereals for breakfast and dressed up quickly, so she could open earlier and make more money than the day before, hopefully. The station where they mainly played The Rolling Stones had shifted to Christmas' carols for that day and, too lazy to go fetch her iPod, Marisol looked for any station which wasn't playing songs of the season. She finally found one which was going through Louis Armstrong's greatest hits and, since she enjoyed the vintage feeling the jazz gave the repair shop, she let it play along.
While she was swimming between engines and motor oil, she pressed the walkie talkie 'Talk' button and locked it hold, to put it between her shoulder and her ear as she worked. She hummed to the jazz until Martin picked up.
"Hello?"
"Hullo, Martin." She said, the words a bit mispronounced because of her having to hold the walkie talkie on its place with her head. "I know you told me to wait, but I have two restless nights on me, and I can't afford a third one." She could feel Martin smiling on his side of the line. "So, how about a date, babe?"
"Uhm... I don't know, Marisol. Do you really think it's a good idea?" Marisol frowned.
"Are you kidding me? You gave me four dates, I have three left. For better or for worse, I will annoy you until you give me those three dates."
"Very well" he gave up.
"There. Now, what time shall I pick you up?" She put a rebel hair, which had escaped the bandana she was wearing that day, behind her ear, smiling.
"What about now?" Marisol recognised the sound of Martin's voice did no longer come from the walkie talkie and turned around to find Martin standing at the entrance of the garage. Her mouth fell open, and Martin's did too. Hers for astonishment; his because, well, he'd never seen Marisol like that. Okay, she liked comfy clothes. T-shirts and shorts for summer, jeans and hoodies for winter. But an overall with the zip falling open till her ribcage to reveal a white tank top which wasn't so white anymore, stained with motor oil and the sweat of hard work, wasn't common. Her overall read 'Leo and Calypso's Garage: Auto Repair and Mechanical Monsters' at one side of the zipper over her chest, and at the other side it read Marisol. Her hair was loose today, kept at bay with a bandana. Marisol almost dropped the walkie talkie. Get over yourself, she thought, smiling like that kind of stuff happened to her every day.
"Hey there, Windflowers." She clearly hadn't been expecting him. "Just let me fix this one, I have to have it ready for today's evening." She moved some wires, pulled a few things Martin didn't recognise and was done in no time. "There, now I can change."
"Why?" He finally found his voice which lack, thankfully, Marisol hadn't noticed.
"Because I'm messy?" She pointed at her stained overall and clothes. He walked to stand closer.
"I think you're fine this way." Marisol blushed, yet gave him a sly look.
"Am I?" She teased. "Come on, I can't go out like this."
"Then maybe we should stay." He came even closer, and Marisol faltered. He should not be allowed to do that.
"Uhum." She agreed, sarcastically. "That's unfair, Windflowers. You begin to flirt with me when my hands are tied. You should let me bite back, not play it safe like a scared little kid." Martin studied Marisol.
"You have three dates left. You can bite back. Whether it'll help you or not, that's for you to decide." Damn, she thought. If I get you, I'll bite you so hard for doing this to me, she swore.
"Wait me here, pretty boy. I'll be back in five." Martin chuckled when she left; trying to recover himself from the effort it had meant to play Marisol without falling into the game. He would've enjoyed for her to bite back, yet he had to pretend he wouldn't.
Marisol came back after actually ten minutes, wearing a huge hoodie (probably one of Sebastián's old ones), a scarf and jeans. She smelled of plums again, and her hair was arranged into two braids. Martin pouted in his mind. He liked her better when her hair fell wild and loose.
"Let's go." She told him.
"What do you have in mind?"
"Gender-bent date."
"The what?" He questioned, confused.
"Gender-bent date. I pay, I make the moves, I compliment you, I give you flowers, I give you chocolates, and I win you stuffed animals. Got the idea?" Martin got it. It was a date inverting the roles. Okay, he could do that.
"Does that mean you get to drive now?"
"That's exactly what it means."
"Perfect." He followed her and jumped on her bike. "What about your clients?"
"I left them a note. Nice fellows. They won't mind fetching their cars tomorrow."
They parked in front of a mall, and Martin gave Marisol a confused look. He had no money to spend in anything. He wasn't a shopaholic anyways, even if he'd had the money. But Marisol just took his arm and led him inside. He mumbled a 'What are we doing here?' but she did not pay him any attention. She stopped at a flower shop, left him waiting outside and came out with a bouquet of white gardenias. She handed it to him.
"There." She said. "You look cute with flowers." Martin stared at his flowers, then at Marisol and gave her a curious look.
"Do you know what gardenias are for?" He asked.
"Of course I do, silly." She smiled. "They're for saying you're lovely." She jumped to kiss his cheek. "Now let's get a walk in here while we make time."
"Time for what?"
"For the movie, of course. I thought it more sensible to walk indoors since it's freezing outside." Martin smiled, surprised by Marisol's consideration, and passed his arm around her head to kiss her crown.
"Okay, let's take a walk." Marisol's ears were burning, but she smiled flirtatiously and took Martin's hand to pull him forward. She was glad he didn't pull his hand back. Martin's hands were warm, like hers, and she liked the comfort of them. Martin felt quite odd with a bouquet in one hand and Marisol's hand in the other, but he didn't complain. He liked it that way. It made him feel he was walking on stable ground, and if she went on like this, he would have no excuse to reject her. He'd love her, he'd treasure her and he'd keep their love beautiful and hypnotising like a perfect rose, with all its thorns and all its charm. They first stopped at a bookshop, Marisol dazed by the magnificence of so many copies of her classic favourites. She stared for forever at the complete collection of Sherlock Holmes's stories.
"I'm sorry." She apologised, ashamed, as they walked out. "I should've paid attention to what you might have wanted to see, not to books." Martin smiled.
"It's okay. I found some really nice botany books in there."
"Did you?"
"Yeah, a complete encyclopaedia about flowers, then another one about bushes." He seemed really dreamy about them, and Marisol wondered why hadn't he bought any.
"Why didn't you get any of them?" Martin flinched.
"First, because it would be a bit troublesome to carry all those books around."
"Well, you could buy just one or two, the best ones." She offered.
"I'm penniless, Marisol." He admitted, finally.
"Can I please buy you one of them?" She asked, knowing it would bother him having her spend her money on him.
"It ain't okay, ho—" he'd been about to call her 'honey' and had to bite his tongue to avoid doing so. "Marisol. You shouldn't buy it for me." She rolled her eyes.
"But if I want to buy the book, you can't stop me, can you?" She analysed. "And if I get suddenly tired of the book and don't want it anymore, it'd be a waste for it to lay forgotten somewhere in my room instead of letting someone who'd really put it to use have it, am I wrong?"
"No, but I have to insist—"
"It's settled then, I want that book." She walked back inside the bookstore, before Martin could stop her, and walked outside with a gift wrapped book. She gave it a second glance, and grimaced. "Thinking better of it, I don't want it anymore. What a shame." She patted Martin with the book, and he glared at her.
"Really? Gift wrapped and everything?"
"Oh, Martin! I had no idea you were there." She faked. "What a coincidence!"
"Marisol, you knew I was here, don't be annoying."
"What? I never knew a thing. Well, the book is going to hit the floor if you don't..." she dropped the book and Martin caught it midair. "Catch it."
"I think this belongs to you."
"The one to find it keeps it. Not mine!" She stepped away from Martin handing her the book, and as he stepped towards her, she stepped away again. Just like that, they began running like little kids. Even though Martin had long legs and each stroke of his was like three of Marisol's, she still managed to outrun him. Martin finally gave up when he run out of air, and Marisol went back to him when she noticed he could no longer chase after her, resting his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath.
"Come on, Martin, let me gift you the book." She insisted. "Take it as a Christmas present." Martin thought of an argument to fight back, but she looked so eager to have him accept the book, he sighed, defeated.
"Alright. Christmas present. Thank you." Marisol smiled.
"You really are out of shape, aren't you?" She teased.
"Don't push your luck. What time does the movie start?" Marisol checked the wrist clock she'd brought with herself.
"In twenty minutes. We should be going." Martin incorporated, tall as always, and offered his hand to Marisol, his other hand and arm occupied by a bouquet and a gift wrapped book. Marisol smiled, and hugged Martin's arm, as she leaned on him as they walked. Marisol made one last stop before the cinema. Martin turned as red as a red rose, and muttered a low 'I'll stay outside' which made Marisol giggle as she walked into Victoria's Secret. One of the attendants saw Martin, and walked outside.
"I don't like pervy guys who stay outside fantasising." She said. The attendant was tall, thin, with black hair, hazel eyes and freckled skin. Her name tag read 'Claudia'. Martin's ear turned as red as his face, and he shook his head as well as his hands, the gardenias and the book.
"No, it ain't like that. My—" he cut himself. What was Marisol? His girlfriend? His friend? His companion, his pet? "My date is in there. See the girl with the dark, big curls and the bronze skin?" He looked inside to point at her to prove his point, but Marisol was gone. He stammered. "She probably went to the changing room to try something on, but I swear she—" The attendant cracked up and Martin felt slightly offended.
"You are so cute." Claudia giggled. "Your girlfriend sure is lucky. I have never encountered a guy so worried not to be thought a pervert." She glanced inside the store to make sure Marisol was still out of sight. "If you ever break up with her..." she gave him a subtle wink. "Come here. I'll make sure to comfort you." Martin's eyes went wide.
"I don't think that's likely—" she shushed him.
"She is pretty, but not daring enough, for what I see. If I had a boyfriend like you, I'd make sure to model an entire collection of VS for you. Just saying." Martin was thinking of something to say, when he was saved by Marisol.
"I believe you're flirting with private property, Claudia." She stepped between Claudia and Martin, glaring at her with her shiny dark eyes, which had never seemed hostile to Martin, but now cut like daggers, so sharp and angry poor Claudia couldn't find somewhere safe enough to hide. "This is my giant, look for yours elsewhere. Got it?" Claudia nodded, and ran into the shop. Martin feared a fraction of Marisol's anger to fall upon him, but she gave him a blinding smile.
"Shall we go?"
"Aren't you mad?" Martin asked.
"You're lame at waving flirts away from you. But that's nothing new. I'd be mad if you'd let her touch you... or worse." She looked really repelled by the thought. "But that ain't the case, so it's okay."
"So I'm a giant of your private property." He pointed out. Marisol flinched.
"Yeah, sorry. Had no better ideas to protect you." Martin chuckled.
"Nevermind. What movie are we going to watch?"
"Well, that's up to you. We can either watch a horror movie or a chick flick, what would you like better? They both start at the same time."
"Which one do you prefer?"
"It depends. If you are going to be ridiculously scared and hold onto me in every scary scene, then the horror movie. If you're going to fall in the mood with the chick flick, and forget about the movie and you'll want to make out in the dark... definitely the chick flick." Martin laughed.
"I'll go for the horror movie, then." He said, thinking it the safest. "How did you know what time did the movie start?"
"Two minutes before leaving I checked a marvellous thing called internet." Martin rolled his eyes to the teasing.
The movie turned out to be predictable and lame. Marisol pointed out every single flaw in the ghosts and listed all the ways Greek monsters were far more intimidating than those spectres. Martin felt as if he were watching a comedy with every remark Marisol made throughout the movie.
"We should go to an unconventional cinema. One of those tiny ones which play old movies, but only the good ones, classics and such. I'd enjoy that." Marisol commented, as the credits made it on the screen and the lights flickered on.
"That sounds perfect." Marisol thought for half a second Martin meant it'd be perfect for a fifth date. A seventh one. But soon she realised that was wishful thinking. He obviously had meant it would be a fun thing to do in the two dates she had left.
They walked out of the cinema, and Marisol drove Martin to his flat, in complete silence. She thought how nice it'd be just to hang at his place again, make out for whole afternoons, cuddling to study and such. Martin thought of how much longer should he keep her walking a dark alley, clueless. Martin got off her bike, and before he could say anything, Marisol sighed, like there was something she looked out for, but couldn't reach.
"Today was great, Martin. Shall I call you?"
"Okay."
"Tomorrow?" Martin chuckled.
"If you call me so soon, I might get tired of you."
"But I miss you instead." Their eyes locked for a moment. Is this love? Marisol thought. Or isn't it? Thought Martin on the other hand, contradicting and complementing her thoughts without even knowing.
"You should come tomorrow, anyways." He told her, Marisol's face lit up.
"Really? Why?"
"It's Christmas. My dad is coming for dinner, I thought you could help me to uh, cook something decent." He shrugged.
"It's a date, then."
"It needn't be a date. I'm asking you a favour, after all." Marisol smiled.
"I want it to be a date, so I can clean my name with your dad. He'll be my father in law after the fourth date, anyways." Martin smirked.
"Good night, Marisol."
"Good night, Martin." He turned, but before he took a step, she called for him. "Martin, wait."
"What is it?"
"I just thought I should let you know that even if I didn't get your heart tonight, I will. In any of these two dates I've got left." Martin smiled.
"That's good to know. Then I've got nothing to worry about." Marisol jumped off her motorbike, pulled his arm forward, kissed his hand and hopped on again.
"Dream of me!" She yelled as she drove away. Martin looked at the back of his hand, a bit sticky from Marisol's Chapstick, and stood outside until her motorbike was out of sight. He ran upstairs then, and tried to get some sleep.
Marisol tried to get some sleep as well, but she just couldn't keep her eyes closed, all her thoughts directed towards the walkie talkie lying on the bed beside her, getting an electric aura from all the hopeful staring it had received during the past days. Sleep had crept slowly into her, and as she was crossing the thin line between being asleep and awake, the walkie talkie beeped. In her zombie mode, she didn't quite get what was going on, so she let it beep. The beeping died and after a minute, it began again. This time she awoke enough to understand she had to answer.
"Tulips." Martin's voice said from the walkie talkie. His voice awoke her completely.
"What's with tulips?"
"You bought me the tome of the encyclopaedia which is about tulips."
"Correction, I bought myself that tome, then got tired of it and you accepted it as a Christmas present. But yeah, it's about tulips. Don't you like tulips?"
"They're my favourites. How did you know?"
"The first flower you gave me was a chocolate cosmos." Marisol said.
"How does that explain how you knew tulips are my favourite flowers?" Marisol giggled, her tiny laughs muffled by her sleepy state.
"Shut up, let me explain. You first gave me a chocolate cosmos. Then you gave me an aster as a nickname. In between there were roses, daisies. But you gave me tulips just once. Specific tulips, just once. For our first month anniversary. And I knew that I would need a very special occasion for receiving tulips again. You just don't give them away." Martin held back the need to spill 'I love you's into the walkie talkie, knowing it just wasn't the time. He thought of something else to say.
"You knew the meaning to gardenias. I liked that." Marisol smile widened.
"You mean you find that hot."
"Maybe."
"If it turns you on, I know about a lot of other flowers."
"You do?"
"Just if it turns you on." Martin chuckled. "But yeah, I do."
"How so?"
"It's impossible to spend four months with a flower nerd like you and not to learn a thing or two."
"Prove it."
"How would you like for me to prove it?" She revolved in bed, wishing to be lying with him. Just cuddling, like that night during his birthday.
"I'll say a flower; you'll answer with another one."
"Fine." She held the walkie talkie with both hands and waited expectant.
"Pink camellia." I miss you.
"Pink camellia." She whispered into the walkie talkie. Martin cackled.
"You can't answer with the same flower, that's cheating."
"But I do. I miss you." She heard Martin take a deep breath. He hoped for this conversation to have happened when he was with her.
"I'll start again. Pink camellia."
"Red carnation." My heart aches for you. Another deep breath from Martin.
"Red camellia." You're a flame in my heart.
"White clover." Think of me.
"China aster." I'll think about it. Marisol frowned.
"Hey, that was mean." She complained.
"Purple hyacinth." Sorry.
"Peach blossom." I'm your captive.
"Saffron flower." Don't abuse. "Don't tease so much with flowers, Marisol." He instructed her.
"I like it; I bet it turns you on. I'm sure it does, that's why you don't want me to."
"You are deeply wrong, Valdez."
"Venus's car." Fly with me.
"Dame violet." You are the queen of coquettes. Marisol giggled.
"Austrian rose." You're all that is lovely.
"You give me way too feminine flowers, Valdez."
"But, think of it, your birth flower is the chrysanthemum. Red chrysanthemums are for love. Saying you're lovely, or all that's lovely kind of fits you."
"Nor peonies nor sweet peas suit you well enough as your birth flower. And daisies... maybe the 'I'll never tell' meaning..." Marisol felt guilty, and Martin must've regretted telling her so, because he immediately tried to fix it. "Lady's slipper." Win me. Marisol rolled over herself and dug her face into her pillow.
"Love-in-a-mist" she said, muffled by her pillow. You puzzle me.
"Is there anything that reminds you of me, besides flowers, Marisol?" Martin asked, wondering. Half-asleep divagation was not to be understood by the morning.
"What do you mean?"
"Asters and chocolate cosmos remind me of you. What reminds you of me?" He felt her sigh, as if she were right beside him.
"Adjustable spanners." She confessed.
"I'm sorry?"
"Adjustable spanners, the tool. Just like them, you adapt yourself. You change to make yourself perfect for me. No matter what I do or how I feel, you always fit me perfectly. Adjustable spanners are my favourite tools. It only seems fitting for them to remind me of you."
"Whoa."
"Would you prefer to be a hammer?" She teased.
"I like being an adjustable... don't know what." Marisol laughed, tired. She was about to lose consciousness, but before that could happen, she had to tell Martin, so he didn't end up talking to no one.
"Closed gentian." Sweet dreams.
"Closed gentian." Martin repeated.
"You can't repeat flowers. That's cheating. You lose." Martin chuckled.
"I can't believe you won. Good night, Marisol." It's love, he thought. I love her.
"Good night, Martin." It's love, she thought. I can fall in love with Martin. "One last flower for you tonight, Martin. Purple lilac." I'm falling for you. She unlocked the 'Talk' button and fell asleep. Martin, on the other side, tried calling a thousand times more, but Marisol's walkie talkie beeped unnoticed. After calling and calling, he finally gave up. He gave up and could not sleep that night.
She couldn't find the right thing to wear. She didn't remember much of last night's conversation but she remembered enough to feel jumpy, nervous and over self-conscious. She had to look perfect. Not only for Martin, mind you, but also because this time she'd be the perfect daughter in law, and Mr. Windflowers would've no complaints. None at all. High heeled cream coloured shoes, yellow dress in-the-style-of Audrey Hepburn, cream coloured coat and knitted hat. Her hair was tied back in a high and perfect pony tail. All her clothes, of course, had come from her mother's wardrobe. The only high heels she owned were the ones she used for Martin's prom. With the pain of her soul, she took the subway instead of driving to Martin's place, careful not to ruin her outfit. She arrived a bit past midday, as Martin had suggested over an awkward walkie talkie conversation earlier that morning, so she could have enough time to make a true Christmas feast. The door swung open before she could knock on it. She noticed a menorah standing as a centrepiece on the coffee table in front of the couch.
"Hey there." She said, carrying in a couple plastic bags full of ingredients for that evening's dinner. Once she left them on the kitchen counter, she turned around with a small something wrapped in gift paper. "Merry Christmas, Martin." She exhaled deeply as she held the present in front of her, the tension between them sparkling with dazzling static electricity.
"You already got me the book." He said.
"Come on, this is nothing, I swear." Martin took the gift, reluctant, and as he unwrapped it, he discovered...
"An adjustable spanner." They said in unison. Martin smirked, and Marisol looked away.
"Everybody should have a toolbox, and so I thought to gift you the first tool." Martin took a step towards Marisol, ready to kiss her, his hand on her waist. But she put her hands over his chest and lowered her eyes. "Last night's conversation..." she began, not knowing how to put it. She was now fully awake and remembered every single part of it.
"Yes?" He lifted her chin, so he could see into her eyes.
"It wasn't a real date, you know."
"It was the continuation of one." Martin pointed out.
"I'd feel like cheating if it counts." She looked worried. "Please don't let it count." Martin withdrew himself.
"Dammit, Marisol. I don't understand you, really. What do you want?"
"I want to win you the way you said I should, following all the rules."
"It's always about you. You want to follow all the rules. What about me?"
"I just want to make it perfect." She admitted. "I want it to make up for everything I've done wrong."
"Love isn't perfect Marisol." He explained. "It isn't perfect, so if you're expecting it to be perfect to prove all your previous relationships wrong, I'm sorry, it won't be. If you're expecting us to be perfect so we can fit your ideal of love, I'm sorry, we won't be." He sighed. "We're perfectly imperfect the way we are. Why don't you just give in and meet me halfway in this, Marisol? Why don't you just make it simple and painless?"
"I'm on my way there." She apologised.
"I'm already there, Marisol. I've been there for what it feels like forever, waiting for you to arrive. I have gotten rid of many things for you. You could get rid of your insecurity and your fear to get hurt, for me. I won't hurt you." He did not raise his voice at all, but the severity and veracity of his words cut deep in Marisol, who felt as guilty and bad as ever, and could not hold back the tears. She could not be the strong, unbreakable girl. Daddy's proud and glory.
"I'm trying, Martin. I'm so sorry, but I'm trying." She sobbed. He immediately felt awful. He could not stand to see her cry.
"Come here." He hugged her. "It's okay."
"It's not okay." She continued weeping, feeling pathetic on top of everything else. "You're right, about everything." He lifted her face, and held it in both his hands.
"It doesn't matter. You have two dates left. Come on, Marisol. You told me you'd win me over, that you were all in." She took a deep breath and calmed down. He was right, again.
"Right." She dried her tears with her coat's sleeves, and held her ground. "I still have two dates to meet you there, Windflowers. And I'll meet you."
"That's my girl. Now you sound more like yourself." He suddenly noticed she was slightly taller than usual. "Are you wearing high heels?" He glanced at her feet and saw the cream coloured shoes. Marisol smiled.
"They are just for you." She said, taking a step back and her coat off, walking away to lay it on the couch. "I suppose you have an apron? It would be terrible to ruin all my efforts to cause a good impression." Martin's jaw fell slightly open and he cursed inside, because, Hades, Marisol had won him over a thousand times, and if he could just do that... if he could win her over just once, he wouldn't have to stare like an idiot at her looking lovely and breathtaking for him, without being able to walk towards her and take the air out of her lungs in a kiss. Since that night during his prom, he'd wanted to kiss her so much. Why were things the way they were? He loved her, she liked him. At least that was for sure. Why couldn't they make it work the way it was?
Marisol was lost in her own thoughts. She'd been able to please a thousand assholes before him, why couldn't she simply do the one thing Martin asked from her? He didn't ask anything but love, and he gave everything in exchange. If she could just...
"I think... I think I should change. If you're going to be wearing that, I think I'll be out of place just wearing jeans and a t-shirt." He glanced at his green vans and his light-green t-shirt.
"You look fine." She said, but Martin was already on his way to his room. He sure had classier, uncomfortable clothes. Unlike her, he did have to dress formal in several occasions. To begin with, he wore a school uniform.
Marisol went to the kitchen, and after finding an old, muddy apron Martin probably used once for gardening, she set herself on her task. First, she ordered the ingredients and made sure everything was on its place. Then she began mixing, chopping, beating stuff. In a few minutes, when Martin came back, his jeans replaced by khaki pants, his t-shit forgotten for a white shirt and a blue sweater, his vans won over by a pair of black shoes; the kitchen was a mess. But Marisol smiled widely and had some order in the chaos, there where she poured dough into cupcake moulds, and there where a crème caramel cooked itself at bain-marie.
"Are we going to eat just dessert?" He asked.
"Patience. The main course has to be served right after taking it out of the oven, while cupcakes and crème caramel are to be served cold."
"Why so many things for dessert?" He insisted.
"I once betted to you I could make you win five pounds by feeding you sweets. Here I am." Martin looked away. When they'd made that bet, they were okay. He had almost been caught making out with Marisol by her mother, and they were okay. "Are you Jewish?" She put the moulds into the oven. Martin looked puzzled for a second, then he understood.
"No. My dad was. Like, before meeting Demeter. It's like a tradition now to have the menorah, since we never truly celebrated Christmas."
"That's sad." Marisol thought. "To lose your faith for falling in love."
"Well, I guess it kind of puts your religion in a difficult situation to have Greek gods around, messing with your world."
"It's kind of interesting, too. A Jewish hooking up with a Greek goddess." Martin glared at her, and Marisol decided the change the subject. "Could you help me a bit here?"
He was asked to do easy stuff. Simple stuff like taking the cupcakes out of their moulds and setting them on trays, so Marisol could put on the icings and such. When Marisol was done with the cupcakes and the crème caramel, she did a fruit salad and a condensed milk sauce for it. It was around five o'clock when she finished doing desserts. Martin was starting to think dinner wouldn't be ready in time, when she finally began doing something which looked like a main course. It took black pepper, garlic, onion, tomatoes, olive oil, and a few more things (was that wine?) until she was pleased with the marinating for the roasted steak she wanted to make. He didn't find it boring at all to stare at her having everything ready, and when she was finally done, the steak in the oven, the desserts on the fridge, they both cleaned up as fast as they could. Just as they took a breath to say 'We're done', the doorbell rang. Martin opened it.
"Happy Hanukkah son. How have you been?" Mr. Windflowers gave his son a hug and patted him on the back, then walked in to discover Marisol.
"I guess it's Happy Hanukkah to you, Mr. Windflowers. It's so nice to see you again." Marisol said immediately, and she was shocked to see Martin's dad smile at her.
"Happy Hanukkah, Marisol. It is indeed good to see you. Please, call me Marcus." Marisol didn't know whether to faint out of the impression it caused in her having Marcus treat her so nicely, or to laugh because of the name coincidences. Martin, Marcus. Even herself, Marisol.
"As you wish, Mr.— I'm sorry. Marcus." Almost as tall as his son, Marcus and Martin both standing next to her, dwarfed her terribly, even when in high heels. Martin and his dad sat at the couch while Marisol began taking out plates and salad bowls. In no time, she delivered a slice of roasted steak to everybody and sat down with them to enjoy dinner.
"Tell me, Marisol" Marcus said, and Marisol thought: Here it comes. "Are you having dinner with your family after dining with us?" Marisol lowered her eyes.
"Uh, no. My family travelled to Greece for the holidays, to visit some relatives. I stayed because... I decided to stay because I had some errands to do. At my dad's garage and such." Mr. Windflowers nodded.
"I see." He took a bite of the steak. "This is the best steak I've tasted in a long, long time." His eyes were full of melancholy, and for a fraction of seconds, Marisol wondered if Demeter used to cook for Marcus during the time they dated. Dating gods is a painful thing, she thought. They make you love them and then they disappear out of thin air. Unlike most demigods, since both her parents had raised her up, but Marisol still knew that sad end to the gaze of the mortal who's had an affair with a god. She'd seen it a thousand times in her dad, when Leo faced momentarily the sad reality that, one day, Calypso would leave. She now saw it in Martin's dad, and it made her feel so sorry for him.
"Thank you. It's my father's recipe." Marisol told him.
"You are a very good cook. You're very lucky to have her around, Martin. I bet you've been living on fast food for the last years." Martin blushed.
"I've been eating properly, dad." He objected.
"Yeah, hamburgers and salad, very proper." Marisol mocked. Marcus laughed, which made Marisol wonder what had she done to change his mind about her. "I'm sorry Marcus, but I have to ask. What did I do to make you like me all of a sudden?" Marcus laughed again.
"You're strong minded and you go straight to the point. I think of those as valuable qualities, and even though I tested you so rudely the first time, I believe you're just a perfect match for my son, either he chooses to be with you for a long while, or a short one." Marisol cleared her throat.
"Oh. You flatter me, Mr.— Marcus. I didn't know you thought so highly of me."
"I also appreciate you trying to look your best to cause a good impression." Martin tried to hide a giggle, caused by Marisol's surprise to have been discovered. The dessert also was highly praised by Marcus and Martin.
"Marisol, this is delicious." Martin said. There's a door to a man's heart through his stomach, she thought. She ended up entertaining Martin's dad with her life's story while Martin took care of the dishes. As soon as Martin was done, Marcus stood up.
"I gotta leave, son." He announced. Marisol was surprised to see Martin pout.
"Can't you stay a bit longer?" Marcus shook his head.
"My bus leaves in an hour, and I should better be there. But I'll miss you." Martin sighed, knowing there was nothing he could do.
"Take care, dad." They hugged, Marisol standing a couple steps away, giving them their space.
"Good to see you, Marisol. Make sure he studies." Marcus told her.
"Yes, sir." She nodded. Marcus murmured something to his son and then they both saw him disappear behind the door. Just as he was gone, the tension between them appeared again, making Marisol shift uncomfortable in her place.
"Maybe I should go." She announced, putting on her coat and knitted hat.
"Maybe." Martin agreed.
"See you." She gifted him one last smile and disappeared through the door. Standing on his kitchen, alone, he realised they could work the way they were. He just had to be more patient. Hadn't his dad taught him so? Patience was the key to success. Patience and effort. He had just told him not to mess up things with Marisol. Then again, Marisol was frankly quite impossible, changing her mind every three minutes. He dried some dishes still wet and put them in their respective places, until there was only one thing left on the kitchen counter: an adjustable spanner. Martin smiled, then understood. Marisol was quite impossible alright, so impossible she barely understood herself, but there were some things which were undeniable about her. Purple lilacs and an adjustable spanner. He took a scarf and hurried downstairs.
He searched for her, but she was nowhere to be seen. Probably gone. He should've thought of it, but still felt blue when he walked back towards his building, without having told her that it didn't matter, that they should have a thousand dates, not just the one she had left. Without having kissed her once again. But then, a voice caught his attention.
"Martin!" The voice said.
"Marisol?" He asked, hopeful.
"Yeah, come here." Martin didn't know if he'd dreamt Marisol's voice or it was real, but he obliged. The voice urged him to walk a couple blocks, until he found himself in front of a school. The fence was open and so was the front door. Marisol's voice called from inside.
"We're a bit grown up for hide and seek, aren't we?" Martin said, but Marisol's voice insisted, and he walked in.
Marisol was a bit lost, couldn't quite remember where exactly was the subway station, and as dark as it was, she preferred to find it on her own instead of trying her luck at asking for directions. She then decided to go back to Martin's place and ask him to walk her to the station or something. As she walked back, she passed in front of a school, which caught her attention because the fence was open. She walked past the fence, curious; to notice one of the main entrance's doors was also open. Just as she touched it to push it, a voice called.
"Marisol." It was Martin's.
"Martin is that you?"
"Of course it's me, come inside." She hurried into the building as fast as she could on high heels. Gods, it's uncomfortable, she thought. Why would anyone want to use these? She looked around, but she couldn't find Martin. The voice called out again, this time from further into the corridor. "I'm inside, come here!" Marisol hesitated. Why would Martin be inside the building? Then again, maybe he was just playing. Maybe he had followed her. Maybe he wasn't angry at her for her tardiness in love anymore. Just as if reading her thoughts, the voice yelled again. "Come on, Marisol, I'm not mad anymore, just come here." She grinned.
"Alright, but it's very kinky of you to lead me towards a dark building full of empty classrooms." She said, walking deeper into the empty, dark school. The building was huge, and the lockers at both sides of the hallway looked new. The floor shone like it had been meticulously polished, which made Marisol snort. Psycho janitors. "Martin?" She called.
"Right here." His voice said, coming from two big doors, which had a sign at the side that read 'Cafeteria'. Marisol stepped carefully inside, looking for Martin. It was so dark in there, she could barely see.
"Dark room, okay, I can do that. Very surprising, coming from you, but okay." She said. When he didn't say anything, she sighed. "I know you're just messing with me, I deserve it, got it." Martin didn't answer again. She felt cold and a bit nervous. "Martin, you're scaring me. I'm not very fond of the dark, you know?" She tried to hide the fear in her voice, without much success. Suddenly, the only ray of light that bathed the room disappeared, as the cafeteria's doors shut behind her. She yelped. "Martin this ain't funny at all. I'm sorry, okay? I really am. Is this a test? This is a test... right? Say something!" The fear crept into her and her hands flickered on, trying to see something. What she illuminated, though, wasn't what she was expecting to see. A big ugly face with just one eye was bending to look at her, and it was just a few centimetres from her own face. Her hands flickered off.
"Okay, not Martin. Good to know." She retreated towards the doors, or at least where she remembered them to be, but the cyclops made her trip. She couldn't see a bloody thing.
"Hello, Marisol." Martin's voice said, but she knew it came from the monster. She cursed. These things rarely happened to her. She had very little godly blood, monsters usually couldn't smell her. The cyclops had probably caught Martin's eau de demi-dieu, now she had spent the whole day at his place. Wonderful, she realised. I learnt French, but didn't manage to remember cyclops can mimic voices. Outstanding, Valdez.
She wanted to scream, but decided that if she moved around the cafeteria, she could have some advantage trying to hide, being it so dark. She stepped aside, and crushed a table. The cyclops kept calling for her.
"Marisol, come to me." She crawled under the table and prayed to all the gods for the cyclops not to find her. She hoped he wasn't very bright. She crawled further, and was relieved to find a wall. She turned and felt something at her side and made a muffled cry, as she bit her bottom lip not to scream. A voice shushed her. Martin's. She stumbled backwards, retreating from it. She had just crushed the cyclops. But a hand caught her wrist, and as she struggled to break free, it brought her forward. She found herself against someone's chest. Martin's. She sobbed with relief, and he shushed her again.
"He's going to find us, keep quiet." He murmured, and Marisol nodded, even if she couldn't see a thing. She searched for his face with her hands, and Martin's helped her. She felt immediately calmer when she felt his strong jaw and the soft skin around his eyes; his soft hair. She thought how happy she was that he was there, that she wasn't alone facing that monster. Martin cursed, because he couldn't stand the thought of them both being doomed. Marisol was relieved, and her relief brought her calm. As calm made its way through her, so did courage. And so did the useful thoughts.
"I'll get us out of here." She told Martin in her lowest voice.
"Don't be foolish, we're weaponless. Our best shot is to get to the doors and run." But Marisol wasn't listening; she was getting off her celestial bronze anklet, as it morphed into her sword, Anávo, which is Greek for kindle.
"A Valdez is never weaponless. When you see an opening, run for it." She thought for a second how, if she messed up, she'd never get her fourth date. She made up her mind and kissed him goodbye, already stepping out the table's protection. She stood up. "I will take care of it."
"Marisol, no!" He tried to stop her, but it was already too late. Her hands caught fire, and made firm the grip on her sword.