Chapter 7
Marcel was out on a date and Amy sat on the couch alone with a microwave dinner in her lap and the remote in her hand.
She probably should be wrapping Christmas presents or figuring out what to do about the handful of gifts she had left to get. Tuesday would be her last day at work. E.E.R. remained closed from Christmas Eve to the day after New Year’s. Amy planned to stay in San Diego for most of that time. When she got back to Richmond, she’d be working in production.
She knew her melancholy was because she wouldn’t be seeing Carlos everyday anymore. Last night had only emphasized how great he was to spend time with. He and the girls had been the most entertaining, sweet, funny, and downright hilarious companions she’d had in a long time. And she’d loved every minute of it.
Amy left the television on a cooking program and threw aside the remote. She picked up her cell phone and looked at the contacts. She had Carlos’ cell number in there. He’d given it to her the day he’d taken her to the airport. But she’d never used it. Not once.
She pulled up the contact and hit ‘message.’ Then she typed out a thank you. I don’t know if I expressed what a great time I had last night. Before she could lose her nerve, she hit ‘send.’
Amy tried to ignore the phone while she ate her soupy Alfredo, scooping a few bites out of the cardboard container. The phone sat beside her like a ticking bomb. Finally, she heard the sound that indicated a new message and allowed her gaze to fall on the screen.
I had a great time, too. Thanks for taking us.
She loved that he saw it that way. She’d taken them. That wasn’t really how it had been. It had been her idea but Carlos had made all the arrangements, driven, and paid for the tickets. Nevertheless, there was something so endearing in the way he turned it around like that.
By the way, his next message said. The girls want you to ask me to be your boyfriend so we can all go out together again soon.
Amy nearly choked on the long pasta noodles. When she’d finished sputtering and had deposited the nearly empty container and the heavy metal fork on the coffee table in front of her, she turned back to the phone and re-read the message.
Unsure how to respond, she waited for another message from Carlos saying he was just kidding. It didn’t come. So she wrote a new one of her own. I would like to go out again with you and the girls. So…does that mean we have to be boyfriend/girlfriend?
She held her breath waiting for a response. Seconds ticked by, each one sitting heavy on her chest. She wondered if she should have included a “ha ha” or a laughing emoji or something that expressed a levity she was not feeling.
Carlos’ response was what Amy would call “measured.” Well, it might be frowned upon by Ellie and Phoebe, but we might be able to go out as just friends again. Do you like basketball?”
It may not have answered her question about where they stood, but it was an invite for another date. Amy smiled and leaned back in the couch, putting her feet up on the coffee table. I like all sports. But I should warn you that you might not like my favorite basketball team.
Oh darn! And we did so well with the hockey team! Doesn’t matter, he wrote back. This isn’t pro. On the Saturday after New Year’s Mateo has a game. Would you like to go with me, the girls, Daniel, and Tracey?
That’s quite a date, she teased, using a winking emoji to make sure her message wasn’t misunderstood. I’m in.
Good. I was starting to feel bad about not being able to go out on our mentoring outings anymore.
Amy took several deep breaths. For some reason his admission had her tied up in knots. It wasn’t a sensation she was accustomed to. She didn’t really even understand what it meant.
Me, too.
See you Monday.
****
Christmas at the Trinkus household was pretty laid back. And this was probably the last year it would be. Gina got married eighteen months ago and she was pregnant now, meaning that by next year, there would be at least one baby. Tim was engaged and he and Marilyn would be married in the spring. They were already talking about kids. Soon the place would be crawling with little ones. Amy couldn’t wait.
She imagined what it was like over at the Diaz Christmas. There were probably kids running everywhere, boisterous men playing sports in the yard. Maybe the women were gathered in the kitchen, gossiping and laughing as they worked.
Comparatively, the large house her mother had inherited from her grandparents and now rolled around in all by herself held a small gaggle of quiet, lazy cousins, aunts, and uncles, stuffed after Christmas dinner and lying upon various pieces of furniture with beer and wine held in hands and soft conversation slowly banding through the room.
“Come on,” YaYa said to Amy, pulling her up with one arm, the other occupied with a bottle of red wine tucked in the crook of her elbow and a wine glass perched in her hand.
“Where are we going?” Amy asked as she followed her cousin through the living room.
“Girl talk,” she announced to the room.
No one seemed surprised by this, nor did they move. Her mother, who was in the middle of bringing out a plate of cookies to sit on the coffee table looked up at them, but didn’t comment.
YaYa led the way to Amy’s old room to the right of the landing at the top of the stairway. As the two women entered the room, still decorated with pink and purple curtains and a matching pastel bedspread, YaYa shut the door behind them.
Amy plopped down on the bed and YaYa sat beside her, setting the bottle of wine within reach on the small white desk that sat along the far wall.
“What’s up?” Amy asked, taking a sip of the wine she’d managed to cling to through their relocation.
“We need to talk about this guy of yours.”
“I told you, I work with him, so it’s…complicated.”
“But you aren’t working with him anymore, right?”
“Technically, no.”
“What does that mean?” YaYa asked. “Technically?”
“I still work at the same company as him. He is still a Vice President and I’m a nothing,” Amy explained.
“But you said there was no company policy against dating.” YaYa raised her eyebrow.
“No,” Amy said sullenly.
“And I assume that means that even Vice Presidents and nothings can date?”
“As long as they’re in different departments.”
“Sooooo,” YaYa dragged the word out like a piece of taffy. “Now that you are in different departments, you can date.”
Amy drained her wine glass, handed it to YaYa and slumped back on the bed. “But how?” she asked. “I don’t have a clue where to start with flirting or whatever. And even if I did…”
“I’ll help you,” YaYa said enthusiastically. “I am great at making moves.”
It was true. YaYa was a master. But no amount of coaching would fix her other problem. Amy sighed. “Even if you act as my Shakespeare behind the scenes, I wouldn’t know what to do with a man if I did catch him.”
“Honey, I’m sure he does.” YaYa refilled Amy’s glass and patted her knee. “Sit up and drink this.”
Amy did as she was told, taking the glass from YaYa. “The thing is…at some point, if things actually go well, I’m going to have to tell him I’m a thirty-year old virgin.”
“So.”
“So?! It’s a freaking joke, a cliché. It’s ridiculous!”
YaYa leaned forward and cupped Amy’s face in her palm. “Honey, you are what you are. There’s no point in running away from it. For the first time in your life you are interested in a man. What are you going to do? Walk away from that because you’re too embarrassed to tell him he’s the only person who has ever woken up those feelings in you?”
“Well, when you put it like that…”
YaYa sat back, looking utterly delighted with herself. “Great. So let’s talk strategy.”
****
Amy lay awake in her childhood room on Christmas night. She snuggled into the worn bedspread and turned on her side, staring at the clock radio sitting on her bedside table. It was just after eleven. Her not-so-wild family Christmas party had ended with YaYa passed out from too much wine in one of the spare rooms, her mother and Aunt Beth falling asleep on the couch together while watching an old movie, and her Uncle Clint driving everyone else back to their respective homes for the night.
Tired from the food and wine but keyed up from her conversation with YaYa and all it implied, Amy felt far away from sleep. Her gaze caught the light flashing on her phone. Reaching out her arm, she snagged it off the nightstand and brought it to her.
Santa was good to the kiddos this year. Carlos’ text message was followed by a picture of several children passed out under a chaotically decorated tree. The children were barely recognizable under the strewn wrapping paper and boxes.
Amy sent a picture of Uncle Clint, a half unwrapped present on his lap while he finished his beer, neck stretched out, bottle up in the air. A little quieter at the Trinkus Christmas. Then she sent a picture of Gina, her shirt pulled up so the small baby bump was visible. Gina beamed at the camera. Next year I’ll be an Auntie. Can’t wait!
A long pause preceded the next message. Do you want kids of your own?
Amy couldn’t discern what it was about their relationship that they could have serious conversations by text but seemed to always put them off when they were face-to-face. Yes. Definitely. But until recently I thought it wouldn’t happen for me.
Why?
She could imagine him casting his eyes down in embarrassment if he’d asked that question in person. The hidden secrets were so much less hard to ask about and to reveal on the phone’s keyboard.
It’s part of the bigger story I need to tell you. That has to be told in person.
Okay.
What are you doing tomorrow?
We’re taking the kids to the ice rink for some open skating. You?
The Trinkus women are going shopping. It’s tradition.
Gross. I suppose you go on Black Friday, too.
Every year!
What do the Trinkus men do?
No one knows. No one cares.
LOL. Have fun!
Always do!
Goodnight. Sleep tight.
Amy lay in the bed for another hour staring at the ceiling and wondering how she was going to get Carlos Diaz to stay in her life permanently.