Just friends. Then why the hell does it feel like I’m lying to both of us?
I walk into The Rolling Pin and spot Mariana cleaning up, her headphones in, completely lost in the music. It’s loud enough that I can make out some of the words—Vivir Mi Vida. Figures. Marc Anthony has always been her go-to when she’s cleaning or trying to get something done. I think it’s because salsa reminds her of her dad.
I remember walking into her house as a kid, the smell of sofrito in the air, and her parents dancing in the middle of the kitchen like they were the only two people in the world.
I used to think that was the kind of love worth having. I used to think we had that. Turns out, I was an idiot. When you’re young, you feel everything so intensely. You don’t realize that not everything lasts forever.
Mariana moves to the music, dancing a little as she wipes down the counter, softly singing along. She looks…relaxed. Happy, even. It’s a rare sight these days. I walk over and tap her shoulder.
She jumps back with a scream so loud that I flinch. “Puñeta, Seba!” She slaps a hand to her chest, eyes wide. “Me vas a matar del susto! You cannot sneak up on me like that!”
I blink. “Mariana, you knew I was coming over. That’s not sneaking up on you.”
She glares, rolling her eyes. “Whatever, Sebastian. You nearly gave me a heart attack. What if I just dropped dead right now? Fell right to the ground.”
I stare at her, waiting for her to laugh. She doesn’t.
“Jesus, Mari.” I shake my head. “I forgot how dramatic you could be. No one is dropping dead from a heart attack.”
She gasps, affronted. “I am not dramatic! Have you ever heard yourself when you lost a video game? Now that was dramatic.”
My lips press into a thin line. “I was seventeen. Of course I sounded like an idiot when I lost a game.”
She crosses her arms. “Still doesn’t explain how you know I wouldn’t drop dead from the absolute terror of being snuck up on. What are you, God now?”
I raise an eyebrow. “I don’t have to be God to know you weren’t about to drop dead.”
We hold each other’s stare for a beat, and then suddenly, we’re both cracking up. Her laughter fills the space between us, soft and full and so damn light.
It’s been weeks since I’ve heard her laugh like that. Maybe even longer. I want to hear it again. I want to make her laugh again. And then, just as quickly as it started, it’s gone. She stiffens, something unreadable flashing across her face.
“Uh, I’m gonna go to the back and finish cleaning.” Her voice is too casual, too forced.
I open my mouth to say something, but she’s already gone, practically sprinting out of the room. I exhale, dragging a hand down my face.
What the hell was that? She was fine, more than fine, a second ago. Talking to me. Laughing. But lately, the second we get too close, she runs. Did I do something wrong?
I sift through the last few weeks, trying to pinpoint the moment things shifted. There has to be something, something I said, something I did. Nothing. Frustration knots in my chest.
Nothing drives me crazier than not knowing what I’ve done wrong. I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. And the fact that I might have? It fucking kills me.
I don’t know what I did. But I’m going to find a way to fix it.
Several hours have passed, and Mariana still hasn’t spoken a single word to me. She’s been hiding in the back, cleaning, while I worked up front. At first, I figured I’d just let it go, give her space, and come up with a plan to fix whatever the hell I did wrong.
After three hours of silence? Yeah. I’m losing my mind. I try to focus on work, but my patience is running on fumes. Every so often, I hear faint music from the back, much quieter than before, but never her voice. Never a glance in my direction. It’s deliberate. And I’m done pretending I can ignore it. By the third hour of this bullshit, I’ve had enough.
I march toward the back, pushing open the door with more force than necessary. "Did I do something wrong?"
Mariana startles, pausing her music. She looks up at me, eyes wide, confusion flickering across her face. “What are you talking about?”
I cross my arms, leveling her with a look. We’re not doing this. “You haven’t spoken to me all day. Did I do something to you? Did I say something that made you uncomfortable?”
“I just spoke to you earlier today.”
I scoff. “Come on, Mariana. Don’t play games. You’ve been weird with me, and I need to know why. We were fine, and then suddenly, you can’t be in a room with me for more than a few minutes.”
Her eyes widen. And there it is, a blush creeping up her neck. Interesting.
