“Rina…” I placed a hand over her knee. “You know ‘What ifs’ don’t solve anything, right? They only make things complicated and painful. They are simply a way for you to drown yourself in doubt and unnecessary accusations. Please don’t do this to yourself.” I gave her knee a firm squeeze. “Please.”
If I’d gone back into the boutique with them instead of letting them go by themselves, then maybe–
I didn’t let her finish writing; I grabbed the sketchbook and pencil from her before throwing them on the table.
“No.” I shook my head. “Fuckingno, Rina.” I held her face again, and that’s when I realized that my breathing was uneven.
“Don’teverlet yourself go there, you got it? Grief and anger are valid emotions, but you can’t let them define you.” I leaned in and kissed her salty lips. “I won’t let you do that to yourself.”
She blinked at me, pain clear in her misty eyes.
“Tell me you understand me, Rina,” I urged.
She sniffed as she scanned my face, and then let go of a sigh before placing a hand over my chest.
I do, she signed.
I kissed her again, and this time, she reciprocated it with equal vigor and urgency.
And that – that was hopeful enough for me.
Morethan enough, if I were being honest.
24. Chest Hair
Iall but fell on the living-room couch in my haste of wanting to get off my feet, and wiggled my toes in relief as I pulled my phone out of the pocket of my grey suit jacket. It’s funny how wearing formal shoes for merely 3 hours had left me wishing those damned things didn’t ever come into existence. I was okay with sneakers and sports kicks, but those asshole-ish leather prisons my feet had to be confined in – yeah, those made me want to scream like a fucking banshee.
It was past 2a.m., and my family was arguing in my parents’ kitchen about a late-night hot chocolate cap being beneficial or bad for health.
Just a regular day at the Reyes household, y’know.
Taron and I had decided to stay the night with Mom and Dad after attending Mass, which had made our folks super happy. Not that I minded their company. They were amazing, and Taron and I were so damn lucky to have them.
“But hot chocolate is LIFE!” my niece, Sienna, said. “It’s basically comfort food.”
“It’s a beverage, hon, not an actual food item,” added Tori, my sister-in-law.
“For the last time, guys: IT’S COLD AND I WANT HOT CHOCOLATE!” Taron all but yelled.
“Relax, sweetie,” Mom requested, just as Dad muttered, “Oh, for the love of baby Jesus.”
My back was to them, which meant I was saved from having to become an involuntary member of their…government-flipping discussion.
An absolute relief.
I shook my head and opened Rina’s chat on my phone. I’d wished her a Merry Christmas just as the clock had struck 12, to which she’d responded almost an hour later. Can’t say I minded, given how busy she must’ve been.
Every year, Mr. Ribeiro and Rina held a family dinner at Christmas Eve, and according to the latter, it ran pretty late into the night. Everyone from the shop, some of Mr. Ribeiro’s and Rina’s friends, including their families, were invited, so I could only imagine the amount of cooking and interacting that went down, let alone the cleaning and stabilizing.
I quickly typed a message to Rina, and drummed my fingers against my thigh as I waited for her to respond.
Me:You free yet?
To my surprise, she responded within a minute. I took that as a win.
Rina:Yes, just done. Ashleigh and some of the other ladies stayed back to help, so I didn’t have to do everything myself. They just left, so I’m about to head into the shower to freshen up. What about you?
Me:Just got back from Mass. Now I’m trying to zone out my family’s voices in the background as they argue about the significance of late-night hot chocolate consumption.
