The door closes behind us, and the room shrinks.
“Am I too late?” Dom asks quietly, dark eyes searching my face. Tentative, as if he’s afraid to know the answer.
“Too late for what?”No, never,I want to say.
He shakes his head. “Never mind. This shouldn’t be about that. I still owe you an apology and an explanation, regardless.”
I indicate towards the couch. “Wanna sit?”
I forgot about his gravity. Like a black hole, pulling me in. I sit right next to him.
“You never would have left us,” is what he starts with. “I’m so sorry for accusing you of otherwise.”
“Never,” I agree.
“You said you got triggered by what I said in the hotel room. I was triggered, too. By you leaving.”
“I know.”
He picks at the couch. I hate seeing him fidget. “I have these unreasonably high expectations of everyone, including myself, for so many reasons. Because of what she did to us. Because of my parents and the way I was raised. I can be so inflexible. No one is allowed to make a mistake.”
I nod.
“I’m so sorry. I’m working on it. It’s a terrible quality of mine. It might work really well in business, but it’s fucking horrible for relationships. Especially with the people I love.” He stares at me with warmth and regret.
My heart has reached inflation capacity and is about ready to pop.
“It was so unfair of me to hold you so accountable for one moment in time. One small mistake. You’re always putting others before yourself. Everyone. Me, Frankie, your family, your friends, your coworkers, your community. That’s a quality I should be so grateful for in a partner. Instead, I…” He trails off. “I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for our family, for Frankie,” he says instead.
I want to kiss the self-loathing off his gorgeous face.
Dom takes another deep breath. “I see you, Lina. The way you move through the world—so fierce, so capable, bringing color and light into every life you touch. You make everything brighter, fuller, more alive, and I’ve been too much of a coward to tell you how much I need that, how muchweneed that, how muchIneedyou. You held everything together, me and Frankie and everything, really, so fucking ferocious, but…” He seems to struggle with this next part. “You shouldn’t have to carry it all alone,” he finally says. He makes a decision now. “I want to be the one who holds you up when you’re tired. I want to be the one who makes you dinner when you’re hungry, or does your laundry when you’re busy. Who loves you the way you deserve—with my whole heart, for as long as you’ll let me.” He still doesn’t touch me. “That is, if I’m not too late,” he murmurs quietly.
I guess it’s my turn. “What’s the teachable moment here? What did we learn?” I ask, forever the educator, forever going to push his buttons.
Dom takes a deep breath and looks up diagonally towards the ceiling in that Flores way. He really thinks about it, because of course he does. “To let go,” he finally says, looking at me. “Life is messy. Some people aren’t going to have the same expectations as I do, and that’s okay.” He thinks some more. “I have to learn to adapt. I have to learn to be flexible. I have to learn how to chill the fuck out. Literally relax.” He looks at me nervously now. “People are going to come and go, and that’s just life,” Dom whispers, studying me, eyes roving all over my face. “It’ll be okay. Frankie will be okay,” he says, as if he is bracing himself. A mantra of self-reassurance.
He’s scared.
Too bad.
Too bad he doesn’t know I forgave him as soon as his daughter ran through my door and attacked me with glitter hugs.
I lied earlier. That was grand gesture-y enough for me.
Because I never stopped loving him. This selfless, gentle, honest, kind, generous man. Thoughtful and competent to a fault. Awkward yet steady and a little bit neurotic.
“Youaretoo late,” I tell him.
His face falls. He nods once. He’s struggling to remain neutral, doesn’t want me to see how upset he is. Wants to protect me from that.Still.“I’m sorry I took so long,” he whispers, his voice cracking on the last word. “You didn’t deserve that. I got in my own way. I’m sorry.”
“You are too late,” I repeat.
He nods again. “I’m so sorry, Lina. I’ll be sorry for rest of my life.” He stands.
“Too late to see me in the lace thing,” I add on.
His body jerks as if he’s been hit.
