“Where does she live?”
“She moved back to Dallas when she finished her doctorate.”
“Moved back? Are you Colemans originally from Texas?” she asks, genuinely surprised.
“I was born there, yes. But then we moved to Seattle when I was around five.”
“Oh, so that’s why you don’t have an accent at all.”
“Yes. I’m the only one still living here. Emilia moved to New York, and Julia followed Lucy to Dallas a couple of years after she left. My parents are always moving around, my father especially. Miriam is mostly in Dallas but comes to Seattle a few months per year.”
“Miriam?”
“My mother.”
“My mom would kill me if I called her by her name,” she amusedly points out.
“Mine doesn’t have a maternal bone in her body, so it’s only fair.”
Thankfully, she doesn’t insist on that and switches the topic. “Why did you guys move here?”
“My father needed to get closer to Alaska for work, and my mother refused to live there. Seattle was the best compromise they found. It was that or a divorce. In hindsight, a divorce would have been preferable for everyone.”
“They don’t get along?”
“Worse. They ignore each other. For as long as I can remember, they’ve lived separate lives together without trying to keep up with appearances. My father has mistresses, and my mother has hobbies. The more he indulges in extramarital affairs, the more she spends on charities. The Colemans are renowned for their generosity, but it’s only Miriam getting back at her husband by hitting him where it hurts the most—his wallet.”
There’s a moment of silence as I pensively sip on my wine. The example I grew up with convinced me that married life wasn’t for me—among other reasons. I can’t keep a woman happy for the rest of her life. And I was always confident no woman could ever make me happy for the rest of mine, but as I gaze down at the petite brunette by my side, I wonder if I wasn’t wrong about that.
“Now, before my fucked-up family completely ruins the mood, let’s switch to a much more interesting subject,” I suggest, angling myself to face her better. “How did you become such a dorky nerd?”
An incredulous snort bursts out of her. “I’m not a dork!”
“I said dorky nerd. And I saw how you schooled Dakota when she thought Darth Vader and Kylo Ren were the same character.”
“I’m just passionate.”
“A passionate dork, then.”
She accepts the teasing with a pout and brings her second leg under her to sit more comfortably. That brings her closer to me, especially since I extend my arm behind her on the backrest.
“Well, just like programming, it came from my dad,” she explains. “He was an absolute geek before geeks even existed—hardcoreStar Trekfan, had a computer as soon as he could afford one, loved video games… He’s the one who passed it all to me. Rafa always preferred books over movies because he feels he’s missing part of the experience. So, when my dad realized I was receptive to his passion, he bathed me in all that geek culture early on,” she explains with an unwavering grin.
“He used to take me to this old-school arcade place whenever I came home with good grades—so nearly every week. He’d buy us twenty dollars’ worth of tokens, and we’d stay there until we ran out of coins. I was crushed when they closed the place ten years ago. He also passes me his fondness for movies. Our tastes are very similar, except I love watching those terrible Hallmark Christmas movies with my mom and abuela. He also set me up with a state-of-the-art gaming computer when I was around nine and introduced me to the world of video games. When I was twelve, he opened the gates of online gaming. I got very good atCall of Duty.”
There’s melancholia in hervoice as she tells me all this, her eyes lost on her glass of wine. She’s beyond endearing. I want to grab and kiss her, but I love learning more about her, so I refuse to sidetrack the moment.
“You don’t play much anymore. What happened?”
“It was taking up too much of my time; it left no room for anything else. And sometime in middle school, I began having other preoccupations. I was gradually becoming a woman, and all my interests were boy stuff, which became an insecurity. I drifted away from my dad a bit during that period and tried to deny my true nature. But then, I overcame my insecurities in my junior year of high school and embraced my affection for nerdy stuff.”
As though she realizes she’s rambling, she stops herself from continuing, looking up to meet my gaze.
“Your father seems like a great person,” I genuinely say.
“He really is—always so loving and affectionate. I love my mom with everything I have, but I’ve always been closer to my dad. He made me into the person I am, and I can never thank him enough. I think you two will—”
The words die as soon as she realizes what she’s about to say. I can’t blame her. The moment is so perfect, I feel so close to her, that I’d let myself get carried away too.
