Page 17 of When Javi Dumped Mari

“Yes, here. Where else would you have me change? I’m not going all the way to the bathroom and getting caught out there in this outfit. It’s the night before graduation. There are wall-to-wall people in the dorms.”

“Oh, okay, yeah, sorry, here.” I hold the costume out to her, then spin on my heel as soon as she takes it from me, my heartbeat a steady drum in my chest. I flex my fingers at my sides, trying but failing not to notice every whisper of fabric as it comes off her body.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is Mari. Do. Not. Proceed.

Mari grumbles as she puts on the outfit, making it slightly easier for me to scrub the reckless images from my brain.

“You all right over there?” I call out.

“Yeah,” she says, huffing. “Almost done. It’s…really…tight.” She sucks in a breath and grunts. “Okay, you can turn around now.”

When I do, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

On the one hand, she does look like a bedazzled Muppet.

On the other hand, the parts of her body that I can see—her thighs, the curve of one hip, the slope of her shoulders—cause a pang to take up a permanent place in my chest. It’s all a suggestion.

A hint of what’s underneath. But Jesus, her body is unreal . Lush and toned and just…perfect.

Mari’s gently biting her lip, waiting for my reaction. That little habit seems unnecessarily cruel somehow.

“It’ll work,” I croak.

“It better,” she says, a hand cocked on her hip. “So what else?”

“The headpiece,” I say, snapping my fingers. It’s safer to keep my mind on the assignment. “And the leg warmers.”

“Oh God,” Mari mutters.

I dig through the closet, tossing clothes behind me as I search for the box I put the headpiece in. “I’m really, really grateful, Mari. Seriously, you’re saving my ass.”

“It’s a nice ass, and it deserves to be saved.”

I know if I look at her, she’ll be standing there with a teasing grin on her face.

So I don’t turn around—because I can’t handle Mari flirting with me right now.

Any other day, sure, but not tonight. Not when we’re in this small dorm room and I’m already thinking about parts of her I usually excel at ignoring.

So I pretend I didn’t hear her comment and focus on finding the headpiece. “Here it is!”

“Yay,” she says with fake enthusiasm.

“It’s just a wig,” I explain, walking toward her. “The ears and whiskers are attached, so there’s no need to mess with makeup.”

“What’s this netting?” she asks as I place the wig on top of her head.

“It goes over your face. To match the theme that she’s keeping herself hidden.”

We’re so close I can feel her body heat. There’s no way she can’t feel mine. As it is, I’m itching to wipe the sheen of sweat above my lip.

Mari looks up at me and searches my face, then she angles her chin, a question in her dark brown eyes.

My brain sends signals through my body, nudging my hand to touch her, begging me to inhale her scent, but I take a huge step back instead. “I was thinking about what you said earlier…”

“Yeah?” she says softly.

I clear my throat. “About how I should listen to your advice when it comes to women. I think…I think you’re onto something. And maybe you should keep listening to mine. It’s worked for you so far, and the one time I didn’t listen to you, things went to shit.”

She studies me for a few torturously quiet beats, then takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

“You know what? Those are all excellent points. Staying focused is going to be even more important when I’m in law school.

I can’t afford to go off track now. So here’s what I propose: Neither of us will date someone the other doesn’t approve of.

And if you find yourself getting all starry-eyed for someone, I can wade through the bullshit and make sure the person’s worth your time.

” She pauses, then says, “I really need you to do the same for me.”

I don’t immediately answer her. Needing something else to do with my hands, I grab the vodka off the floor and take a careful sip. “Let’s do it,” I say, staring at her over the rim of the bottle.

“This requires trust,” she says in a solemn tone.

“It does.”

“And we can’t second-guess each other.”

“Exactly. We’d be giving each other free rein to stop a potential relationship in its tracks.”

“Okay, then,” she says, nodding. “Let’s shake on it.”

So we do, and thus a pact is born, though whether we’ll ever use it is an entirely different story.

We make quick work of the video, and then I scramble over to the desk to read my essay one last time. Mari hands me the liquor and encourages me to take a swig for good luck. I know my limits, so I take a tiny sip instead, then return to the assignment from hell as Mari takes off the costume.

My mother’s ringtone pierces the quiet, and I automatically hit speaker on my cell phone and continue to scan the screen.

“Everything okay?” I say absently.

“Papito,” my mother shouts on her end of the line. “I found a TJ Maxx!”

Of course she did. TJ Maxx is my mother’s second home; she can find one in the middle of a torrential rainstorm without the benefit of GPS. I’m not surprised she came all the way to Belmont for graduation and found one here too.

“That’s great, Ma. Have fun.”

“Do you need fresh underwear for tomorrow? There’s a sale!”

I grab the phone and take her off speaker, blowing out my cheeks before responding. “No, Ma, I’m good.”

“Okay, see you in the morning!” she says.

When I look up, Mari’s grinning at me. “I can’t wait to meet them in person.”

“The feeling’s mutual, believe me. I made you sound better than you actually are, so she’s already in love with you.”

Mari, now back in her regular clothes, twists her lips. “Whatever, dude. I’m fabulous, and you know it.”

Damn right I know it, which is a pain; suppressing my feelings for Mari would be a lot easier if I didn’t.

As I edit the essay, Mari floats around the room, inspecting my shit. “Do you still have my M although her head is resting against my chest, her arms are hanging limply at her sides, as if she wants no part of this hug.

I hold her enough for the both of us. “You’re my favorite person in the world, Mari, and it kills me that I said something that made you hurt for even a second. I’m nervous about the future, and I snapped at you out of frustration. That’s not an excuse, it’s an explanation.”

“Fine,” she says, gently pushing me away. “It’s forgotten.”

The tense set of her shoulders tells me otherwise.

But here’s the thing about Mari: She doesn’t usually hold grudges for long.

She brushes the hurt away as if it never happened in the first place.

I get what she’s doing, but I hate that I’m the one making her do it now.

Times like these I wish I were perfect so I wouldn’t have snapped at her at all.

But I’m not—far from it, in fact—so I’ll be sitting with this guilt for a long time.

Mari crosses the room and sits on my bed, her hands smoothing the ripples of my comforter. “You’re worried about going back home. Nervous about being around your brothers again.”

She’s not asking a question; she’s simply stating truths I’d rather not face.

But talking this through with her feels like the appropriate penance for what I said, so I sit beside her.

“I should be grateful. I’ll be living rent-free in a home they bought for my parents.

They even offered me a job helping promote the group. ”

She shakes her head. “They’re offering you scraps. Because they know they took something from you, and now they feel like shit about it.”

“Well, it’s not like I have a ton of other options.”

She turns to me and grabs my hand. “That band was your baby, and they stole it from you. Don’t let them off that easily.”

“Sure, so I’ll work at some med office filing patient charts, since that’s the only job I could get,” I grumble. “That’ll show ’em.”

“Hey,” she says, grabbing my chin. “Don’t knock honest work, especially when it doesn’t cost you your self-respect.”

“You’re right,” I say, meeting her gaze head-on. “I’ll tell them no.”

“Damn right you will,” she says with a firm nod. “And maybe while you’re filing patient charts you can work on that musical over there.”

“Maybe,” I say, shrugging.

Mari stands and wanders over to my desk, where she grabs a stack of yellow Post-it notes. After making a big show of rolling her shoulders, she bends over and starts scribbling.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m writing your first review,” she says, nibbling on her lower lip. “Wait. Someone who writes a musical—what’s their job title?”

“A librettist,” I say, grinning as I watch her ponder how to word this so-called review.

“Perfect.” She writes some more, then strides across the room and stops in front of me, handing me the Post-it with a cheesy smile on her face. “Read it.”

“Okay, okay,” I say, raising the note to eye level. “?‘Javier Báez’s untitled musical is an absolute masterpiece. Báez is the librettist of our generation.’?” There’s an arrow pointing to the other side. On it, she wrote, Marisol Campos, the only critic who matters .

I look up to find Mari watching me. She leans in and drops a gentle kiss on my forehead. “You’re going to do great things. In your own time. Please believe me.”

In this moment, I do believe her. Because Mari’s rarely wrong, so if she has faith in me, there’s an excellent reason why, even if I’m not sure what it is just yet.

“Thanks for saying that. It means a lot. And since we’re talking about the future, I need you to promise you won’t forget about me when you’re some big-deal lawyer in California, all right?”

“I’d never,” she scoffs playfully. “That’s a promise.”

I hold out my arms for a hug, and she eases into my embrace.

“Te quiero, Mari. Para siempre.”

“Para sempre,” she says softly.

Our languages aren’t identical, but they’re close enough that the differences don’t truly matter. Just like Mari and me.

Thursday, September 15, 2016, at 1:34 p.m.

Mari: hey, how’s the job?

Javi: all right

boss is an asshole

Mari: that sucks

Javi: how’s school

Mari: good, I feel all lawyerly and shit

Javi: ha

Mari: when are you going to come visit me?

Javi: just say the word

Mari: let’s plan on something during my first long break in December

Javi: sounds good