Page 27 of When Javi Dumped Mari

Javi

Two Years and Two Months Before the Wedding

Ishould explain to Mari why I ghosted her all those years ago.

Tell her I was worried that our relationship would interfere with her goals.

That I would hold her back. But also, that I couldn’t have been more into her if I tried.

That I was shook by the kiss we shared at that party.

That I’d lost my job the week before that fateful trip to L.A.

, and I didn’t have the balls to tell her.

That I’d already started pulling away in my mind because I couldn’t let her see me knocked down, so how good a friend could I really be?

I could explain how her dad’s attitude made everything worse.

How he made it abundantly clear I was going nowhere, whereas Mari was absolutely destined for greatness, and I would do nothing but impede her progress.

I could even tell her how I toyed with the idea of instigating a fight with her so I could make a clean break but scrapped the plan because I didn’t want to suggest that she was at fault in any way.

I could reveal that on the plane back to New York, I’d decided that my own brain and her dad could go fuck themselves.

That she could be my world if I were brave enough to tell her so.

But then a week later, I did what she told me not to do and accepted my brothers’ magnanimous offer to be their personal assistant—gofer, lackey, whatever you want to call it.

Because I needed to eat. Because I had a college degree that looked great on paper and was absolutely worthless in the real world.

Because I lived in a house they bought with the money they made off the band I started, and I needed savings to get the hell out.

I could tell her that I fetched their coffee, their dry cleaning, the gifts for their girlfriends.

That I quit the day Manny called me in the middle of the night and asked me to run out to the drugstore for a box of condoms. I didn’t want her to see any of that.

Didn’t want her to know that version of me.

So I didn’t answer her texts. Because she didn’t need me like I needed her.

And wouldn’t it be better for the both of us if we accepted that our friendship had gone as far as it was meant to?

Sure, I could tell her all this now, but everything happened so long ago, and what would be the point of dredging up the past anyway?

Zero percent of that explanation would paint me in a flattering light.

Worse, if I bring up how her father made me feel, it might cause tension between us—because even though I don’t care for the guy, he’s Mari’s sole parent in the States, and she’s protective of him.

So I accept the reprieve she’s granted me and console myself with the facts: She’s doing well.

No—more than that, she’s thriving . And she doesn’t seem to be holding a grudge.

I can’t know with certainty that disappearing made a positive difference in her future, but I’m going to pretend it did.

I stare at the condensation on the outside of my glass and draw in a fortifying breath. When I look up, Mari’s watching me with a knowing smile.

“You’re overthinking, aren’t you?” she asks.

I drop my chin sheepishly. “Probably.” Wanting to redirect the conversation, I broach my least favorite topic. “So, how’s Luiz?”

“My father’s fine,” Mari says. “Wants to loosen the reins at work but doesn’t know how to stop micromanaging everything.”

“You two are good?”

She shrugs. “As good as we’ll ever be, I think. We’re like oil and water.”

More like snake oil and water.

“Always have been,” she continues. “The one thing we have in common is our love for the firm.”

“It’s doing well?”

“It’s doing great. We’re booked and busy and showing no signs of slowing down.

We’re even thinking about expanding to New York.

I’m testing the waters with a few clients, mostly friends who appreciate the free help.

My hope is that when my father retires, I can steer the firm’s culture in a different direction.

Focus on smaller clients making truly impactful content. That’s the long-term goal, at least.”

“I’m glad everything worked out, then.”

She tilts her head, her brow knitted.

“I mean, I’m glad the business is doing well,” I add. “So what’s the plan? Will you run the firm one day?”

“We’ve never sat down and talked about it, but yeah, that’s my plan. Or what I’d like to happen, I should say. I still need a few more years under my belt before it’s even a possibility, though.”

“If you want it to happen, then it will.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

I shouldn’t ask about her love life—it’s none of my business—but I can’t help myself. “I don’t see a ring.”

“I’m not a ring person,” she replies with a wink.

Silence simmers between us until she says, “If there’s a question you’re frothing at the mouth to know the answer to, just be direct about it.”

I roll my eyes. “Are you single?”

“Yes.”

“Dating anyone?”

“I date,” she says. “But there’s no one I’m dating regularly. Or exclusively. It’s rough out in these streets. I’m incapable of heeding red flags even when they’re flying at full mast right in front of my face. Plus, I get bored very easily.”

“I’m not seeing anyone either.”

“I don’t recall asking, but thanks for sharing.”

“Still a smartass, I see.”

“Don’t stop,” she whispers, fluttering her eyelashes as she twirls the cocktail straw in her glass. “You’re feeding my praise kink.”

I moisten my lips and let out a slow breath. “You have one?”

She leans in, places her hand on my thigh, and gives it a light squeeze. “Absolutely.”

My heart races, and a surge of adrenaline runs through me. Adult Mari has ten times the confidence of her younger self, and she’s equally compelling. She’s probably broken a lot of hearts in the time we’ve been apart.

I stare at her, taking all of it—this new Mari—in.

Likely misinterpreting my silence as a negative reaction to her flirty behavior, she straightens in her seat and clears her throat. “How are your parents? Where are you living? Have your brothers flopped yet? Tell me everything.”

I laugh. “Okay, okay, let’s see. My parents are good.

They’re in a bowling league, if you can believe it.

And they travel now. Mostly to visit family in PR, but it’s a start.

They’ve been making noise about wanting to open a food truck, but they can’t agree on what they’d sell.

I did move out, although I have three roommates because the cost of living here is ridiculous. ”

“I bet,” Mari says, nodding. “I once stayed in a hotel room so tiny I could wash my hands in the sink while lying in bed.”

There doesn’t seem to be any judgment on her part, which shouldn’t surprise me but does, so maybe my expectation that she’d be unimpressed with my current situation is just me projecting.

“And your brothers? Manny and Leandro, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right. They’re still singing. Not as much as they used to, but they get invited to festivals and stuff like that. Manny’s still a playboy. Leandro’s married now and has a kid. Ana Luz. She’s the sweetest thing on earth.”

“Aww, you’re an uncle,” she says, rubbing my arm playfully. “I love that for you.”

I shift closer, enjoying her teasing touch and wanting more.

She clocks the movement and smiles slyly. “How are things between the three of you?”

“My brothers and me?” I shrug. “We’re fine. They’ve tried to explain themselves over the years, but I’m not interested in hearing what they have to say about the band. I’m over it.”

“Are you?” she asks, lifting a brow to convey her doubt.

“I am.”

“If you say so.”

“What about your friends from Belmont?” I ask, wanting to change the topic. “Sasha and Brittany. You still in contact with them?”

“Absolutely, yeah. We don’t see each other in person as much as we’d like to, but FaceTime is a godsend. Sasha’s in Chicago working as a marketing expert extraordinaire. Brittany’s a sous chef for a catering company in Virginia. She has a tyrant of a boss she’s secretly in love with.”

“Damn, sounds complicated.”

“It’s completely on brand for Brittany, though. They’ll probably be married within the year.”

“That’s wild. Man, Sasha and Brittany. Haven’t seen them since graduation.”

“And what about your old roommate? The guy who was always high. What was his name again?”

“Jeremy. Yeah, we still talk. He’s some big finance guy out in L.A.”

“The pothead now has a big pot of money,” she quips.

I chuckle. This feels so fucking easy, I’m mad at myself for ever losing touch with her. Mari’s one of a kind. I can’t think of many people I have this instant rapport with. Our relationship in college wasn’t just born of circumstance. No, it was her. Us. A connection that’s never been replicated.

Thirty minutes later, Mari’s told me all about her life in L.A.

and it’s all so, I don’t know, mature . The condo she bought in Culver City.

The international book and supper club she joined just a few months ago.

The teenage girl who’s shadowing Mari at work because she’s interested in the law (and who Mari is desperately trying to dissuade from being a lawyer).

The roundtable conversations about equity and inclusion in Hollywood that the firm hosts, a monthly industry-wide event she convinced her father to sponsor.

She sounds content. Settled. Pleased with her life choices.

Honestly, when I grow up, I want to be like Mari.

The guy who scared the shit out of me when we came in—Tim? No, Tripp—sidles over and taps Mari on the shoulder. “I hate to interrupt, but I’m wondering if you have any feedback.”

Mari grins sheepishly. “Oh, right. Sorry, Tripp. The evening got away from me. Let’s chat in your office.”

She rises from the bench. To me, she says, “This shouldn’t take long, but I don’t want to presume that you don’t have things to do. If you need to—”

“I’ll wait. I’m enjoying this,” I say, pointing between us. “And I was thinking I could walk you to your hotel.”

She smiles and gives me a once-over, a faint blush tinting her cheeks. “I’d like that.”

When she returns, she hands Samir her credit card, and I scramble to catch up, fishing mine out of my pocket.

We stare at each other as we wait for Samir to return. The silence is killing me, so I break it. “What are you thinking?”

Mari slides into my personal space and ghosts her lips against my ear. Softly, so softly I almost convince myself I imagined it, she says, “I’m thinking the universe brought us together again for a reason. Let’s not disappoint her.”

I remember this feeling. Because I experienced it the last time we were together.

A need so fierce it almost brings me to my knees.

God, the things I would do to this woman if the slate were clean.

But it isn’t. By tacit agreement, Mari and I have never explored the possibility of a romantic relationship.

The costs always outweighed the potential benefits.

Because we valued our friendship over everything else.

Because boyfriends and girlfriends came and went, but we were always solid.

Until I fucked it all up and disappeared on her.

Which is how I know she’s telling herself I’m nothing more than someone to keep her bed warm for a night.

Precisely the person I never wanted to be.

As hard as it is to resist her, I do it anyway and step back. “I guess you can’t hold your liquor as well as you used to.”

She huffs. “I’m not even a little bit drunk, but if that’s what you need to tell yourself, then sure, let’s go with that.”

Samir returns with our credit cards and receipts. After we sign off, Mari gestures to the exit. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” I say, looping my arm through hers.

Mari’s staying at a place only a couple of blocks away, one of those boutique hotels that looks like a regular-ass residential building. There isn’t any security, and the lobby bar is teeming with people who are obviously inebriated.

“Let me walk you to your room,” I say.

She slips me a curious glance, her teeth pressed into her bottom lip. After a beat, she asks, “Is that a pickup line?”

I stop and face her, irresistibly drawn to the sparkle in her eyes, the hint of mischief in her smile. “Is that what you want it to be?”

She playfully purses her lips, a tiny shrug her only response.

Flirting with Mari feels like uncharted territory.

A dynamic we never fully experienced in college because we weren’t prepared to cross the platonic boundary of our friendship.

I’m not sure I’m prepared to cross it now, either, but I’m so damn tempted to.

Mari threads our hands together and leads me to the bank of elevators. On the way up, we stand side by side, hands still entwined, my fingers grazing hers.

“How long are you here?” I ask.

“Leaving tomorrow afternoon.”

“Will you be back any time soon?”

“Not that I know of. I mean, I travel out here every few months, but I don’t have any concrete plans. Why?”

“I just thought it would be nice to see you again.”

“Hmm” is all she says in return.

When we reach her floor, we get off, and I trail behind her. She reaches her room and points at the door. “This is me.”

I nod. “Okay, you have my number. I hope you use it.”

Mari holds my gaze for a long moment. “Will you answer?”

“I will.”

She takes in a deep breath, lets it out slowly, then pulls me in for a hug. Against my ear, she whispers, “Why don’t you stay a little while longer? With me.”

There’s no way I can say no to what she seems to be offering, and yet that’s exactly what I do.

“It’s been really good seeing you again,” I say, stepping back and squeezing her hand, “and I understand the impulse, but we’re older now, maybe even wiser.

And perhaps this is the universe telling us we need each other.

And shit, I’m just going to say it: I miss my friend. So let’s not go there, okay?”

She stares up at me, her eyes glistening. “I kind of hate that you still know the perfect thing to say at any given moment.”

“It’s a gift I use only sparingly.”

“Going to be honest, though. I was looking forward to finally seeing your dick.”

She crosses her eyes and sticks out her tongue, and I can’t help barking out a laugh.

I lean in and press a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Take care of yourself. And call me. If you want.”

“I’ll think about it,” she says, her mouth twisted in a playful grin.

I’ve said all I can say to convince her to give me a second chance.

Now it’s up to Mari. As I walk to the elevator, there’s a heaviness in my chest that’s at odds with how happy I am to have been in Mari’s presence again.

I turn around and catch a glimpse of her as she slips inside her hotel room and shuts the door.

It would be a cruel outcome if our story ends here, but if it does, I only have myself to blame.