Page 33 of When Javi Dumped Mari

Mari

Now

Chloe examines my figure in the first selection, then meets my gaze in the mirror. “You look like you’re going to the Met Gala, and the theme is Vulvas: Portal to Pleasure.”

“I look like a twat?” I ask on a laugh.

She nods, her expression grim. “One that’s been battered by a dark romance hero who wants you to take it like a good girl.

It crinkles at the slightest movement, has numerous textured folds, and comes —ha!

—in blush pink, for God’s sake. Pop a bottle of champagne while you’re wearing that thing and you’ll look like you’re squirting. ”

The lore around the firm is that Chloe once told a judge to go fist himself and was sanctioned for it.

Being independently wealthy has its perks, apparently.

It isn’t old money she’s living off either.

To hear her tell it, she joined an investment management club at Spelman and tested her knowledge by making some impressively lucrative stock purchases for herself and her family.

Point is, she doesn’t need her job, and because she’s scarily brilliant, it’s actually our firm that needs her .

I chance a glance at the shop’s bridal consultant, Benji, whose bubbly personality deflates like a popped balloon whenever Chloe opens her mouth.

He studies me with a practiced tilt of his head, his lips compressed into a thin smile. “What do you think?”

“Sorry, Benji, I’m going to pass on this one. I know you wanted me to try something out of the box, but this isn’t what I had in mind. I’m going for classic, stylish, maybe a touch of edge.”

“In other words,” Chloe adds, flipping through a bridal magazine, “she doesn’t want to look like a twat.”

“No, she just wants to be friends with one,” Benji mutters under his breath as he carefully pulls down the gown’s hidden zipper.

My eyes pop open, and I dart a glance at Benji’s face in the mirror. We exchange a mischievous smirk, and then he announces that he’ll be back with more options before he scurries down the hall.

“I heard that,” Chloe says when he’s gone. “That’s the kind of clapback I wish I’d come up with on my own. Benji and I could definitely be friends.”

I step out of the gown and hand it to the lady lurking in the corner—who’s likely worrying that I’m going to mar its silk. “You’re both too bitchy to be friends. It’s a rule.”

Chloe gives me one of her patented smiles. This one’s titled “Unbothered.” She sighs. “Okay, given that you harassed me into serving as a bridesmaid at your outdated and hasty homage to the patriarchy, I suppose I should offer to give you a hand. So, this is me asking if you need help.”

“Thanks for that incredibly sincere offer,” I say, slipping out of my heels, “but I’ve got everything under control.”

“Thank goodness,” Chloe says, “because I don’t know what I would have done if you’d actually asked for my assistance.”

“Retch, probably,” I say.

She blows out a breath as if she’s preparing to do the unthinkable.

“But seriously, if there’s something I’m supposed to be doing, tell me, okay?

I have no idea what’s involved in planning a wedding—nor do I want any of that taking residence in my brain—but I can follow step-by-step instructions really well. ”

“I’ll keep that in mind, but I truly am in good shape on most things.”

“Excellent,” she says, dropping onto the settee strategically situated in front of the riser. Chloe’s sprawled in a way that’s taking up all the seating, but since no one else is here to join us, it doesn’t matter.

Benji returns with another staff member in tow. “Okay, here’s something I think is right up your alley. A sleek bodice, some volume on the bottom, and loads of drama from the back.”

Chloe chuckles. “The last woman I dated was loads of drama from the back too.”

Benji rolls his eyes. “Anyway, the beauty of this number is that you can step into it, so no need to worry that you’ll smudge your makeup or mess up your hair when you put it on.”

He helps me into the dress, a surprisingly uncomplicated feat, and admires the finished look. With all of the flair one would expect of a person trying to make a hefty commission, Benji covers his mouth and circles me, his eyes bright with wonder. “I think this is the one.”

“I think this is the one,” Chloe agrees, her eyes turning suspiciously glossy the longer she stares at me.

I look at my reflection. Boasting a modern square neckline, expertly placed pleats, and a slit that will allow me to dance at the reception, the dress is truly stunning.

Best of all, it has pockets! Because who doesn’t love easy access to snacks on their wedding day? “Okay, we have a serious contender.”

“Você está linda, filha,” a voice says behind me.

I whirl around, and my breath hitches. “Pai, o que o senhor está fazendo aqui?”

He dips his chin and jams his hands in the pockets of his slacks.

If I didn’t know him better, I would assume he wants to flee, but nothing flusters my dad, so there must be some other explanation for his uncommonly tentative behavior.

“Você está experimentando seu vestido de noiva. Um pai n?o deveria estar aqui?”

It’s sweet that he thinks he needs to be here as I try on wedding dresses. Bittersweet too. Because I wish my mother were here, but she isn’t. I sniff away the tears that are threatening to fall. What is going on with me?

My father approaches with his hands outstretched, but Benji stops him with a swing of his elbows and a jut of his hips. “Sorry, no can do-oh. This dress is expensivo.”

“Did you just…?” Chloe asks, from her perch on the couch. “Not even my Dominican, Spanglish-loving ass would fix my lips to say such a thing.”

“Benji,” I say, taking in a so-help-me breath, “my father speaks English.”

“Oh, right, apologies,” he says, a flush creeping up his cheeks. “Even so, the dress…”

My father glares at Benji, who quickly grasps that he’s in dangerous territory, puts up a shaky hand, and takes a giant leap backward.

“This is what I’ve always wanted for you, Marisol,” my dad says, gazing at me with affection.

He cups my cheeks and, for the love of God, squeezes them, causing me to freeze. In all of my thirty years, my father has never touched my face; it’s disconcerting on a number of levels to be experiencing this phenomenon at my big age.

Benji whimpers as he chews on a cuticle.

“Hang on,” I say to my father. “Let me put Benji out of his misery and get this off. I’ll be right back.” I take several steps, then turn around, my head swiveling like a bobble doll. “Where’s my phone?”

“Here,” Chloe says, handing it to me. She’s biting her lip and doesn’t look half as composed as usual.

“Just…give me a moment.” I trot off like a runaway bride and lock myself in a dressing room in the rear of the shop. After a few deep breaths, I swipe to the favorites screen on my phone and tap on Javi’s name.

He picks up immediately, thank goodness.

“Hey, Mari, what’s up? Everything okay?”

There’s clattering and a stream of chatter, some of it boisterous, in the background.

“Are you in a bar , Javi?”

“Yeah, I am,” he says, sounding amused. “Technically, I’m interviewing for a bartending position. Near Jeremy’s. Figured I could use the extra cash and the inspiration. People talk all kinds of shit when they’re throwing back drinks.”

“Oh shoot, never mind, then,” I say, willing my breath to even out, “you’re busy—”

“No, wait! Let me go somewhere quiet. Stay on the phone.”

I close my eyes and count in my head while he keeps me on hold. Less than a minute later, I hear a door shut.

“Okay, I’m all yours,” Javi says. “What’s up?”

“I just…Hang on, I need to sit down.”

A knock at the dressing room door startles me, and I let out an embarrassing yelp.

“Marisol?” Benji calls out. “Would you be so kind as to give me the gown?”

“Uh, yeah, give me a minute, Benji. I’m taking it off now.”

I drop the phone on the bench and put Javi on speaker as I step out of the dress.

“Mari, everything okay?” Javi asks. “Are you safe?”

The question almost brings me to tears. No, I don’t feel safe at all, but Javi’s asking about my physical safety, an entirely different concern.

“Javi, I’m fine. I’m trying on dresses. For the wedding.” There’s no response. “Javi?”

He clears his throat. “I’m here.”

“Give me a sec.” I open the door and hand the dress to a twitchy-eyed Benji, and then I sit on the bench, wearing only a bra and panties. Blowing out a long breath, I rest my head against the wall. “Okay, I’m back, and my father’s here.”

“Your dad’s where exactly?” he says, sounding troubled.

“In the boutique, not in my dressing room. He just…showed up.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” he asks softly.

“No. Why would it be? He’s trying, I guess. But now I’m thinking about my mother and the fact that she isn’t here. She’s coming to the wedding, of course. Which isn’t the same thing at all, and I’m just sad about it. Did I tell you she didn’t see me off to prom either?”

“You did.”

“Right. It’s just…she’s managed to share in the big moments—graduating from college and law school and now my wedding—and I’m really grateful for that because she doesn’t like it here, but I’m here too, and I just wish she were around for the small moments: the birthdays, the dinners, whatever.

Even though I’m an adult, I’ll always need my mom, you know?

Meanwhile, my dad’s out there, trying to be supportive, trying to be present.

And I feel like shit for thinking that’s not enough.

That he isn’t enough. Ugh, this wedding is bringing up feelings I thought I’d dealt with. ”

There’s a pause, and then Javi says, “My therapist tells me the goal isn’t to deal with an issue but to process it. To make sense of it within your life’s history, not just to interrogate it and put it in a box never to be heard from again.”

“You’re seeing a therapist?”

“I am.”

“Since when?”

“A few months. The point is, what you’re feeling right now is entirely normal. And the next time you see your therapist, you can talk about it, process it.”

“Not put it away in a box.”

“Exactly.”

“Maybe I should pay you to be my therapist.”

He chuckles. “That’d be like the foolish leading the—”

“Are you calling me foolish ?”

“Of course not. I’m offended you didn’t take issue with me calling myself foolish.”

“Why would I? Being self-aware is an essential part of growth.”

“Anyway,” he says, stretching out the word, “we’re talking about you, not me, and I have a suggestion.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Maybe you and your mother need to have a heart-to-heart. Finally get whatever’s bothering you out in the open instead of skirting around it and pretending everything’s okay.”

“Now you really sound like my therapist,” I grumble.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You would,” I say, smiling.

“What does Alex say?”

“About what?”

“About the situation with your mother. About her attending the wedding.”

I frown. “I haven’t told him much about it. I mean, he knows my parents are divorced, obviously, but I haven’t gotten into any specifics.”

“Well, your therapist knows about it. And I know about it. Maybe the man you’re going to marry should know about it too.”

“Yeah,” I say, sniffling. “Maybe. I just…didn’t want to think about all of this today or anytime soon.”

“Where’s your father now?”

“He’s up front. With Chloe.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Oh God, she’s probably showing him how to open an OnlyFans account.”

“I’m pretty sure your father already has an OnlyFans account.”

“Ew, stop.” I giggle, then erupt into full-blown laughter. “Thanks, Javi. I needed that.”

I hear someone speaking to Javi in the background, and then when he gets back on the line, he says, “Hey, listen, I need to return to the bar so I can finish this trial run. I’m probably not making the best first impression—”

“Oh, sure, I understand. Sorry to interrupt. Thanks for helping me through this meltdown.”

“Always.” He pauses, then says, “So you’re not going to put these feelings away in a box after we get off the phone, right? And you’re going to give yourself the grace to be sad about your mother without thinking you’re being disloyal to your father?”

“Yes, Daddy,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Don’t say shit like that without warning me. I just busted a nut.”

I snort. “Good luck on the interview.”

“Thanks, I’ll need it.”

“Bye, Javi.”

“Bye, Mari. Te quiero. Para siempre.”

“Para sempre.”

As if I need Javi to call me out on putting my feelings away in a box. He’s the reason I’ve been doing it for much longer than even he knows.

Saturday, May 18, 2024

WhatsApp Voice Message

Hi Marisol, it’s your mother. I just remembered something about the recipe: Tell Javi that he should try to get both types of starch (azedo and doce) for the cheese bread. Look for polvilho on the package, okay? And tell him to send pictures! Te amo. Tchau. Tchau. Tchau.