Page 61 of When Javi Dumped Mari

Epilogue

Mari

Two Years After the (Canceled) Wedding

Afinger trailing across my hip wakes me from a restful sleep. The sun’s just barely in the sky, but I can already hear Manhattan stirring outside our Soho apartment.

I peek under the coverlet to find Javi positioned between my legs, the breadth of his shoulders taking up much of the view. “May I help you?”

He looks up at me, waggles his unruly eyebrows, and licks his lips. “Yes, indeed. I’d like a table for one, please.”

I throw an arm over my eyes and giggle. “Certainly, sir. We’ve reserved a special seating just for you.” I gesture at the length of my body. “Right this way.”

“Excellent,” he says, his mouth tilted up in a saucy grin, his pupils blown wide. “I’m ravenous.”

“May I interest you in the all-you-can-eat buffet, then?”

His mouth twitches. “You may.”

Javi kisses a path across my belly, then nibbles on the skin at the juncture of my thighs.

I let out a low moan and raise my arms over my head.

My stomach contracts with each brush of his lips, each nip.

I’m so damn warm, a steady throb in my ears matching the thump of my heart.

This is what he does to me. Every time. I’m feverish with lust within seconds, desperate to have his hands all over me, desperate for us to rock into each other.

He lowers himself farther down the bed so I can widen my legs and wrap them around his torso, and then his fingers ghost over me as he sucks on the inside of my thighs.

“You’re such a tease,” I groan, writhing on the bed, my hands gripping the sheet.

“Is there something you need?” he asks, playfully taunting me.

I grab the back of his head, my thumbs pressed against his temples so he understands the urgency of my request. “I need your fingers in me and your mouth on my clit. For starters.”

Javi’s eyes gloss over. “What a coincidence. I was just about to get to that.” And he does, his fingers splaying me open as he inhales my scent, hums his approval, and then laps at my nub.

I arch like a bow, heat radiating through my limbs when he strokes his tongue against my pussy, the tip flicking my clit and a single digit sliding inside to revel in my wetness.

He groans against me when I grab his shoulders, when I dig my fingers into the skin of his back, the muscles there flexing under my needy touch.

“Oh God, come up here,” I beg. “Please, I need you inside me.”

We waste no time aligning our bodies, the coverlet thrown to the floor.

Javi looms over me, his rigid cock in hand, his chest heaving.

The sight of him makes me fuzzy, my brain dulling from the overload of sensation sweeping through my body.

It’s the anticipation, the exhilaration, the certainty that he will fill me to the hilt and drive me to the brink before backing off and building me up over and over again.

In the time we’ve been together, we’ve learned what brings us pleasure, what drives us wild. He knows that a breath against my ear inflames me. I know that he loves it if I grab his ass when he’s driving into me. We’ve learned each other’s love languages and added some new words of our own.

Javi positions himself at my center and pushes inside.

“Oh God, that’s so good,” I groan out.

He covers my body with his and grinds into me, his gaze never leaving mine. “It’s always so damn good.”

And it is. Because we’ve finally figured out that love isn’t about being in the right place or finding the right time. It’s about making a connection with the right person. Once that happens, everything else eventually falls into place.

***

Chocolicious whines outside our bedroom, bursting our post-sex bubble.

Javi lets out a heavy exhale. “I’ll take him out. I need the fresh air anyway.”

He starts to rise, but I pull him back under the covers. “Hang on a sec. I heard that sigh, so why don’t you tell me what’s really going on.”

“I’m nervous about tonight,” he says after a pause, his voice barely above a whisper.

I snuggle into him, tracing circles on his chest. “Oh, my love. I’d be nervous if you weren’t nervous.

But you’ve done everything possible to make The Mailroom a success.

You’ve put your ego aside and found people to help you.

You listened to the folks with more experience than you while never letting anyone alter the core of your vision.

I’m no theater expert, but I’ve read the script, listened to the songs.

It’s phenomenal and others are going to feel the same. ”

“Doesn’t matter what others think as long as you enjoy it.”

“Well, let’s not overstate the value of my opinion,” I quip.

He lifts my chin and peers down at me. “I’m not joking. This is one of the scariest things I’ve ever done in my life, and if it bombs, it bombs. As long as it moves you, I’ll be satisfied.”

“But it’ll be nice if everyone else loves it too, right?”

He smiles sheepishly. “Of course. But no one else matters. You told me so yourself.”

I draw back. “What? I never said any such thing.”

“You did,” he says. “I’ll show you.” He reaches for his wallet on the bedside table, pulls out what looks like a laminated Post-it, and hands it to me.

I sit up in bed and scan the note—in my handwriting. My eyes bulge when the significance of the message sinks in. “This was from the night before graduation.” I gape at him, my eyes blurring with tears. “You kept it? All these years?”

“I did,” he says, nodding, his eyes glowing with warmth. “Now read it out loud.”

I clear my throat. “?‘Javier Báez’s untitled musical is an absolute masterpiece. Báez is the librettist of our generation.’?” I turn the laminated note over. “?‘Marisol Campos, the only critic who matters.’?”

I pull him to sit up with me and straddle his thighs, wrapping him in an embrace so fierce my limbs shake. “Just when I think I couldn’t love you more…”

Javi

Daniel Romero sings the final verse of “What If” to a packed crowd at the tiny but mighty Public Theater. Danny’s portrayal of Sid, a man who’s come to terms with the choices he’s made in his life and who has no regrets, is both tender and triumphant.

Sid reminds me of myself. Reminds me of the person who finally believed in his worth and got out of his own way. Beside me, Mari’s fighting back tears, her hand squeezing mine. We’re backstage, both of us too keyed up to have spent a second in the audience for the premiere.

Sid picks up the banker’s box filled with his personal effects and walks away, refusing to look back at his coworkers. As he steps onto an elevator and faces the spectators, he sings the closing lyrics:

There’s no point in wondering what if anymore

I want to know what my future holds

I want to grab it in my hands

I decide who I’ll be

Never again will life make a fool of me

The stage fades to black, and then the house lights come on.

After a heart-stopping pause, the audience breaks out into thunderous applause, a sound and sentiment that I will never forget.

Within seconds, I’m being hugged by Mari, jostled by Jeremy, patted on the back by Arnie, the lead stage technician.

Mari’s mother, who’s visiting for the summer for the second year in a row, presses a kiss to my forehead.

Brittany congratulates me, Chloe high-fives me, Sasha tells me she wants to kick my ass for waiting so long to finish the script.

Everything that follows is a blur: an appearance onstage with the full cast; an interview with a reporter from Broadway.com that probably made no sense; a speech among countless speeches thanking everyone involved for not only bringing my vision to life but also making immeasurable improvements to it; a text from my agent telling me he’s already fielding calls about the possibility of taking The Mailroom to Broadway; a quick chat with Stephen Lautner, the director, to discuss what needs to be changed for the remaining shows.

Through it all, Mari’s always within arm’s reach.

I spy her chatting with my parents, although in typical fashion, my dad appears more interested in the hors d’oeuvres being passed around, and my mother’s rearranging the dessert display.

Then I see Mari chatting with my brothers, who probably don’t understand that although she runs her own entertainment law firm now, she isn’t actually responsible for getting jobs for the talent she represents.

I seek her out in the crowd at every opportunity.

Her presence fuels me. Gives me peace. Brings me more genuine happiness than I ever thought possible.

Which is why, even though I can’t see her face, I sense that she’s in distress a few minutes later: Her shoulders are squared, one hand is wrapped around a wineglass, the other hand is balled into a fist.

“Excuse me,” I say to one of the show’s investors. I don’t bother to offer an explanation, and I instantly appear at Mari’s side. It’s then that I realize she’s seeing her father in person for the first time since the weekend of her aborted wedding.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, her voice shaking.

“I bought a ticket like everyone else,” Luiz Campos says. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think you’d listen to what I had to say.”

Her face hardens. “You chose one of the most important nights of Javier’s life to show up unannounced. How did you think this would go?”

I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her close. I’d never tell her how to handle this situation. Whatever she wants, whatever she needs in this moment, that’s what I’ll give her.

“Can I talk to you in private?” he begs. “Just give me five minutes.”

Mari looks up at me. “Is there somewhere…?”

“Of course,” I say, nodding. “Use the rehearsal room.”

“Thanks,” she says, though she seems to be operating in a daze, barely aware of her surroundings.

“Do you need me to go with you?” I ask, bending so I can meet her gaze head-on.

She smiles and squeezes my arm. “No, I’ve got this.”

I have zero doubt that she does.

A few minutes later, she returns and slips her hand into mine. I look down at her, searching her face for any signs of distress, but there are none.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

She caresses my jaw, her expression serene. “I’m here with you, so everything’s good.”

“What was all that about?” I say, jerking a thumb behind us.

“Long story short, he apologized. Says he wants a chance to be the father he never was. Said he knows he can’t fix things between us overnight, but he wants to try.”

“And you’re willing to do that? Try?”

“We’ll see,” she says, raising a shoulder. “I suspect he has more work to do if he thought this was the right time to reach out. But I don’t have to decide anything tonight. We’re here to celebrate you.”

“We’re here to celebrate us too.”

“I like the sound of that: us.”

“It’ll always be us, Mari.”

“Always,” she agrees.

The air around us is charged with electricity and excitement, everyone riding the high of a wildly successful night, but it’s my connection with Mari that makes me feel invincible, that makes me want to take on another day and tackle whatever challenge it presents.

Because, in her eyes, I can see the man I want to be.

Because we push each other to be the best versions of ourselves.

Because when I’m in her arms, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

“Ready to sneak out of here?” I ask.

“With you?” she says, her eyes blazing with affection and a dash of heat. “Absolutely.”

While the cast is stagedooring out back, we slip through a side exit to avoid the chaos.

There’s a car waiting out front, and thankfully, no one’s paying us any mind.

Before we climb in, Mari looks up at the theater’s marquee.

“That’s your name up there,” she says, pointing at the sign. “Can’t wait to see it on Broadway too.”

I pull her into my arms. “I was thinking, if it gets to Broadway—”

“ When ,” she insists.

“Right. I was thinking, when it gets to Broadway, I’d like my name on the marquee to read Javier Campos-Báez. Thoughts? Suggestions? Counterproposals?”

Her eyes go wide as saucers, and her mouth falls open, but she recovers quickly and straightens her shoulders. “You’d be taking on my dad’s name, though. You realize that, right?”

“I’d be taking on part of your name, and that’s all that matters.”

“Well, then I think you’re a brilliant man. No notes.”

We seal our next chapter with a kiss. And it’s magic. As if the seed that was planted so long ago has finally come into bloom.

“I love you, Marisol.”

“I love you too, Javier.”

“Para siempre,” I say.

She gazes at me tenderly, her eyes glowing with the same soul-stirring love I feel for her. “Para sempre.”

— The End —