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“Oh?” My blood heats with anticipation. “Let’s grab a couple blankets first.” I point him in the direction of the linen closet as I step inside my bedroom to change.
After dressing in my warmest pair of pajamas that won’t last a second on my body as soon as Theo comes back, I can’t shake the feeling I’ve lost sight of something. I don’t remember what until he returns.
The door swings open. Instead of blankets, Theo’s holding a large, unopened box in his arms. His last gift to me on the date I ruined. The one I didn’t have the courage to open, just like the three little words I don’t have the courage to say to him.
“You never opened it.” He sounds more confused than disappointed. “Why?”
“I…” A heavy sigh deflates my chest. “I don’t know. I guess I was waiting for the right moment, and then I completely forgot about it when I put it away.” It’s not quite a lie, but definitely not the whole truth.
“This might actually be better,” he says, setting the box on the floor. “We can open it together. That’s how I thought this would go anyway. I’ll go grab a knife from—”
I wrap a hand around his wrist, halting him. Confusion settles over his features again. He steps closer to me, assessing whatever my face must look like right now.
“Wait.” I don’t have a good reason to stop him. When I pictured myself opening the box, I was alone. More assured of myself, the way Theo was when he laid his heart out on the table for me. When he was more honest than he needed to be with Ben and Alice. When at the end of it all, he still chose me.
If I could do everything about that night differently and still walk away with you at the end of it, I’d do it this second if it meant being worthy of you.
He’s not the unworthy one here. I am.
I want to be the person he sees in me, but his gift is a reminder of the person I was when I ran from him. The one who broke his heart and ruined his grand gesture because I was too scared to try. Maybe I’m scared that when I open this box, I’ll realize just how well and truly unworthy of him I am. Of how incapable I am of maintaining something real. He’s done so much for me, but what have I ever done but push him away?
But it’s also more likely that I’m being dramatic. Letting my fears rule me, despite all my best efforts to set them free. Easier said than done. We’ve been official for weeks, but I still can’t shake the feeling that we’ve both been holding back. The words I won’t say and the box I never opened. The tentative way he looks at me sometimes, scared of doing or saying the wrong thing to push me too far. I’m not sure he realizes I’m terrified of messing this up the same way he is.
He’s looking at me that same way now, soft eyes and tired smile. Instead of asking, he heaves a sigh and kisses the top of my head. “It’s okay,” he tells me. “We’ll wait. But trust me, you’re gonna kick yourself for waiting so long when you finally open it.”
“I won’t wait much longer,” I assure him. When we’re both cocooned in my bed, a mix of tangled limbs, I assure myself of it, too.
No more waiting.
No more holding back.
My mother lives alone in the house she raised me in. The cheery yellow paint looks fresh, and so does the vibrant blue of the front door. The wooden fence is wide open, which is odd since she’s nowhere to be seen outside. It’s not like her to be absent-minded about that sort of thing. I’m about to call her when I finally spot her emerging from the backyard, dressed in her straw sun hat and bright orange gardening gloves. I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Mija, what are you doing here?”
She meets me at the front door near her rosebush, the vines grayed to near white. I’m not sure how she manages it, but no matter how harsh the winter it endures, by late spring, her roses are always in full bloom. Her surprise turns to concern as she inspects my face. Whatever she sees makes her frown, brows furrowing.
“Let’s get you inside.”
She removes her gloves as we pass through the door, tossing them aside on the porch rather than taking the time to put them away properly. Inside, she says, “Give me a moment to wash up. I’ve been using the weed killer all morning, which I really need to stop altogether. Yolanda from next door is convinced the stuff gave her cancer last year. She’s got a lawsuit going on with the company, you know.” I follow as she goes toward the bathroom.
“I remember, you told me about that the last time I visited,” I remind her. I’ve heard all her stories at least three times. “Aside from working with poison, how’ve you been?”
“Oh, you know nothing much changes around here,” she says. “But let me guess, you’re here for the salsa and tortillas, ah? You’re in luck. I just made some yesterday. I was going to call you when I got through with the garden. To ask if you wanted me to drop them off, but I guess there’s no need now.” Now that she mentions it, I realize my stockpiles are running low again.
“That’s… oh, well, thank you.” I shake my head. “Actually, I have some news I thought you might like to hear.”
“What news?” She sticks her head out the door. I’m better able to take her in now that she’s taken off her gardening garb. Her hair is graying at the roots, as if she hasn’t been keeping up with touch-ups as much as she’d like. But even so, it’s her eyes that still make her look young. They’re big and brown and brimming with excitement as she looks into my eyes. “Good, I hope?”
“Definitely good.” I nod at her, trying to contain my nerves for what I’m about to tell her. Last time I told her about a guy I was dating, I was too naive to see past my giddy excitement. Now I wonder if I’m too jaded to recognize what happiness looks like when it’s staring me in the face.
Once she finishes up in the bathroom, she leads me to the bright green sectional she bought last year. One touch of the velvet material tells you how comfortable it is, especially compared to the years-old, threadbare couch I grew up with. It’s no wonder she raves about all the naps she has on this thing.
“What’s his name?” I can’t be sure how she immediately knows this is about a guy, or if she’s just being hopeful.
“How do you know I’m seeing someone?” I cross my arms over my chest.
“What’s his name?” she repeats, eyes twinkling. “How did you meet? And more importantly”—she looks me squarely in the eye—“when do I get to meet him?”
