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“This is anatrapanovios,” he explained. “It’s a kids’ toy and a funny old Mexican tradition. The idea is that when you want someone by your side forever, you attach theatrapanoviosto their finger. When I was a boy, I used to wonder why anyone would want such a thing. Now that I have you in my life, I completely understand. Here,” he said as he slipped the silly-looking tube onto my finger. It held tight, and try as I might, I could not slip it off.
Holding the other end, Juan, with a goofy grin on his face, pulled me toward him until I was happily enveloped in his warm embrace.
“Looks like I’m stuck with you,” I said.
“Exactly. That’s the whole point. But if you don’t want to be, that’s okay. I just do this…” He pulled some hidden lever in the device, and the contraption fell loose around my finger. “See? Now you’re free. What do you think?”
“I think you don’t need a toy to keep me by your side,” I replied as my hands found his cheeks. “My gran used to say, ‘If you love something set it free.’ ”
“If it comes back to you, it’s yours,” he said, kissing my lips.
“…and if it doesn’t, it was never meant to be,’ ” I said. “So you have the saying in Spanish, too?”
“We do,” said Juan.
Just then, I looked down at my left hand where it rested against Juan’s chest. Theatrapanovioshad left a dark, chalky mark around my finger.
“Is it supposed to leave a stain?” I asked, holding up my hand to Juan.
“Uh, yes. All part of the fun!” he replied.
Before I could question him further, he suddenly let go of me, rushed down the hall to the bathroom, then raced back a moment later and said, “I have an idea! For Spa-ghetti Saturday!”
“But we had dinner already,” I replied.
“Yes, but it’s time to put the ‘Spa’ in ‘Spa-ghetti,” he said. “What about a relaxing and rejuvenating date-night excursion to a luxurious couples’ spa—a bubble bath for two, right in the heart of the city?”
“Oh, Juan,” I said. “You know we can’t afford things like that.”
“Ah, but we can,” he replied. And again, he raced off down the hall, this time to the kitchen, returning to my side with a bottle of Sunlight dish soap in his hand.
Before I knew it, I was chest deep with Juan in our scuffed soaker bathtub as he counted and kissed each of the toes on my right foot while sporting a sudsy Santa bubble beard with a matching foam mustache.
We stayed in that tub, talking and giggling and telling stories, until our flesh was pink and pruned. Then, my beloved wrapped me in a fresh towel and meticulously dried me off inch by inch. I did the same for him, lingering as I sponged the terry cloth over his strong shoulders and across the vast expanse of his deliciously smooth chest.
Dried off, drunk with warmth, we ran to our bedroom with not a stitch of clothing on and collapsed into bed.
“I’ll be right back,” Juan announced.
“What are you doing now?” I asked.
I could hear him in the bathroom, cleaning out the tub, knowing it would bother me to find rings on it in the morning. He was determined to leave the entire bathroom spick-and-span, not for his sake but for mine.
I curled deeper into our bed, anticipating his return, breathing in the lemony scent of our bath together. And that’s when I must have drifted off to sleep, only to wake early this morning. Juan must have tiptoed into bed beside me last night, carefulnot to wake me, though I would have relished feeling him wrap himself around me before both of us drifted off to sleep, at rest in each other’s arms.
Now, as I lie in bed, a shadow from the curtain falls across Juan’s serene face. I feel a sudden pang of despair, and I don’t know where it comes from. Nothing in my life would be what it is without Juan, and I suppose I still struggle to comprehend why he’s with me. I’ve felt this before, of course—this fear, this dread. I felt it when Gran was sick. I worried myself ragged about how I’d forge a life without her. And yet, here I am. I did it. But I don’t think I could survive that kind of loss again. I don’t know what I’d do without this man beside me, because no matter how much brightness he brings, I’m still so afraid of the dark. There is noatrapanoviosstrong enough to keep Juan with me forever. All I can do is hope that my love is enough.
These are the thoughts that make me spin and plummet backwards, traversing well-worn paths to the darkest of memories. I can’t help but recall that first Christmas I spent alone without my gran. It was the most dismal holiday I’ve ever endured—a long season of sadness. It wasn’t just the loss of her, the absence of carols sung in her cheerful voice, or finding each of the drawers of her Advent calendar empty of small treasures. It was the deep, abiding loneliness that surrounded me at work, the constant reminders that the social world was a mystery I couldn’t solve without her.
The staff Christmas party at the Regency Grand is always a lovely event. Held in the lobbyen pleine vue,it features mulledcider, tea, and Christmas cookies. I look forward to it every year. But that first year without Gran, the staff party was the only holiday festivity I was invited to, and that made it feel even more special than usual. Mr. Snow had the idea of doing a Secret Santa gift exchange amongst staff members, and I drew Cheryl’s name, much to my chagrin. Still, I was determined to show her some holiday spirit.
The day of the party, all the staff gathered in the lobby—bellhops and bartenders, doormen and dishwashers, clerks and cooks. Everyone was festively dressed and full of holiday cheer. The Secret Santa gift exchange proceeded, with Mr. Preston handing out one gift at a time as the staff looked on. I was excited when he grabbed my gift for Cheryl and presented it to her.
But the second Cheryl unwrapped the brown paper, her face fell. “Eww. It’s used chocolates from our turn-down service, shaped like a Christmas tree. So much for Secret Santa, Molly,” she said with a guffaw.
“How did you know that gift is from me?” I asked.
“No one else is weird enough to regift discarded turn-down chocolates,” she replied.
