And just like that, Peter left, closing the door behind him. Mateo and I were alone, and I realized I’d never been in his apartment before, his space. Though he shared it with some Anglo from California called Mark or Marty or something and didn’t seem to be home, you could feel Mateo’s presence here, this sophisticated calm. As I stood above the couch, I let my eyes drink in all the things I thought could be attributed to him: a pair of silver cufflinks on the coffee table beside a National Geographic magazine, a monogrammed white robe I could see hanging just inside the bathroom, a fancy half-empty bottle of Scotch on the kitchen counter.
“Are you going to be my nurse, Estrella?” Mateo asked, looking up at me. His smile was a little lopsided but it was good to see him feeling better, at least with his spirits.
“Every male’s fantasy, of course,” I said, taking a seat in the armchair across from him.
“You are, yes,” he said, still smiling.
My stomach flipped a few times at that, warm and fluttery, even though I wasn’t sure if he knew what he was saying. I pulled the pills out of my pocket. “Oxycodone and acetaminophen,” I read out loud. “I used to take these in high school for fun. My mom takes Percocet for her migraines.” I grinned at him. Mateo was slowly getting high.
“The school nurse is a drug dealer, yes,” he said in mock seriousness. “Those poor children.”
With him acting this way, it was easy to forget he’d been in horrible, humiliating pain until a few moments ago. I leaned forward in my chair. “Can I get you anything? Water? Something to read? Do you need to call…someone?” Your doctor, perhaps your wife…
“No,” he said softly, licking his lips. “I just want you to stay here with me.”
I nodded, my heart feeling a bit tenderized at the tone of his voice, the sincerity of his words. It kind of ached. “I can stay.”
“You’ll miss dinner.”
“I can get it to go, I’m sure they’ll let me bring it here. You’ll miss your dinner,” I told him, feeling a bout of shame for him. “You guys won the game. Jerry said he is taking the Spaniards out tonight.”
His brows furrowed as he stared at me, eyes narrowing slightly at the corners. “Don’t look at me this way.”
I jerked my chin back into my neck. “In what way?”
“Like you are right now. With pity.”
I swallowed uneasily. “I’m sorry. I just…obviously I feel bad.”
He closed his eyes and turned his head away from me. “You shouldn’t. This was my fault. I wanted to prove I could still do it, that I could still play. You know? I wanted to be…the way I was. And, I suppose, I wanted to impress you very much.”
“Impress me?” A bit of Percocet in his system and suddenly the words were coming out, words I never thought he’d say. “Why would you want to impress me?”
And there went a question I never thought I’d have the nerve to ask. Maybe I was getting a residual high.
Though his eyes were still closed, I could see the corner of his lips quirk up into a soft smile. “Because you are my Estrella.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. The way he pronounced “my,” like I truly was his, was making me feel things I didn’t want to be feeling. Something felt like it was changing in the air between us, maybe because he was high on painkillers, or maybe it was just a matter of time. I didn’t know.
He seemed to notice it too because after a moment of silence, he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at me. There was a wash of sadness in them now. “Can I ask you that question I wanted to ask you?” His voice was low, a little hoarse.
Oh man. That question again. Now I wasn’t drunk but he more or less was.
“Sure,” I said, pretending I wasn’t a livewire of sizzling nerves on the inside. I held my breath, afraid to exhale.
“Are you happy?”
I exhaled. This wasn’t at all what I was expecting. “Am I happy?”
“Yes. Is Vera Miles happy?”
“Right here, right now or…?”
“In your life.”
I had to think about that. It wasn’t a simple question at all. Was I happy? I thought back to my day-to-day, my hopes and dreams—or, perhaps, the lack thereof.
It was hard for me to admit this because I liked to have people think I was happy-go-lucky, that I devoured life, that I got up every day feeling good and excited and hopeful. But I didn’t.
“No,” I told him, my gaze locking on his. “I am not happy.”
“Why?” he asked quietly.
“Because…” I looked down and started tracing the outline of my newest tattoo. “I am lonely.”
I’d never even admitted that to myself before. It felt bizarre. Surreal. Like I was suddenly realizing I wasn’t who I thought I was at all.
“You are lonely, but you say you like to be alone.”
I nodded. “I do. I prefer it. But…it doesn’t mean I don’t want someone to love me.” My eyes stung, as if tears were on their way. I bit my lip, debating if I should say more. “It doesn’t mean that I don’t have a lot of love in me to give someone.”
“Then why don’t you?” he asked keenly.
I shrugged. “It’s easier to not. It’s safer. I had a long-term boyfriend in high school. I know, it’s a long time ago but…I was in love with him, or so I thought. And he cheated on me. A lot. He was emotionally abusive too and made me think I deserved whatever he gave me. It really fucked me up. Fucked me up and broke me up. Bad enough that I had to go on medication.” To my surprise, I had to take in a deep breath. There was still a bit of a pinch with the memories. “I know it was just a right of passage, I guess, like what every girl goes through in high school but…the pain scared me. I’d already felt so alone because of my parents and sister that I put all my trust and heart in the wrong person and that just blew up in my face. It made me think that I’d never be loved and no one would ever want my love in return.”
My words sank into us. I felt completely raw, stripped to the bone. I’d never felt like that before, not even when naked and in a compromising position. I’d never been so honest with myself.
“You are wrong, you know,” Mateo finally said.
“About what?”
“That you will never be loved,” he said, voice slow and measured, “and that no one would want you to love them.”
I felt like there was a brick in my stomach. The charged way he was staring into me, the words he was saying…part of me wanted to run. Part of me wanted to absorb it deep inside, to hug it on nights I felt cold. Instead, I cleared my throat and asked, “Are you happy, Mateo?”
“No,” he gradually said, a delicate smile on his lips. “I am not happy, either.”
I was both surprised and not surprised at this admission. “But you have things. You have a career and a wife and a child. Money.”
“And yet, I am not happy.”
“I don’t understand.”
“And I hope you never will understand.” He sighed and stared at the ceiling. “I love Chloe Ann, she is the bright star in my universe. I love Isabel, but…not the way that I should. Sometimes I wonder if I ever did and that makes me sad, to think of all the years being…what is the word? Oblivious. I don’t like my job but I don’t know what to do with myself. I am too old, I mean look at me and my fucking knee, too old to go back to the game again.” He pressed his lips together for a moment. “All I know is that something has to change. I have to do something.”
“What?” I whispered, finding myself leaning in closer to him.
His eyes slid to mine. “Create a new universe.” He licked his lips again. “You could do the same.”