When Javi Dumped Mari

by Mia Sosa

his topcoat flapping behind him like a superhero’s cape while the people in his wake pretend they’re not staring at this prime specimen. He’s Latine, maybe, and tall. Really tall. I mean, I’m no short king, and this guy probably has four inches on me. To add insult to injury, he also comes equipped with hazel eyes, a chiseled jaw, and—I glance at the floor around him—huge feet. He’s the fucking Beyoncé of men.

I understand why people gravitate to her. She’s sure of herself. Funny. Impossible to ignore. And it doesn’t hurt that her lips are lush and glossy all the time. Or that her dark brown eyes can captivate you with a single glance. Marisol shines just by existing. In other words, she’s heartbreak in human form. Which is why I like bumping heads with her. Our friction reminds me not to get sucked into her orbit.

“Hey, Javi,” she says. “Yeah?” “I’m going to listen to your advice when it comes to guys from now on, no questions asked. It’s dangerous out here in these Rob-infested streets, and I could use the help. In return, I’ll get rid of all my Triborough Boys downloads. Deal?” I smile. “Deal.” And you know what? This girl is worth being petty for.

He pulls me into him, kisses my forehead, then releases me. It’s a peck, really. Chaste. Friendly. Coming from a place of affection, not lust. Except Javi’s lips are butter soft, and he smells amazing. Just like that, my brain rewires itself, decides his kiss is the only one that will do. And I really hate that for me. Because I have a sinking feeling that going forward, I’ll compare every person to Javi and find them lacking.

‘Javier Báez’s untitled musical is an absolute masterpiece. Báez is the librettist of our generation.’ ” There’s an arrow pointing to the other side. On it, she wrote, Marisol Campos, the only critic who matters.

I wish Javi could see himself the way I do. He’s thoughtful and creative and one of the smartest men I know. There isn’t anything he couldn’t do if he put his mind to it. But sometimes that mind is riddled with self-doubt and throws him off track.

“Still a smartass, I see.” “Don’t stop,” she whispers, fluttering her eyelashes as she twirls the cocktail straw in her glass. “You’re feeding my praise kink.” I moisten my lips and let out a slow breath. “You have one?” She leans in, places her hand on my thigh, and gives it a light squeeze. “Absolutely.” My heart races, and a surge of adrenaline runs through me. Adult Mari has ten times the confidence of her younger self, and she’s equally compelling. She’s probably broken a lot of hearts in the time we’ve been apart.

“A hard-fought happily-ever-after,”

I thought I’d finally get her out of my system. Rid myself of the infatuation not even six years apart could diminish. But all I’ve done is grafted her onto my body and made her an essential part of me.

“Let’s do what we do best.” “And what’s that?” she asks, her eyes boring into me. “Be friends.” Because we can make this friendship real. We can shore it up, give it the type of foundation that’ll weather whatever life throws at us. A romantic relationship would crash and burn, and there’s no way I’d survive the wreckage. Being friends is the only answer that makes sense. We both know it. So what if it hurts a whole hell of a lot?

“Javi, I don’t think you realize how much I care for you. No matter what you say, no matter what you do, there’s this core part of me that wants everything for you because I think you deserve it. Problem is, I can’t want everything for you if you don’t want it for yourself.”

“But what if I’ll always be just a guy who acts and bartends?” She lifts my chin and stares up at me. “You’ll never be just anything, Javi. Not to me anyway.”

This woman owns me. And it’s not that I don’t want to be with her. Or to try. It’s exactly the opposite. But I’m not in a place where doing so would be wise. I’m a mess. I’m a work in progress. Mari’s anything but.

There’s another way, a voice inside me implores. But I ignore it. A structured life isn’t an inferior life; it’s composed, tranquil, comforting. Being impulsive can be freeing, but it has its drawbacks too.

“There she is,” he says with a wink.

Will Javi ever live down his defeat by a seventy-year-old man unironically wearing a bikini twenty-four hours a day? I prepare my phone to record the final contest, and when Gianni begins to hump the stage, I lose it. My hands shake as I try to capture every moment of this lopsided battle, but then Javi raises his hands in the air, and the servers he was speaking with earlier step onto the stage and throw pitchers of water at him. Javi grinds, licking his lips and flicking water at the women closest to the stage. But he’s not done, because he drops to the ground, slaps at the water puddled on the stage, and then draws a finger across his lips, recreating the iconic moment when Tom Holland performed Rihanna’s “Umbrella” on Lip Sync Battle. The crowd goes wild.

😂😂😂

“Listen, until the wedding happens, I’m going to put that man through his paces.” “Knock yourself out, Javi, but you’re wasting your time.” “If I’m spending my time ensuring your happiness, it could never be wasted.” “You know, sometimes you talk like a hero in a romance novel.” He furrows his brow. “I don’t know what that means. Is that a bad thing?” “No, no,” I say. “It’s just…a thing I’ve noticed.” “What else do romance heroes say?” he asks, his expression equal parts intrigued and baffled. “ ‘My heart stopped the first moment I saw you.’ ” “Guys talk like that?” he asks, wrinkling his nose. “Well, they also say things like ‘You’re so wet…and tight.’ ” As soon as the unfiltered words escape me, I remember that Javi isn’t Sasha or Chloe or Brittany, and we shouldn’t be talking about wetness or tightness at all. “That makes sense,” Javi says, tipping his head from side to side. “Telling someone they’re dry and loose would probably kill the mood.”

😂😂😂

“You can ask me for anything, Mari. Anything.” “I need you to be my friend,” she whispers. I pull her into my arms and hug her close. “I am, Mari. I am.” And I could be so much more if she asked me to. But I’m beginning to think that’ll never happen. Could it be that I’ve been kidding myself this whole time? Do I still have a shot? Or have I lost her already?

“Why don’t you think Alex is right for me?” Sasha throws up her hands and chops them in the air. “Because. Javi’s. Right. There.” Oh God. Javi. I’ve kept my feelings about his role in all of this in a locked box. Every time I consider unlocking it, I get overwhelmed. But Sasha’s observation is spot-on. I cover my mouth and let out a muffled sob. “He’s been here the whole time.” My girls are staring at me, nodding vigorously. “We’ve been circling each other for years,” I say, “but I finally resigned myself to the fact that he would never choose me, that he’d always erect roadblocks in our relationship. In his own way, though, Javi’s been choosing me from day one.”

“I love you,” I say, unable to hold back the words any longer. “And it feels so damn good to finally say it out loud. Properly. Without reservation. That’s the most important thing I need to tell you today.”

“I’ve fucked this up—this, us—for so long, and I don’t want another second to pass without you knowing that, for me, it’s you, it’s always been you, it could never be anyone but you.

I let my fears and insecurities get in the way of fighting for the one thing I want most in this world.” “What do you want most in the world?” she whispers cautiously. I don’t want her to wonder what she means to me. I don’t want her to guess how much I care. So I bring my forehead to hers, needing to be as close to her as possible when I say this: “What I want most in the world is your love in return.” She caresses my cheek, her sweet breath tickling my skin. “Oh, meu amor, you have it.”

“There wasn’t a moment in all the years since I’ve known you that I wasn’t in love with you.

“Tell me you love me. Say it out loud. Please.” “I love you, Javi,” she says, her eyes steady and bright. “It’s been a journey to get here, it really has, but you are the love of my life. Always have been. You’re the person who knows me best. The person who’s always looked out for me—even when I didn’t realize I needed you to. The person who knew I deserved more when I couldn’t see that on my own. We don’t just fit. We’re unique and interlocking pieces, with curves and edges that make it impossible for us to fit together with anyone else.”