“Yeah. Maybe.” Joe throws his old Jeep Cherokee into park. I realize we’re at our gate at the airport. Joe slides out of the driver’s seat and pulls out our suitcases for us. I watch his arm muscles bunching under his tee and remember what they felt like when I clutched them while he drove into me. When we had sex on the beach. He and Dom give each other a brotherly hug, slapping each other’s backs.
“Safe travels, bro,” Joe says.
“Thanks for the ride, man.”
Then Joe moves toward me while Dom fumbles with his backpack for our passports. He presses his hand to the small of my back in a quiet yet possessive half hug. His lips disappear in my mane of ginger hair.
“Offer still stands,” he whispers. “No funny business. Just art.”
“Enjoy Presley,” I hiss back, unable to help myself.
“You’re a sweetheart for caring.” He kisses my cheek quickly, feigning innocence. “And I fully intend to.”
Before I can say anything, before I can kick and scream How dare he, he drives off into the distance.
Dom wraps an arm over my shoulder. “Shall we, babe?”
Manufactured bliss.
That was what my mother called the suburban lifestyle. That is why she insisted that we stay in San Francisco, even when all my parents’ friends had drifted to the small towns that bracketed it. Lafayette and Orinda and Tiburon. Even Sunnyvale. She called it the happiness lie. People think their life will be better if they live in a bigger house, drive a bigger car, grow a vegetable garden. But wealth doesn’t equal happiness, necessarily. The city offers you struggle, and struggle keeps you hungry and in survival mode.
Right now, I am feeling pretty suburban.
“Doesn’t this tree look like Chewbacca?” I point at a tree in Old San Juan the day after Joe dropped us off, leaving with my soul in his pocket.
Dom and I have just finished eating the most delicious coconut candy and crab empanada, and now we’re taking a romantic stroll among the narrow cobbled streets. The historic buildings are a kaleidoscope of pastel colors, and my boyfriend has never been more gorgeous and attentive.
“A what?” Dom slants his head sideways, staring at the Spanish moss tree.
“Chewbacca!” I exclaim.
“Don’t laugh, but this cultural reference just flew past me at the speed of light.” Dom chuckles.
“You’ve never watched Star Wars? You know, The Phantom Menace? The Clone Wars?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, my God, Dom! How?”
“I don’t know!” He throws his arms in the air, laughing. “I just . . . I think I was busy doing chemo when it was big with all the kids my age?”
My smile immediately falls, and I feel like an idiot for not thinking about it. Dom notices and rushes to hug me.
“No, babe. Don’t feel bad about it. Change it. Change me.” He kisses my lips. I melt in his arms. He smells so good. He feels so good. What’s wrong with suburbia? I think. It is so popular for a reason. “Show me your ways. Teach me the magic of Chewbanka.”
“Chewbacca.”
“Yup. Her.”
“Him.” I laugh, pulling him back to the hotel. “Come on, we have a history lesson to teach you.”
“While we’re at it, I also failed anatomy in school. Just saying . . .”
I swat his chest, feeling light and happy all of a sudden. Nora is right. He is the one. He makes me laugh. He gives me joy. He is not hard and callous and difficult like his baby brother. He is not San Francisco. Filthy and hilly, with a subway—one of the worst inventions in human history （there is absolutely no freaking way I’m ever getting on a subway）。
“I’ll teach you biology too,” I promise.
“Thanks, Teach.”
For the next couple of days, Dom and I eat mofongo, hit the casinos, and have lots and lots of sex. By the time we get on the plane home, I feel more connected to him. More sure of our relationship. Yes, Joe was a plot twist. A bitter reminder of what could have been. Of the past. I’d lost my footing when we reconnected, but I’m back on the horse. I’m not going to let Joe mess with my happiness again. Next time we talk, I’ll be the one encouraging him to date Presley. Maybe we could even double date. Nip all the doubts in the bud.
The universe provides, and after we land back home, we catch a cab instead of having Joe pick us up. I don’t ask why Joe hasn’t arrived to collect us. Dom explains, anyway.
“It’s Mom’s birthday tomorrow. The big six-oh. Joe’s in Dover for the long weekend. I know I’m springing this on you last minute, but would you mind very much if we head over there tomorrow evening for dinner? I know it’ll mean a lot to her.”