“Thanks, Charlie.”
He held up his fingers. “I should go wash this all off before I greenify anything else.”
“Good idea.”
I settled down at the VIP table, otherwise known as the table farthest from the bathrooms and closest to the stage, and watched the front door for Marisol. At exactly 5:02, a woman with pin-straight dark hair in a black blazer and leather pants walked into the diner holding the hand of a young boy with brown wavy hair who looked a lot like Gabe. Our eyes met as a smile broke out across her face, immediately putting me at ease. She crossed the diner as I stood up to greet her and, without even so much as a moment’s hesitation, pulled me in for a big hug.
“I’m mad as hell at you and we obviously have a lot to discuss, but damn, it’s good to see you,” Marisol said into my hair, her grip on me tightening with each passing second.
Her shampoo smelled exactly the same. Clean and fresh, notes of gardenia woven through its scent. My throat constricted, tight with tears of joy, and I held on, relishing in her embrace and waiting for her to be the first one to let go.
“This is my son, Oliver,” she said, pushing forward the four-or five-year-old boy.
I leaned down to make his acquaintance. “Nice to meet you. I’m Avery, an old friend of your mom’s.” I stood back up and turned to Marisol. “Wow, he looks just like Gabe.”
“The Salgado genes run strong, nary a trace of my Irish Catholic husband, much to his chagrin. And if you can believe it, this Puerto Rican chica’s now walking around with the last name Fitzgerald. Who woulda thunk it, right?”
“Son . . . husband . . .” I shook my head. It all seemed so unbelievable. “So much has changed.”
“And not so much,” she said, motioning to the booth. We took seats on opposite sides of the table, and Oliver slid in next to his mom.
Charlie swung by to set down some waters. “Can I get you ladies anything?”
“I’m fine,” Marisol said, “but he might like something.” She motioned for Oliver to take a look at the menu.
“We have some awesome options. My favorite is the My Fair Lady Fingers Pudding,” Charlie said.
Oliver scrunched up his nose and looked to his mom for some backup.
Charlie, reading Oliver’s not-so-subtle expression, offered, “Not a pudding fan? How ’bout you come check out the dessert case by the counter and pick out something you like better.” Charlie collected the menus from the table and looked over at Marisol. “Is that okay?”
Marisol nodded and Oliver hurried off, leaving the two of us on our own for a few minutes.
“Was that . . . ?” she asked, pointing a finger toward Charlie as he walked away.
“Yeah, Charlie. He manages the place now.”
She nodded and took a sip of her water. “Ever since Gabe told me you were working here again, I’ve thought about stopping by at least a dozen times.”
“So, Gabe told you about us? I was hoping he would. I’m so sorry about your mom, by the way. I . . . I was really blown over when Gabe told me.” I reached across the table, put my hand on hers, and gave it a squeeze.
“Thank you. It’s been hard. Harder than I imagined, but Gabe has really tried to be there for me . . . as best as he can. You know Gabe,” she said with a shrug and a lift of her brows. “And, he didn’t really tell me about you two, actually. I kind of worked it out myself. Out of nowhere he suddenly was bringing up your name all the time. Then when he mentioned he was seeing someone and that it was getting pretty serious, I asked him point-blank if it was you. I’ll admit I was surprised at first. I’d just assumed all these years later you and Adam had everything tied up in a nice big red bow. But then Gabe filled me in on all that too.”
“You were right about Adam. Everything you suspected—about me, about him—it was all true.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. I’m not sure you believe me, but I always just wanted you to be happy.”
“I know that. Now. I was too self-absorbed, though, to see it then.”
“You weren’t self-absorbed. If anything, I think it was the opposite. You were too absorbed in everybody else—namely Gabe and then Adam—to put yourself first. It was impossible to watch, especially when you were . . . well, are . . . so freakin’ talented. You worked so damn hard in undergrad and you were so passionate about making it back then. I hated that Gabe wasn’t the cheerleader in your life like he should’ve been. But even more than that, I hated that you didn’t stand up for yourself and fight harder for your dreams. As for Adam, I guess I hoped you’d choose you for once, but you just weren’t ready. Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed so hard . . .”
I grabbed her hand again, but this time I did not let go. I looked straight at her, locking in on her big brown eyes. “I wasn’t ready. But you didn’t push too hard. You were the only one—including myself—who put me first, who saw the me I wanted to be, and who fought for that girl when no one else did. You were my cheerleader and very best friend. And I am so sorry that I lost sight of it all.”
Marisol stayed silent for a moment, tears brimming in the corners of her eyes, until she nodded and squeezed my hand in response. The gesture said more than words ever could.
While we were laying it all out, I continued, “Did you know that Gabe proposed to me a few nights ago?”
“He what?” Marisol exclaimed, her brows weaving together in confusion. “The last time we spoke he told me he thought he was going to be offered a job in DC.”
“He was offered the job and he accepted it. He’s asked me to go with him.”
Marisol slumped back against the cushion of the booth as if stunned with a sudden blow. “He did?” She sat quietly for a moment, her eyes working out the scenario in her head. “Do you know what you’re going to do?”
I stared at Marisol, never having imagined we’d have this moment of reconciliation. If the phone booth had taken me to Marisol’s door instead of Gabe’s on Christmas Day, I would have slammed it closed and walked away. I wasn’t ready to face her then because I couldn’t see who I’d been, let alone who I had become. But now, everything was different. We were different. The past had somehow collided with the present, opening up a million possibilities for the future. This . . . this had been the point all along. Just as I had suspected, it had never been about Gabe at all.
“You know, I actually do think I know what I’m going to do,” I answered.
Her mouth curved into a smile. “Good.”
Charlie brought Oliver back to the table, the corners of his lips still smudged with sticky-sweet whipped cream. “He settled on a Chocolate Sundae in the Park with George. On the house.”
I mouthed a “thank-you” to him for the ice cream and for helping entertain Oliver while Marisol and I took a much-needed moment to catch up.
“You have a very polite young man here. He’s welcome to come and hang with me and raid the dessert case any time,” Charlie said, offering Oliver a high five. He responded by enthusiastically slapping his small hand up to meet Charlie’s.
“Thank you. I’m sure this will rank higher in his day than the show we just saw. Okay, bud, we better get going or we’ll miss our train. Put your jacket on, please,” Marisol instructed Oliver, sounding so mom-like. It was a surprising yet delightful shift from the girl I’d known back in college. As he wrestled himself into his coat, we stood from the table and Marisol reached out to pull me into one last hug, holding me tightly as I returned the embrace.