Dear Maria (on hold)

Part 11

   “Were you in love with him?” Maria asked, breaking the comfortable silence as we stood side by side in my kitchen, waiting for the microwave popcorn to pop.

“Who?” I stalled, panicking. How do I answer?

“Your ex-husband.” she replied patiently, though the 'duh' wasn't quite hidden well enough.

“Um...” I pondered, wondering what she wanted to hear. Then my instincts kicked in. “Yeah, I was in love with him. I mean, I really loved him, he was so... kind to me. And I loved taking care of him, having dinner ready for him when he got home.” I babbled; when attacked, defend by lying. I felt a twinge of guilt, it was Maria after all. I pushed that thought away, burying it. A lie was a lie.

“Sounds nice.” Maria murmured wistfully, and I thought I detected some sadness in her tone, but I'm sure I imagined it.

“It was, he was so happy to come home to me, and always kissed me when he left in the morning.” I added, the lie needing more to it. Lies lies lies lies lies lies lies lies lie, the shred of what honesty I had hissed angrily. Maria was hardly listening to me, and I took her disinterest as skepticism. My panic growing, I continued to ramble, spouting more and more far-fetched lies. “Yeah, we had loads of sex every night, and he took me out to dinner once a week.” I added; that sounded like something a normal, happy, in love couple might do, right? I didn't really have a precedent to go on, and my years of experience of lying hadn't prepared me for lying to someone like Maria.

“Hm?” Maria questioned, seeming to check back into the conversation. I just looked at her for a moment. “Sorry, I kinda zoned out. What did you say?” she apologized sheepishly, smiling. I felt a wave of relief that she hadn't actually heard any of my ridiculous lies. I waved my hand dismissively, smiling.

“Don't even worry about it, it was nothing important.” I assured her. She pouted.

“But I want to know! All I caught was something about loads of sex, now I'm really curious!” she exclaimed. I grimaced, my cheeks turning bright pink. Shit. Maria laughed, her eyes twinkling, and threw her arm easily around my shoulders. My face got even warmer.

 Maria and I were sitting side by side on the floor of her living room, leaning against her couch. We were sitting cross-legged, our knees just barely touching, looking off in different directions, with a word spoken here and there. Just to be with Maria, to have the silence but not be alone, was wonderful, and this silent closeness was more intimate than any physical contact could possibly be.

“I once held a knife against my wrist for seven minutes before I dropped it. I tried, but I was too afraid of the pain. Is that wrong?” Maria asked, her voice quiet. Slowly shaking my head, I replied.

“No. I don't like chopping vegetables because sometimes I'm afraid of what I might do with the knife,” I answered gently. More silence, and I looked at Maria's ethereal face. She was gazing unseeingly up at the window, her hands resting listlessly on her legs. I stared at the blank, white wall.

“My step-sister was just hospitalized for anorexia,” she whispered. My heart broke for Maria, and I wished that I could absorb her pain for her. “Just when you think that it can't get any worse, at always, always does.”

“Which means that it can also always get better,” I murmured, my eyes returning to Maria's exhausted, heartbroken face. She looked over at me, her lifeless green eyes searching for something, anything, to grab a hold of. I brought my hand up to cup her jaw gently, and stroked her cheek with my thumb. I leaned over to kiss her slowly, and felt it when she began kissing me back. I pulled her small frame onto my lap, and protectively wrapped my warm arms around her.

“Love you.” I breathed, my lips pressed into her hair. She secured her hands around mine.

“Love you too.”