Big Chicas Don't Cry(17)

“It’s disposable, Chris. You didn’t have to bring it back.” I picked up the container and placed it in the sink. I’d probably just throw it away after he left, but I needed an excuse to get some distance between us.

“It is? Oh, well. And I even washed it too,” he said with a pout, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

“You just missed Esteban,” I offered.

“I know. I just got off the phone with him.”

That meant he knew Esteban wasn’t here. “Oh. So, are you on your way to court too?”

Like Esteban’s, most of Chris’s hearings took place at the Pasadena Courthouse. Their bigger trials were held in downtown Los Angeles. They were criminal defense attorneys and had represented some of the most famous and powerful people in Hollywood. It wasn’t unusual for them to even team up on some of the higher profile cases, a.k.a. the ones that the tabloids cared about.

“I’m not second chair on Esteban’s case this time. And I’m already done, actually. I only had a few motions, so no more court for me today. Who knows? I may not even go in to the office.”

I shrugged. “Well, you are the boss. I guess you can do whatever you want.” Although I couldn’t remember the last time Esteban had taken a day or even an afternoon off.

He was about to say something when his eyes fell on the loaf of sourdough bread. After bending down to take a quick whiff, he looked at me. “Marisol, did you bake this?”

I nodded. “Last night,” I said as I walked over to the counter to cut him a slice.

“She never sleeps, so she bakes,” Letty offered.

It was true that my chronic insomnia had turned me into a pretty good baker. Still, I didn’t like the disapproving looks I was getting from both of them.

“I sleep enough,” I told them.

Letty rolled her eyes and then announced she was going upstairs to fold laundry.

“Oh my God,” he raved after a couple of bites. “This is amazing. It’s even better than the loaves I usually get in San Francisco.”

“Really?”

“Really. Marisol, you should sell this.”

I ignored him. “Hey, since you’re here, do you want to check out the backyard? They finally put in the fountain a few days ago.”

He tilted his chin up and narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out why I was changing the subject. But he only said, “Sure. I’d love to see it.”

The relandscaping of the backyard was another one of Esteban’s busy projects for me. One rare summer afternoon, he’d come out of his home office and announced that we should have dinner on our patio. He’d even barbecued salmon fillets and corn on the cob. We’d talked and laughed and enjoyed a couple of glasses of sangria with our meal. I remember being so content. So at peace.

And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, Esteban announced we should redo the backyard. “Remember when we bought the house, you mentioned how nice it would be to have a fountain and a garden with a pergola? I think it’s time for us to finally do it,” he’d said at the time.

I’d known then that us meant me.

So I was the one to meet with the contractors and pick out the plants and stones. But when it came down to picking a fountain, Esteban decided he knew what was best. He chose the most expensive one, a huge structure made from beautiful Italian black marble. Only the best for you, cari?o, Esteban had said after he vetoed my choice for a simple cobblestone structure. It sat in the center of our sprawling lawn and was surrounded by an assortment of blossoms and plants.

“It’s nice,” Chris said after examining it from different angles.

“It’s not the one I initially chose,” I admitted.

“Like I’ve always said, Esteban has good taste.” He turned to look at me. A slight breeze swept past us, and Chris asked if I was cold.

Not in the slightest.

He didn’t say a word after I told him I wasn’t and instead slid his fingers across the smooth marble.

“I still think a cobblestone one would have fit this garden better,” I continued, surveying the greenery. “The one I wanted was simple, but it was well built and beautiful in its own way. It would have brought out the beauty of the flowers even more. This marble fountain is rich and flashy. I think it’s almost too much for this garden. The flowers are overshadowed, even lost, because of it.”

The sadness in my voice surprised me.

“You could still change it, you know,” he said, turning to face me again.

I sighed. “No, it’s too late. We’ve already invested so much time and money into this one. It would be a waste to just get something else.”

“But if it’s what you want, Marisol—if it’s what’s going to make you happy—then how can that be a waste?” His tone, soft and low, brought back the same butterflies from Christmas morning.

I didn’t fully understand why at that moment, but I needed him to know I wasn’t the kind of person to make such a drastic change on a whim.

“It’s not as simple as it sounds. There’s a lot involved in undoing something as big as this. Who knows? Maybe I just need to give it a chance? Maybe I’ll realize that I can live with it.”

“Ay, Marisol. When will you learn that living with something you don’t love is not living at all?”