To her.
With a long, deep, reassuring breath, I walked up the stairs to the porch and just as I was about to knock, the light flicked on and the door opened. I wasn’t expecting to come face to face with Amira. Her expression left me in a state of fucking shock, not really knowing what to say or how to even say it.
For a brief second, we both stood there without saying a word. I spent the last six months dead inside, and all it took was one fucking moment between us to feel alive again.
She was so fucking perfect.
So fucking mine.
She was wearing a pair of pink cotton shorts and a tight white tank top. Without even dropping my eyes, I could see her midriff where her tank didn’t quite cover her sun-kissed skin. She held a bowl in her hands with strawberry ice cream melting inside. She’d always stir it in a circle until it was a smooth and creamy consistency before she’d eat it. It was one of her silly quirks I’d grown to love. I tried to focus on anything other than the deafening silence between us, keeping me from forming any coherent thoughts. Not one single word came to my mind. When I had thousands I wanted to say to her.
She was the first to break the silence, saying, “She’s not home. Mama Rosa went to Havana to help a friend. Something you would know nothing about. I’ll tell her you stopped by.” Her trying to slam the fucking door in my face was the only trigger I needed to snap out of my hypnotic state. The best thing about my personality was my ability to act quickly, and this was my moment to strike.
My hand stopped the door faster than she could close it, and I easily held her and the solid wood back. “I didn’t come to see her. Let me in, open the door,” I ordered in a neutral, but demanding, tone.
“Why? What do you want, Damien?”
“You know what I want. It’s your birthday.”
“Yeah? I had one last year too, and the year before that and the year before that, and you didn’t bother to show up for any of those either.”
“I stopped by for your seventeenth birthday, and you weren’t here. I had a gift delivered for your eighteenth birthday, but it went unacknowledged, by you. Now I’m standing here for your nineteenth birthday with yet another gift, so please open the goddamn door.”
“What happened on my sixteenth birthday, Damien? Huh? Oh, yeah! I remember, you fucked a woman in front of me! Now, guess what? I don’t want anything from you other than for you to leave!”
Without a fight, I pushed through the door, moving her out of the way so I could gaze into her solemn eyes. “You know you don’t mean that. I fucked up, Amira. All I do is fuck up when it comes to you. But I still remember the girl who used to anxiously wait for me in her reading nook that I built just for her. You love gifts. You always have. It’s why you look forward to your birthday and Christmas, and all the times you knew I was coming to see you. I did nothing but fucking spoil you, and now all I want to do is to give you my gift. If you still want me to leave after you open it, I will. But I’m hoping that won’t be the case.”
She glanced at the package, wrapped in white paper with a satin blue bow in my arms and reluctantly nodded, letting me in. Probably because she knew I wouldn’t leave until I got my way. My hand immediately touched her soft skin on the small of her back, causing her breath to hitch. She wasn’t expecting to feel the emotions that the slightest bit of my touch could evoke. I hid back a smile, guiding her toward the couch in the living room to sit down, internally struggling to let her go.
“Damien, I don’t know if this is such—”
I grabbed the bowl out of her lap, quickly replacing it with my present. Trying to distract her from what she was going to say. “Pull the ribbon,” I insisted, crouching down in front of her to explain as she opened it.
Amira did as she was told, pulling off the bow and lifting the lid from the package. I couldn’t fucking resist, I never could when it came to her, and I took a bite of her ice cream. Knowing her sweet mouth was on the exact same spoon minutes ago.
The expression on her face pulled me away from my conscious thoughts, assuring me that she had no idea what the gift was. She took out the handcrafted box and held it out in front of her. “I don’t get it. What’s it supposed to be?”
Taking one last bite of ice cream, I traded her the bowl for the box. Lifting the silver lid, showing her exactly how it worked. “A guy in Havana makes them. It’s made from clay and when you put a candle in it, it heats up to help keep you warm.”
She sucked in her bottom lip, stirring her ice cream. Trying to act unfazed like she wasn’t the least bit interested, but I knew she was. “So what’s so special about that?”
I was unable to hold back a smile that time, her snarky little mouth always had a way of making me laugh. I reached for the candle that was still inside the wrapping and set the box on the end table next to us. Quickly turning off the lamp, needing the room to be somewhat dark in order for her gift to work.
“The special part comes when you light the candle and place the lid back on top of the box,” I told her, handing her the wooden matches out of my pocket. “Go ahead, light the candle, Mu?eca.”
I hadn’t called her that in years, and it felt so fucking perfect falling from my lips. For a few more seconds, her eyes stayed connected to mine and it was clear that she was thinking the same thing I was. But she shook it off, continuing to act unfazed like the term of endearment didn’t mean anything to her, when it meant everything to the both of us. She lit the matchstick and leaned forward to light the candle.
“Look up, Amira.”
Her eyes noticeably widened, and her mouth dropped open when her eyes gazed up at me. I swear I heard a gasp escape her lips as she took in the significance and sentiment behind her gift. She opened her mouth several times to say something, though nothing came out. She couldn’t speak. She could barely even keep up with all the memories tumbling down on her from that night. I took it upon myself to speak for her, pointing to the stars on the ceiling, and connecting the dots in the same way she had in the night sky, four years ago.
Repeating her same words, I reiterated, “That’s Princess Andromeda and that’s her husband, Perseus. Do you see how they unite in the middle? You can’t tell where one star ends and the other begins, kind of like they’re holding hands.”
For a few moments, I had all of her…
Her mind.
Her body.
Her soul.
Her heart.
They all came back to me, like they had never left to begin with.
They’ve always been mine.
“Wow… Damien, I can’t… I mean… wow…” she breathed out, running her hand over the warming box. “What are these stars?” she questioned in an engrossed tone, gliding the tips of her fingers over the blue stars and then the only silver one.
“Nine kids,” I said, light-heartedly with a grin, hoping for a smile.