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Schneider, Penelope learned pretty quickly after getting involved with him, was a man of many pet names.
(“Getting involved with him”, by the way, was a wholly inadequate euphemism for a four month period encompassing the following:
1. Falling into his bed on a night when neither of them could get to sleep. Penelope was up worrying about Elena heading to college, and Schneider had been pacing most of the night because the split with Avery was only two weeks old and break-ups were so much harder to handle without booze. They talked, then cuddled for comfort, and, well, things sometimes happen.
2. Falling into his bed a lot in the months following because Jesus Christ practice apparently does make perfect. She honestly had no idea sex could be quite that incredible until she was coming over and over against Schneider’s very practiced tongue. She was also kind of crazy about the way he held her after, warm and close, but gentle, like she was precious and breakable.
3. Finally realizing the only thing separating the sum total of their friendship and sex life from a genuine romantic relationship was actually doing the summation. When she said “we're really kind of dating, aren’t we?” the wattage of his smile could probably power most of the neighborhood for the night.)
She kind of enjoyed the constant stream of endearments, but it also didn’t take long for “bae”, “darling”, “sweetie” and “boo” to blend into background noise, something it was easy to tune out. Which is why it took almost two minutes for her gears to grind to a halt and back up. She turned from the dishes in the sink to look at her boyfriend, currently drying cutlery.
“Did you call me ‘mi vida’?”
“Um. Yeah,” he said, slowly lowering the fork he was working on. “It was just something I was trying out. I won’t do it again. Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” She thought for a moment. “Say it again?”
“Mi vida,” Schneider said, smiling.
She watched him intently. No exaggerated Cuban accent, no dramatic gesture, just a tall, goofy gringo clutching a dish towel, calling her by a term of endearment in her own language. He squirmed sheepishly under her scrutiny.
“I used to hear your dad call your mom that, and wonder if I was ever going to have someone I would want to call ‘my life’. And now I do.”
He shrugged, and shuffled his feet a little, but still met her gaze.
It never ceased to amaze her how brave Schneider was. He was terrified, but he still said these wonderful things and laid his feelings bare, completely guileless. Penelope swallowed. She could be brave too.
“I love you.”
His smile could power the whole city.