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Theirs was an unusual romance, unlike any other Jane had experienced. There were no grand gestures to sweep her off her feet, no heart-stopping declarations of undying love, no late nights spent fretting over her feelings. Rather, their romance was like wading slowly into warm water on a hot day, a slow and almost imperceptible slide from one kind of relationship into another.
It all started when…when did it all start? Jane had no idea when , but she knew how. It started with the kids. Even though Mateo was now in elementary school and becoming a little more independent, Jane was a mom first, before anything else. So, it made perfect sense that the love of her life started with the kids.
Because of the kids, they were always, naturally, spending time together: playdates, last-minute childcare, hushed and panicky phone calls over fevers that wouldn’t break.
Even when Jane was completely burnt out, stretched so taut between her career, her job, her family, and the million daily things that needed to get done that she thought she might break…she couldn’t leave a single parent in need, especially one who mostly lacked a support system.
At least, that was how Jane saw it, until the fight. That really woke Jane up.
Really, because Petra showed up at five in the morning.
Somewhere far, far away, someone was calling Jane’s name, someone who sounded increasingly pissed off. Jane heard it, acknowledged it, and refused to respond, sinking deeper into her pillow and into precious, precious sleep. Even in the depths of her dreams, she knew that it was still too early and too dark, and that the person who needed her was not Mateo, and so she politely yet firmly declined.
Until she found unfamiliar hands clasped tightly on her shoulders, shaking her awake.
“Don’t scream,” said the voice, which Jane finally recognized, as she opened her eyes.
“What the hell!” Jane hissed, glaring into Petra’s eyes with an intensity that she hoped would cause physical pain.
“You didn’t respond to my texts,” said Petra.
“It’s - “ Jane fumbled, finding her phone on her nightstand. “It’s five in the morning.”
“In Miami,” said Petra. Gaining her bearings, Jane saw that the woman crouching over her was wearing a form-fitting shirt with a dramatic neckline, underneath a crisp blazer. “In Bulgaria, it’s noon. I have an extremely important call with an investor and the nannies cancelled on me at the last minute, can you believe it?”
“Because it’s five in the morning,” Jane groaned, pushing herself up to lean against her headboard. She sighed. “Be honest, the nannies didn’t cancel. You forgot the time difference.”
“Yes, well,” Petra said, sitting back on her heels and shifting self-consciously. Jane never quite understood how she could transform from ruthlessly confident to big-eyed and pitiful at the drop of a hat. “I may have forgotten. The twins are sleeping in the car. All you have to do is get them up and drop them off at school.”
The words of course started to rise to Jane’s lips. It was a reflex, and a natural result of all the empathy she couldn’t help but feel for this person kneeling before her, a mother who was caught in a reasonable mistake amongst all the highly complex logistics of raising kids by oneself, and twins no less. And Petra was family, after all.
But on this particular day, Jane felt less accommodating. Perhaps it was something about being startled awake at an unnecessary hour, for an unnecessary reason, by a person who took all of Jane’s kindnesses and sacrifices for granted.
“No,” Jane said, as seriously as she could while wearing her pajamas.
“What do you mean, no? What am I supposed to do?” Petra said with urgency, her voice steadily growing louder. Jane held a finger to her own lips, glaring pointedly.
“I’m out,” Jane said, flatly. To her own surprise, she didn’t even feel angry, rather, it was an emptiness, a disengagement that resembled exhaustion but felt far, far worse. “I’m all out of favors for you.”
“Then do yourself a favor and -” Petra cut herself off, mid-wild gesture, as though Jane’s words had finally reached her. “Oh. Is that how you see this? Charity?”
“I didn’t - “
“Because I didn’t ask for the charity of Saint Jane,” said Petra.
“Really?” Jane said, raising one eyebrow. “So you climbed through my window and woke me up at, again, five in the morning for…fun? And last week, when - ”
“That was two weeks ago,” said Petra, lifting her chin high. “Yes, you’ve helped me out, occasionally. But I’m there for you, too.”
Jane scoured her brain to think of a single time when Petra had ever, once, even accidentally or for a mere moment, made her life easier.
“O-or, I would be!” Petra exclaimed quickly. “If you swallowed your pride and asked.”
Jane turned her head to the side, and peered at Petra out of the corner of her eye. She felt a smile beginning to warm her face. Petra was pushy, aggravating, and lacking a consistent understanding of lines and boundaries that were basic common sense.
But despite that, there was something endearing about Petra’s genuine efforts to do the right thing, or, at least, the alright thing. And, in a strange way, it was flattering to be the object of Petra’s relentless, rule-breaking pursuit of the things that she wanted, even if those things were free childcare.
“Okay,” Jane said. “If you never, ever do anything like this again, unless there’s an emergency - no, don’t even try - a life or death emergency…I will take the girls to school today. And in the future, I will swallow my pride.”
Speaking of swallowing…Don’t worry, it’s not going to be that kind of story.
Speaking of swallowing, several weeks later, Jane found herself in a difficult spot. It was the most important day of the year: Mateo’s birthday. Of course, Jane had the party planned from A to Z, from the color of the paper plates to the perfect cake in Mateo’s favorite flavor.
Yet, somehow, on the morning of the party, everything was falling apart: from last-minute RSVPs, to unexpectedly closed stores, to buses running late. The Villanueva women only had two hours to pull everything together, but they had overcome far more improbable obstacles before - a fact of which Jane repeatedly reminded herself as she stood, sweaty and anxious, at the bakery counter.
“That’s V - I - L -”
“Nope,” said the clerk. “Do you have the card that was used to place the order?”
Jane gasped, her mind jumping back to the previous week. She had picked up a dozen extra shifts to cover the cost of Mateo’s party, which meant she was running mostly on americanos, and had become uncharacteristically forgetful. In order to compensate for this, she had created an extensive to-do list to manage the party prep.
But although “Call bakery” was checked off on her list, she had not, in fact, placed any order for any cake. Jane had called the bakery, indeed, but she made the call while on the bus. So, when the bakery needed her credit card information, she hung up with a promise to call back, since she certainly could not read out her 16 digits in such a public place.
Of course, she had forgotten to call back.
Now she paced outside the bakery, frantically refreshing the bus schedule on her phone and halfway panicking. What was she supposed to do? Xo and Mateo had the car, picking up decorations and miscellaneous supplies. Alba was setting up at home. Rogelio was pointedly MIA with his phone turned off, most likely putting together some outrageously grand surprise for the party.
There were plenty of bakeries in Miami, but bus service was so bad in this neighborhood that Jane was not sure she could get to another one in time. Even if the bus did come through, would a bakery even have anything available on short notice? If it came to that, Jane wasn’t exactly great at strong-arming strangers into doing what she wanted.
Then - of course. It was perfect.
“Petra,” Jane said into her phone, quietly, as she paced on the sidewalk. “You know how Mateo’s party starts in approximately 87 minutes?”
“Of course, we’re getting ready,” Petra said. “Is Mateo okay?”
“He’s fine,” said Jane, suddenly smiling, because Mateo was indeed okay, and that was the most important thing. “But we need your help. There’s a cake situation.”
“Oh my god, Jane !” exclaimed Petra, delighted at Jane’s distress. “You forgot to order the cake.”
“It’s…nevermind. Can you help or not?”
“I guess I could help,” said Petra. Jane could just see the smug expression on her face, which made her want to scream - but since time was of the essence, she shook it off and moved on.
“We need a cake for 25 people, caramel and/or chocolate if at all possible, but prioritize caramel if not. Orange and green are Mateo’s favorite colors right now. Mateo is spelled M - A - T - E - O. Are you writing this down?”
“No.”
“And, Petra?”
“Yes, Jane?”
“You have my full permission to accomplish this task by any means necessary .”
“Excellent,” said Petra, and Jane heard the screech of tires on asphalt.
Just as Jane should have known it would all along, the party came together perfectly. Jane arrived home with a skinny twenty minutes to spare, but Alba had set up the house so beautifully and with such attention to detail, that there was nothing else Jane needed to do, except shower and change. When she emerged from her room in a cheery sundress, Rogelio greeted her excitedly, alongside the 12 professional dancers he had recruited to perform for Mateo’s party. And then, of course, there were Xo and Mateo himself, trying a game they had picked out for the kids to play.
“Mom!” Mateo cried, running up to her and tugging on her skirt. He launched into a long explanation of everything he and Xo had done while out shopping, including a high-speed cart chase Xo had instigated, and Jane’s heart felt like it was about to burst with overflowing love, for Mateo, but also for everyone around her who loved Mateo too, and who put such efforts into celebrating him.
The doorbell rang, and Mateo jumped up eagerly to greet their first guest.
“Auntie Petra!” he said excitedly. She was accompanied by the twins, and holding a cake from…
“El Mejor?!” Jane exclaimed. “But that’s…” Then, she saw Mateo’s hands reaching out to lift the lid of the box, and shifted gears. “No, Mateo, we’re going to wait for everyone before we open the cake.”
“I just want to see it,” Mateo whined.
“No,” Jane repeated, knowing that once the box was open, all bets were off. “Can you show Anna and Elsa your new game, while Auntie Petra and I put this away?”
In the kitchen, Jane turned to Petra and leaned in close so that their conversation could not be overheard by children. “I don’t understand how you got there and back! How many traffic laws did you break?” Jane demanded, through a jaw-breaking smile of both disbelief and joy.
“All of them,” said Petra smugly, her arms crossed as she leaned against the counter. And Jane couldn’t help but laugh.
The cake was perfect, and the party was perfect, except for a small meltdown between Mateo and one of his friends from school, and Alba’s comment made with her eyebrows raised to heaven, “¿Ese vestido, en una fiesta para niños?” (referring of course to Petra). But those things were to be expected. It was perfect.
And, watching Mateo swallow an improbably huge forkful of cake, like a snake unhinging its jaw, Jane was glad she had swallowed her pride, too.
I told you it wasn’t that kind of story.
From then on, Jane and Petra continued calling on each other for help, a much lighter and easier relationship now that both parties understood it was mutual. However, Jane still harbored a sneaking suspicion that Petra came to her too often, when she didn’t really need anything, or when she should have had other options. Was Petra’s wifi really down that day she came over unannounced (and wouldn’t that be the wifi for the entire hotel)? And did Petra really have to demand to see the manager every single time she went to the lounge (so consistently that Jane eventually assigned herself Petra’s table by default)?
Jane, knowing Petra, assumed that the other woman was either being cheap or trying to set up some convoluted negotiation. But she couldn’t quite figure out Petra’s angle. Regardless, Jane felt more and more justified in asking questions, pushing back, and putting her foot down, which Petra accepted almost too graciously - a clear sign, Jane thought, that Petra was aware of her own bullshit, because Petra never gave up without a fight if there was actually something at stake.
Once, Petra texted her late at night, claiming she had left her tablet at Jane’s during a playdate for the kids and needed it urgently for some work thing the next day.
Jane: You left it for a week, and now all of a sudden it’s the end of the world?
A long silence followed. Jane returned to the novela she was watching with Alba and Xo, and just when she thought she was in the clear, her phone buzzed again.
Petra: There’s this movie I want to watch
Jane: NOT urgent. I’ll drop it off at work tomorrow AM.
Another long pause, and Jane settled in, until…
Petra: together
Jane: What?
Petra: So come over?
“What does she want this time?” Xo interrupted, giving her daughter a sympathetic and exasperated smile. By now, Xo was far too familiar with the faces that Jane made when dealing with Petra, enough that there was no doubt about who Jane was texting or why.
“I don’t know,” Jane sighed and shrugged. “I guess I’ll find out.”
“Oh,” said Xo, nodding, and then something clicked, and her expression changed, intensified. “ Oh ,” she said again, and then glanced sideways at Alba.
“What, Ma?”
“Nothing,” Xo protested. “I just didn’t hear you the first time.”
While Jane was en route to the hotel, her phone buzzed yet again. She sighed, thinking of course Petra would make Jane get dressed, pack her bag, and drive most of the way, only to cancel at the last minute.
But it wasn’t Petra.
Ma: I know a booty call when I see one.
Jane parked as quickly as she could, without compromising safety, and furiously wrote a text back to her interfering mother.
Jane: It’s not like that, Ma.
Sighing and shaking her head, hoping that perhaps this movement would expel the image of her mother’s doubting face, Jane went up to Petra’s room. Jane was nervous, not because she thought her mother might be right - Jane was fully confident that Petra had zero sexual interest in her, which Petra had made explicitly clear - but because she thought Petra might be sending urgent yet mysterious texts because something terrible had happened, something that should not be discussed in writing. Maybe legal trouble, or an emergency moral compass situation.
Then Petra answered the door in yoga pants, a packet of unpopped popcorn wedged under her arm.
“It took you long enough,” said Petra.
“I was in my pajamas, I had to change,” Jane said, feeling the heat of anger start to creep up her temples.
“That’s not your pajamas?” Petra asked, looking down her nose at Jane’s T-shirt and leggings.
Jane left out a frustrated huff of breath, and pushed past Petra into the suite. “Try again, Petra,” she suggested.
“Fine,” Petra said, taking a moment to change her expression into a welcoming smile. “Come in, Jane, make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything?”
Jane waited on Petra’s rose-colored couch, while Petra made the popcorn and poured them both tall glasses of sparkling water. When Petra returned, Jane handed her the tablet that was the source of this whole epic, and Petra plugged it into a television screen.
It couldn’t have really been the tablet. Jane had already noticed two other similar devices laying around the suite. There must have been some other reason, something sinister or threatening. Jane steeled herself, and asked, “So what’s all this about?”
“Basically, surviving in extreme conditions,” Petra said, actually seeming excited. “I believe it’s based on a true story. The critics loved it - you care about that bullshit, right?”
“Oh,” Jane said. “You’re talking about the movie.”
“Of course.” Petra looked nonplussed. “What are you talking about?”
“That’s really why you made me come over? I thought something crazy happened, that you couldn’t text about!”
“I mean, maybe,” said Petra, blustering. “Something crazy did happen. Like…” she searched for the words, then sighed, and gave up, crumpling into herself. “Like, I wanted to watch a movie with you. But you make things so difficult.”
Jane had no words, but many feelings. Frustration, that she had been dragged out from a cozy night with her family for something that could have obviously waited for any other day. Surprised, that Petra had come to Jane in a moment of loneliness, when her usual M.O. was more along the lines of Xo’s booty call theory, and even more surprised that Petra was being forthcoming about this.
And, for some reason, Jane felt a warmth in her heart, looking down at Petra sitting on the floor, with the tablet and an almost pleading expression. Of course, Petra was stunning, with those intense light-colored eyes, and Jane wondered if this was how Lachlan, Aaron, Chuck, and even Rafael had felt when Petra played them like chess pieces.
All the same, Jane extended a hand, helping Petra back up to join her on the couch.
“ You make things difficult,” said Jane.
They watched the movie, and it was good. Afterwards, it was quite late, and Jane had an early-morning shift at the hotel, so it was easier for her just to stay over. To her relief, Petra didn’t offer any other arrangements, so Jane slept on the couch (which Jane texted her mother a photo of, in case it became a point of contention later).
Jane: See? Just a girls’ night.
From then on, Jane made a concerted effort to spend time with Petra, and found that this dramatically decreased Petra’s bad habit of derailing Jane’s life for minor or homebrewed problems. They met up at cafes, working side-by-side on business proposals and writing projects, with plenty of unsolicited and unwelcome feedback going both ways. When Jane had closing and opening shifts back-to-back, she would stay over at Petra’s.
Sometimes, when it made sense with their schedules, Petra and the twins even tagged along to Jane’s family events, like a night of board games or a trip to the beach. Alba tolerated this, in no small part because she believed it was good for Petra’s daughters. Nonetheless, Jane was grateful for her family’s kindness and acceptance, and even more grateful for Petra’s wisdom to mostly keep her mouth shut during these activities.
On one such beach day, Jane smiled with a warm, full heart, as she watched Petra refuse to let go of the twins’ hands while near the water, instead holding them tight as all three waded in together.
As I said, the relationship between Jane and Petra was an unconventional one, one that moved slowly and subtly from one form into the next. Nonetheless, at some point, there were steps that had to be taken, lines that had to be crossed.
The first time they kissed, it was in the lobby of the Marbella, surrounded by customers and in the direct eye line of Rafael, who was Jane’s boyfriend at the time. Not very romantic. It was a reluctant kiss, taken by coercion, a bare half-second touch of Petra’s lips to Jane’s forehead.
The second time they kissed was also not very romantic
Jane was in the groove at the lounge, resolving issues left and right, building positive and respectful relationships with her coworkers. Time was flying, until she was only a few hours from the end of her shift. It was then that a server came up to Jane to ask if she could take her break a little early, and Jane went to the swinging door that separated the back- and front-of-house, to survey the activity level in the lounge.
Then, suddenly, Jane saw her. Chic bob, cutesy Peter Pan-collar dress, and an attitude that stank to the high heavens. Chloe Leland, the boss from hell that Jane had almost managed to forget.
The very next second, Jane was in the storage room, the light off, the cool tile wall pressed against her back. Her breath was fast, too fast, and it felt like no oxygen was reaching her brain.
Had she…run away? Oh, and in front of the server, who was probably still waiting for an answer about her break!
Jane searched for something to hold as an excuse - but in the pitch-dark of the closet, she instead knocked over a great many somethings that clanged and rolled as they hit the ground. She swore quietly to herself, snatching one off the ground and finding that it was a napkin ring. Inhaling and exhaling slowly to calm herself, she patted her hair flat, and exited the closet.
“Here,” Jane said, blinking in the bright light and handing the server the napkin ring. “Table 16 is missing one.”
The server glanced at the closet, and back at Jane. “Sure, but, uh…did you have the lights off in there?”
“Saves energy,” Jane said, covering up with a big smile and an encouraging pat on the server’s shoulder. “We all have to do our part for Mother Earth!”
For the next hour, Jane busied herself with re-setting the fallen napkin rings and other miscellaneous supplies, avoiding the front-of-house until she could confirm that Chloe was gone. The end of her shift came quickly, but, still, leftover adrenaline flowed through her body, making her shaky. Worse yet, she could not explain what had happened or why.
In this state, she wanted nothing more than to go home, to curl up on the porch swing with her family, and cry until she found the words for what she was feeling. But it was still early, and Mateo had a friend over from school. She was not confident that she could keep it together until the friend was gone and Mateo was asleep, and she could not break down like this in front of her son.
Jane looked out of the lobby windows, towards the beach. She could walk aimlessly until she was calm enough to go home, but who knew how long that would be, and, besides, her feet were aching after working on her feet all day.
So that was how Jane found herself curled up on Petra’s couch, sobbing into her own elbow until it was slimy.
Petra handed her a paper towel and a cup of tea. “Here,” she said. “Drink some tea.”
Jane looked at her friend helplessly, hiccuping.
“Seriously, drink,” said Petra, miming the action. “Sipping something hot makes your breathing slow down.”
Jane drank, and found that it was true, and that the tea was a calming chamomile. After a few minutes, her hyperventilation slowed, and the tingling in her face began to suside. Twice, she tried to talk, but Petra shushed her, with firm reminders to keep breathing steadily.
Finally, Jane was able to say, with only a small tremor in her voice, “You’re good at this.”
“I’ve had panic attacks since I was a kid,” said Petra. “Plus, getting stalked, kidnapped, paralyzed, and drowned didn’t exactly help. So I learned a few tricks.”
Jane laughed, but suddenly the worries bubbled up in her chest again, and her laugh turned into yet another round of crying. Petra soothed her, a hand rubbing big, slow circles into her back, and eventually, she was able to speak again. “Now I definitely can’t talk about it. Compared to all that, freaking out about seeing my old boss seems so silly.”
“Jane, no,” said Petra gently, and Jane felt Petra’s hand holding her face, wiping her tears away, and…Petra’s lips, pressed against hers in a soft kiss, only for a split second.
A thousand thoughts tumbled through Jane’s head, whirling together with the flurry of feelings that she had already been dealing with since the Chloe incident that afternoon. Still only inches away, she saw Petra’s concerned expression transform into one of horror and panic, and Petra recoiled back to the other end of the couch.
“Jane, that - “
“Petra, I’m not - “
“Good, because that wasn’t - ”
“You kissed me!”
“It wasn’t that kind of kiss, obviously .”
“What is that supposed to mean, obviously? ” Jane demanded.
“It was a family thing!” Petra cried. “You were sad, and I was trying to reassure you. Like a hug. It’s not that weird in Czech Republic.”*
“Oh,” said Jane, her brain catching up with her.
“Yes, oh,” Petra said, sarcastically, regaining her composure. “I’m disappointed. As you know, cultural competence is very important at the Marbella.”
Despite herself, Jane laughed (partially at Petra, because there had recently been a huge incident at the hotel related to Petra’s inability to speak Spanish), and they smiled at each other. “Come back,” she said, and Petra moved back to sit next to her once more. Since it was a family thing, Jane relaxed against the other woman, her head on Petra’s shoulder, and felt a weight lift off of her own.
“Now, tell me what happened,” Petra instructed, stroking Jane’s hair.
Jane told her everything. About how Chloe was the spawn of the devil, how she treated Jane like an indentured servant and insulted everything about her. How it wasn’t only the way Chloe treated her individually, but also how Chloe’s attitude seemed to fuel and be fueled by their positions as a successful white professional, vis-a-vis a woman of color from a working-class family trying to make it a hostile industry.
“Also, I think, part of why I panicked…” Jane said, her fingers twitching unconsciously against her leg, until Petra covered Jane’s hand with her own, and stilled her. “Seeing her just reminded me of how everything was, during that time period. When I was lost in grief, and everything was going wrong with my career, and Mateo was a hot mess. I never want to go back there.”
“You won’t,” said Petra, kissing the top of Jane’s head.
Jane turned to look at her, smiling. “Was that also a family thing?”
“You’d know if it wasn’t,” said Petra. “Because it would be a lot better than that.”
And, just for a split second, Jane felt her gaze lower involuntarily to Petra’s lips which, Jane now knew and could not forget, the sensation of against her own. The kiss earlier had been a mess of tears and misunderstandings, but Jane couldn’t help but imagine what this hypothetical real kiss, a lot better than that, would feel like.
Then it passed, as idle thoughts do, and Jane put it out of her mind.
They watched two episodes of a novela (a rare favor Petra granted only because Jane had been so distressed earlier), leaning against each other on the couch in a manner that would have probably been considered cuddling if it were with anyone but Petra. Regardless, it was nice.
By the time Jane was calm enough to drive home, it was late enough that Mateo and Alba were already asleep, so she tiptoed through the darkened house until she reached her room. Ensconced in her familiar covers, cushioned by her familiar bed, her heart felt light and her body felt heavy. Within seconds, she was fast asleep.
With increasing regularity, Jane found herself sleeping over at Petra’s, when it was convenient for her work schedule, or for the kids, or simply when they hadn’t seen much of each other lately. It felt as natural as her childhood friendship with Lina, when they had been as close as sisters and spent each weekend at each other’s houses.
Perhaps, in fact, that was why this unexpected friendship with Petra had developed so well. With Lina now living far away and enjoying a different kind of life, Jane missed female friendship. And Petra reminded her of Lina, in some ways: a person very different from Jane, who pushed her out of her usual thought patterns and highly-organized routines, for better or for worse.
But there was one important difference. When Jane and Lina were kids, there was nothing weird about holding hands, or sitting on each other, or even pretending to practice kissing. But now that Jane was an adult, and Petra was the friend in question, she was not quite sure if everything was normal. Especially when she found her head resting on Petra’s thighs as they talked late into the night, or when Petra’s hand brushed long, soothing strokes into her hair.
It felt normal, absolutely. These were things that Jane had done with other close friends and family, perhaps not so often or so unprompted. And perhaps their boundaries were a little bit frayed at the edges - after all, Jane had already seen Petra both in childbirth and doused in champagne at a nightclub. Some light cuddling couldn’t be weird after that.
But still, occasionally, Jane wondered how another person - say, her drama-seeking mother - would react if they could see it.
Jane reminded herself that Petra lived a stressful life, with few trusting relationships, and so she figured that these small touches and comforts were part of their friendship because Petra needed them. Jane, generously, was completely comfortable with that.
Less comfortable, however, was Petra’s couch. It was far too expensive to be so stiff and awkwardly-shaped.
“Ouch,” said Jane, stretching her arms above her head and feeling a twinge in her upper back. She glanced over her shoulder at Petra, who was refilling a glass of water, and felt another spark of pain travel up her spine and into her neck. “I might head home, actually.”
“Oh,” said Petra, eyes widening. “But the kids are asleep.” She gestured to the adjoining room where all three kids were, finally, sleeping.
“I’ll be back before Mateo wakes up,” Jane promised. “Don’t worry. He’s a good sleeper, and he’s comfortable here. You can call me if anything happens.”
“Did I - is something wrong?” Petra asked, an edge of urgency in her voice.
“No,” Jane said, as she searched for the right way to say it. “Thank you, by the way, for letting me stay here all those times. It’s just…the couch.”
Petra’s eyebrows shot up.
“It’s a little…small…and stiff…and kinda impossible to sleep on.”
“Well!” Petra said, emphatically. “Why didn’t you say that earlier? You can stay in my room.”
“It’s fine, I’ll just head home,” Jane said, self-conscious of her intrusion. “I don’t want to make you sleep on the couch in your own home.
“Oh, don’t worry, I am not sleeping on that thing,” Petra scoffed, with an ironic laugh.
So, they would be sharing a bed, then. Jane looked at Petra, and Petra looked at her, and time stretched like a piece of taffy.**
“This is why I didn’t offer earlier,” Petra explained, sighing. “You get so weird and uncomfortable about these things.”
“Why would I be uncomfortable?” Jane asked uncomfortably.
“I don’t know!” said Petra, throwing up her hands. “I’m kind of gay, and you’re kind of…not. Plus you tend to think everyone and their mother is dying to be with you. So I didn’t want you to get any wrong ideas about my absolute, utter, and - I cannot stress this enough - complete lack of sexual attraction to you.”
“You mentioned that.”
“Think Sahara desert,” said Petra dryly.
“Got it,” said Jane.
Now it was weird, but Jane didn’t want Petra to think that Jane thought that, although Petra certainly knew. Nonetheless, Jane couldn’t admit it, so she stayed over, plastering a chipper smile onto her face until she could disappear into the privacy of Petra’s gold-trimmed bathroom, where she brushed her teeth and changed her clothes.
Laying in Petra’s bed - a phrase Jane never in her wildest dreams imagined would ever apply to her - Jane stared at the ceiling, eyes as wide open as if she were taking an exam at the optometrist’s. No muscle in her body felt relaxed or sleepy, and, judging by the glimpses of movement she caught out of the corner of her eye, it seemed the same was true Petra.
Jane sighed, fed up with pretending to be asleep. “I do not think everyone is in love with me,” she said aloud.
Petra rolled onto her side to face Jane, but Jane did not mirror the movement, her eyes still trained on the ceiling. Jane waited, but Petra said nothing. She could feel the other woman looking at her, and she suddenly became conscious of the sound of her own breaths, the movement of her chest under the blankets as she breathed in and out.
“I rolled my eyes, by the way,” said Petra finally. “You’re not looking.”
“You’re just as bad. You think everyone’s in love with you, too,” Jane accused.
“No, I think everyone wants to sleep with me,” said Petra, a smile in her voice. “Which, for the record, is true.”
Jane raised her hands to her head and gripped her temples, hard, in frustration. “Shut up,” she groaned.
“Look, you’re sleeping with me right now,” said Petra, with an obnoxious smile, and Jane threw a pillow at her.
But after that, Jane was able to really sleep, even with Petra’s left foot, cold as ice, encroaching onto her side of the bed in the half-light hours of the early morning.
That was how it was, with Jane and Petra. A strange concoction of boiling arguments mixed with tender care and unwavering loyalty, which felt as natural and predictable as it was intense. In a way, it wasn’t so different from how Jane grew up, with two fierce and outspoken women in her home, women who were both highly opinionated but shared very few opinions with one another.
But, as I said, no matter how familiar and familial their relationship felt, some lines had to be crossed eventually. Jane would never have imagined that she would be the one to cross the line first. But there are strange things that losing a child does to you.
Okay, calm down, not losing losing. It’s not going to be that kind of story.
It was a Tuesday like any other Tuesday, except that Jane dropped Mateo off at school with a signed release form and a pit of sinking, swirling worry in her stomach. It was Mateo’s first field trip, to an aquarium where the kids would learn all about ocean life, up close and personal.
Jane reminded herself, along with Alba, Xo, Rogelio, Petra, the barista, and the receptionist at the dentist’s office, that field trips were a normal part of growing up, that Mateo would have an absolute blast, and that the teachers were very experienced at taking care of the kids in public. Nonetheless, having her first and only child kidnapped immediately after birth had left Jane with a deep-seated fear of these types of situations.
But Jane had opted Mateo out of last year’s trip, and that, obviously, did not go over well with him. Jane couldn’t hold him back again, especially not with the passionate fascination he had found for sharks and jellyfish recently. So, Jane found in herself a confidence and excitement on Mateo’s behalf, and carried that with her all day.
Until she got the call.
“How could he not be on the bus? You have a system, don’t you?” Jane said, in a tone of voice that was quiet, but thrumming with anger about to explode.
Since Xo was at the doctor’s office, Jane’s next call was to Alba, who had the car. But Alba’s phone went straight to voicemail, which meant either she had forgotten to charge it, or she was at the church community center, where cell service was spotty.
When she finally called Petra, Jane was on the edge of panicking.
“We’ll find him,” promised Petra, her voice muffled through the phone. “Stay where you are. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Jane forced herself to stay put, although she wanted nothing more than to start running towards the aquarium, despite her knowledge that it was way too far for her, and that this would be a huge waste of time and energy. True to her word, Petra was there in ten minutes (nine, actually), although it felt like an hour.
Mere minutes later, Petra peeled into the aquarium’s lot and parked as expeditiously as she could, which was halfway over the dividing line of two handicapped spots. Jane scrawled on a post-it note, and pasted it to the window: KID MISSING, PLEASE DON’T TOW , followed by her phone number.
Once inside, both Jane and Petra were astonished and disheartened by the crowds of people milling about, gaping at fish who gaped back, and generally wasting time on a Tuesday afternoon.
“How the hell are we going to find him in this mess!” Jane cried, crossing herself both for heavenly assistance with the actual task, and to absolve herself for the mention of Hell - which, normally, she didn’t care much about, but at this particular moment, Jane sure as hell wasn’t taking any risks.
“Divide and conquer,” said Petra, with an authority that suggested this was not her first time trying to find a lost child in a crowded public place. “You go to the office and have them make an announcement, then take the west wing. I’ll take the east. Meet back here in 20.”
With that, Jane was off.
The aquarium staff were concerned but not panicked, and did not seem to share Jane’s belief that her son’s disappearance was definitely a kidnapping, which was oddly comforting but infuriating at the same time. Several employees helped Jane search frequent hiding spots, including inside of a whale-shaped slide, the backstage of a mini auditorium, and a dark room where tanks held eerie deep-sea fish.
“Do you think he could be inside a tank?” Jane demanded, as spot after spot turned up no child.
“No, they’re sealed extremely well,” a staff member reassured her.
But Jane was not convinced. “Can we check them all, please?”
“There is no way anyone, especially a little kid, could get into these babies,” the staff member said, patting the top of the nearest one confidently.
That was when she saw him, alive, well, and sopping wet.
“Mateo!” Jane screamed, tearing through the crowded room to her dear son.
“Mommy!” Mateo said.
Then he was in her arms, and everything was okay, and she added happy, plentiful, salty tears to water already soaking his face and hair.
Slowly, Jane calmed down, and the rest of the room came back into focus. The other aquarium attendees were looking on, some sympathy and joy and others with annoyance. The staff, who were relieved to go back to their normal duties. And Petra, smiling a shining smile, her tight white dress soaked through as thoroughly as Mateo.
“Oh my God,” Jane said to Petra. “He was in a tank.”
“No,” Petra assured her. “He was in the petting pool, only a few inches of water. Which is nothing, unless you’re chasing Mateo through it.”
“I’m sorry,” said Mateo, pressing his face into Jane’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to leave when the teachers said. So I ran away…but then I got scared.”
“It’s okay, Mateo,” said Jane, squeezing him close.
After several minutes, the aquarium staff were able to convince Jane to release Mateo long enough to wrap him in a cheerfully-colored towel emblazoned with the aquarium’s logo, although Jane insisted on keeping one of his hands held tightly in hers throughout.
Jane turned to Petra. “Thank you,” she said tenderly, reaching up and gently touching the side of Petra’s face, with the hand that was not with Mateo. “I can’t believe you jumped into the petting pool for him.”
“Believe it, because I have proof,” said Petra, laughing and gesturing to her wet dress.
Jane laughed too, and for reasons that simple gratitude could not possibly account for, which she did not even begin to think about until long after, because this moment was not about thinking or reasoning but about something much more instinctive and uncomplicated, Jane pulled Petra down and kissed her.
Really kissed her.
When Jane and Petra fell in love, it was not like losing your footing and toppling into the deep end of a pool, nor like being caught in a sudden and torrential rain. Rather, it was like walking in the surf as the tide comes in, each big, brazen breath of the ocean pushing the water higher and higher along the ridges of your feet, slowly, until it reaches your ankles and your knees.
Before Jane knew it, she was afloat.
It was not a familial kiss on the cheek or the head, not a short “thank you” kiss, but a long, tender, sensual kiss that could only be a gesture between lovers. A kiss in which Petra’s breath mixed with hers, in which Jane felt like she was falling, except for Petra’s hands coming up to press her ardent support into Jane’s back. A kiss which was not at all like the Sahara desert, and which extended probably far too long for taking place in an aquarium filled with strangers and children.
They broke away to the sound of giggling, of Mateo giggling.
“My mom and Auntie Petra are in love,” Mateo explained to the aquarium employee.
And he was not wrong.
In the car ride on the way back, Jane couldn’t stop smiling, because Mateo was safe and sound and because Petra, a person that she had kissed - really kissed - was sitting next to her, Petra’s hand occasionally finding hers and giving it a squeeze, whenever the demands of driving permitted it. Jane felt like she was melting into the seat, and it wasn’t just the afternoon sunshine.
As soon as they pulled up outside of the house, Mateo jumped out and ran into Alba’s and Xo’s waiting arms.
Jane turned to Petra and leaned in close, her heart screaming to lean just a little closer and kiss her again, but her head acutely aware of her mother and grandmother waiting mere feet away. Instead, she said quietly, “Let’s talk later, not in front of my family.”
And, to Jane’s relief, Petra nodded, with great sympathy. “Of course,” she said. “There’s so much going on. It should be the right way, at the right time.”
(For the record, Petra came out to her mother in a fit of rage and despair after the worst breakup of her life, in a letter that read:
Dear Mother,
My murder charges were dropped. Also, I’m bisexual.
You will die in prison while I enjoy my happy, successful, gay life.
Love,
Petra
Also for the record, this was the fourth draft of the letter, and the first three were not nearly so nice.)
Where were we? Oh, yes. Jane and Petra agreed that they would not talk about their mind-blowing kiss in front of Jane’s family (for now, at least).
Until Jane got out of the car and Mateo screamed, “I saw Mommy and Auntie Petra kissing!”
So that was that.
As soon as Petra’s car was out of sight, the buoyant, giggly feeling in Jane’s stomach transformed into something rotting and nauseous. Worse yet, despite Jane’s best attempts to mitigate the situation, Mateo insisted that it was a “special kiss”, while Alba tightened her lips and made those telltale, pointed glances down and away.
Alba made excuses to stay busy in the kitchen with Xo, while Jane got Mateo back into his evening routine, helping him decompress from a very unusual day. Finally, Jane found a moment of quiet on the porch swing, until her mother appeared, as Jane knew and, deep down, hoped that she would.
Xiomara looked over her shoulder, and confirmed that Alba had gone to bed.
“I knew it,” Xo hissed, with a big smile, grabbing her daughter’s hand.
“Ma…” Jane groaned, resting her head in her other hand and avoiding her mother’s questioning gaze.
“What?” Xo protested. “She’s had a crush on you forever.”
“She has not ,” said Jane, rolling her eyes. “Wait…has she?”
“Duh,” said Xiomara, turning her palms up in exasperation. “It’s like with little kids. When they’re mean to you, it means they like you.”
A long, running list appeared in Jane’s mind, of the hundreds of moments when Petra had mocked Jane’s dearest beliefs and opinions, denied her heartfelt attempts to connect, or tackled her to the ground like a lineman, all while simultaneously demanding Jane’s love and, if that was out of reach, at least Jane’s attention.
“Oh,” Jane said, at long last. “That kind of makes sense.”
“So,” said Xo, with a spark in her eyes. “Do you like her ?”
“I don’t know,” Jane replied, looking intently at both of their hands, clasped together and resting on their knees, rather than at her mother. “I’m not…” She trailed off helplessly.
“Then you need to tell her that, honey.”
“Ma, I kissed her ,” Jane confessed, finally meeting Xiomara’s eyes and seeing her mother’s surprise, the thing she dreaded above all else. “I don’t know what I was thinking! I wasn’t thinking. I just…I never thought it would turn out like this...and you saw Abuela!…”
Xiomara let out a huge sigh, wrapping Jane up tightly in her arms, and stroking the top of her head. “It’s okay, Janie. You don’t have to figure out all of that right now.”
“I kind of do,” said Jane helplessly. She held up her phone, with an unanswered text message displayed on the screen.
Petra: I assume that was the real thing.
“Just take it one step at a time,” advised Xo, squeezing her daughter’s shoulder.
Jane wrote back:
Jane: I don’t know.
Then, without any thought at all, without anything turning out like anything in particular, without anything that Jane was supposed to be or could have been, or that anyone else, grandmother included, said or did or thought, Jane’s fingers just kept typing, as though these words did not belong to her, but she to the words.
Jane: We’d have to try it again. You know, to check.
Jane couldn’t help herself. She was smiling.
Within seconds, her phone buzzed.
Petra: Usually I’m annoyed by your obsession with double-checking things. But in this case, I’m actually okay with it.
“Look at you!” Xo cried appreciatively.
“Ma!” Jane reprimanded, but she was smiling.
“What are you doing? Go see your girl!” Xo commanded, practically pushing her daughter off the swing.
And Jane did.
That was the kind of story it was. A story that happened all out of order: raising kids together before saying “I love you”, and sharing a bed before kissing like lovers. It broke every single one of Jane’s expectations for her life, or for what love could be. But, Jane thought, that was because it was not just her story, but a story that she shared with Petra.
And Petra was not like anyone else she had ever loved before, or anyone she had ever thought that she would love. Petra was obsessive and fearless, and, worst of all, beautiful. She made Jane feel unexpected things, sometimes things like jealousy and rage, but also an overriding need simply to see her and be near her, because Petra was deeply, permanently, incontrovertibly part of Jane’s family, no matter how or why that came to be.
The story of Jane and Petra was not grand or dramatic; there were no sudden realizations of the feelings that had been there all along, and no big gestures that swept anyone off their feet (unless that person was Petra and that gesture was trying to catch Mateo in an aquarium’s petting pool). Much of it took place in-between arguments, amidst sticky parenting situations, and on the couch in their sweats.
It snuck up on her, Jane had to admit. But now, she could not imagine her life without those heated arguments and even more heated kisses with Petra; or rather, when she tried to imagine it, she felt like her world was being torn apart. After all, it was a love that built itself, spontaneously, from the fabric of her life.
That night, Jane rushed back to the Marbella and straight to Petra’s door. When Petra opened it, she was grinning, and Jane realized that she was, too.
“It took you long enough,” said Petra.
“Shut up,” said Jane, and they kissed, and kissed, and kissed.