Problems...

6.2 Francesco De la Cruz

Summer 1996, De la Cruz residence

Mae just arrived in the back yard of Francesco's house, beaming brightly when she saw him. He hadn't really expected she'd actually come.

He wasn't even sure why he'd invited her. Maybe it was a few too many beers last weekend.

"Mae! Glad you could make it!"

Despite his first reservations, he was genuinely happy to see her again.

"Of course!" Mae said. "Oh - I've met your wife! She's really pretty, and so nice! This place looks amazing. She really went all out to plan this party for you!"

"She's great," he said sincerely. 

Mae smiled warmly.

There was no tension to worry about. They were good now.

"Hey, uhm – last weekend I've only talked about myself" he chuckled, apologizing, "Let's get something to drink and you tell me how you have been doing since Paris. Is Mai Tai still your favorite?"

"You still remember that?" She laughed.

"I probably wouldn't if your reason weren't so dumb," he teased her.

She liked it because it had her own name in it.

"Just spelled differently," she'd said, with that gleaming exuberance only she radiated.

"Did you finish that cooking school, or did they kick you out after all?" He asked, after they sat down in a quieter corner.

She loved to cook, but she'd regularly prioritize partying over studying for classes. Sometimes it appeared as if she'd only went to the other half of the planet so she could go wild without her family getting the hunch of it. Funny enough, just about two weeks before her semester exams, she'd switched into panic mode and put every model student to shame with her work attitude.

"Of course I finished! Passed all tests with flying colors, and you know my cooking is the best anyway."

She winked at him.

"Not if you still put cilantro into everything!" In a sudden approach of exuberance, he tickled her.

She cried out of surprise.

"You savage! You still can't appreciate its delicate flavor?" She snorted and tried to catch her breath.

"Nope."

"Oh – but you know what? My boyfriend can't stand it either," she said. "He's less vocal about it, though," she giggled.

"Boyfriend?"

So eventually she'd gone steady, too.

How the times had changed.

"Yes, my boyfriend! His name's Herbert. Aaand, he's such a treasure."

"Only one boyfriend?" Francesco teased her.

"What do you mean, 'only one'!" Mae snickered. "I can be monogamous!"

"Yeah, you might've said something like this once," Francesco mused, his mind going back to a different time that'd long time passed. "But just the next day you wanted me to drag someone else home; telling me: 'This is Luc. He's cute so he'll come with us today!'"

Mae was puzzled for a second, then burst out into laughter.

"I cannot believe all the things you remember!" She cried out.

Francesco could laugh now too, and not only because her laughing was so contagious.

She became quiet for a minute.

"I... I always kinda missed you, when – So, my drunk brain thought: instead of going with Luc alone, why not bring him home to us, so you could be there too?" 

Funny, how drunk brain logic worked, especially hers.

And funny, how he'd read the situation back then so very differently than her drunk brain logic had meant it.

And funny, how exactly this tiny amendment of that meaning could make a very sober brain do things only drunk brains barely had excuses for –

It was a brief moment back in Paris, barely a second long and simultaneously infinite.

The moment tore and scratched on the box of hidden memories he'd so carefully locked away and it quickly pulled him back to his senses.

What the fuck! Were they doing?!

There was a fucking damn good reason to keep those memories memories, and nothing else!

"It's better if you go," he said. 

"Yeah... I guess... it would be better..." she stumbled and fussed around her skirt.

She left with a very quiet good bye.

Nothing was good between them.

They let their guard down a little too much, and they went places they never wanted to go back to!

It wasn't only him – she'd responded.

He'd never let this happen again.

His and Mae's time was in the past, and there it belonged.

Now he was here, with his band and his wonderful, partyplanning, beautiful wife Rosa.

He loved her – but way to go, asshole! Tripping after a flimsy dimsy crackpot of fucked up memories instead...