As for me, Hector brought me on board straightaway so I could start benefiting from the company’s health insurance—a move my mom and I were both immensely grateful for, and which I repaid in kind by returning the money I received from Damian minus what I had already spent on the insurance deductible and January’s prescription, with a promise to repay the difference, clearing my Mom’s conscience (and mine). Now, a few hours a week around my classes and tutoring, I’ve been working in the finance department until I transition into my official role as Financial Sustainability Analyst, which will align with when Damian joins the company, so we can work together to get the program up and running.
And thankfully, we’ll be able to do that with the full support of Hallazgo behind us. After we finished the proposal in early February, Damian and his father went before the board to pitch the idea, and not only were the directors in favor of the initiative, but they agreed to Damian’s conditions regarding his eventual employment—no vote needed, just as his mom promised. As a result, Hallazgo has publicly changed its stance on experimental treatments and drug development, and will now be working closely with research universities to develop therapy regiments and other life-saving interventions for diseases like cancer. That day was the first time I ever saw Damian cry, and it was all I could do to hold him, and to remind him in quiet, repeated whispers that he’s made his abuelo and Jamie proud.
That he’s mademeproud.
And he’s continued to make me proud every day since. Sometimes, it’s crazy to think my Damian is the same guy whoghosted me freshman year, but then, I think I needed to hate him so I could eventually love him as much as I do now. Because if we could find a way to overcome that kind of hate and animosity, then we can overcome anything.
“Dornan!”
I follow the sound of Damian’s voice calling to me through the crowd, and smile again when I spot him. Holding my gaze, he pushes his way through the other graduates to come meet us, but is intercepted by Xolo, who had been trotting along at my heels and immediately ran past me and Lucia when he noticed my boyfriend.
“Buen perrito,” I hear Damian coo as he squats down to give the yapping dog a scratch behind the ears. Xolo whines, demanding his full attention, but Damian stands again when we approach.
“Ay, mi niño,” Lucia cries, releasing my arm to step forward and cup Damian’s face in her hands. “Estoy tan orgullosa de ti.” Patting his cheek, she adds in a soothing voice, “Your abuelito would be so proud of you, too.”
“Thanks, abuelita,” he whispers, dwarfing her tiny figure as he pulls her in for a hug.
Behind us, I hear Damian’s mom let out a quiet, hiccuping sob.
“Aw, come on, Mom,” he mutters. “Don’t cry.”
Lenore waves her manicured fingers at her face in a feeble attempt to dry her tears. “I can’t help it. I’m just so proud of you,” she says, her voice wavering.
“We both are,” Hector adds as Damian steps forward to wrap a consoling arm around his mom’s shoulders. He meets his father’s eyes as the older man holds out his hand. “Well done, mijo.”
One of the most unexpected developments to come out of these last several months (which is setting a high bar sinceeverythingsince September has been pretty unexpected) is the shift in Damian’s relationship with his parents. Things aren’t perfect—there’s a lot of residual trauma they still need to process, but they’re trying, and they’re openly acknowledging their emotions. They’ve even been going to family therapy once a week to have a third-party mediator help them work through their shared grief surrounding Jamie’s passing, and have unpacked some deeper, generational issues and expectations that were making it difficult for them to establish healthy boundaries. It’s given Damian a safe space to open up to his parents, and most importantly, they’relistening. No more ultimatums, no more threats. Just three people doing their best to repair something that was broken.
Damian takes his father’s outstretched hand, and they shake, exchanging a smile that would have seemed impossible only six months ago. Releasing his son, Hector gives Damian a fond pat on the back, then inclines his head toward me before leading his wife and mother away to Brenton Hall for refreshments so my family and I can have a moment to congratulate Damian, too. Xolo whines again, not wanting to leave just yet, but reluctantly follows when beckoned.
“Congratulations, Damian,” Mom gushes once the Navarros have left us, giving him a tight, motherly hug.
“Thanks, Carol,” he says, squeezing her back. When they pull apart, he glances between her and my aunt. “Thank you both for coming.”
“Are you kidding?” Gina scoffs, playfully nudging his shoulder. “Like we’d miss this. You’re family now, kid.”
The smile that lights up Damian’s face is so bright it’s like staring directly into the sun. I bask in his happiness, feeling it warm me from the inside out.
After a few more words of congratulations, and a quick confirmation that Damian is still coming to our house for dinnertomorrow before we fly to Guadalajara with Lucia the following morning, my mom and aunt say their goodbyes.
Then we’re alone, just the two of us, like we were at the beginning when this thing between us first started.
“So, today’s the day,” I say with a casual step toward Damian, my hands clasped behind my back. “The deadline of our agreement, and the official end of our fake relationship.”
“So, it is,” he notes, face comically serious.
Lifting a hand, I tap the pad of my pointer finger to my bottom lip. “I feel like we should mark the occasion. What do you think—should we stage a fake break-up, or would you rather make an Instagram post informing the masses? That worked last time. Or maybe we should just call TMZ so they can hear it directly from the horse’s mouth?”
Damian waves a dismissive hand. “Nah. We’d only confuse people. Besides, did you forget already? If so, you wound me, Blondie.”
I arch a brow. “Forget what?” I ask innocently.
“That you agreed to date me for real,” he reminds me, snaking an arm around my waist, and pulling me close to his chest. “Don’t think I’m letting go of you that easily.”
With a delicate sniff, I mutter in a coy voice, “I remember. So, what do you suggest we do instead?”
He shrugs. “Well, we could always just make a new agreement. One without a deadline this time, of course.”
“Oh? And what would this new agreement entail?”
