I give it two seconds before my curiosity wins. I squat down and immediately spot a bright yellow Post-it. I grab it and stand.
“You left me a to-do list, Isabella? If so, we’re going to have to work on your gift-giving skills. Stick by me, and I’ll show you the ropes.” I wink at her as I wave the sticky note by her face.
“It’s… you know what? Forget it.” She goes to snatch her gift out of my hand, but I quickly raise my arm above her, putting it way out of her reach. “Real mature, Mateo,” she grumbles.
“My sincerest apologies. I should have been much more gracious about your offering. For this—” I look up at the neon Post-it to see one word written on it. “Otoño?” I ask, perplexed.
“It’s dumb. You can trash it.” She turns to walk away from me, but I gently grab her wrist and spin her back toward me before she gets far.
Now all traces of my teasing are gone, replaced by genuine interest. “Really, I’m sorry, Isa.” I wait a second for her to see the sincerity in my eyes. “Could you tell me what this is about?”
She nibbles on her lips slightly, and I now realize she seems a bit nervous. I curse my past self for not taking her seriously from the get-go. “Otoño. It means fall, like the season. Today, you’re heading to Toronto, where it’s much cooler than here, and I figured it might feel like fall.” I nod, still confused as to why she had to write it on a Post-it, when she continues. “Okay, please don’t take this the wrong way…”
“You have a knack for knowing how to start sentences, Isabella.”
“When your mom stayed over during your last trip, she mentioned, very briefly, may I add, that you, um, don’t really know much Spanish.” She half winces, half smiles.
Shame threatens to drown me as I take a step back and look down at the word she delicately scribbled for me.
It’s no secret that I don’t speak Spanish. I can understand it perfectly if it’s not spoken too fast, and I can say my fair share of words. But I can’t really read it well, and my accent is a bit rough from lack of practice.
It’s always been a sore spot for me.
I wear the name Martinez every time I’m on the field, yet I can barely hold a conversation with some of my native Spanish-speaking teammates.
And it makes me feel like a failure sometimes.
Like I’m missing something that my Hispanic peers have possessed since birth. I know why my mom didn’t make teaching me a priority when I was younger, and I don’t fault her for it.
But it doesn’t take away from the fact that sometimes I don’t feel like a complete Puerto Rican because I can’t speak our own language properly.
Like I’m lacking a piece of my identity, my culture. And instead, I’m only bits and pieces of my Puerto Rican heritage, even though I am 100 percent native by blood.
I can feel myself starting to retract from Isabella. This isn’t a side of me I was keen on showing her yet. I’m still in the phase where I’m hoping she doesn’t realize how far out of my league she is. I’m not ready to present all of my flaws to her.
But just like I didn’t let her retreat far earlier, she does the same for me.
Her soft hands wrap around the wrist holding her note as she waits for our eyes to connect once more before continuing. “I promise, this isn’t a pity party invite. We don’t allow those here, remember?” She smiles tenderly. “And you don’t have to do what I was planning. It was a silly idea in case you were interest—”
“What were you planning?” I ask, eager to hear where her mind was going with this.
“I… well. Okay, so I was thinking this could kind of be like a Spanish version ofword of the day. I give you a word in Spanish, and it’s your job to figure out its meaning, use it in a sentence, and maybe practice pronouncing it throughout the day.” She shrugs her shoulders timidly. “I figured on away trips, you have some downtime on the flight or after the game when you’re in your hotel room, so you could practice then.” She blows out a small breath, then quickly adds, “But only if you want to. I can only imagine you must be completely exhausted after games, and that’s probably not the best time to study a language. Actually, now that I think about it, it’s dumb. I’m sorry if I overstepped. It’s not my place.”
She rambles on because I’m currently incapable of responding with any coherent words.
I try to think back to an instance when someone has taken the time and energy to think about doing something as thoughtful as this for me, and I come up blank.
Aside from my mother and Anna, of course, who smother me with enough love and attention to let me know that I’m the luckiest man on the planet.
But apart from anyone who’s actually related to me?
Never.
And it’s never been a problem before. At least I don’t think it has. I thoroughly enjoy spoiling the people in my life.
Yet to be given this kind and sincere gesture from the woman I know I’m falling for? Yeah… If I wasn’t before, I’m pretty sure I’m a goner now.
“Mateo, really, I—”
