Love of a Lifetime
“I know it could work this time. Alejandra is the love of my life, but I can’t give her the extravagant things she has grown accustomed to,” he says, showing me the simple ring he hopes she’ll accept.
“Your heart is enough, nephew. Put all your strength and compassion into being her partner. You’re the only man who can do that for her. That’s what she really wants.”
Those words spill from my lips as if I’m not the man who took from hundreds of women in my lifetime, offering nothing in return except the pleasure of my acquaintance. Still, I know how it feels to lay everything on the line for love.
I sip the remainder of Añejo, and tap my glass as the bartender approaches. I want a refill of the rum that conjures memories of my old friend, Diego, my nephew’s would-be father-in-law. Had he not been beaten to death outside a Dominican bar six months ago, he’d be thrilled to see his only child marry my nephew. And delighted we’d be family.
Thirty-five years ago when Alejandra was conceived, Diego gave the mother of his unborn child thirteen silver coins to hold space, buy him time to earn the money for her engagement ring. Las arras, those thirteen coins, were an heirloom from Diego’s own father to his mother when they married—a cultural tradition symbolizing a man’s pledge to trust and support his bride. With their child in her belly, Alejandra’s mother accepted las arras then refused to marry my friend. She didn’t care that his heart was full. His pockets were empty, and she believed they always would be. Diego never loved another woman enough to ask the mother of his child to return his family heirloom, not even when she married the wealthy man who’d raise Alejandra. Diego’s daughter and that heirloom were his greatest treasures. I hated Alejandra’s mother for possessing them. I chided Diego for letting her. He and I often departed on the subject of love and how it moved him to accept things that are beneath a man’s position.
“Alejandra has my heart, uncle. Always will. She knows that. It just doesn’t feel like enough. I asked for the thirteen coins so I could give them to Alejandra, like you suggested. But her mom refuses to let them go. I don’t understand why.”
Las arras would be a priceless offering! Diego would be honored to have my nephew pass them on to Alejandra. It’s her entitlement. As the bartender pushes another glass of Añejo toward me, I pull a velvet pouch from my blazer. It jingles when I set it on the black walnut bar top beside my nephew’s beer.
For love, I put aside my grievance and charmed Alejandra’s mother into meeting me last month. But after our first chat, she maintained her grip on the trophy she took for breaking Diego’s heart and refusing his vows. Two weeks later I returned pleading, placating, and bartering. I brought the only thing of value Diego never surrendered, a hand-carved cigar box made of Spanish cedar his sister gave me after the funeral. My brother treasured this. I know he’d want you to have it, she insisted. Not until I offered it to Alejandra’s mother in exchange for las arras did she agree to hand over the coins. Love cost me my pride and the only memento I had of my dear friend.
Now all I have of him are memories, and the hope that his daughter will return my nephew’s love for a lifetime.