It was a few days before Mistou was scheduled to leave, and it was obvious that I needed to get ahead of the issue that was clearly building between us. I didn’t want to do it, but it was time to have the “where is this going” talk.
We were in Casco Viejo, doing a little souvenir shopping and on the hunt for, in Mistou’s words, “the most perfect little sidewalk café, ever.” We stopped for a moment and sat on a low brick wall, arms around each other, people watching. The sun was setting, the air was cooling down. A perfect evening.
“Hey, M?” I asked, hesitantly.
Mistou looked at me without saying anything. She was gonna make me work, I could tell.
“Um,” I continued, “do you think we should talk about how we feel about things?” Vague, definitely. But at least I gave her a coherent sentence.
It seemed as if she’d decided to meet me halfway. “You mean, how we feel about each other?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “And if we want to keep this going.”
She looked at me like she thought I was about to break up with her.
“No,” I jumped to reassure her, “I mean if we want to keep this long-distance thing going.”
“Well,” she replied slowly, “do we have any other choice? Is being in the same city even an option?”
I shook my head. “I don’t really see how. I can’t live in Miami and I’m not gonna stay in Panama for much longer,” I said, not very helpfully.
I knew that Mistou was in no rush to have children, had decided to prioritize her career over romantic concerns and only wanted to be locked down if it seemed like it would be something that made her feel happy and fulfilled.
However, it was obvious she was trying to contain her annoyance. Generally, Mistou tended to approach emotionally charged discussions similarly to how I approached grey area business dealings. She’d keep quiet and try to assess all angles before offering an opinion.
“Okay, cheri,” she said, attempting to soften up some hard words, “where do you think you’re going to wind up next? And do you want me to factor your plans into my future?”
“I’m going to try to get out of Panama by end of year,” I explained. “If there’s work for me and it makes sense to be there, I want to go to Port au Prince for at least a year or two.”
She shook her head, then took a deep breath.
“And what if there are no jobs for you in Port au Prince? Or if it’s too dangerous to stay? Or if you get there and you realize it’s a really stupid idea for you to be there? Would you come to Miami to live with me?” she asked.
I shook my head.
“I can’t live in Miami,” I said, simply. “It’s not for me. I’m cool with it for a week or so, but then I gotta get outta there.”
Now she looked upset.
“I’m sorry, M, but Miami makes me feel like Panama does.” I waved my hands around me. “I can’t breathe here. I can’t breathe in Miami.”
“So, where then?” she asked. “New York?”
“Yeah. If not Port au Prince, then New York,” I replied. “You could live with me. I mean, your job could easily transfer to New York. You’d make more money there. And maybe you’ll want to go to grad school,” I finished up, rather lamely.
And now she looked sad.
“Mistou,” I said softly and gathered both of her hands into mine. “Look at me.”
She looked towards the side of my face, avoiding my eyes.
“I’ve never been in love before,” I told her. “Not as a real adult, with a job and responsibilities and a fairly developed sense of self, fucked up as it may be.”
She gave a half laugh, and looked directly at me. I went on.
“I want to be with you. I want to live in the same city with you. I want to settle down with you. But I have things I need to do first. Can you give me two more years to deal with whatever I need to get done in Haiti? And then we can figure out what we’re going to do together?”
“So, two years of being in a committed relationship, like boyfriend and girlfriend, but long distance. While you’re mucking about in a disaster zone.”
“Pretty much,” I agreed. “But it’s only an hour plane ride between us, which is better than Panama and New York. And I know we’ll both commit to making time to seeing each other as much as possible. If you want to meet in Port au Prince, I’ll make sure we’re safe. If you want to meet in Okap, I’ll go to Okap.”
“And if I want you to spend two weeks with me in Miami, will you come to me?” she asked.
“Yes, I will come to you in Miami,” I promised.
She sighed.
“This is going against my better instincts,” she admitted, “but I’ll agree to try this.”
I smiled and kissed her forehead, to let her know that I was taking her hesitation seriously and with respect.
“BUT,” she said firmly, “no more than two years. After that, we need to be living together in the same city. Preferably in Miami, but I would be willing to consider New York.”
I smiled, leaned in and gave her a huge kiss, directly on her beautiful lips.
“C’mon,” I said, pulling her up off the wall. “Let’s go find that outdoor café of your dreams and split a bottle of Tinto.”
