; radio silence

[benicio otero]

Let me have some time. So, he tried. It was a troubling wait, ebbing between studio days and nights out, equal time spent thinking about her and subsequently trying to forget. Talking himself down from his own feelings, he had to accept this might have already ended; he was just the last to know. But he preferred the finality of a crash to the maddening ache of silence. Using Nora was a Hail Mary pass, a risky appeal to his own impatience. But it worked—suddenly her name shuffled into his notifications, a car sent her way, her face materializing at the bar. Weeks of silence coming to an end, rewarded by her presence at the promise of an easy night. As frustrated as he was by her avoidance, Benicio was still wary of spooking her and wasting this opportunity.  Once she arrives there’s a round of drinks (rum and Cokes all around), an introduction to his friends (“This is Eladio and Jay…”), a reunion with hers (Nora still standing). At the cost of appearing more aloof than usual, Benicio must be mindful of his attention on Rosie, the space left between them. “When did you get back in town?” he asked idly, trying to get a handle on the background music, everything feeling just slightly out of place.

[rosie de la cruz]

What was she doing? How was she feeling might have been a better question to ask, crossed foot kicking impatiently into the air as the city whipped across town. She'd been furious when she saw the stories. Not only that he'd contacted her friend after the conversation she was still reeling from, but that he'd continued to plow forward as if it wasn't a massive overreach. Likely framing it as a gesture of continued interest, something her heart currently wasn't in the right place for. Rosie scoffs into the quiet car as Nora shoots another worrying text, grateful when the driver makes a final turn and she slides out of the backseat. That same question flickers across her mind, now. Best friends arm caught tight on her elbow, meeting eyes darker than her own from a cautious distance. If there was anything she wanted to do tonight it was forget. About her worries and the sadness and the gauzy view of her future, a chilled shot of tequila quick to her mouth before she swipes the one from Nora's grasp, downing it as well. The lime's an antidote on her tongue, the liquor cool in her system, swirling the straw of her drink at his question. “Sunday,” she offers, realizing it had been five days since she'd returned. Time was a funny concept when she had more of it, taking in the swaying of the crowd that she'd rarely catch the vestiges of. Always thinking too far ahead, never fully reachable. It's strange to be right now, cautiously trying to remain present even as Nora drops into the booth behind them, nearly taking Rosie down with her. “Holy shi-” she gasps before she catches her balance, Nora so absorbed in a conversation she barely notices the tumble. Her gaze cuts from her friend back to Beni.“She's very drunk.”

[benicio otero]

The signals were always mixed, their wires crossed. It was impossible to tell with Rosie; how close could someone be to a person who kept everyone at arm’s length? If it was by design, he was no exception and only a fool would think otherwise. A clipped text exchange from Nantucket, left with the image of her on a cold, gray beach, ironically hidden in his home state yet never further out of reach. With enough voices of reason he stopped holding his breath, instead throwing himself into the waves that drove his muse. Music flowed out of his mind and even from his lips, hints about her embedded in lyrics even after translation. She’s been back for days; if it was better or worse to know, he couldn’t be sure. He hadn’t pressed her doorman for any information, convincing himself that he likely wouldn’t hear from her again. A conversation still needed to be had but she had made her intentions clear for the night, trying not to sour the air with the serious. However, she seemed concerned with the current state of Nora. An unintended product of the evening, Benicio’s brows jumped as he automatically moved to steady Rosie, too. “It’s those shots she keeps sneaking,” he pointed out, like the one Rosie had just downed for her. “I was taking care of her,” he defended as promised, pushing another bottle of water toward the girl in the booth. Water and virgin drinks to slow down her own urge for forgetting in the two hours they'd been here. "What do you want to do, send her home?"

[rosie de la cruz]

As quickly as she'd crashed out of everyone's lives, stealing away for silence and what felt like the first time she could breathe in a while, Rosie felt like she'd stumbled right back in. Familiar tension lifting her shoulders, eyes darting to the door as if she was halfway out. A product of the close environment or the unease she still felt with her loose ends she wasn't sure, rapid thoughts tumbling away the second his hand steadied her. If there was one thing she'd gleaned from Beni it was that he was honest and open, a startling contrast to her cold and quiet. So when he promises she knows he means it, gaze softening as it drifts back to her friend again. “She's always been good at that,” Rosie murmurs, memories as far back as college warming through, the mysterious trays from nowhere and her mischievous smile. The same one on Nora's face now, a little tilted but there, Rosie's hand coming down to rest on her shoulder with ease. “She'll be ok if she stays still - let her run and she's gone.” Another anecdote slipping from her tongue, pulling at the straw spinning around her drink in idle thought. “How far behind am I?”

[benicio otero]

Now that she has a reason to leave as soon as she’d arrived, he expects this will be the end already. Take Nora home, blame him for her hangover, finally tell him off tomorrow. Another switch flipped, something else triggered, leaving him with more whiplash between encounters. But he’s tired of keeping up his palms in innocence, offering a constant truce against remnants of a past still unknown. Instead he’s relieved that her features don’t shift and her voice doesn’t clip in accusation, both their glances lingering on Nora, the unknowing string between them tonight. He would see through his promise of her safety, yet another consequence of his impulsive decision-making. “Oh no, not a runner,” he tutted with a chuckle, familiar with the type. If he didn’t already know from experience, he’d half expect the same of Rosie. From their proximity to the booth they could still enjoy themselves, his attention pivoting back with her question. “Depends who you want to keep up with,” he commented, shaking his half-empty glass, briefly scanning the crowd for his visiting friends. He looked her over, still surprised that she was here, that wasn’t still busied with work or looking ahead to an early morning. He should be curious who this different girl was, what she was drinking about. “Are you good? Is this what you needed?”

[rosie de la cruz]

“Bolter, unfortunately,” she laments, shifting so Nora was always in a line of sight, one of the many learned habits when it came to her friend. Always perceptive, quick to pick up on things and rare to acknowledge them. It's how Rosie knows that Beni's cautious but curious, words coming steadier the longer she stays. Relaxes into the moment, hip resting gently against the plush of the banquette's edge. “Maybe not Nora,” she finally dares a laugh, knowing the tequila will eventually catch up to her in a honey-kissed buzz. But another dose would only aim to sooth, eyes wide in request as she drains the last of her sip purposefully. Lips stilling on the straw at his next questions, aware she was ever the minefield as her head slowly drifts up, nodding until she reconsidered it, shrugging her shoulders. “I'm alright,” she says honestly, because sometimes it still hurts to swallow and she's still a little heartbroken but it's nice to not be haunting empty hours. “Give me an hour, then we'll see.” Time to kill, space to fill, Rosie's eyes drift to the bar in inclination. “Another shot wouldn't hurt, though.”

[benicio otero]

When their drinks whisper empty, Rosie seems committed to the night. “I can babysit two girls tonight, no problem,” he said easily, a grin disappearing on the rim of his glass. If he really thought about it, he had contributed in different ways to both girls’ present states; it was the least he could do. But if Benicio was dependable for anything it was promoting a good time, trying to cut all the strings attached and anchor to the present for a while. That wasn’t always the most comfortable for a girl who lived in her head or across schedules, but something had shifted and he recognized her need. She’s ok; it’s all she offers and he has to trust it, taking her answer at face value. ‘Alright’ was an improvement from crisis or break, so for now he would let her reveal as much as she wanted at her own pace. “That’s good to hear,” he returned sincerely, willing to take what he could get. There was a strange dance still to be learned: him pulling back enough to let her come forward, trying not to mix up the steps and either crash together or drift apart. His gaze flickered over her, simultaneously impressed by and suspicious of her thirst. “Be right back,” Benicio acquiesced, shouldering toward the bar, briefly encountering his friends before returning with two shots, two cocktails, and a replacement water bottle beneath his elbow for Nora. He divvied everything up, sidling next to Rosie again, shot hovering in cheers. “Show me pictures of Nantucket,” he prompted, relishing the sting in his throat. “All my years living in Mass, I never went there.”

[rosie de la cruz]

“I'll be fine,” she chides, though the quick work she'd made of the drinks put in front of her might have spoken otherwise. Testing the boundaries of her tolerance, of her tightly wound teeth and schooled, careful features. All seeming to loosen by the second, words still sharp and vague but laced with an honesty she didn't always provide. She knew if anything, it could be a night she could file away. A numbing wash of this past week, a grimace she can't hide as the tequila fills her mouth. Another lime, lips tingling and warm, dropping it into her cocktail glass as she fishes out of her phone. Quickly tilting away to search for anything she didn't want to share before the screen flashes bright between their faces. “It was pretty gloomy, at first,” Rosie narrates, fingers sliding through grey beaches and stray wicker furniture, the strange choices her mood had drawn her to. “But it cleared up eventually. The resort had bikes you could take out and explore, there was a cute farmer's market and amazing seafood restaurants and...I don't know.” The bright sunsets and fresh clams, a pale yellow bucket buried in the sand, a selfie she'd sent to no one, hair drifting and salt-tinged. A soft smile lights her features, aglow with the wash of her screen before she clicks it shut again. “Was kind of exactly what I needed.”

[benicio otero]

There’s that instinct again to offer up his palms, signal his innocence. But he doesn’t, biting his tongue because he knows it’s a notion she must always reinforce, a reminder that she is not a princesa to be rescued. Far be it for him to limit or hinder this rare indulgence of hers, an understanding that she might have asked for this tonight but she was not his duty. He nods, believing her, because a lie practiced for so long feels indiscernible from the truth—until it suddenly isn't. Her photo album glows between them, scrolling through her impromptu stay. “That sounds nice,” he remarked, intent on her narration as he pieced together glimpses of her free time. Catching a smile was all the confirmation he needed. “And you didn’t have to worry about a sunburn,” he teased, brushing a knuckle across her wrist where she might have caught color during a warmer month. The alcohol is working its way through his system, loosening those unfamiliar nerves that sometimes gripped him when she was around but also softening the lines he thought she wanted between them. To reciprocate the gesture, Benicio pulled up his recent pictures from LA: mainly stills from the studio, his hotel view, selfies with artists, court-side at the Lakers. “I swear this was for work,” he laughed at how it might appear otherwise, eventually pocketing the device, preferring not to be distracted from her. “What do you think, where to next?”

[rosie de la cruz]

His touch feels like a trip wire, so quick she almost misses it but enough of an acknowledgment that her wrist drops gently away. She'd wanted the energy he often coaxed out after long hours and enough drinks, but the physical proximity that often came with it gave her quiet pause, wounds still a little too tender to tread on. She should be honest with her reasoning but instead takes another sip, drifting back into his orbit as he obliges a similar slideshow. Well...similar in its timeframe. The vibrancy of his life was apparent, from the stars to the colors to the open expressions. “A little bit of this, a little bit of that,” she repeats, the vague way he'd originally described his career. Eventually she realized it was the best way to define it, whims and text chains and a schedule that rivaled hers but a chaotic mirror. Always moving, always into what's next, Rosie's eyes drifting back to her friend slowly sinking further into the velvety cushions. “I'm afraid she won't make it to a next place,” Rosie admits, Nora's eyes fluttering for a moment before widening at another mocktail drifting her direction.“So I don't mind staying with her if your group wants to carry on. ” She's not sure what mood they're in but either way she felt grateful to be out suddenly, gaze soft and hazy in its buzzy warmth. Swearing she can see her own reflection in his pitched gaze, daring another sip before she carried on. “But I'm not having a bad time here.”

[benicio otero]

Too close and she shrinks. Too much and she disappears. If he took inventory of the many faces of Rosie, he wasn’t sure this one matched with any he knew yet. To have reached out and still be so clasped shut, every move to him felt like a misstep. Beno notices but doesn’t acknowledge the frostiness that comes in her wake, apparently not even thawed by the warmth of the alcohol. He could imagine the words of his sister, chiding him for being here with her, for still being so foolish as to run toward the same cliff from which they’d barely escaped. She calls back to their first encounter and a smirk budges his lips, meeting her eyes in knowing as he sipped his drink. He thinks back to those versions of themselves presented a few months ago, how visible these differences were from the beginning, how inevitable the clash. But he was stubborn and persistent—and currently paying for it. “I mean for vacations,” he broke out into a sheepish smile, sorry for the misunderstanding. “Where you want to go next. If you got bit by the travel bug,” he continued on the topic of their recent trips, curious if this was a new normal for her or it’s a once-a-year special occasion to drop off the grid.

[rosie de la cruz]

“Oh,” Rosie realizes, a flush of embarrassment coating her skin at the miscue. Mind intent to weave some grand metaphor of how...this, whatever it was, seemed to often go. On different planes or just of different ways, she could never fully get her footing enough to tell. So used to keeping quiet, keeping her head down, everything being fine; it felt strange to have someone stare at her and watch frustration flare when she didn't launch into a complaint or spill a secret. She could be a complex vault of ambivalence, combination lost to history's past. Forgetting she could forge her own key if she wanted to. Her thoughts take a second to catch up, caught on warmer beaches and historic landmarks.“Amsterdam, maybe,” is what she settles on, part of Europe she'd yet to explore. Thoughts of bright tulip fields and gondolas in canals, the casualty of lighting a joint in a cafe. A silly juxtaposition of thoughts that makes her laugh out loud, alcohol slowly coaxing its boldness to the surface. “What about you? Somewhere you haven't been yet, no repeats.” Her question lingers but her mind quickly shifts as she catches the time on her phone, words tumbling before she can process them. “It feels weird for me being out this late. But I guess that's kinda what happens when you unchain yourself from a laptop.”

[benicio otero]

During the silence his eyes drifted across the bar, observing the people around them dancing and chatting, how easy of a night it was for most others. If only they knew the story unfolding here in the corner, whether that was opening a new chapter or inching toward the last few words of an ending. Even his friends; the only disclaimers he’d offered was that she scared easily and didn’t speak Spanish, but this was the girl currently driving his thoughts. “That’s a good pick,” he agreed, trying to imagine her there. Lighting up in a café across from the canal, watching bicycles move past the windows. “That’s on my list too.” When turned back toward him, he took stock of his upcoming arrangements, usually repeats of Miami, Puerto Rico, Colombia. “I'm going to a wedding this summer, in Italy,” he answered, remembering. Europe had always been on the radar but the ease and familiarity of the Caribbean often took precedence for both business and pleasure. Speaking of business, she finally references work, more detached than he was used to. “I know, it feels like a special occasion,” he said easily, encountering ice in his draining glass. “I didn’t think you’d be done for a few more hours,” he teased, feigning a glance at his watch and its foreboding hour. “What’s the special occasion?”

[rosie de la cruz]

"What's the special occasion?" Everything's at surface level, now. The hum of the buzz in her ears and the warmth of the bar, the familiar cologne off Beni's jacket and memories of an Italian countryside years ago, limoncello and fresh pasta and vidid, rocky coasts. Rosie sways in place, tongue muddled with honesty and the tentative restraint that felt comfortable. "Me trying to leave, probably,” she replies into her glass, alright with telling the truth for once. “I've taken a few calls from recruiters, Nantucket told me I'm tired of the big bank.” It's lofty but she goes with it, eyes drifting lower as she pauses in contemplative silence. Rosie's still unsure if its failure or confirmation that follows the admittance out loud, having now said it to two people. Afraid to study his expression and find incredulity, too. Like he was staring at a doppelgänger, unsure of who'd appeared in her place. Rosie's heart drops at the flash of memory, looking away with a ragged breath and a sharp turn in conversation. “When do you go to Vegas?”

[benicio otero]

Rosie taking time off in Nantucket was one surprise, but even more so was the notion of her leaving her company. Since he had met her, she led with this—her unmatched work ethic, her firm hours, her fight for recognition in a male-dominated domain. Days or nights with her were never completely free from work, a message popping up here, answering an email there. It was rare to see her turn off that mode, the corporate-speak and methodical analysis of everything. She dangles this casually then quietly changes the subject, but as usual Benicio is only left with more questions. Who was this girl, what had shifted so suddenly? His first instinct is to ask what happened?, If someone… but he’s reminded of the evening he last saw her, voice raised in front of her building begging him for space. “That’s very exciting,” he offers instead, glass briefly raised in congratulations. Of course he was curious—perhaps a little worried—but he knew not to prod, appreciating the breadcrumbs she was allowing to trail behind her. Benicio could call upon some wisdom about knowing when to start a new adventure or leave what doesn’t fulfill you, but he can see in her eyes that it’s still too fresh for her, provoking uncomfortable doubts and questions, challenging her entire identity. “I think you could do anything you want in the world.” He takes her cue, lets the topic shift. “I go Wednesday,” he answered, visualizing his calendar. “Might leave early if I lose, or stay extra if I win,” he said with a grin and easy shrug, comfortable in the chaos of loose and changing plans.