Defining Love

The Intervention

Age 23

Walking into my parents' house had the feel of an intervention.

My somber family members were afraid to look me in the eyes when I entered, all three of them sitting in the front room, just waiting for me to take a seat. The only thing that detracted from the mood was the heavenly aroma of my mom's caldo de res coming from the kitchen and the Spanish newscaster on the television. My mom had asked me to come over for dinner, but it wasn't unusual for her to do that, especially when she'd made one of my favorite comfort foods. So I hadn't thought anything of it. Now I was having second thoughts.

“What's going on?" I asked, sitting on the edge of the sofa's armrest next to my dad, who appeared more irritated than worried as everyone else did.

My sister Bea, now barely a teen, cleared her throat and stood up. “I think you made a really big mistake breaking up with Mia. So does Mom."

She motioned to my mother, who sat next to my dad. Now my mother straightened, sitting up closer to the edge of the sofa. “Mijo, it's just that, as your mom, I want you to be with someone who's gonna love you unconditionally. Love you for you, for who you are inside, not for your looks or your occupation, and La Guera, well, she's been there from the very beginning. She knows you better than anyone, and her love for you is as genuine as it gets. Your father also agrees—"

“Don't put words in my mouth." My dad straightened up, frowning even more severely than when I'd first walked in. “I said I like the girl and he'd been with her so long she already felt like family, but I never said it was a mistake for him to break up with her." He turned to me and lifted a finger. “Mia might be as sweet and as perfect as they come, but that doesn't mean she's perfect for you. You need to go with your heart."

“But, Gordo, you said—"

My mother began to tug at his arm as my dad shook his head and shushed her. “Cariño, we've talked about this. It doesn't matter how perfect we think she is for him. He's the one who has to be with her. What's the sense in forcing something and possibly bringing kids into this world that will end up in a broken home?" He turned back to me. “You need to decide for yourself what your heart wants. Don't do it for anybody else but you. Your mama is just worried that some girls," my father said, giving my mom a look, “not all, are out there searching for a man to snag for the wrong reasons, and we know Mia's interest in you is genuine. But I've told your mama before, and I'll say it again. You would've never broken up with her in the first place if you didn't have good reason."

Before I could respond, my mom huffed, crossing her arms, and my sister plopped down on the sofa chair across from me. “To sew his wild oats," Bea said with a disgusted twist of her lips.

“No matter how many other pretty girls you date, mijo," my mother added, “remember Mia is the one who's been there before all your accomplishments. She loved you just for you." She stood up, looking very defeated. “Just remember that. I'd hate for you to live to regret this because I think you just might. Now let's go eat." She turned to my sister, barely glancing at me for a second. “Come help me, Mamita."

Bea jumped up from the sofa but not before turning to give me one last pleading glance. The second the kitchen door swung closed my father started again only this time in a lower voice and motioned in the direction of my mother. “Your mama seems to forget I had a girl for many years before I fell in love with her and never looked back."

“How did you know?" I asked curiously because if I were honest with myself, I was beginning to feel as though I had made a mistake breaking things off with Mia.

“Ah," he said, smiling and sitting back against the sofa cushion. “It's something you don't describe. You feel it. That's what makes it so special. I'd never felt anything like it with any other girl. You'll be drawn to her in a way you can't control, no matter how hard you try. It's like"—he paused to think about it for a moment—“this burning need you'll feel for her. But not just s****l. No." He shook his head slowly. “That's the least of the burn. It's what you feel right here." He pointed to his heart. “Like all the good things in your life—everything that excited you once upon a time, all the things that mattered to you so much before—seem so insignificant once you meet her because after that, none of that means anything unless she's a part of it. It's like suddenly she's a part of you, and you will never be whole again without her." My dad smiled as I stared at him, taking in everything he was saying. “It's the only way I can think to describe it. So when I felt it with your mother, there was no doubt. None." He regarded me very seriously. “Your mama was the one for me. My other half." He smiled. “You'll know. Trust me. Just go with your heart, and you can't go wrong."

I'd never felt for Mia what my dad described. It was why I'd begun to feel as if I needed a break. After years of being with her, instead of feeling like she was part of me, I felt as if there were something missing. Like I needed a new experience in life. The times I'd been tempted by other girls had begun to happen too often, and I refused to cheat on her, so I asked her for a break. I told her it would be good for us.

Mia wept.

She wept as she never had the entire time I'd been with her. I felt like a d**k, but I knew I'd feel even worse if I continued to stay in a relationship that now felt forced and I ended up cheating on her.

I may not have ever experienced what my father spoke of, but I knew Mia had felt it. I saw it in the way she looked at me, felt it in way her body responded to mine when we made love. I saw it in her shattered eyes when I broke her heart. My sister had already told me more than once that Mia was destroyed by our breakup. Yet the breakup hadn't been nearly as hard for me. Still, after months of being apart from her—experiencing the meaningless flings I'd been afraid I might regret missing out on—it began to feel like a mistake. I missed talking to her. My dad had hit it on the nose. It did feel as though I'd lost a family member. More than anything I missed my friend.

It had been months since I'd last spoken to Mia. The night I left my family's intervention, I hurried to see Mia and told her how much I missed her. When she began to cry and tell me it wasn't fair to play with her heart like that, I asked her to get back together with me. It really felt like the right thing to do.

She said, “yes."