giving her away
marta de la reina x fina valero | millenial au (this is not complete but I am trying something and would love some early views!!! please yell at me)
She’s 6 when she first tells her she wants to marry her.
Her father had asked her to play with the other kids in the community as he worked, and while she didn’t dislike them, 5pm had come and gone, 6pm had come and gone, and her stomach was actively growling by the time the boys had run over to ask her whether she had wanted to play in the empty church. Fina hadn’t thought any of them could possibly have expected her to want to marry any of them, even if for a game. As far as she could tell, they were ugly, mean and smelly. All she really wanted, was to go home and have a warm bowl of soup with her father, and read her book. But somehow, her immediate and unfiltered refusal had really pissed them off.
Jesus, especially, was a huge pain in the ass.
“Oh, none of us are good enough for her. Fancy schmancy Fina Valero, too good for the rest of us,” he started sing-songing, his friends following along.
“Leave me alone, Jesus,” she warned. She was better off pretending to be nuns with Carmen, than to have to pretend to marry any of those boys. (And no, she does not enjoy the prospect of sisterhood.)
“Or else what? You’ll tell your dad to scold my dad?” Jesus spits out, malice in his words, like because she’s poor, and because her dad works for his, she has to play along. She pounces forward, surprising him with the way she threw her entire weight towards the older boy, and she starts throwing punches at him, each punch harder as he continues to laugh at her. His friends drag her off, and is on the way to letting her have a taste of her own medicine, when she hears, echoing in the church, her saviour.
Marta de la Reina comes running down in her beautiful skirt, and pulls the younger boys off her. She grabs Fina’s hand and pulls Fina behind her, and with a stern voice, tells Jesus, “enough”, and he backs down like a hurt puppy. “She hit me first,” he accuses, and Marta tells him off, “she’s 5!”
From behind her, Fina coughs and announces proudly, “I’m 6,” and Marta turns around instinctively to smile at her, a sharp contrast to how she had looked at her brother just moment earlier. “Aww, let’s go, Fina. Boys will be boys.”
Later, Fina bounces into the back of the car with Marta, instead of up front with her father. Isidro objects, already apologetic for the mess Fina has caused today, but Marta smiles kindly at him, and scuttles with Fina into the back of the vehicle. He’s been around for her more than her father has, so protecting Fina always felt like the natural thing to do. “So Fina, what did my brother do this time to make you want to beat him up?”
“You’re my saviour,” beams Fina as she settles her head into Marta’s lap. “I didn’t want to pretend marry any of them, and he got angry.” Marta looks down and smiles at Fina, laughing. “You know that there’s a good chance you’ll end up marrying one of them, right? Maybe not Jesus,” and Marta scrunches her nose at that thought, “but yes, one of them.” Fina squishes her face into Marta’s warmth, and sleepily replies, “nah, if I have to marry someone, I’ll marry you.”
---
They are lying side by side in the greenhouse, watching the green twines above them snake across them, their little red fruits like constellation in the bright sky.
“Do you ever feel like running away?”
Marta blinks twice at that question and then turns to look at Fina, who is gazing at her with those huge eyes, with more attention than any boy has paid her, despite how she looks, and who she is.
“Why do you ask that?”
“I don’t know, your life seems hard. Nice, but hard.” Fina looks down at her own fingers, and Marta watches them playing with the flower Fina had plucked earlier, despite Marta telling her not to. “Besides, everyone in school likes to run away nowadays.”
“Is that true?”
“Yes, Carmen ran away the other day, and when she came back her mother bought her an ice lolly.” Fina looks up and practically beams at her. “Ice lollies are great, and you could do with an ice lolly. Ice lollies make you smile.”
Marta laughs a little at that. “I do like ice lollies. And where would I go if I were to run away?”
“You could come to my house! Carmen came to my house. No wait, you should come here. Then I’d find you with snacks and you can read me a book and we can take a nap among the tomatoes.”
For just a brief moment, Marta wonders whether she could, in fact, run away and live in a bubble like that. But then she hears a soft snore from Fina, her head just cuddled against Marta’s side, and Marta leans in to the embrace, falling asleep herself.
She’s never slept better.
---
Marta’s in the midst of planning her sweet 16, when she first starts hearing the accusations against Fina. The story goes that Fina had told her best friend that she loved her, and when her best friend brought this home to her parents, Fina was accused of being a homosexual, moved to another class, and banned from speaking to her once-best friend. When questioned, Fina always maintains she meant it in a platonic manner, and that it had been blown out of proportion.
But that didn’t stop some thoroughly cruel bullying from happening in school though, until it all came to a screeching stop when Mrs Valero suddenly collapsed, got admitted to the hospital, and then was gone in a matter of days. Just like that, Fina Valero went from The Homosexual, to The Sad Girl with the Dead Mom.
Marta cancels her birthday party immediately, much to the chagrin of her brothers, both of whom had intended to show off their respective girlfriends at the same event (to whom, she is not sure), and to the shock of Fina.
“You didn’t have to cancel the party,” Fina says quietly, when Marta finally finds her in the kitchen, stirring a soup for the funeral guests. Marta peers in and finds a batch of severely over-reduced stock, and she gently reaches for Fina’s hands, peeling them off the wooden spoon. Turning off the fire, Marta takes Fina’s hands in hers, and brings her to the table. “I’m sorry, Fina,” she says. “It’s going to hurt, and you’re going to feel awful, but it will be okay eventually.” Marta says, remembering the words that were repeated over and over to her when her own mother died. She’s not sure it ever managed to feel okay, but what else can a person say in a time like this? “I’m here for you, okay?” And Fina looks up at her with the largest, glistening eyes she’s ever seen, and Marta immediately remembers how bad it was when her own mother passed away. How badly she wanted it to be okay when it simply wasn’t.
“It isn’t fair,” Fina says, and Marta holds her as she cries, she holds her until Fina runs out of tears, and until Isidro comes and carries his weary daughter home. A few days later, Isidro is driving her to school when he tells Marta that he has a note from Fina, to thank her for everything, and in it, Fina writes, “I’m here for you too, if you want.” And yes, oddly enough, Marta does want.
---
A soft knock on the door, “it’s me.”
Marta immediately turns around and grabs at her face, desperate. “Please go away, Fina.” She doesn’t want her to see her like this. Not all broken apart like that.
But Fina doesn’t tend to listen. She feels the bed sink beside her, and a hand reach for her chin, tilting her face till their eyes meet. Fina coaxes her hand away, and replaces it with an ice pack and her own.
“This will help with the redness,” Fina says, wise beyond her years. “Trust me, I’ve been through this.” A wink, and Marta chokes out a laugh. How is Fina making her laugh even in such a moment?
“Was it loud enough for you to hear?” Marta finally says, and Fina shakes her head. “No, but your father asked mine whether he had ever slapped me. That was a strange enough question for me to link the two together. So, what did the great Marta de la Reina do?”
Marta leans into Fina’s hand and sighs.
“I refused to go out with a boy my father wanted me to marry.” Marta looked up sheepishly, “he’s just not my type you know.”
Fina almost looks proud in that moment and it makes Marta blush even with that chunk of ice on her face.
“What!”
“I’m proud of you, Marta.” Fina finally says, and her other hand comes up to run her fingers through Marta’s hair with affection. Marta cannot help but close her eyes at that; but for her aunt Digna it feels like no one else has ever taken her side. Well, not since her mother.
“Thank you, Fina.”
“Always.”
A brief silence, and then “so … what’s your type?”
“I’M NOT TELLING YOU.”
---
FINA: Is it true? MARTA: What is? FINA: That you’re going away FINA: Far away MARTA: Who told you? FINA: Never mind who told me, is it true? MARTA: I’m in my room, if you really want to know, you’ll have to come find out yourself. FINA: You know your brother doesn’t like it when I’m in your house. MARTA: Since when did you care about what my brother likes?
---
The door bursts open, and Marta almost jumps in her chair. There she is, a panting Fina Valero, who looked like she ran over straight from school. “Is it true?” Fina asks her accusatorily. “They say you are leaving for college, and that it’ll be far away, and that you’re never coming back.”
“Calm down, Fina.” Marta starts, and tries to close the gap between them, but Fina looks like she’s almost on the brink of tears. She points at her, and demands an answer, “you told me to get the answer in person, and I am here now. Tell me,” her voice almost cracks.
Marta sighs, and nods, “yes, I am going to college, and it’s a little far. But it’s not that long, it’s just three, maybe four years!”
“Shouldn’t you have told me this?” Fina’s eyes are large and demanding, and Marta’s not sure if the glistening she sees behind it are from anger, or from sadness.
“I didn’t know how to! And,” Marta feels her posture harden as her shields go up, “in any case, why do I have to tell you before everyone else?”
Fina stares at Marta, and a single tear falls as Marta watches her fists clench with anger. When she finally replies, her voice is flat, almost cold.
“Good for you, Marta de la Reina, good for you.”
---
MARTA: Will you be at my farewell party? MARTA: It’s this Saturday, at my house. I’ll be baking, if that matters. MARTA: Your father said you are unwell. I hope you feel better soon. MARTA: I hope to see you before I go. MARTA: I’m leaving tomorrow. MARTA: Goodbye, Fina.
---
The first break she gets, Marta comes home and immediately heads for Fina’s house. She brings with her the best baked goods from her new foster city, carefully hand carried home for Fina. A gesture of goodwill, if anything. Nothing that can’t cure almost a year of radio silence, a few wrong words, a time lost.
But when the door opens, there is no sunshine in the house in the form of Fina Valero, just Isidro, who seemed to have aged disproportionately in that little bit of time that passed. Fina’s at camp, it appears. She’s found a friend from school she likes and they run off to the woods sometimes and come back with their ponytails all messy and mountains of mushrooms in a basket.
“She’s happy, I hope?” Marta asks warily, and when Isidro replies that yes, yes she is, Marta feels - not for the first time - like she’s no longer necessary. It’s a curious situation to be in, to live in such a privileged manner, but to not have anyone count on her for anything.
A week or two later she sees Fina near the river, riding a bicycle with a girl her age, laughing heartily. Laughing in a way Marta’s not sure she’s seen in Fina since her mother’s death. And when the girl leans forward and holds Fina tight by her waist, something twitches deep in Marta, something that feels a lot like loss, that feels a lot like jealousy. When Fina takes the girl’s hands and pulls her in even closer, Marta snaps her gaze away, refusing to look any further.
The greenhouse is overgrown and unloved, but it hides Marta for the few hours she needs, the few hours she needs to put herself together again, and to remember that things are different after all.
She immediately makes arrangements to return to her hostel earlier rather than later. Something about extra credit or another, her father wasn’t really paying attention.
When she finally hears from Fina, it’s just a day late, from a whole different number. Marta winces at the thought of Fina having changed her phone number, and having not bothered to tell her, or perhaps deliberately choosing not to.
---
FINA: I heard you came back and brought some stuff for my dad. Thanks. FINA: Hope everything is okay with you MARTA: They were for you. FINA: Okay MARTA: I saw you by the river with that girl. FINA: Is that … not okay? MARTA: I think you are happier this way. MARTA: It’s good. FINA: What do you mean by this way? MARTA: Just, with new friends. MARTA: You know, out with the old, in with the new. New year, new you. FINA: And you think this is good? MARTA: Well, you look happier. FINA: Happier than before? MARTA: It appears so, yes. FINA: I cannot believe you are acing your college
---
Jaime had been easy.
There had been men, plenty of them, all showing some interest or another in her, but none of them quite so interested in Marta as they were in how she represented a segue into a better life, a different class. Jaime had no baggage of his own, an orphan with a Navy scholarship, he was carefree, well-travelled, and very much not present.
Whereas every other person felt the need to bring Marta out to the latest restaurant or club, Jaime spent most of his vacation in the reserves, and when he returned, was always content to read a book by Marta’s side. Just being on solid land and by her side seemed enough. They never ran out of things to speak about, and he never expected much of her. Marta was herself, but with a companion. Everyone else wanted Marta to be someone else.
He’s easy, and Marta needs easy. His love surrounds her the weightless way you could wrap someone with the comfort of cotton candy and yet in just an instance, it could disappear with a passing rain without holding anyone back, its sweet residue the only reminder of its presence.
And that’s why she said yes.
---
Her aunt Digna had been the first to welcome her home, with the absolute warmest hug any child could ask for. Her father was second, but no less enthusiastic. It seems like it has been ages since she has been back in Toledo, but somehow everything feels the same. He’s thrown a big party to welcome her home, but almost no one there, she cares much for.
It’s late in that first day that she finds herself back in the greenhouse, surprised to see that unlike the last time, it’s been well taken care of again. There are flowers, again, and it almost makes Marta want to take a nap, there and then.
“You’re back,” she hears, and Marta spins around, surprised. It’s Fina, and she’s older, well everyone tends to be older after you’ve been away for the better half of a decade, but her eyes still shine with that curiosity she’s known since young, and Marta still feels immediately comfortable in her presence.
“I am,” she admits softly, and Fina walks towards her with that same confidence, a watering can in her hands. She doesn’t break eye contact, and Marta isn’t sure she is able to breathe. She has a million questions for her - are you still with that girl from the river? Are you still angry with me? Does everyone know? All questions she cannot actually bring herself to say, so she starts with the easiest half-question, “you’ve been keeping the greenhouse alive.”
“I have.”
“It wasn’t like this when I last came back.”
Fina laughs, and a loose strand of her hair falls forward, which Marta instinctively picks up and pushes behind Fina’s ear, lingering just a bit too long. “I was angry with you then.”
“Does that mean you’re not angry with me anymore?”
“That depends, are you going to run away again?”
“No,” a chuckle, then more seriously- “no, I don’t think so.”
Fina drops the watering can and throws herself straight into Marta’s embrace, burying her face in Marta’s shoulder. Marta catches herself just in time, surprised at Fina’s newfound height and sudden affection, but finds herself leaning into the hug, gently patting Fina’s head.
“Then I’m not angry with you anymore,” Fina says, half-crying and half-laughing, and Marta realises that of all the big meals and fancy welcomes, this has been the welcome that has mattered the most.
---
She makes me laugh.
That’s the first thing she writes about Fina in her diary. The second thing she writes, is much less flattering, but it is no less true.
She also asks all the questions she shouldn’t.
“So this boy, Jaime.”
“Man, not boy.”
“He’s your type?” In response, Marta throws the rag at Fina, who catches it with an incredulous athleticism and continues drying the plates.
“He’s a good man,” Marta finally replies, quietly, and Fina’s laugh reverberates on the walls. “So he isn’t actually your type.” Is that a challenge? Marta wonders, but she avoids eye contact regardless. When she’s finally resigned to look up and reply, her aunt Digna bursts into the kitchen. Fina nevertheless catches her eye and suggestively winks at Marta, before she can say anything.
“So that’s where the two of you are hiding out! I swear I have never seen Fina willingly do dishes except when she’s helping you.”
“That’s not true!”
“Aww, Fina has a soft spot for me.” Marta bats her eyelids dramatically at Fina, and she’s shocked to see Fina turn a shade of red and turn away, aggressively drying that one clearly dry plate in her hands.
Digna is in the middle of extricating the dessert from the fridge when Fina finally recovers, bouncing to Digna’s side, and putting on the sweetest voice she has. “Do you think we should only get together with people our type?”
Digna chuckles at the thought of it, at Fina’s youth, at the endless opportunities that await them.
“What do you mean by “people our type”?”
“You know, the man of our dreams,” she coos.
“Well, ideally.”
A mock gasp, then a continuation of Fina’s one-man show for Marta. “You mean we shouldn’t date people simply because they are rich, or handsome, or gasp good?” Digna peers out from behind the fridge for this, and squints at Marta.
“Who’s dating?”
“No one!”
Fina whispers something or another to Digna, Digna laughs, and Marta chases her from the kitchen until they both fall over, laughing and exhausted, in Fina’s bed.
Marta is staring at the ceiling when the question slips out from between her lips.
“So that girl, from the river, is she your type?”
Fina turns over and looks at Marta’s with the most serious look she can muster, “no, there’s no more girl from the river.”
Marta blinks twice, shocked.
“And you know very well who my type is.”
