Chapter 154 - The Grand Plan

It seems all she's been doing these past few weeks is cry. It has been an emotional rollercoaster. And yet, each time she does so in Gabriel's arms, it seems fine; she feels right as rain even if she's bawling.

"Stop crying," Gabriel whispers; he flashes a faint smile. "Let's talk."

Claire sniffles. She lets Gabriel lead her to a divan, where she could it down in comfort and perhaps be able to take what he's about to say. There's something about Gabriel that makes her sense some impending doom—is he going to say that classic, "It's not you, it's me" bullshit? Is he going to say, "Maybe we'd need some space apart?"

"Don't worry about Mom," Gabriel instead says. "If you haven't noticed, she's like a gorilla, all sound and fury signifying nothing. She's getting old, you know. She gets too touchy at times."

"Gab," she says. "I think 'touchy' is an extreme understatement. Did you hear what she said about me?"

Gabriel winces; yes, he's heard because his mother was right in his face. "But we're used to her," he says. "She says shit to us all the time when we were growing up. It's always part of her sense of self-discipline. You'd never believe the kind of stuff she used to hurl at us whenever we made a mistake."

"But that's abusive, isn't it?"

"Yes, but…" Gabriel shrugs. "It's impossible for a son to raise his mother. You can't tell an old dog new tricks, and all that jazz."

Claire sighs. She has calmed down now a bit, perhaps sensing redemption.

"I spoke with her," he says. "I mean, we—Miguel and I—spoke with her like we haven't done in a long time. That's why it took me so long to get here. I didn't want to leave the hospital and Miguel with her without managing her expectations, seeing that such expectations were badly managed at all by what she'd seen on the TV. That press conference."

"What was so wrong about that press conference, Gab? You were just being honest. You were just being the beautiful human being that you are."

"Well, that's one way of how the public could see that spectacle. But my mother is not the public. She sees through me. And she thinks I was being misguided." Gabriel sighs. "She doesn't know you, okay? She doesn't know who Claire Monteverde is. She doesn't know why I've been so happy with you like I've never been in a long time, not even during my years with Michelle. You made me realize what a miserable life I had led when Michelle was with me. And to think she had to be the one to cheat on me. But in hindsight, I could only thank her for that."

Claire falls silent. She realizes she's still just wrapped in a towel, which Gabriel seems to also realize at the same time. "I was trying to de-stress," she says. "I had no time to change into a dress."

"No worries," he flashes a mischievous grin. "I kinda like the idea of you wearing nothing but that."

Claire rolls her eyes. "Wait here, tiger, I'll just go change. Before we both get too distracted."

"I don't mind distraction," she hears Gabriel say behind her, but she's already in the walk-in wardrobe. She rummages through the clothes Miss Cassandra has prepared for her for the next two weeks. On a side mental note: she hasn't seen Miss Cassandra lately, and she never visited Miguel at the hospital. Is she on vacation?

In the end, Claire chooses the simplest dress, which works even if she walks around bȧrėfoot.

Gabriel's eyes light up upon seeing her. Claire tries to not pay attention to it; her mind and heart are on more pressing concerns. "How do I face her again, Gab? Because I'm not sure if I can…"

"She's just another human being, Claire," he says. "Don't look at her as this so and so person who owns businesses and such. Just purely focus on eyes. Try to understand where she's coming from."

Easy for you to say, Claire thinks. "But I can't help it. She reminds me of one of my terror professors back in college. I don't know if I will be able to say anything that she will not regard as an insult to her stature."

Gabriel ponders it. "I see. But try to take it easy, Claire. She's just my mother."

"Gab," Claire hesitates, fearing the answer would only further send her down the abyss of self-destruction. But she must really know. "Gab, what happened after I left?"

"How do you mean?"

"What did you talk about? Did she feel insulted that I walked out of that room? What did she think of me?"

"I wouldn't worry about what my mother thinks of you. She thinks ill of everyone. And believe me, she's used to people walking out on her. My dad walked out on us, remember?"

"Be serious, Gab."

"Okay," he sighs. "Yes, I admit, she was irritated when you walked out—you actually ran away from the place—"

"Oh, God!" Claire mutters.

"—but, as I've said, I wouldn't worry about that. I know my mom. She's all fireworks, and like fireworks, her feelings burn out so easily."

Claire blinks. "I don't know what to feel about that…"

"I'm really sorry for everything she said there, Claire. Miguel and I, we were used to it. We merely let her words enter one ear, and out the other. Didn't you see we had that half-grin on our face even when she was raining curses on us? But I realize it would be stunningly hurtful to someone else who isn't her son."

"That's about a justifiable way of describing it," she smiles wryly. A pause. "How do I…I mean, how do we go from here? What changes? What should I do?"

"I'm not really sure, to be honest," Gabriel says. "But I'm not worried. She can't meddle in my life. I'm an ȧduŀt, for pete's sakes. We can take this one step at a time. Remember how much Michelle antagonized you? My mom would just be another level of antagonization."

Where does this end, Claire thinks, feeling the inward collapse of her enthusiasm. It seems at every turn, there's someone who opposes whatever she had with Gabriel. "Your mom is way different from Michelle, Gab. I can't throw her on the floor no matter how much she might annoy me. And she's your mother. I only have the utmost respect for her."

Gabriel gives her that sticky look. "Yes, because she will be your mother-in-law, and we don't want to start off with the wrong foot, do we?"

"My mother-in-l—are you serious?"

"When did I ever kid about things concerning you, Claire? Of course, I'm serious. If there's anyone here who's most desirous of you having a good relationship with my mom, that would be me. But then again, I also know that mothers-in-law can be a very difficult bunch to appease, so I'm always ready to find a compromise." He takes her hand. "As long as we stay together, everything else falls secondary, Claire. I will not be swayed by friends or family from loving you."

Tears peep in the corners of her eyes. "You don't know how much what you said means to me. I love you so much, Gab!" She throws her arms around him.

"I love you so—" Gabriel begins to say, but Claire's lips are suddenly upon him. Instantly, he sinks in that delightful place of warmth and sweetness, as their lips lock and play and nibble each other.

Claire is also deep into that kiss. Is this really happening, she wonders, as her eyes are closed, feeling Gabriel's kiss deep in her soul. In her mind, scenes of the past few weeks flash—Gabriel throwing that coffee and smashing it against the wall; Gabriel tossing his white boxers at her, Gabriel slamming facedown into that table in the coffeeshop, Gabriel in the rain, telling her how much he loves her. And as these memories come unbidden during that kiss, her tears begin streaming down her cheeks.

Gabriel stops as he feels her tears. He touches her chin. "What's wrong, Claire?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing," she lies. "I just got a little sentimental, is all."

Gabriel smiles. "It's about my mother again, isn��t it?" He kisses her on the forehead. "Tell you what. I have a little plan. I'll arrange a dinner date tonight with my mother. I'll—"

"Gab! I don't know if I can do that!"

"Of course, you can! I'll be there beside you all the way. I'll hold your hand. I'll deflect whatever nastiness she hurls our way. The point is, she has to know you. She has to see that this is real. That she can't stop this."

Claire says nothing. She looks away. Even now, as they merely talk about it, buŧŧerflies flutter madly in her stomach. Just the vision of Matilde Tan's face, scoffing at her, gives her the screaming mimies. And yet. It seems one of those things she must do, regardless of how difficult it might be. "Okay," she mutters.

"Fantastic!" Gabriel says. "I'm setting it up, then. Tonight. Let's not waste another day. Where do you want it?"

"How do you mean?"

"Which restaurant would you prefer?"

"Gab, I'm the last person you should ask about fine dining restaurants. I only knew burger and pizza joints before I met you."

Gabriel laughs. "Did I hear you say Italian fine dining? The Italian it is."

Claire, despite the overall mood, has to laugh.

"Now I got to go and double-down on this plan, babe. You relax here," he says, standing up. "I'll call you up, okay? I'll update you. I will handle this, don't worry."

Claire nods; there's nothing she can do, anyway.

At the door, Gabriel kisses her again. "Get some sleep, okay? Or I'll have the spa come up here to give you some relaxing massage treatment."

"I'll be fine, Gab." She tries to smile.

"Promise?"

She nods. "I'll be fine."

"Attagirl." He gives her a peck on the cheek before he leaves.

Claire is in the walk-in wardrobe, rummaging through the dresses meant for an evening date, when the door buzzes again. Gabriel must have forgotten something. But what could it be? She still has a couple of dresses in her arms when she opens the door. "Gab, which of these two should I—"

Claire never finishes her words, because for the second time that day, she comes face to face with the matriarch from hell, who at the moment glares at her and says, "None of those dresses matter. So don't even bother."