by A. Constanza
“I’m going to put my dress back on and head to the cottage.”
“Take my car, take the time you need to make your preparations, and I’ll call you with the flight information.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes lingering a little while longer before breaking contact and rushing out the room.
I immediately pulled out my phone to call Pamela, my mother’s manager. She knew the best airlines to call and prepared my stay every time I decided to stay in New York.
“Ignacio, there is a flight departing from Italy to New York City at 1:15 p.m. on Black Crimson Jet. Would you be able to make that flight?” Pamela informed.
“Yes.”
“While you’re on the line, could I wish you a Happy Birthday? It would be a nice surprise for your mother to hear that you’ll be in town for your birthday. Would you like to schedule a dinner with your mother tonight?” Pamela always found an excuse to schedule a meeting with my mother. I wasn’t going to New York for pleasure; it was solely to be with Estella.
“Not tonight,” I said, short with her. “Anyway, she hasn’t wished me Happy Birthday yet so I’m sure she doesn’t remember.”
“Ignacio, it is 6:30 a.m. here. She is asleep.”
I rolled my eyes at her lie. My mother woke up at 6 a.m. every morning after she discovered yoga. The instructor held her lessons at 6:30 a.m., and my mother would never miss a class; that’s how she’d operated for the past five years.
“I expect to hear back, Ignacio. Have a safe flight. Mr. Adler will be awaiting your arrival at the airport,” she said, followed by a click.
***
Our plane arrived in New York at 6 p.m., allowing us to have a good portion of the day left. Estella needed to see her father before visiting hours ended, and I wanted to spend the last hours of my birthday with Estella.
“Brooklyn Hospital Center,” I informed Adler.
“Right away, sir,” he said, turning on the Mercedes-Benz.
Estella’s leg bounced up and down as she looked out the window. Every time we hit a red light, she would push her leg into the floor and form her hand into a tight ball. I reached over to place my hand over hers, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. I had been trying to comfort her ever since we boarded our flight. She didn’t eat anything on the plane, tossed and turned in her seat, and either had her leg bouncing or chewed on the side of her thumb.
Adler had hardly come to a full stop in front of the hospital when Estella opened the car door and ran inside.
“Go get some dinner,” I said quickly, tossing him a fifty-dollar bill, and I rushed out of the car to catch up with Estella.
She had finished speaking with an older woman at the information center and placed a sticker over her shirt. “He’s in the ICU, Room 232,” she said, handing me an extra visitor tag.
She had no time to waste and immediately headed to the elevator. She repeatedly pressed the up-arrow in hopes that it would arrive faster, but we waited a long minute before the doors opened.
We fast-walked down the white hallways, breathing in the sterile smell, watching nurses with their noses in a clipboard or transporting monitors, and saddened by mourning loved ones. Estella scanned the room numbers, seeming like she was on the brink of tears, and all I could do was watch the woman I loved look utterly and completely lost.
“Over there, Estella,” I redirected, holding her hand and leading the way.
She stood in front of the wooden door, staring at it with fear and hesitation. I placed my hand on her lower back and gave her a reassuring smile. “Everything will be okay.”
She took a deep breath, watched the door, and turned the handle.
TWENTY-SIX
Estella
Hospital rooms had always made me feel soulless. The plain walls, the constant beeping of monitors, a television playing in the background to fill up the emptiness of the room, but we knew that nothing could mask the eeriness of it all. Except, Papa’s room was different. It was the standard room, but cards lined the windowsill, a teddy bear holding a get-well-soon heart had been placed on the night table, and a rainbow, tie-dyed blanket lay at the end of his bed.
I moved a seat toward his bed and slowly sat down, bringing myself to the reality of being in a hospital with my unconscious father beside me. I knew a day would come where I’d have to see my parents in bad shape, but I didn’t expect it so soon. He had turned fifty a couple of weeks before I left for Italy.
“Oh, Papa.” I sighed, placing my hand over his still hand. “I’m here now.”
I didn’t sleep on the flight, and all the energy I had used to search for my papa’s room had drained me beyond belief. I placed my head on his hand, wishing that he could place his hand on top of my head to comfort me. That was his thing. Whenever I needed to reconnect with him, he would place his hand over my head and bring me into his shoulder. I’d inhale his cheap cologne that he adored yet which burned my nostrils.
I inhaled deeply this time, and no cologne. There was no reciprocation on my papa’s end which made my eyes swell and my throat restrict. He was lost in some sort of limbo, drifting between life and death, and although he was in front of me, it was just a shell.
“I can’t lose you,” I whispered.
There was a subtle knock on the door, and I turned around to find a woman dressed in scrubs smiling at me. Her brown eyes brought warmth into the cold, sterile room.
“Hi, honey,” she greeted. “The eldest daughter, I suppose?” She scooted in between me and Father to record the readings displayed on the monitors.
“Yes,” I responded. “How is he doing?”
“He’s in a stable condition, my darling. I have a feeling he’ll be back with us in no time.”
Her words brought comfort, and I held onto them tightly because that was all the hope that I needed at the moment.
“Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome, sweetheart.”
The nurse left, and I spent half an hour in the hospital room, resting my head on his hand and hoping that what the nurse had told me was the truth. I wanted to be with him longer, but visitation closed at eight, and I was sure that my sister would want to say goodbye to him. She wouldn’t be able to see him too often throughout the week considering she had school and extracurricular activities. Our papa might be in the hospital, but Mama wouldn’t want her to miss school. She’d want to keep the routine going, and I had to support her; it was the only control she had for the time being.
With every step I took to the waiting lounge, my head fogged up more. I desperately wanted to go home, but even that wouldn’t fill the emptiness that had consumed me the past hour. Drawing near to my loved ones, my eyes connected with Ignacio who smiled at me, and the hollow cavity in me filled up for a second. A good second.
“Amor,” Mama called, standing up to wrap her arms around me. She was usually one to look years younger, but it seemed as though the past twenty-four hours had aged her significantly. I pulled her in tightly and took a deep breath to let her know that we had each other.
“You will be saying at the house, right?” she asked in the form of a command rather than a question.
“Yes.”
“Good, Maya will need good rest before going to school. She said she didn’t sleep well at Maria and Wilson’s last night.” They were our next-door neighbors, a couple in their seventies with an outdated house, no children, and avid churchgoers.
“They made me sleep on the old couch. I could hear my bed crying for me on the other side of the wall,” Maya said dramatically.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be staying there my whole visit.”
“Very good.” My mom nodded.
“I could’ve slept over at Alana’s, but mom said no,” Maya mumbled, upset. Alana was Maya’s girlfriend of three months. Mama had nothing against their relationship; she was just someone who was old-schooled and preferred premarital couples to sleep in different houses.
I rolled my eyes and was unable to hold back a smirk. She thought he was handsome and well-mannered. Well, I had to agree with her on that. She’d go crazy if she knew that he came from wealth. Every Hispanic mother secretly wanted their daughter to marry a rich man.
“Ahora, no,” I whispered back. I wasn’t interested in talking about my relationship.
Mama narrowed her eyes and clicked her tongue. “Let me know when you’ll stop by tomorrow; I might need you to bring me some of my belongings.”
“I will.”
“And Maya,” my mom said, pulling Maya’s hoodie back and unplugging her earphones. “Please, keep on top of your work. I know it’s hectic, but we need to stay strong.”
“Yes, yes.” Maya shrugged.
“It was very nice to meet you, Ignacio,” my mama said, holding her hand out.
Ignacio gripped it gently and nodded. “Pleasure was mine, Ms. Salvador.”
Mama placed a kiss on my shoulder, since that was the only spot she could reach without going on the tips of her toes, and then forced a kiss against Maya’s hoodie. They were more or less the same height as each other. My papa and I were the ones who had more length to us.
“Please, my loves, stay safe,” she said before walking back to Papa’s room.
“I’m hungry. Do you mind if we stop to get some food? I’m thinking burritos,” Maya asked casually.
I looked up at Ignacio. “What would you like to eat? It’s your birthday after all. It’s the least I could do considering the hectic day we’ve had.”
“I think burritos sound good,” Ignacio agreed, peering over to Maya who had the happiest expression on her face.
“Sounds good,” I said.
“And chips with guacamole?” Mata asked, flashing me an appeased smile.
“You’re pushing it.”
“My dad is in the hospital; come on, spoil me a little.”
I nudged her to the wall in annoyance and she smirked. We missed each other; we didn’t have to say it, but it was a fact.
***
“Thank you for the food, Ignacio,” Maya sang as she leaned her head back to devour her last bite of burrito. “So good.” I insisted on paying but Ignacio had paid for the order before I could take my wallet out. He wouldn’t allow me to pay for my meal even if it was his birthday.
Maya collected all of the trash and walked into the kitchen to place it in the bin. I could hear her open the fridge door and scour for more food. “Estella, did you happen to bring some snacks from Italy?” she called out.
“Maybe.”
“Sweet,” she hollered in a singsong voice.
“I said maybe.”
“Maybe means yes—just a tip, Ignacio,” Maya said.
“Noted,” he responded, winking at me.
“I’m going to take a bath in Mama’s tub. Do you mind placing the snack on Mom and Dad’s bed while I’m in there?” Maya asked, walking into the living room with a diet coke in her hand. “Preferably something salty.”
“You’re sleeping in Mama and Papa’s room?”
“Yeah, about that,” she said, crooking her neck to the side, signaling me to follow her. We walked into the kitchen, and she bounced her knee as she debated whether to tell me what she’d called me in for.
“Yes?”
“Well, as much as I want to be home, I’m terrified of staying here. What if, they want to break into our house?” Maya looked genuinely nervous and that wasn’t usual for her. “Do you think your boyfriend would want to stay the night? It could be nice to have that male spot fulfilled, at least for tonight. You can even sleep in the same bed; I won’t tell.”
“I can ask him,” I said, nodding understandably.
“Okay, thanks, and don’t forget the chips,” she said, heading upstairs.
Ignacio swiped through his phone, looking bored at what was on the screen. He noticed that I had walked into the living room again and slid his phone into his pocket.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
I pulled my sweater close to myself. “Well, we are a little nervous about staying the night here. Maya has brought to my attention that the group of boys that broke into the Latin store could break into the house, as well, if it’s a personal vendetta they have against my father,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose.
I heard Ignacio stand up and then his strong arms encircled me. “If that is your way of asking me to stay the night, then I will. I’ll have Adler leave my suitcase here instead of Manhattan.”
“Okay, and I can show you to my room in the meantime,” I said, leading him up the stairs. I had been gone for two months, and everything felt foreign. I ran my hands up the wooden railing, something I’d touched since I was a toddler, yet it felt like I touched it for the first time.
There was a stronger than usual smell of lavender and jasmine upstairs; it was Mama’s signature plug-in scent. Or was it that I had been gone and had forgotten about the pungent smell? The sense of unfamiliarity heightened when I took the first step into my bedroom.
I turned on the bedroom light and looked around the bland room. There was a bed with a light blue comforter, a white dresser with random items that I never used on it, and above it, a shelf of my ceramic projects from all through high school. On my desk, there were old textbooks of the history of piano, classical music, and guides of Italy, headphones, a sketchbook with my future ceramic project ideas, and a vintage polaroid camera.
“It’s a little…underwhelming,” I sighed, doing a double take and making sure I didn’t have anything embarrassing lying about.
“There’s nothing underwhelming about seeing the room that your girlfriend grew up in,” he replied, placing my suitcase by the entrance and walking toward the dresser to examine the shelf above it.
With a closer inspection, I groaned and covered my cheeks. “Don’t look at those.” My older work wasn’t my best, but the fact that I had created five ceramic pieces of the Disney princesses made me shudder. Not so much when I was eighteen—I loved the idea of finding your prince charming in a blink of an eye. Now, as a twenty-four-year-old, it felt out of place.
“It was for a senior project,” I said.
“They’re beautiful,” Ignacio said which took me by surprise. I expected him to think I was childish for doing anything related to princesses. “They’re flawless—literally no sign of any error. My love, these could pass for figurines made by a professional with decades of experience.”
“I wouldn’t necessarily say that…” I trailed off and timidly walked beside him.
I looked up at him and watched his eyes ping from each figurine to the next with amazement. He genuinely adored them, and that made my heart flutter. No one looked at my art in that way. I would receive praise from individuals but not admiration. Not like this anyway.
“Who’s your favorite princess?” he asked. “Or maybe I should ask, who is your favorite prince?” He smirked.
“I can’t choose a princess, I love them all. As for prince, I think they’re all attractive, but I do like how Prince Naveen played an instrument.”
Ignacio flashed a smile. “I can see you’re into musicians.”
“It might be my thing,” I joked.
Ignacio watched me with curious eyes and brushed my hair away from the face. “I want to know more about you, Estella.”
“What exactly?” I asked, nervously.
“Everything.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Ignacio
Estella walked out of the bedroom in an oversized red T-shirt, and I nearly pounced off the bed. She seemed startled to find me on the bed as she dried her hair with a white shirt. I had been sitting on the edge of her bed, shirtless and with black briefs on.
I gave Estella another once-over and had to compose myself. I’d seen Estella in many outfits bu
t seeing her an oversized shirt with her tan legs on display had to be the sexiest thing I had seen on her. Nothing could beat effortless beauty.
“You look beautiful,” I said as she approached the bed.
“Thank you.” She sighed, plopping onto her bed and grabbing a pillow to stuff her face in it.
“What’s wrong?” I chuckled. I laid on my side, propping my head up with my hand. With my free hand, I ran my finger down her soft skin.
Estella lowered her pillow. “I feel bad. You spent your birthday on a long airplane ride, the hospital, and out of the comfort of your home.”
I pulled the pillow away from her to take in the beautiful sight of Estella. She was all I ever wanted for my birthday. “A day ago, I thought you’d never want to see me again. All I wanted was a greeting from you for my birthday, and today, well, I had you every hour of the day with you. I received more than I asked. You are the best gift, stella mia.”
I expected my words to bring Estella some comfort, but she seemed bothered. She placed her hands over her face and groaned lightly. “I still feel bad.”
“Don’t.”
“Can I ask you something?” she said, turning to her side to look at me.
“Anything.”
“Was I really your first time?” Her words were low.
“Yes.”
“But how?” she asked, shocked. “The way you looked, the way you carried yourself, the way you moved. I’m just surprised, really.”
“I could ask you the same. Beautiful, passionate, and confident.”
She shrugged. “I guess you’re right. So why me?”
I plopped onto my back because my arm was growing tired, and I extended it out, inviting Estella into my chest. She rested her head on my shoulder and placed her hand over my chest. “Nonna and Nonno were each other’s first. They wanted the same for me. Nonno would tell me, when it comes to sleeping with a girl, go for the one who stimulates your mind, not your penis, respectfully. I met you, and I sort of just knew.”
