“So you two have been busy,” I say, laughing.
“Yeah.”
Shane and I talk about his classes that are starting, his parents, and the changes to his workout. He says he’ll call tomorrow, and we hang up. While he makes me feel better that life’s going on without me, now that I’ve separated from him—and been jolted by a strong reaction to Tavo—I’m doubting what I’ve always believed. The sharp contrast makes me reevaluate, and I’m not feeling anything more than friendship toward him.
My heart sinks.
In fact, it seems like he has more fun without me. That’s good, right? That he’s not pining for me? Then what do I do with this ring?
Gustavo’s sister Mari Carmen knocks on the door. She comes in and sits on the bed, speaking English with a thick accent. “I was supposed to be the one to pick you up at the airport. I’m sorry I missed it. Jorge and I had an appointment with the priest.”
“When are you getting married?”
“In spring.” The softness in her eyes tells me she’s dreaming of her husband-to-be.
“That’s exciting! Do you need any help?” No sooner are the words out of my mouth than I’m scolding myself. I don’t need any projects other than learning Spanish.
“No, we’ve got it covered. There’s a civil ceremony and a religious ceremony, and then we’ll have a dinner here. We just need to make it through counseling with the priest.”
“How’s that going?”
She wrinkles her nose. “It’s embarrassing, but necessary. Anyway, while you’re here, is there anything in particular you want to do? Anything I can make sure to show you?”
“I just really want to learn how to cook Spanish food.”
“Por supuesto. Mi abuela, madre, Tía Valeria, and I can do that. We will show you our favorite dishes. Anything else?”
“Anything. Everything.”
“Yes, then we will do anything and everything together.” She stands up as if to leave. “It’s great that you’re here. Tavo’s not been himself lately. Maybe you can be a friend.”
“I’d like that, I think.” Even though it might be dangerous to get to know him better. Dangerous for my body, that is.
“Bien. Let me know if you need anything. Otherwise, I’ll see you at dinner.”
I watch her leave. She’s so secure in her love for her husband-to-be. I’m not.
With a sigh, I start pacing in my room, my mind going everywhere with lack of sleep and all the new people, places, and things I’ve seen in the past twenty-four hours, and the new, perilous ideas I’ve had. I knew Spain had a hint of risk, but I had no idea it would be precarious to my heart in such short order. I thought I’d change, I hoped I’d experience something different, but this clarity is disconcerting. It’s like being forced to scrub clean with a loofah, making my skin raw. It hurts to cut through the layers and find out what’s underneath.
And I’m not sure I’m ready to do that yet.
I pace, breathe, and sit down at my laptop. I still have one more call to make.
“Maggie?”
“Kim! How’s Spain?” she squeals. We’re using Skype like a phone call so it’s free, even though it’s my laptop. She doesn’t have fast enough internet for video.
“You wouldn’t believe what this place is like! Open blue skies and red hills and olives and vineyards and ruins.”
I can tell she’s smiling. “It sounds gorgeous.”
“It is.”
Especially one of its inhabitants.
“Wait! Kim! I got your email! Shane gave you a promise ring?”
“Yeah,” I say. My voice comes out huskier than normal.
“You don’t sound so excited.”
“Maggie, truth? I’m not. It all happened so fast, but I didn’t get a chance to think about it.”
“Hmm. What happened?”
I tell her.
“I don’t have any advice for you, girl. Think about it before you do anything. And if you have a wedding, invite me.”
“Sure.”
“Besides that, are you doing okay?”
With Maggie, I can answer the questions I can’t with my parents. But that doesn’t make it easier. Digging in the desk drawer, I pull out a pen, fumble with it, and start doodling on the same scrap of paper Tavo wrote the Wi-Fi code. I really like his handwriting. “I don’t understand anything. They talk so fast. I have no idea if what I think they’re saying is what they’re saying. I’m just not keeping up at all.”
“So you’re a fish out of water.”
“Totally.”
Maggie tsks. “Enjoy it.”
“Enjoy it?”
“Yeah, girl. How many times in your life do you get to be in Spain?”
“I know, I know. But it’s hard sometimes. It’s so weird. They’re on this completely late schedule. It’s so late and lazy it feels decadent. Dinner at ten at night. Who eats dinner so late?”
“Apparently, the Spanish.”
“I mean, I don’t think it’s wrong. I thought it was bad for your digestion, but they’ve been doing this for a thousand years so it’s just the way.” I pause. “And here’s the thing,” I whisper. “It feels right. Like I’ve been here for a million years. It’s the first place I’ve felt like I belong.”
After talking to her a bit longer, I say goodbye, hang up, and finger the ring again. It’s pretty. Both sides around the diamond are carved into a delicate fleur-de-lis pattern. The hand that wore it before mine was Shane’s sweet, cookie-pushing grandmother. It fits me well and looks good on my hand, but it’s not my style.
Even though I try, I’m not excited about being promised—engaged—whatever. I immediately go to the ugly question: Why am I with Shane?
The answer comes quickly. He’s my best friend and has always been there for me. I can’t imagine life without his support. I don’t want a life with no Shane in it.
Those are pros. I pace and pace, my breath coming out faster.
Yes, a pro and con list. I’ll decide this logically.
Other pros? He helps me lift heavy stuff, gives me rides places—so does Tavo. Shane’s rides aren’t anything like Tavo’s. Focus on Shane, Kim. Shane plays video games with me, but I’m not all that stoked on video games, actually. He encourages me to do my best and helps me with homework. Our parents are friends. We have a lot of shared history.
The cons of marrying Shane? Easy. We’re way too young, and honestly, I took his ring because I didn’t want to embarrass him or hurt his feelings. I still don’t.
As my feet travel back and forth across the cool tile floor, try as I might, I can’t muster up the feelings that I’m frantically in love with him and must marry him now. I love him, but I’m not in love with him. I’m not even in lust with him.
No wonder I own a bullet.
I’m definitely in lust with Tavo. Good Lord, who wouldn’t be?
But I don’t want to lose Shane.
My legs wobble and my knees buckle.
The fact that we’re scared to be apart isn’t a reason to stay together.
I sit on the bed covered with clothes with the relief that comes from clarity. My body feels light. My blinders are peeled away. While breaking up with Shane means I’m stepping into the unknown, it’s necessary for both of us. I almost laugh because for cryin’ out loud, I just got here and already my brain’s working differently. How did I not see how things really were between me and Shane? How did I not realize we’d been living in the friend zone all our lives? Good friends. But friends.
I can’t see myself married to Shane for the rest of my life, and that truth sets me free. It took Shane forcing the issue and me getting out of town to see it. He surprised me at the last second, and now that I’ve had a moment to think about it, I need to give that ring back.
God, how will I tell him?
I will tell him.
Tears well up behind my eyes and my muscles sag. I’m so tired I’m punchy. The nap in the car barely took the edge off of my fatigue. Let
ting the detritus on my bed go, I shove myself below my clothing.
I want to sleep on this before I tell him. I’m not going to throw away a decades-long relationship because of one plane trip
No more Randy either? No. I couldn’t do that.
I’m scared that me saying no to him will mean we won’t hang like we always do. I’ll see how I feel in the morning, because maybe it’s just exhaustion talking. I don’t think so, but I want to be sure.
Halfheartedly I remember the need from my erotic dream, but I’m too tired to do anything about it. I’ll just rest my eyes for one minute and then finish unpacking.
The next thing I know, I wake up in the dark with a male voice at my door saying, “Kim. Venga para comer.”
Seven
Tavo - Vino
“Siéntate,” my mother clucks to Kim, who’s been popping up, attempting to help with dinner.
Kim pauses mid-standing up, not sitting down immediately as my mother’s asked. She’s clearly the kind of person who’s used to helping out, but doesn’t know what to do here, and she’s not accepting that she doesn’t have to do a thing. She’s changed clothes since she arrived, now wearing white pants and a pink blouse, but she’s got pillow marks on her face from her nap. They’re utterly adorable.
“You are our guest,” Mari Carmen assures her, speaking Spanish slowly to her. “We will show you our cooking later. For now, let us serve you.”
“I’d love to learn.” With a gracious smile, Kim finally settles back down next to me, rubs her eyes, and looks around. Her hands fidget with the silverware.
As usual in the warm nights of early autumn, we sit on long picnic benches covered with a red cloth on the patio outside. Each setting has a crisp white napkin. Strings of white lights crisscross overhead between the house and the laundry building. I’m really glad Sonia’s not here tonight. Thank God for small favors.
“¿Vino?” I hold up the bottle and a glass, offering Kim red wine. Most days I’d prefer a Coca Cola to be honest, but this is what we have in the cellar.
“Yes, please.” She touches her shoulder to my arm conspiratorially. “It’s legal here. I’m not old enough to drink at home.” Then she covers her mouth, trying to not sound so new.
What she doesn’t understand is that I love her newness.
“You don’t have that problem here. Enjoy.”
Gesturing at the unlabeled jug, she asks, “Where did you get that bottle? How come it doesn’t have a brand?”
“Our neighbors grow the grapes and bottle the wine.” I pour into one of our short tumblers, which are these Moroccan tea glasses my mother likes. They’re paisano, a little too country for me. I wish we had something nicer. “Our families trade. We send them liters of olive oil in exchange for liters of wine.”
She leans in closer to me, and unlike my guest the other night, I don’t scoot. “Seriously? That’s the coolest.”
“It’s true.”
My grandfather speaks up. “Es importante aprender cómo crear las frutas de la tierra.”
“He says it’s important to learn how things are created?” Kim asks.
“Yes,” I say.
She turns to my grandfather and beams. “Quiero saber mucho más cosas de creación.”
“And do you know what is the beginning of all creation?” My voice is so low no one else can hear, and I don’t know exactly what is happening between us, but I know the energy’s crackling again. I know she can feel it.
Kim shakes her head.
“Desire.”
Her jaw drops slightly, and I can almost hear her heart beat faster. She takes the glass and presses her lips to the rim, taking a small sip.
It’s like watching someone breathe for the first time, the journey of the tart, sweet liquid visible on her face as it makes its way over her tongue, crossing her taste buds. She makes a little scrunched-up face, but her brow smooths out and her shoulders go back down.
“Wow. This is really good. I’ve never had anything like it.” She turns the glass around and around in her fingers, and then takes another sip.
My mother places a cold salad with atún on it in front of each person. “Primer plato,” she announces.
I pass the cruet of olive oil to Kim, who pokes at the salad, which has crisp lettuce, bright red tomato, and the pink fish. “Is this tuna?”
“Of a sort, yes.”
“You put tuna on a salad?”
“Almost always.”
She grimaces and takes a bite, then relaxes. “It’s delicious.”
The warm night settles around us, and as I eat, I survey the table.
Guillermo argues with Antonio about something that happened at school last year. I’m glad they’re bugging each other and not me.
Mari Carmen feeds Jorge a bite of salad, the lovebirds with their heads together, murmuring to each other. I’m too used to them to care, but if I thought about it, I’d be either sickened or jealous.
My grandmother lectures my grandfather about his smoking, as she’s done once a week my entire life.
My mother sits with my aunt and uncle, every once in a while glancing toward me and Kim with tightness in her neck and face. I take no notice of her, because I’m so happy with this girl.
But when I come back to Kim, she’s eating so fast she must think she’s never going to get food again. And she’s holding her fork and knife in the wrong hands.
“There’s no rush,” I whisper, gesturing at the table. “We have all night.”
Kim’s face reddens, and she lifts her silverware midair. “I’m so sorry. I’m not used to having enough time to do anything. We’re always on a schedule. My habit is to eat fast and go on to the next thing.”
“Here, there is no reason to. Slow food is best. It’s good for your digestion, too,” my mother says. “Take your time.”
If I could go a day without my grandmother or mother talking about digestion, it would be a day to celebrate.
Chagrin still registers on Kim’s face. I reach out and touch her hand. “Don’t worry so much. It will all be okay.” She gives me a tight nod and takes a bite. I notice the hands she uses to hold her silverware. “You use the other hands when you eat.”
Kim studies my hands and takes in everyone else at the table. “Huh. This is how I was taught.” Carefully she switches the cutlery, mimicking me. Taking a bite with her fork in her left hand, she chews and says, “It’s actually easier this way.”
I wink at her.
She glances around the table at all the conversations. I can tell she doesn’t understand most of what’s being said because I know what it was like in my translation classes. I use a low voice. “Don’t mind my family. Once you know the language better, it will be just like home.”
“No. It isn’t at all like home.” She’s so close I can smell her shampoo. “Even if I understood everything. I’m an only child, so I’m used to being the focus. I never have to compete for attention. If someone talks, it’s to me. I’m not used to all this noise, all these side conversations.”
I cut a piece of tomato. “I have never not been around a crowd of people at mealtimes. This must mean you’re the one people listen to.”
“Right. But I’d rather not have that, you know? It’s not my personality. I don’t need to be in the spotlight.”
“What do you want, guapa?
The table gets quiet.
That pink tinge touches her conejo nose as she takes another sip of wine, then mutters into her glass, “I’m hoping I can find out while I’m here.” When she looks up again, the string of lights overhead shines on her face, making her skin incandescent. “Compared to what I’m used to, it’s chaos, but it’s also beautifully orchestrated by your mother. We’ve got it all wrong—don’t talk, hurry through dinner to get on to the next thing. Your mom knows what she’s doing.”
“She does.”
I raise my glass to my mother, and then to Kim, and I drink. It’s delicious as usual, making things fuzzy. Happier. Es
pecially when sitting next to Kim with her optimism, pinup-girl attractiveness, and fresh American liveliness.
After we finish eating the salad, my mother and sister rise, clear our plates, and bustle back with painted ceramic platters of food.
“When it is light, I’ll take you for a tour of the olive trees,” I say.
“I look forward to it.”
“¿Más vino?” I indicate with the bottle.
She lifts the glass. “Un poco.”
By the heat on her cheeks, she is un poco tipsy, too, which means stay away. I’m not touching her when she’s inebriated—at least not the first time.
After dinner, when the dishes are cleared and the night is still beginning, my entire family lingers at the table.
“Tavo. ¿Nos haces el favor de tocar la guitarra?” mi madre asks.
Kim gives a tiny squeak of delight. “The guitar? You’re going to play?”
“De acuerdo.” I walk quickly to my house and fetch my guitar. Kim’s interest makes me want to play the best I’ve ever played. While my family hears me play plenty, this is the first time I get to play for her, and I want to make an impression. I want her to remember this night.
When I return, I sit to the side and begin to play the classical, complicated Spanish music I love. My fingers pluck and pull the nylon guitar strings, bringing the music to life. It always existed, it always exists, it’s just my job to bring it out now. So I sing, and I’m singing for her. I play, and I’m playing for her.
I lose my soul in the singing as I always do, but this time it’s more. This time I’m showing her a part of myself I don’t show everyone. My family doesn’t see it.
But she does.
I’m floating on air. I’m so high my family and my responsibilities can’t reach me. The world has melted away for a moment, and I’m living in the now, showing the music of my innermost self to this estadounidense.
When I come to, I catch Kim’s eye, rapt in my playing. My family claps, and Kim whispers, “You’re so good.”
I steeple my fingers and give her a cocky smile. “You have no idea.”
My mother’s sharp eye pierces me, but I don’t care. Kim yawns, and I say, “Let’s take you to your room.” She says goodnight to everyone and we go in the house. I leave my guitar inside the kitchen. When we get to Kim’s room, she steps in, but I stay at the door.
Sombra Page 7
