A Love Like Ours

by Micalea Smeltzer

  “I feel guilty,” I admit, my voice no more than a whisper.

  “Guilty?” he repeats. “Why?”

  I set my drink cup on the ground between my feet. “Because as amazing as this place is, and as much as I’ve always wanted to be here, I’d give it all up if it meant we were back home and the baby was okay.”

  “Talia.” His voice cracks. His arms wrap around my shoulders and he pulls me against his body. I fight the comfort at first, but this is Ollie and I can’t resist him for long. I sink against his solid chest, the fight going out of me as the tears fall from my eyes.

  His fingers tangle in my hair at the base of my neck and I clutch at his shirt, the fabric crinkling between my fingers.

  “It’s okay.” His lips press tenderly against the top of my head. “I get sad about it too, but we’re wrong to not talk about it. Keeping our feelings bottled up inside isn’t good for either of us.”

  “I know,” I mumble, my voice muffled where I have my mouth pressed against his shirt. “It’s just hard, you know.”

  He rests his chin on top of my head. “Yeah, I know.” He exhales a heavy breath and his fingers flex against my neck.

  “Things were finally so good for us,” I whisper. “Not perfect, but I was the happiest I’d ever been, and then losing the baby … I feel like it’s the world mocking me for thinking I was allowed to be happy.”

  His body stiffens and he pulls away slightly so he can look down at me. “You know that’s not true. Sometimes bad things happen, and it doesn’t mean we’re being punished, it’s just the way things are. I don’t believe in a world where when things are too good you’re punished for being happy. Shit happens. It’s life. It’s always changing for the good and the bad and you have to roll with it. Doesn’t mean you like it, but it is what is.” He blows out a breath. “I know nothing I say or do will take away the hurt you feel, just like nothing can take away my hurt, but maybe we can find a way to fit our broken pieces together so that it doesn’t hurt as much.”

  I lean up and press a kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

  He sighs and brushes his nose against mine. “I love you too, Tal. More than you’ll ever know.”

  We finish our sodas, our shoulders the tiniest bit lighter from our conversation, and then head further into the city.

  We come upon a little market with food, clothing, and locally-made jewelry. One booth in particular catches my eye, with colorful scarfs hanging from almost every surface.

  I take Ollie’s hand, dragging him over to it.

  He laughs at my determination.

  We stop in front of the booth and my mouth parts in awe. “Look at all of them,” I breathe. “They’re beautiful.” I reach out and touch my fingers to a piece of teal and hot pink fabric with a paisley design. Another catches my eye, this one done in different shades of blue with the design looking like the waves of the ocean.

  “Hola,” the elderly woman inside the booth speaks out.

  “Hi.” I smile. “These are beautiful,” I tell her, wondering if she can understand any English.

  “Beautiful,” she repeats, and her tongue rolls around the unfamiliar word. Eventually she nods and says, “Gracias.”

  “How much?” I ask, holding up my fingers and rubbing them together.

  She says something that makes no sense to me and I look to Ollie with pleading eyes. He shrugs, just as confused as I am. Ollie pulls out his wallet and grabs a few soles, the Peruvian form of money, that we exchanged our American money for at the airport.

  She takes the money, counts some out, and hands the rest back.

  She takes down the blue wave print scarf I was looking at. Pressing her lips together, her tongue pokes out as she thinks. “This one?” she asks with questioning eyes, wondering if she’s spoken correctly.

  “Yes, please.”

  She hands it to me and ducks down, appearing with a paper bag. I drop the scarf inside it and thank her again before we head to another booth.

  We find one filled with colorful and unusual hats, and stop, having to try a few on.

  I lose it laughing when Ollie puts on one filled with various feathers. It looks like a bird made a haphazard nest on his head. I grab one that looks more like a bowl than a hat and place it on my head.

  “That’s a good look,” he jokes as I strike a pose.

  “I thought so too.” I wink and place it back.

  “Look at this one.” He picks up a fire-engine-red hat with what looks like a twig sticking out the back of it.

  I snort when he puts it on. “That’s fabulous. We should send these to the British Monarchy,” I jest.

  He grabs another one, this one a big purple top hat with a bow, and I nearly cry with laughter.

  “Oh, my God,” I clutch my stomach. “If you had your hair down you’d look like the Mad Hatter.”

  There’s a mirror on the booth counter and he bends to look, laughing uproariously when he sees his reflection.

  Once we stop laughing he returns the hat and we move to another booth.

  This one boasts jewelry made by a local artist. Most are made from leather and accented with wooden beads while some have metal strips attached to them.

  Ollie picks up one leather cord that wraps around the wrist several times.

  “Instead of matching tattoos we should have matching bracelets.” He waggles his brows, trying to entice me.

  I laugh. “Yeah, that’s because when you suggest the tattoo thing you wanted to get Cheetos. I’m sorry, but a Cheeto tattooed on my wrist is going to look like a piece of poop, not a Cheeto.”

  He frowns. “It wouldn’t have.” I raise one brow. “Okay, so maybe it would have, but I’m sure we could’ve figured something else out.”

  I shake my head and pick up a bracelet with a leather strap and some kind of natural teal stone beads.

  “I want this one,” I say. “And you can get that one.”

  “Deal,” he agrees, holding his hand out to shake on it.

  We check the time and see that nearly two hours has passed since we first left the train station, so we start the walk back so we’ll be ready when our train arrives. Before we leave the market, we grab a quick bite of food from one of the vendors and eat it as we walk. I have no idea what it is, some native dish filled with meats, cheese, and spices, but it’s delicious and the flavors explode across my tongue.

  Not many people are waiting when we arrive at the train station, so there are plenty of chairs we could sit on, but we end up sitting on the floor with our backs against the wall.

  Ollie pulls out a pack of gum. “Want some?” he asks.

  After the spicy food I just had, the answer is very much yes. I take the piece of gum offered and unwrap it, popping it into my mouth.

  He grabs a piece for himself before putting the pack back into his pocket.

  I chew and try to blow a bubble, failing miserably.

  Ollie smiles crookedly and then tries his hand at it. He gets a good start, but then it pops.

  I go again, this time managing to blow a decent-sized bubble before it pops.

  Ollie’s next one barely does anything and his lips turn down into a frown.

  I go again and the bubble gets bigger and bigger.

  “No fair.” Ollie pokes at my bubble, trying to pop it, but nothing happens.

  I keep blowing and it grows bigger until it pops, the stickiness stuck to my lips.

  I giggle, wiping it away.

  I can feel the eyes of people watching us, but I don’t look their way. I’m sure some people are amused and others are irritated, but you can’t live your life worrying about the approval or disapproval of others. All that matters is that you do what makes you smile.

  Ollie and I both blow another bubble, pressing them together before we both dissolve into fits of laughter.

  We’re so busy with our silly game that we don’t even realize at first that our train has arrived and people are getting on.

  Ollie grabs the duffle bag
and takes my hand as we follow the crowd down a hallway and onto a platform.

  We check, double check, and then triple check that we’re getting on the right train.

  I’d be devastated if we got on the wrong one.

  We get on the train and I’m in awe of the niceness of it. I knew the tickets were rather pricey, but I still thought the train would probably be old and dirty, but it’s anything but. The inside is brand new with large windows so there’s no chance you’ll miss any of the view. There are even small cut-out windows in the top of the train.

  Ollie and I take our seats, and there’s a small table in front of us with two other seats across from us.

  The seats begin to fill up and someone comes across the speakers, speaking in the native language so rapidly that I can’t even pick out one word.

  Ollie places our duffle bag on the floor by his feet and sits back. He gave me the window seat, so I curl my knees beneath me, elevating my body so I can see out the window easier.

  Ollie leans forward, clasping his hands together and resting them on the table. He looks around me and out the window.

  “How long is the train ride?” he asks.

  “Three and a half hours is what it said online.”

  He frowns. “So it’s going to be getting close to four when we’d finally get off the train and then we have to hike to Machu Picchu?”

  I nod. “And the hike can take up to two hours—but if we take a taxi it would only be twenty minutes.”

  He leans back in the seat as the last of the people board.

  “I think we should hang out in the town for a while—what’d you say it was called?—and go to Machu Picchu in the morning before heading back.”

  I purse my lips, pondering his words. The train jerks and pulls out of the terminal. “Yeah,” I say after a moment, “I guess that makes sense.”

  “We’ve waited this long to see it, another day won’t kill us.” He wiggles in the seat, trying to get comfortable. The table in front of us is low, and since he’s tall it doesn’t give him much room for his legs. He ends up stretching his legs out onto the empty seat across from him.

  “It’s more beautiful here than I expected,” I say, leaning my body against his as I look out the window at the passing scenery. I’m captivated by the lush green grass and trees. Living in Malibu I’ve grown used to sand and ocean, so this is completely foreign to me.

  Ollie runs his fingers through my hair and I nearly moan because it feels so good. He does it again and my eyes close.

  His fingers move down to my neck, rubbing away the soreness.

  “That feels good.”

  He chuckles and the sound vibrates against me.

  After a few minutes, his hands fall to his lap and I adjust my position in my seat so I can better look out the window.

  Ollie crosses his arms over his chest and after a few minutes when I look over at him he’s fallen off to sleep. His face looks softer in his sleep, more boyish. He almost always sports a smile on his face, but after the accident there was a tightness to his face, like he was forcing himself to be the same old him. I think he was afraid that his grief might push me over the edge when I was already dealing with so much.

  So many people look at him, see nothing but a jokester—the class clown.

  But I see everything, and there’s so much more to him than what everyone else gets at first glance.

  When the train stops, Ollie jerks awake, having slept the whole way.

  “Did I fall asleep?” he asks, his head jerking around this way and that.

  I laugh, pushing my hair out of my eyes. “If you have to ask then I think you have your answer.”

  “Right,” he says slowly, blinking his eyes and then rubbing them to rid them of sleep. “So, we’re here then?”

  “We’re here.” I stand, stretching my stiff legs. My thighs bump the table but I don’t mind, because I can’t sit for another second.

  Everyone files off the train and we wait for them to pass. Once everyone has cleared off, Ollie grabs the duffle and stands, stepping into the aisle.

  I shimmy my way out from around the table and he takes my hand, heading for the exit.

  We stand on the platform, looking around and trying to get our bearings.

  “If we’re not going to Machu Picchu today we should look for a place to stay first.”

  He nods in agreement. “I wonder what’s around here.”

  We look from our left and right, trying to decide which way would be best to go. We end up heading to our right, following the crowd of people.

  We exit the train station onto the street in the small town of Aguas Calientes.

  Mountains extend high into the air all around us, and the sight of it takes my breath away. It’s absolutely astounding. Seeing something like this reminds me of how small we truly are in a very big world—how it’s impossible to see all the beautiful things granted to us here on Earth in our limited lifetimes. I’m thankful, though, to be able to experience this small fraction of the beauty.

  “This is amazing,” I breathe, in complete awe. I let go of Ollie’s hand, turning in circles.

  I’ve never seen anything so captivating and my heart accelerates because if this is this beautiful, then Machu Picchu must be a thousand times better.

  Buses roll by, taking passengers to the entrance of Machu Picchu and my excitement sky rockets, because tomorrow we’ll be on one of those buses.

  Ollie slings the duffle bag crossways over his shoulders and points. “That looks like it might be a motel.” He points to the dingy green-and-beige-colored building. It’s definitely not as nice as the place Liam booked us in Lima, but neither of us care about that sort of thing. Your memories are in the details, in the things that make you smile and laugh or even cry, not in what the expensive sheets felt like against your legs.

  The small city bustles with life, and I can’t believe that this unique little spot exists nestled between the mountains and surrounded by such rich history. It’s one thing to read about things online, or even to see pictures, but being here in person and experiencing it puts it on a whole new level.

  We wait for the traffic to clear before crossing the street and heading into the building.

  The tile floors in the lobby are chipped and some weird avocado-green color. The walls are covered in a flowered wallpaper and coupled with the floor it gives off a seventies vibe—and not in a good way like a recently renovated place trying to go with that kind of look. No, it’s clear this place hasn’t been updated since it was built.

  A funky smell lingers in the lobby, and I can’t tell if it’s mildew or someone’s really smelly lunch.

  Ollie heads to the counter and leans over it, looking from left to right to see if he spots anyone. We haven’t seen anyone since we walked in the lobby. He taps his hand to the bell and it rings sharply through the small space.

  We hear nothing in response and he looks at me with a raised brow. I shrug.

  Ollie huffs out a sigh and then presses his hand to the bell repeatedly.

  A sharp call of, “Ya voy!” comes from a back room. Ollie continues ringing the bell, though, because let’s face it, this is Ollie and he’s practically five. “Deja de hacer eso!”

  A disgruntled elderly woman pushes open a swinging door that leads to the area behind the counter. She’s short, like really short, and can barely see above the counter. She grabs the bell with both hands and jerks it from beneath Ollie’s hand, placing it on the desk in front of her.

  “¿Cómo puedo ayudarte?”

  Ollie and I exchange a glance. We probably should’ve picked up a book of translations while we were at the airport, but neither of us ever thought about it.

  “English?” I plead.

  The old lady sighs heavily, blowing her graying hair around.

  She pushes open the door and calls, “Cualli?”

  She gives us a forced smile and holds up one finger, the universal sign for wait a minute.

  I cro
ss my arms, laying them on the counter, and Ollie reaches over, curling one of his fingers through the belt loop of my shorts.

  A female says a few words back in Spanish and the only one I’m able to pick out is abuela.

  A moment later, the door swings open again, revealing a much younger woman, about the same age as us, with a silky curtain of black hair hanging down to her back. Her eyes are a deep brown and her skin is a beautiful russet color with a few freckles sprinkled across her nose.

  “I’m sorry,” she says in crystal-clear English. “My grandma doesn’t know a lick of English and she can be rather … rude at times.” Her eyes drop to the bell now sitting on the desk below the counter. She says something to her grandma in rapid Spanish and the older woman disappears behind the mysterious swinging door again.

  “You speak excellent English,” I comment.

  She smiles and her teeth are pearly white, like the kind you see in commercials for dental products. “My father is American. I grew up in the States. My family and I are here for the summer, trying to get this place in better shape. My abuela let it go when abuelo died.” She smiles sadly. “We’re trying to help, but she’s making it difficult since she doesn’t like change.” She motions to her clothes, and it’s then that I realize she’s sprinkled with flecks of white paint. “So,” she draws out the word, “what can I help you with?”

  Ollie drums his fingers against the counter. “We need a place to stay tonight.”

  The girl, Cualli I assume her name is, laughs lightly. “Well, we have vacancies. The rooms are not that nice, I’ll be honest, but they’re cheap.”

  “That’s not important to us.” Ollie waves a hand dismissively.

  “Excellent.” She pauses, looking around. “God, this place is a mess.” She locates a notebook and pen. “Fill this out with your names—and I hope you have cash? We can’t accept cards, because like I said, Abuela hasn’t done anything to this place in a long time. It’s practically the dark ages in here—don’t get me wrong, there’s plumbing and electricity and … I’m rambling. I’m sorry.” She smiles sheepishly.