by Cherry Kay
“I’m not forcing it,” he told her slowly, “I can see you in the morning, until around three in the afternoon, if that’s okay.”
“If you have to do something—”
“It’s only after three, until dinner,” he insisted. “So yeah, I can still see you from morning until three.”
“We’ve already spent a great day together. Maybe we need a break from…” she stopped, knowing how that sounded bad, negative, needy. Need a break? Like they were dating or something? “Sorry,” she quickly said. “That came out weird. Wrong.”
“I said I could see you,” Alex said. “Isn’t that so easy to understand?”
There was something unmistakable in his tone; he was annoyed, and it unnerved her. It was the first time she had ever heard that tone of voice. She forced a breath in. She was taking this the wrong way. She had no right to assume. “Wait, what are you doing, anyway? It seems so important.”
“I have to meet up with people,” he said.
His tone was avoidant, but it seemed like he didn’t want to lie to her, so he generalized it instead.
“Meet up with people,” she repeated blankly. “Alright, forget I asked.” She wanted to make things better between them. There was some fracture in the mood now, the tiniest fracture, and she wondered what had caused it. Her question? She didn’t mean anything by it. It was an innocent question, one that had disastrous results.
“Why?” his eyes narrowed, as he placed down his glass of wine. “Why should I forget?”
“Nothing. It’s just this conversation’s gotten weird.”
“It’s not weird. I just told you I was doing something. That’s why we can’t spend more time tomorrow. And then you tell me we need a break? From what?”
“I didn’t choose my words carefully,” she enunciated, feeling warmth rise up her throat. He was getting annoyed? Well, she was getting annoyed too. As much as she wanted to placate the current situation, she couldn’t help but feel useless. She couldn’t help but feel like she was someone he could discard so easily. Had he gotten bored of her already?
“Right,” he said, “didn’t choose your words carefully. You know you meant it. Why? Are you tired of seeing me now?”
“I’m not the one who’s busy tomorrow,” she retorted, her voice getting lower. “Besides, I already said that you shouldn’t force it. I totally understand you’re a busy person, and you already took off a Saturday of work.”
“Then shouldn’t you feel flattered that I still want to take a part of my Sunday to see you?”
Flattered? He was egging her on, wasn’t he? Wanting a fight? “Why are you doing this? You wanna pick a fight with someone because you haven’t dated anyone in a while?”
“Who said I hadn’t dated anyone in a while?”
That stung. She knew it didn’t mean her. The supposedly lovely night was ruined, by the two of them, marred by negative thoughts and happenings. Well, she’d had a great time until now, and she’d thought he did, too. What prompted this sudden change in mood?
“I’m sorry,” he quickly said, shaking his head once and closing his eyes. “I’m just having dinner with my parents.”
“What’s so bad about that?”
He shook his head again. “It gets… tedious.”
“You could have just said that right away. I would have totally understood.”
“I didn’t like the way you said it, that we needed a break.”
“I know, that was stupid of me. You didn’t need to hear that opinion.”
“Is it an opinion? Or is it what you really want? A break?”
“I only said that so you’ll stop forcing yourself into thinking that you want to see me and all.”
“I’m not forcing myself.”
“The way you sounded earlier, yeah right,” she drawled, knowing she sounded more urban than her normal accent would have allowed. It manifested when she was feeling sarcastic, and tonight, this moment was no exception. My daddy didn’t raise no loser, she suddenly thought savagely.
His eyes narrowed, and he took a deep breath. “Didn’t know you could be this difficult.”
“Excuse me?” she said, “I’m the difficult one now? I wasn’t the one who was hiding a totally understandable excuse here. I’m trying to understand you as best as I can.”
“Maybe we should talk in Spanish, noh?” he challenged her.
“What for? So I can sass you in Spanish, too? Don’t think for one second you can beat me around with your passive-aggressiveness. “You haven’t dated in a while? Oh yeah? Well, I haven’t dated in a while, either, if that makes you feel any better about yourself. I don’t know what’s gotten into you. You were the perfect gentleman the entire day, and then suddenly, this? You know what? Screw it, I’m going home.”
She meant every word, feeling blood pound into her head. She stood up, and his hand shot out for her arm.
“Wait,” he began.
“Oh right,” she said, deftly taking out a few bills from her bag. “So we make sure this was never a date.”
“Iesha—”
She spun around, not wanting to make a scene; even if there were few people, she still didn’t want to make a scene. She had had enough of that kind of drama, finding out about Terrence’s indiscretion during their engagement party. She quickly walked away from the restaurant, praying he wouldn’t follow her, and if he ever did, she was ready to slap the daylights out of him.
*
Well, yesterday had been a fiasco, he thought grimly as he drove for his parents’ home nearly an hour away from Barcelona. Sitges was the town his mother and father had grown up in, and they decided to retire in Sitges, as well. The home was heavily influenced by Mediterranean architecture, something his mother loved, reminding her of her childhood home.
It was a large property, one that was going to be passed on to him when the time came. He didn’t want it, as he preferred sleek, minimalist architecture with subtle hints of Spanish culture, but he knew he would do or accept anything as long as his mother asked or demanded it. He wondered if his sister was already on her way with her family.
They’d be surprised he was way earlier than usual. It was not yet ten in the morning, but he was en route to the family abode. So he was eating lunch and then having snacks and then dinner with his whole family. His mother would be ecstatic, and he and his father would be civil. Thank god for his niece, then. She made everything feel lighter every Sunday.
Why did he still do this? He disliked seeing his father; he just wasn’t a fan. I’m doing this for mama, he thought, unable to bear the sight of her sad or hurt. He passed by familiar streets, and he saw that familiar coastline he had loved as a little boy. They had two homes as children, him and Anita. One was in Barcelona, the other was here. Sitges was more of their summer house, and he smiled, reliving the memories of running on the beach, sunburned and hungry and screaming with happiness at the waves.
He suddenly wished he was a child again. Children didn’t have to go through turmoil that could only be inflicted by growing up. There was something bittersweet about his childhood memories… too bad he had to grow up. Gone was the carefree child, replaced by a passive-aggressive young… he stopped. I am not passive-aggressive, he thought. She had just said that to spite him. Everything he had thought about her had changed, and he couldn’t find it in himself to go after her that night. He just sat in his chair, drinking wine until he had finished two bottles, going home past ten in the evening.
He didn’t even get drunk, and the walk home was uneventful. Earlier this morning, he woke up, wondering whether to call or text her. She certainly didn’t do any of that now, did she? She always waited for him to initiate communication. He wasn’t having it. In the end, he put his phone down, hating the feeling of being vulnerable to her. She wasn’t going to win this one… but this wasn’t a competition, right? This was just a relationship, however it progressed, whatever it was going to become. What was it going to become, anyway? He didn’t get to hol
d the cards at the moment.
His car entered an archway covered deep in vines, with its wrought-iron gates open. He smiled, seeing his mother wave from the balcony. As soon as he walked up the stone steps and onto the sprawling stone and terracotta veranda, his mother quickly gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Look at you,” she said. “I haven’t seen you in a week.”
“Feels like an eternity, ma,” he laughed.
“Come inside, you need to eat.”
It was a quiet and pleasant lunch, something he liked doing with his mother. He was glad his father was out with old high school friends and would not be back until past three in the afternoon. His mother, being the typical Ines, talked animatedly, asking him about his love life.
“Ma, I have a life,” he said with a laugh, “I don’t need to put love in it.”
“Not for anything else, but I want grandkids,” she said.
“You already have Isabella.”
“Isabella is perfect, but she’s Anita’s child, and not yours,” his mother said, miffed. “Can you imagine me being surrounded by lots of adorable grandchildren?”
“It’s not as cheap as you think. Raising kids nowadays is expensive.”
“It’s only expensive if you want to give them the best,” Ines told her son.
“We were expensive children, weren’t we?” he sighed.
Ines smiled. “All worth it. Look at you and Anita.”
“Apparently it isn’t enough for papa,” Alex said.
“Need I remind you that your father cares for you in his own way?”
“In his own way is questionable, mama.”
“You have a wonderful way of changing the topic,” Anita told him with a wink. “So, I know you’re seeing someone.”
“How’s that?”
“You look happy.”
“Oh, come on, ma. It’s not like I’m not happy when I see you.”
“I know you are,” Ines said, “it’s just that… I’d like to see you happy in another aspect, a more romantic aspect.”
Alex froze. He knew his mother had the best intentions for him. He knew she was genuinely concerned about his happiness. He hadn’t introduced anyone to her, or even to Anita, since then. Everyone he dated stayed under the radar, and just recently, he had been contemplating introducing Iesha. As what? Just dating? He knew his father would have something to say, with lots of questions to ask.
He wasn’t ready for that level of interrogation just yet. Looking at his mother though, it was a different story. He was tempted to tell her about Iesha, not to ask for advice. He just wanted to be heard, see if he was making any sense, if there was any sense to this. For a man nearing his thirties, he still felt like a novice sometimes.
“I’ll never hear the end of this, huh?”
“You’re young and at the prime of your life. Why should you listen to us old folk?”
“You’re my mother, that’s why. And if it makes you feel any more curious, I am currently dating someone.”
His mother breathed out a sigh of relief. “You are? I mean, that’s great. Who is she… or he?”
Alex laughed aloud. “Really, ma?”
“I was just being safe, whatever your preferences are.”
“You deserve mom of the year award, you know that? We should make this a thing, mom of the year.”
“So who is this person?” Ines pressed on.
“You really have been waiting,” he said with a sigh. “She’s someone I met a few weeks ago.” It hadn’t even been two weeks yet, right? It felt like he knew everything about her, and nothing about her all at the same time. “She’s from California.”
“Which part?”
Which part was it again? Somewhere near Hollywood? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that she was American. I thought I covered a lot of topics with her already. “Somewhere near Beverly something, or was it Wood something.”
“Something?”
“I forgot where it was exactly.”
“She’s American?”
“American, her mother’s from Spain, though. She speaks fluent Spanish,” he said cautiously.
“Oh, she does?”
He saw the excitement in his mother’s eyes. He hadn’t previously dated anyone that was a shade darker than he was. Would she be surprised? Ines wasn’t like her husband, though…
He nodded. “Yeah, she does.”
“When can I meet her?”
“You wanna meet her already? We’re not serious or anything.”
“If this young lady is worth mentioning, this must mean something good, right?”
Or it could be I’m desperate? He wasn’t that desperate to date. Dates were easy to set up. It was their incessant concern for his singular lifestyle, and it was a lifestyle that suited him fine. He wasn’t in a hurry to call Iesha his girlfriend; he wasn’t in a hurry to be exclusive.
He forced himself to nod. I guess she is someone worth mentioning… if only they hadn’t had that ugly conversation. They’d had a fight, and they weren’t even together yet, for crying out loud. He saw his mother’s smile fade. “Something the matter?”
“If she’s a tourist, that means she won’t be here for long. Does she hold dual citizenship?”
“I didn’t bother asking, mama.”
“Why not?”
“We’re just dating, we’re taking things easy.”
“Why? Did she come from a breakup as well? One that’s fairly recent, I hope.”
“I think it’s recent. Six months ago.”
“And that’s why she’s here? To heal her broken heart?”
“Learn Flamenco, actually.”
His mother’s smile returned. “Really now. So she enjoys the Spanish culture?”
“I think she sort of grew up with a lot of Spanish influence.”
“What’s her mother’s name?”
“For real, ma? It’s not like you’d know every Spanish person in America, let alone California.”
“Her mother’s name?” Ines repeated.
“I think it was Luisa, Luisa Alves, before she became a Thompson.”
Her mother’s eyes brightened. “The painter?” she gasped.
“You know her?” Alex asked, surprised.
“I recently acquired a painting from a gallery in Barcelona. Can you believe that? What a small world this is!”
Alex almost sighed heavily. This was bad news, wasn’t it? She would never let this go, never let that opportunity pass. “How sure are you it’s her?”
“An Alves marrying a Thompson, it’s easy to deduce.”
“You’re assuming too much,” Alex protested.
“I have to meet her. What is her name?”
“I don’t think it’s—”
“Shush, I have to meet her. She has a name, right?”
“Iesha.”
Ines smiled triumphantly. “Good, good. Now finish your food.”
Chapter9
She wondered what he was doing at that very moment. She had woken up past ten in the morning, her head throbbing a little. The wine must’ve been bad for her system. She had had a bottle of wine in the fridge, just for kicks, and she actually finished the entirety of it last night.
She gripped her palms, trying to get some blood circulating again. She hadn’t been able to slap him. She still wanted to this morning, but the urge wasn’t that strong anymore, though. Iesha still ended up thinking about him, even if he had been a total jerk last night.
He just was being nasty; it was plain and simple. What did she do to merit that? The whole day was perfect, until dinner time, she thought miserably. She replayed the scenario in her head: what she could have said, what she could have avoided saying, and what he could have avoided saying or implying.
Maybe she didn’t read between the lines enough. Maybe, no matter how nice he seemed, he was just in it for the short haul. She had flown 6,000 miles to be entertained for a few days. That wasn’t so bad now, was it? At least she had a private tou
r, got to eat in great restaurants, and got laid after six months.
“Right,” he had said, “didn’t choose your words carefully. You know you meant it. Why? Are you tired of seeing me now?”
“I’m not the one who’s busy tomorrow. Besides, I already said that you shouldn’t force it. I totally understand you’re a busy person, and you already took off a Saturday of work.”
“Then shouldn’t you feel flattered that I still want to take a part of my Sunday to see you?”
That irked her. Shouldn’t I feel flattered? Because Mr. Bigshot is taking time off to be with me? He wasted an entire Saturday with her, saying they both needed this, and he had promised this to her.
What an idiot. I’m not the one who had something to do on a Sunday. He had wanted to force it. Make me feel special so he’ll feel good about himself, too? It was a strange form of chivalry, a self-serving, egoistic one. He was no one to her, right? He was just a stranger, that’s all he was. But he was a stranger she couldn’t help but fall for. That was the problem with falling in love while on vacation; one had to go back to reality.
Are you sure about this? She debated to herself. You don’t just give your heart, yourself, away to someone you just met. Wait, what’s so wrong with that? Blind trust can be done. That’s all there is to it. What if he’s blind, too? And we’re too caught up in this whirlwind to let got at the moment.
She felt herself deflate while eating her breakfast. She had contemplated calling or texting him numerous times since waking up. Surely there was a more civil way to this? To end this? End what? Nothing’s been started yet, right? At least nothing of importance, nothing that tugged the heartstrings.
I feel too much. He was right. How do you toughen up? Shouldn’t I have toughened up after what Terrence did to me? Yet, here I am, vulnerable again. She had hoped deep inside her that this vulnerability was going to be worth it, that serendipity would play its part. Can I fight this? Fight against this? Come on, girl, you’re better than any guy, she told herself.
She came here not to have some dalliance with a Spanish man, but to heal herself completely through art and inspiration. But the man was a walking piece of art and inspiration, she admitted to herself. The collection she had in her mind was heavily inspired by the places they’d gone to, and it hadn’t even been a month yet. It was inspired by sweeping passion, with vibrant colors and ruffled sleeves and skirts.
