Love, in Spanish Page 4

  They are excited, happier for me than perhaps I am. They all think I could make a difference, that I’ll do an excellent job, that I was meant for the position. They are not wrong in any of this.

  Vera is staring at me, her red lips quirked up to the side, her eyes shining. She looks like a girl and a woman, and I want nothing more than to make her proud. I want to embrace this change but only if she’s there every step of the way.

  Later, after we’ve all eaten the custard confection that Carmen prepared for dessert and we’re all sitting around with tiny glasses of my father’s favorite cognac, Lucia pulls me aside. She takes me to the balcony overlooking the gardens of the backyard and the fish pond, and pulls out a cigarette.

  “I thought you quit,” I note, eyeing it disdainfully as she lights up. Still, I can’t help but breathe in that first hint of burning tobacco paper before it disappears into the smell of tired heat and the fresh scent of the neighbourhood sprinklers as they whir in the night.

  She rolls her eyes in a way that makes her look like a teenager. “I took it up again after Alvarez cheated on me.”

  Ah yes, things didn’t end so well with her latest boyfriend. Not that I was surprised, since the man was a notorious player close to my age, one of those start-up business millionaires. Lucia doesn’t seem to care much either, maybe that was part of the problem.

  “When are you going to find a good man, someone to settle down with?”

  She laughs caustically at this and purses her lips as she eyes me expectantly. “When are you going to settle down?”

  I narrow my eyes. “I am newly divorced, Lucia.”

  She tilts her head to the side but her expression doesn’t change. “We all know that. And the reason you are newly divorced, Mateo…I saw the way you look at her tonight. Every time I see you, it is always the same.”

  I raise my hand to stop her and look out at the dark foliage of the backyard and the lights of the nearest houses. “Don’t compare it to food because I’ve heard that one before.”

  “You’re in love with her,” she says.

  I shake my head. “Your powers of deduction are impressive.”

  “No, Mateo,” she says, and her voice is suddenly serious. “I mean, really in love. You’re going to ask her to marry you, aren’t you?”

  Her words shock me, and I quickly eye the house to make sure no one is listening. “Can you not say that so loudly?” I ask, annoyed, more so that she’s figured me out than the fact she’s being so blunt about it.

  “But it’s true,” she says between puffs. “Isn’t it?”

  I sigh and run my hand over my face. “Vera is not ready for that.”

  “How do you know, have you asked her?”

  “She is too young.”

  “She is my age, more or less, and yet you just brought up the same question to me. How come it is something conceivable with me but not for her?”

  “Because,” I say slowly, “I don’t wish to get my hopes up.”

  She leans against the railing, watching me for a beat that ticks on too long. I can feel all the conclusions she’s drawing. “But your hopes are up, aren’t they? Look, I love Vera. I wish I knew her better, that we’d see each other more often, but my dear brother is so selfish with her time. So I don’t know her like I should. But I don’t think she’s going to run away from you in fear, Mateo. She’s a foreigner in this country, facing an uncertain future, barely speaking the language. She’s doing this all for you. Maybe you should have more faith.”

  I give her a look. “So is that why you brought me out here?”

  She shrugs with one shoulder and blows out a cloud of smoke that hangs in the heavy air. “I was just curious. I thought, if you do, maybe I could help you pick out the ring. Be involved in some way.”

  Now this surprises me. Lucia and I are close, but because of our age difference, we’ve never been that close. “I see. I’m back with Atlético and now you want to be friends with your big shot brother.”

  She smiles at me. “So you are taking the job?”

  I exhale slowly through my nose, but the doubt I felt from earlier, the doubt that holds back my words, is gone. “I don’t know. But I think so. I will tell them on Friday though, just to be sure.”

  “Why wouldn’t you take it?” she asks.

  “I don’t know. It could change everything, couldn’t it? I would be back in the public eye again. They seemed to like harassing us an awful lot when I was no longer part of the team. How are they going to like me when I’m the coach?”

  She bites her lip and gives me a sympathetic look. “You are right,” she says, tapping her cigarette so the ash falls to the floor. She brushes it off the edge of the balcony with her foot to avoid Carmen having a heart attack. “But I think that’s a small price to pay for doing what you love, no?”

  I can only hope that the price stays small.

  Chapter Three

  When Thursday afternoon rolls around, I’m feeling one hundred percent more positive about my choice to join Atlético. Perhaps there was never anything negative about the opportunity to begin with¸ but I feel like I’ve been approaching life with a grain of salt lately. When you’ve found something precious and you’ve been through a lot to get it, it’s hard not to eye things with an air of suspicion.

  I am in the bedroom, slipping on a light blue silk Prada shirt when I hear Vera come inside the apartment. There is the sound of the lock rattling, the door closing, her shoes being kicked off, keys being placed on the table. It’s a series of sounds that makes me feel safe.

  Today, though, as I am getting dressed for my dinner later with Bon, a good friend I haven’t seen in over a year, there is something different about Vera’s entrance. There is a heaviness to the sounds, and when her shoe thumps on the floor, it lands hard.

  “Vera?” I ask, tucking my shirt tails into my pants and coming out of the bedroom and down the hall. I stop by the entrance to the kitchen and living room. She is sitting on the arm of the couch, her head down, with peachy hair falling across her face, her hands in her lap. She looks defeated. For a moment I wonder if it’s the heat that’s dragging her down. Even with air conditioning, the place is muggy.

  I gently place a hand on her shoulder. “Vera?”

  She slowly looks up at me. She hasn’t been crying—her eyes are dry—but her face looks extra pale and all the lipstick on her mouth has been bitten off.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask as I crouch down beside her, hands on her arm and thigh.

  She sighs and her nose scrunches up slightly in embarrassment. “I think I’m getting fired.”

  “What?” I ask, obviously shocked. “Why? How? What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” she says tiredly. “My boss, Patrice, pulled me in today and told me that my work visa for them will be up in September. She said she is unsure right now if they are going to apply for another one. There is another person who started last week, Amy, she’s from Ireland and she speaks fluent Spanish. She only works once a week, but I think they are grooming her to take my place.”

  “That is ridiculous,” I say, a path of warm rage making its way up my throat and clouding my words. “Why would they do that? You’re perfect for the company. You make people feel welcome. I’ve seen you there, I know this. Your Spanish is coming along just fine too—they must see your improvements compared to when you started.”

  She shrugs like she’s given up all hope. “I guess not. Patrice said something about the time it takes for the visa to go through—remember it took like a month or two last time—and that they are used to hiring people from the EU. Less paperwork.”

  I am beside myself. I straighten up and fold my arms, looking around the room as if it will give me answers. “Well, they cannot leave you hanging like this. Have you been officially let go?”

  “No,” she says. “Patrice said she’d let me know in a few weeks. I guess they are going to look into it a little bit more. I knew I should have been suspicious when the perm
it was only for six months to begin with. I don’t know if they ever wanted me on more than a trial basis.”

  “But, Vera, you’ve been with them for almost a year now, it’s just that some of that was under the table. They can’t afford to, what would you say…yank your chain?”

  “That or dick you around.”

  “They can’t yank your dick or anything like that,” I tell her, and start striding toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” she quickly cries out, getting to her feet.

  I grab my phone from the bowl on the counter and glance at it quickly before putting it in my pocket. “I’m going to go talk to Patrice.”

  “No, Mateo,” she says, her bare feet scuffling over to me. She grabs hold of my arm and stares at me with pleading eyes. “Please don’t. This isn’t your problem.”

  I widen my eyes incredulously. “It isn’t my problem? Yes it is, Vera. You are my lover, my friend, my everything. But you being here right now is dependent on them. I’m not letting them take that away from me.”

  She manages a sympathetic smile. “I know. But there are other ways. I’ll get another job.”

  “When does the permit officially run out?”

  “September 5th.”

  “You’ll get another job in two weeks? I don’t even know if it works that way. You can’t just transfer a permit from one company to another.”

  She throws her hands up. “Then I’ll work under the table for someone until they give me a new one.”

  I can’t help but shake my head. I have a bad feeling in my gut, like someone has placed stones there. “It’s risky. If you get caught, you’ll be deported.”

  “Then I won’t get caught.”

  I take hold of her hand. “You know I’d be more than happy to take care of you.” I’ve told her this many times, how she doesn’t have to work, that she can just do whatever she pleases and I’ll take care of everything. It only seems to raise the hackles on her back.

  “But I’d still be here illegally if you did,” she says. “At least this way I have a chance. Anyway, maybe they won’t let me go. I’ll just work extra hard for them. I’ll prove that I am better.”

  I admire her tenacity and can only hope it will be that easy. Still, I do want to talk to Patrice. But perhaps now, when I am heated up and likely to say things I will regret, it’s not the best time. Las Palabras may have brought us together, but I will be damned if they are the ones to tear us apart.

  “Do you want me to stay home tonight?” I ask her. “We could have some wine, go out to a movie?”

  She rubs her lips together and quickly shakes her head. “No. You haven’t seen this Bon fellow in forever. I’ll just call Claudia and we’ll go out somewhere. What kind of a name is Bon, anyway?”

  “It’s short for Bonaventure,” I say. “His mother was French. And very strange. Used to powder her face with blue cornstarch, according to Bon.” I grew up with Bon living down the street from me in Madrid, though these days he only comes back every now and then. The rest of the time he’s a freelance photographer, usually for non-profit organizations that have him gallivanting in the rainforest or in remote villages.

  “I really don’t want to leave you like this,” I tell her, pulling her into my chest and wrapping my arms around her. “I hate being given a problem that I can’t immediately solve.”

  “I know,” she mumbles into me. “Maybe when Monday rolls around, everything will right itself. I mean, you’ll be starting your new job, maybe.”

  Maybe. I wasn’t sure when I would actually start. But it didn’t seem fair that the universe had this way of giving you one thing by taking away another. I knew it was the law of equilibrium and balance, but I didn’t think it was asking too much for us both to have jobs we were happy about.

  Or maybe it was.

  I meet Bon at a tapas bar off of Plaza Mayor. The cobblestone streets are thick with tourists and drunk college students getting a head start on their weekend. I weave my way through them, unable to grab ahold of their enthusiasm. Vera’s news has put a damper on everything and my brain has latched onto this worry, allowing it to grow unchecked.

  I find him at the back, in a dark corner booth, munching on a bowl of almonds. Bon is probably around forty by now, a short man compared to me, but he has this way of making himself look taller. His mother had instilled proper posture in him as a small boy, and now, combined with the fact that he only wears all black, it makes all the difference.

  “Bon,” I say heartily, feeling a layer of anxiety slough off at his familiar face. His dark hair is thinning a bit on top but otherwise he looks the same.

  He slides out of the booth and shakes my hand while I slap him affectionately on the back.

  “Mateo,” he greets me, “you haven’t changed a bit.” He pauses, eyes twinkling. “Or maybe you have. You seem lighter somehow.”

  I grab my stomach though I know my abs have never changed. “Eating better, I guess.”

  The twinkle amplifies and he smirks. “I bet you have. Come sit down.”

  He quickly waves over the waitress and orders us two beers. Bon has always been a talker, and I don’t stop him while he launches into all the interesting things he’s been doing over the last year and a half.

  Finally, after three beers, the conversation slows and he eyes me impetuously. “Enough about me,” he says. “How is Chloe Ann?”

  Her name always makes me smile. “She is doing well. She will start going to school in September. She’s rather excited about it.”

  “And Isabel?”

  My face falls. “Surely you know we are divorced.”

  He nods and leans back in his seat. “I know. But I would like to hear it from you. We don’t talk much anymore, Mateo, so I only know what I hear from other people. Or what I read in the newspapers online.”

  “I see.” I stare at Bon, wondering what he’ll say, if he’ll understand. I am not sure if what he has seen and heard is anything different from the truth. I clear my throat. “Well, Isabel and I are divorced now. I met another woman.”

  “A younger woman. A Canadian.”

  “Yes,” I tell him. “She is both those things and more than those things. Her name is Vera.”

  “She’s got a hell of a lot of tattoos,” he points out, as if he knows her. This bothers me.

  “She does,” I admit. “I happen to love them.”

  Bon laughs joylessly. “You, Mateo Casalles, with all your style and elegance, love a woman covered in tattoos. I would have thought it trashy to you.”

  “I would have thought this bar here to be trashy, yet here I am with you, Bon.”

  He lowers his head. “Are you trying to insult me?”

  “Are you trying to insult me?”

  He drains his beer. “Come, come, it is just an observation, nothing more. I am curious. Who isn’t? We all want to know about the woman who has made the great Mateo live a life of scandal and give up his beautiful, classy wife.”

  There is an edge to his words. Bon had never been a fan of Isabel, so I’m sure the news had originally delighted him. He leans forward, twirling his beer between his hands. “Is it true that she’s only twenty-three?”

  I bristle, hating this gossip, hating that people know things about her from other sources. “She’s twenty-four now.”

  “And you are nearly forty, yes? Quite the age difference.”

  “Are you jealous?”

  He shrugs. “Maybe. I’m not a fan of tattoos on women, though I’ve seen my share in different parts of the world. Tell me, Mateo, are you happy?”

  “I’ve never been happier.”

  He appraises me carefully before taking another sip. I’m starting to get a bit of a headache. “You seem happy. I must say when I first heard of this, I didn’t think it was true. I was going to ring you up but decided it was probably something I shouldn’t concern myself with. If you want to go through an early mid-life crisis, it’s not my business. It happens to every man.”

&n
bsp; “It is not a crisis,” I grind out through my teeth.

  “I can see that,” he says, “and that’s what I’m surprised about. You’re still with her, yes?”

  I can only nod. My heart is beginning to race.

  “I must say I am surprised. Usually such a fling doesn’t last.”

  “It was never a fling.”

  His mouth quirks up. “Oh, of course. You find some young pussy on your work excursion, fall into bed with her, your wife finds out and divorces you, but it was never a fling.”

  It takes all I have to prevent myself from slamming my fists on the table. “That’s not how it happened.”

  “No?” he asks. “Do tell.”

  He’s being an asshole and I can’t figure out why. He always loved to push my buttons and rile me up, but this time it feels more personal. Maybe because for the first time, it is personal.

  “I met Vera while I was in the language immersion program. I feel in love with her. Nothing happened…” And that isn’t true, something did happen. I slept with her. I committed adultery, something I swore I would never do. But I feel too ashamed to admit this to him, not when I feel he will use it against me. “But I did realize that what I had with Isabel wasn’t right, it wasn’t what we wanted, and that the marriage was over. When Vera went back to Vancouver, I ended things.”

  “But Vera must have come back before your divorce was final.”

  I nodded. “Yes. Perhaps I was a bit impatient. But I couldn’t stand to have her so far away from me.”

  “I don’t blame you,” he says. “I’ve seen the pictures. Even the topless ones. I couldn’t leave those breasts.”

  My eyes narrow into hot slits. “If you say one more thing, don’t you fucking think I won’t reach across this table and strangle you.”

  “There’s the old boy,” he says with a laugh. “Hot-headed Mateo. I was wondering when he would come out.”

  “You better watch yourself,” I warn him, unamused. I jab my finger at him. “I take Vera very seriously. That could be my future wife you’re talking about.”