Chapter 11
Olga has had the meat pie ready for over an hour and a half. She has been killing time at home, pacing back and forth trying to delay her presence at her neighbors' house as much as possible. Any other day, she would have already rung the doorbell to go for a walk with Maite and would be having a drink while chatting lively, but now it's different, the presence of her daughter has changed everything, shaking up Olga's world as if she had been grabbed by the feet and turned upside down with the intention of emptying her pockets.
Finally, aware that if she doesn't show up at their house, Maite will find it strange, at exactly seven-thirty she rings the doorbell. She didn't know what to wear, it's just a dinner among friends, but it's a special date and why deny it, she wants to please Violeta even though she has told her that they can only be friends. So, within the informality, she has chosen dark gray pants accompanied by a white turtleneck sweater and a blazer that looks like it was designed for her. She has left her mane loose, nothing she doesn't do other times, but she has brushed it carefully and slightly molded it in such a way that they could go to dinner at one of the best restaurants and her elegance would not go unnoticed.
The door is opened by Violeta, who has thought the same as Olga and has chosen a similar outfit, only she has done an updo that leaves her long neck exposed, causing in Olga a sudden desire to run her tongue very slowly, as she did that night.
"Come in," says Violeta, standing stiff as a pole next to the door.
Olga leaves a trail of perfume that clouds her judgment and keeps her anchored to that night they spent together in Huesca. She has used the same one, and Violeta is sure she has done it on purpose. She gives her a demanding and tense look, but her neighbor passes by her side with a haughty air and doesn't stop until she reaches the kitchen.
"How pretty you look," says Maite as soon as she sees her.
Olga sets down the tray with the meat pie. The two give each other two kisses and Violeta frowns, noticing a ball of jealousy growing in her chest.
"You too," Olga answers, observing the dress the hostess has chosen.
"Thanks," smiles Maite, opening the cabinet to take out the glasses. "Take off your jacket, leave it in my room and that way it won't smell like shrimp."
"Which door is it?" asks Olga, looking towards the hallway.
"I'll go with you," Violeta replies before her mother can.
Olga turns around and finds her behind her back. When they look at each other, the electric current crosses the room like a flash and Olga understands that it's going to be a very difficult night.
"Aren't you going to give me two kisses?" Violeta shoots, stopping as soon as they reach the bedroom door.
When she turns around ready to let her pass into the room, Olga cuts off her path by leaning her hand on the wall.
"This is not what we agreed on," she says in a very low voice, her gaze fixed on Violeta's bright eyes.
"Neither was you coming here with those clothes and that perfume."
"What's wrong with my perfume?" asks Olga, holding her breath.
"You know very well, you put it on purpose. You smell just like that night," she says, staring at her lips.
Olga feels an overwhelming heat rising up her legs, forcing her to close them.
"You're right, and I was wrong," Olga admits to Violeta's surprise. "It was also a bad idea to come, if I'm supposed to be the more mature one of the two, I can't control myself, I can't expect you to either."
"Are you calling me immature?" Violeta takes offense.
"I'm not calling you anything, I'm just saying this isn't going to end well."
"Why not? This morning you were convinced it would," Violeta provokes her with a mocking half-smile.
Olga takes off her jacket and throws it on the bed before raising her gaze and bringing her lips to Violeta's left ear.
"It's very difficult for it to end well if since I crossed the door of your house all I can think about is fucking you."
Her words fall on Violeta with a devastating force that leaves her legs shaking and her body undone with desire. She is so shocked that she doesn't have time to respond anything before Olga leaves her there alone and returns to the kitchen with her mother, who is waiting for them with three glasses of sparkling wine accompanied by plates with chunks of cheese, ham and potatoes.
When Violeta returns a few seconds later, she has no choice but to sit next to Olga, who looks at her out of the corner of her eye while taking a breath and letting it out slowly before focusing on Maite and thus stop thinking about her daughter. Violeta does the same and raises her glass when her mother proposes a toast to the three of them. Then there is an awkward silence and Maite is absorbed when Violeta's phone starts ringing and the screen indicates that it is her father who is calling her.
Violeta loses her smile at once and freezes, suddenly she becomes tense and her face darkens in such an obvious way that Olga doesn't miss it.
"Aren't you going to answer it?" asks her mother with a trembling voice.
Her daughter shakes her head without taking her eyes off the phone until it stops ringing.
"Do you think he'll be okay?" Maite asks suddenly, referring to her husband.
Violeta shrugs as if she doesn't care, although there is something in her expression that tells Olga the opposite.
"I'm sure he is," replies the neighbor, trying to get mother and daughter back to normal.
Maite has already told her a couple of times about her concern for Violeta on this matter, that she doesn't comment on how it affects her what has happened with her father, but Olga, despite the intimacy they shared, doesn't have the confidence to ask her.
"This is the first Christmas we're spending apart," Maite continues to say sadly.
"Don't worry," Olga gets up and goes around the table to stand next to her, "I'm sure he's perfectly fine and is just calling Violeta to wish her happy holidays."
Olga gives Maite a kiss on the cheek and looks sideways at Violeta, who has her gaze fixed on the table.
"You should answer the phone, Violeta, it's your father," says Maite very seriously.
Violeta looks at her without saying anything, and after drinking half a glass of wine in one gulp, she gets up and heads for the door.
"Violeta, what are you doing?" asks Maite nervously, but she gets the door slam her daughter makes when she leaves as her only response.
Maite, overwhelmed, gets up ready to follow her, but Olga stops her.
"Don't let your husband ruin this night with your daughter too, Maite," her neighbor tells her and Maite drops into the chair defeated.
"And now what do I do?"
"Nothing. I'll go out, she just needs to clear her head a bit, I'll keep her company for a while and we'll come right back in."
"Okay, thanks, Olga. I'll put the shrimp in the oven."
Olga goes out, opening the door carefully. She finds Violeta pressed against the wall, with her arms over her chest while the steam escapes from her mouth. Her neighbor, feeling the cold piercing her bones, stands right next to her, so close to her that their arms brush.
"Do you need to talk?" asks Olga trying to contain the shivering that is about to come over her.
"There's not much to say," replies Violeta with her gaze fixed straight ahead.
"There's always something to say."
That solemn statement makes Violeta turn and look at Olga waiting for her to finish her speech.
"What your father has done to your mother is shitty, but he's still your father and it's normal for you to have conflicting feelings. You shouldn't feel bad about missing him, or about wanting to talk to him or wish him a Merry Christmas."
Violeta's lip trembles as she nods at her words, moved. And she doesn't know if it trembles from the cold or because she feels like crying.
"Yeah, but my mother..."
Olga turns towards her until they are so close that one breathes the steam that comes out of the other's mouth.
"Talking to your father doesn't mean you don't support your mother or that you applaud what he's done, just that you love him, nothing else. Maite hasn't asked you at any point to stop talking to him, Violeta, in fact, she's worried about you. So, if you feel like talking to him, my advice is to call him and not keep that inside," Olga puts a hand on her chest at the same time as she takes Violeta's phone out of her pocket - which she picked up before leaving - and offers it to her with her other hand.
Violeta smiles at her and their fingers brush when she takes it from her hands as she nods her head.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome. I'll leave you alone to call him, but don't take too long if you don't want to die frozen."
Olga makes an attempt to move, but fails to do so even an inch because Violeta's hand closes around her waist and her lips catch hers with a demanding kiss from which Olga cannot and does not want to escape. She clings to her neck with her two cold hands, but not even the start Violeta gives when feeling the cold of her fingers separates them, what does is the noise of Maite's footsteps on the other side of the door, worried about the delay of both of them.
Violeta presses her back against the wall and Olga takes a step back trying to regain her composure just as the door opens. Maite doesn't have time to open her mouth, because her neighbor, troubled by the kiss that has her whole body burning, practically runs over her and pushes her back inside.
"Give her a second, she's going to make a call and she'll be right in," she says and closes the door behind her back, as if she were leaving a serial killer outside.
"Is everything all right? Did she tell you anything?" Maite worries.
"She was just a little worried about whether you'd feel bad if she called him, but it's all worked out now. Can you pour me a glass of wine? I'm freezing."
"Of course," says Maite solicitously and happy that her daughter is finally talking to her father.
Maite goes to the kitchen, Olga still needs a few seconds to follow her because her legs don't respond.