16. La Isla Bonita
La Isla Bonita
HENRY
“What is this place?” Aidan asked as we crossed the parking lot, hand in hand, toward the entrance of Sunshine Meadows after another busy day of rotating window displays.
From the outside, Sunshine Meadows had the hallmarks of a Floridian resort.
The two-story structure had a blue-green roof, latticework detailing around the edges, and a wraparound drive that dipped under a portico.
Sparse landscaping was draped in colorful lights, but they did nothing to hide the buzzers and security cameras and safety screens on the windows.
For the first time, I sort of understood why Great Aunt Isla might feel trapped in a place like that.
“This is a nursing home,” I said, shaking away the unpleasant thoughts.
“A home for nurses?” he asked.
“No, it’s a home for people who need nurses.”
“That’s kinda confusing. Wouldn’t people who need nurses be in the hospital?” Aidan asked.
“While I adore your curiosity,” I said, squeezing his hand as we walked, “there are some things I simply don’t have the answers for.”
My thoughts lagged after the day we’d had. Our Sunday crowds were even livelier than our Saturday crowds. The store got tagged in so many posts that I had to turn my notifications off; otherwise my battery would’ve died by the early afternoon.
That day’s scenes involved Aidan’s character meeting a new-to-town single mom at the Christmas tree farm.
I’d created a canopy using an old tarp to give the illusion of a tent, repurposed Xavier’s fake trees and sprayed them with white paint to give them a snow-dusted quality, and brought out our most put-together female mannequin.
On the flip side, I’d sourced a large old steel wheelbarrow and painted it to appear like the bed of a pickup truck with some tires from the junkyard attached.
Together, my mannequins loaded the tree into the bed while looking longingly into each other’s eyes.
Did my stomach twinge with jealousy a bit? Maybe.
But as soon as the workday ended and the crowds cleared and the door was locked, Aidan humanified (albeit slower than usual) and ran straight into my arms. He greeted me with a kiss that made my stomach flutter.
It was the kind of kiss that cleared away any misplaced possessiveness I might or might not have been feeling about a mannequin I beautified.
I signed us both in on the binder by the door with my nondominant hand. Aidan never gave up his grip on me, and I enjoyed the feel of his hand in mine too much to say anything. So what if my signature looked like an unskilled child did it?
“She’s expecting you, so just be yourself,” I told Aidan as we started down the hall toward her apartment. She’d have been quietly simmering the whole time if I’d dropped in unannounced with my new man.
And he was my man now, wasn’t he? That kiss outside La Volpe Affamata was the star atop the twinkling Christmas tree of my feelings for him. No, it was the plug in the socket, rather, lighting up the whole thing to a retina-searing brightness.
That day, I glowed from the inside out as I knocked and then entered Great Aunt Isla’s apartment.
The place had gone through a transformation since I’d last been there.
The old, dusty Victrola that I’d always assumed was ornamental spun and spit out Bing Crosby’s croons.
The lights were set low, but not too low.
On a table in the corner of her living room sat a small, fake Christmas tree with colored lights and a curated selection of nostalgic ornaments hung carefully from its weathered branches.
An assortment of Wheat Thins, cheeses, and grapes graced her coffee table.
“Great Aunt Isla, we’re here,” I called out.
Her loud, ragged breathing preceded her into the room.
She’d donned a knee-length burgundy wrap over a flowing black dress.
Several long gold necklaces draped down her front.
On her head was a golden wrap reminiscent of Norma Desmond from the movie Sunset Boulevard .
My eyes flicked around, half expecting to find a dead monkey lying under a sheet on a table somewhere.
“Welcome, welcome,” she said in a huskier voice than she usually used. This was the voice she put on for customers she wanted to impress, when she wanted to sound worldlier than she was. “Isla Attenborough, charmed, I’m sure.”
Someone must’ve given her a manicure. Her nails, gold-painted to match her head wrap, pointed down to the floor, exposing the backside of her wrinkled hand. Thankfully Aidan picked up on the social cue and planted a light kiss there. “Delighted to meet you,” he said.
“Stand back, let me get a look at you,” she said, practically pushing Aidan into the clearer lighting of the miniscule kitchen area. My stomach braced over what she might notice.
Aidan came alive ( more alive, I mean) when people looked at him.
He seemed to possess an acute sixth sense regular people didn’t have.
Eyes on him bolstered his posture, extended his smile, brightened his gaze.
When he was only with me, though, he slouched a little.
His smiles were lazier, easier. I liked that he didn’t feel the need to show off for me.
“You look very familiar, dollface,” she said. “Any chance we’ve met before?”
“I don’t think so. I moved here from Asia in November,” he said. I held my breath. We’d rehearsed his backstory last night as we changed out the flats and the props on the window display.
“What did you do over there?” she asked.
“Modeled,” he said.
“Couture?” she asked, toying with her long, chunky necklaces.
“Commercials,” he said. Good: short, sweet, to-the-point. He was nailing this.
“Hmm,” she said, stepping closer. “Did they ever air one over here, perhaps?”
He shook his head. Not a single hair moved out of place from the strong-hold mousse I’d bought for him that he’d liberally applied before we left. “Not to my knowledge.”
She squinted. “My eyesight and my memory aren’t what they used to be, but bet your bottom dollar, dollface, I’ll figure out who you remind me of.
In the meantime, come in. Make yourself at home.
Would either of you like a glass of wine?
” she asked, shuffling toward the counter by the sink.
On the table there was a glass of red wine with a fresh lipstick stain on the rim.
“Are you supposed to be drinking while on your meds?” I asked. I hung Aidan’s and my coats on the back of her dining chairs.
“It’s Christmas,” Great Aunt Isla said as if this explained everything.
She poured two more glasses despite neither of us having answered and we all retired to the living room.
She sat in her chair, and we took up together on the timeworn love seat with the muted floral pattern.
The matching couch had stayed behind in my apartment.
It’s where Aidan had been sleeping for some weeks now.
Though, now that things between us were growing serious, I contemplated inviting him to join me in my bed.
It was a full-sized mattress, so it would be a squeeze, but cuddling for warmth didn’t sound like such a chore.
“How did your second day of window displays go?” Great Aunt Isla asked Aidan.
“Henry tells me it was even busier than yesterday,” Aidan reported, patting my closest knee, which bounced up and down.
“Still couldn’t stomach the reveal?” Great Aunt Isla asked.
“I’m too sensitive,” Aidan said.
“I suppose that makes sense. Henry insists everybody has social anxiety these days,” she said flippantly.
Aidan’s questioning eyes on me prompted me to hiccup out, “Aunt Isla…”
“What, doll?” she asked. Sometimes, her mouth moved faster than her mind. In another life, she’d have made a terrible spy.
“What’s social anxiety?” Aidan asked in his fresh-off-the-spaceship way.
Pretending not to hear him, I pivoted the conversation to avoid the discomfort. “Where did you get that outfit from? I haven’t seen it before.”
“Oh, this? An early Christmas gift from a friend. Isn’t it divine?” she asked, striking a pose like a Grecian statue. “There are only so many occasions to get dressed up around this dump, and meeting my grandnephew’s new boyfriend is one of them.”
The word “boyfriend” pulsed through the air alongside Bing’s smooth voice. I swore I hadn’t used that word on the phone with Great Aunt Isla, but perhaps I let it slip? Or maybe the wine plus her meds were making her loose-lipped?
Aidan’s raised brows rose even higher along with the corners of his perfectly pink lips.
“You look beautiful tonight,” Aidan said to Great Aunt Isla.
The exact same thing he’d said to me over dinner the night prior.
Almost as if he were reading from a script he’d memorized, separate from the backstory we concocted.
“Thank you, dollface. You clean up quite well yourself,” she said, resting her chin in her hand, elbow on her armrest. “I want to hear more about this modeling. Whereabouts did you live?”
He cleared his throat. “Oh, you know. Here and there. All over.” He looked into his glass of wine as if there were answers floating on the surface.
“Oh, a globetrotter. How exciting! I’m sure you’ve seen such exotic places. What made you decide to leave it behind?” she asked.
“The standards of capital—” He fumbled. “—ism? Capitalism.” The base of his neck turned a shocking red.
“Not enough money in it?”
“Something like that.” He reached for some crackers and cheese, stuffed his mouth.
“Bet they didn’t let you eat like that when you were modeling,” she said, which under different circumstances I might have pointed out as rude, but instead I sipped my wine. Sat back and hoped for the best.
Aidan shook his head, giving a weird smile as he chewed.