12. #2
“She won’t.”
“You just said no one can control everything.”
I looked at him.
“Don’t use that now.”
Dante returned to the tomato.
But he kept his body slightly angled toward Cecília, prepared to catch her.
I noticed.
So did Cecília.
She touched the gray strands at his temple.
Dante froze.
“White.”
“A little.”
“You old?”
Elisa answered:
“Very.”
“I’m not that old.”
“Mommy is young,” Tomás said.
“Your mother is younger than I am.”
“How much?”
Dante looked at me.
“A lot,” I answered.
“Why?” Elisa asked.
“Because people are born in different years.”
“You were born first?”
“Yes.”
“And waited for Mommy to be born?”
I choked on air.
Dante set down the knife.
“Not exactly.”
“You were already adult?”
“No.”
“When Mommy was born, you were fifteen,” I said before the conversation worsened.
Dante grimaced.
“Thank you for calculating.”
“You knew the difference.”
“Knowing is different from hearing it.”
Elisa counted on her fingers.
“Is fifteen a lot?”
“For you, yes,” I replied.
“I’m three.”
“Exactly.”
“When I’m fifteen, how old will Mommy be?”
“We are not doing all those calculations now.”
Dante smiled.
“Afraid of the result?”
“I’m afraid of you teaching mathematics to children who still count ‘one, two, five.’”
Cecília continued touching his hair.
“Will all turn white?”
“Probably.”
“Like Grandpa?”
The atmosphere changed.
She did not have a grandfather.
Not truly.
My parents were dead.
Otávio had never met the triplets.
“Which grandpa?” I asked.
“The one in the school drawing.”
“Oh.”
Dante lowered his eyes.
His parents had also died before our wedding.
Our children would never know their grandparents.
The realization always hurt.
“Did I know Daddy Dante’s father?” Elisa asked.
“No,” I answered.
“He died?”
“Yes.”
“And his mother?”
“Also.”
“Everybody died?”
“No,” I said quickly. “Most people are alive.”
Elisa thought.
“Mrs. Lurdes is alive.”
“Very alive,” our neighbor called through the window.
The children laughed.
The improvised lunch took almost an hour to prepare.
Dante cut the tomatoes into completely different sizes.
Tomás spilled the salad again.
Elisa refused to eat because one leaf touched the rice.
Cecília wanted to sit in my lap throughout the entire meal.
In the middle of it, someone knocked on the door.
It was Miguel.
I had not seen him in person for almost six months.
He entered with his hair wet from the rain, a folder under his arm, and a serious expression.
Dante stood.
The two men stared at each other.
The tension changed the air.
“Miguel,” I said.
“Aurora.”
He looked at the children.
“Hello, little ones.”
Elisa waved.
Tomás continued eating.
Cecília hid her face.
“I didn’t know we would have company,” Miguel said.
“Neither did I.”
Dante remained standing.
“You knew where she was.”
It was not a question.
Miguel set the folder on the table.
“I did.”
“For four years.”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me.”
Miguel released a humorless laugh.
“You never asked.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“I didn’t know about the triplets.”
“That isn’t my fault.”
“Enough,” I interrupted. “Do not do this in front of the children.”
Dante sat.
So did Miguel.
Elisa looked from one to the other.
“You fighting?”
“No,” I replied.
“Looks like it.”
“We’re talking.”
She pointed at Dante.
“Mommy says loud talking is fighting.”
Dante lowered his voice.
“She’s right.”
Miguel removed documents from the folder.
“There has been recent activity in accounts connected to Otávio.”
“Dante already told me.”
“I have more.”
He slid a page across the table.
“One of his intermediaries contacted an attorney in Belo Horizonte. There is interest in discovering what happened to the documents you gathered before the wedding.”
“There were no complete documents.”
“Otávio may not know that.”
Dante picked up the page.
“Who is the lawyer?”
Miguel pulled it away before he could read.
“I’m speaking to Aurora.”
The gesture was deliberate.
Dante went still.
“Anything involving her safety involves my children.”
“Your children now.”
“Miguel,” I warned.
He looked at me.
“I’m sorry.”
Dante did not react.
Perhaps because he knew he deserved it.
“I want access to the information,” I said.
“I’ll give it to you.”
“And to him.”
Miguel raised his eyebrows.
“Are you certain?”
“He has resources we don’t.”
The sentence bothered me.
I did not want to need Dante.
But the threat changed the rules.
“All right,” Miguel agreed. “As long as the decisions remain yours.”
Dante answered before I could.
“They will.”
Miguel studied him.
“You’ve changed considerably.”
“Not enough.”
The answer seemed to surprise him.
Tomás held out his plate to Miguel.
“Want dead tomato?”
Miguel blinked.
“What?”
“Daddy Dante killed it.”
Dante closed his eyes.
“I cut the tomato.”
“And crushed it,” Elisa added.
“A little.”
Miguel looked at me.
I laughed.
The tension eased.
For a few minutes, we were merely adults around a children’s table.
Miguel explained some of the financial movements while the children interrupted him.
Dante asked precise questions.
I noticed the difference between the two men.
Miguel distrusted everything because that was his job.
Dante had distrusted me because he allowed fear to decide.
Even so, at that moment, he did not try to take control.
He asked what I wanted to do.
He listened.
He accepted my decision not to put visible guards outside my door.
“I only want exterior cameras,” I said. “And an alarm system.”
“I can arrange it,” Dante replied.
“Nothing connected to your company.”
He hesitated.
“Why?”
“I don’t want people from the Ferraz Group monitoring my routine.”
Pain appeared.
“All right.”
“Miguel chooses the company.”
“All right.”
“You can pay half.”
Both men looked at me.
It was the first time I allowed Dante to contribute financially to anything involving the children.
Even if it was security.
“Half,” he repeated.
“The other half is mine.”
“I could pay all of it.”
“I know.”
“All right.”
No argument.
Miguel closed the folder.
“I’ll organize it.”
When he left, Dante remained at the table.
“You trust him.”
“I do.”
“More than me.”
“Much more.”
He nodded.
“Deserved.”
“Are you jealous?”
“Yes.”
His honesty surprised me.
“You have no right.”
“I know.”
“Then control it.”
“I am.”
“It doesn’t look like it.”
“You haven’t seen how I would behave if I weren’t.”
I almost smiled.
I should not have.
“Miguel was never my lover.”
“I know.”
“Even before you discovered the fraud, there was no evidence of that.”
“I know.”
“I entered a conference room.”
“I know.”
“And you turned it into betrayal.”
Dante lowered his gaze.
“I know.”
“I will not repeat this discussion every time he appears.”
“I won’t ask you to.”
“Good.”
Tomás pushed away his plate.
“Finished.”
“You barely ate,” I said.
“I ate dead tomato.”
“Two slices.”
“A lot.”
Dante stood.
“May I wash the dishes?”
I looked at the sink.
Then at him.
“Yellow sponge.”
“Dishes.”
“Green is for pots.”
“Red cloth is for the floor.”
“Exactly.”
Elisa raised her hand.
“He learned.”
Perhaps he had.
Not only the sponges.
Dante was beginning to learn that existing in our lives did not mean occupying every space.
Sometimes it meant cutting tomatoes.
Listening to another man.
Paying half.
And washing dishes without expecting gratitude.