Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Liesel
It’s been a long-ass day, but we’re finally in New York.
Jorge and I spent a long time outside this morning, sitting on the swing, even after that heavy-ass conversation we had.
I’m relieved we did since I feel like I’ve truly made an informed decision about coming here with him and not wondering if I just did it out of necessity.
Saying goodbye to my family was gut wrenching, and there were tears streaming down all our cheeks.
But in the end, we parted with smiles and well wishes.
I dozed a bit on the flight, but I tried not to sleep too much.
I’ve learned the best way to fight jet lag is to not sleep on the flights in either direction.
I do my best to stay awake until a reasonable time at my destination, go to bed, crash hard, sleep eight to ten hours, then wake up at a normal morning time and get on the local clocks. It’s worked well for me in the past.
It was tempting to actually sleep since the jet had a private cabin with a bed.
It also tempted Jorge and me to do far more than him leaving me to rest. Perhaps if it had only been his brother and cousin there, we might have.
But a few of the guards were on the flight too.
We were both too embarrassed to do more where they could overhear us.
“Chiquita, I’d like to show you something if you’re up to it.”
“What is it, Daddy?”
“It’s a surprise. It’s here in the building.”
“Okay.”
We’ve just gotten to his penthouse and dropped off the luggage.
We head back into the hallway to a flight of stairs.
I can already see they start and end on this floor.
His condo is the only penthouse. We climb up to the roof, and he opens a door leading directly into a greenhouse.
The air isn’t stifling like you might expect.
What lies before my eyes is absolutely breathtaking.
There’s an array of flowers unlike anything I’ve seen before.
It’s almost like a miniature , but there are also roses and tulips, and other flowers you wouldn’t find there.
When I look to the left and peer down one of the rows of flowers, I spy a vegetable garden.
Jorge intertwines his fingers with mine and leads me to the right. The scents are almost overwhelming. It’s as though I’ve stepped into a perfumery like the ones I’ve been to in the south of France. I marvel at everything I see.
“Jorge, do you grow all of this? Do you have two green thumbs?”
“I do. I find botany relaxing. Some people might watch fish to lower their blood pressure, but being among my plants has that effect on me.”
“How did you discover that?”
His expression takes on a faraway look I’ve come to recognize whenever he talks about his father.
“Papá had a garden in the backyard where he’d grow vegetables for us.
It was pretty much everything we could possibly need, but he had a smaller area where he grew lavender for Mamá.
I used to love digging in the dirt and finding worms we could use when Papá took my brothers and me fishing.
There was something about the feel of the cool soil between my fingers, and I loved how happy it made Mamá whenever she went out to the garden after Papá died. I did my best to take care of it.”
“Weren’t you only eight or nine?”
He nods but doesn’t answer. As I watch him, his Adam’s apple bobs.
I think he might be too choked up right now to answer me.
Instead, he leads us down a path to the left.
We wind through a patch of sunflowers that are almost as tall as I am.
They come up to mid-chest on me. In the center of the greenhouse is a fountain.
I hear the water bubbling, and it sounds like a babbling stream.
I notice the water feeds into the irrigation system, so it’s not just for appearances.
There’s a lounger near the fountain. Beside it is a small table with a stack of books.
This must be somewhere Jorge truly comes to relax.
I shift my focus to him when I sense he’s watching me.
“Do you like it, little one?” There’s a note of uncertainty in his voice.
“Yes, it’s incredible. I love everything that I see. Would you mind if I came up here sometimes without you?”
It’s definitely relief I see now. He wanted to ask me to join him, but he worried I’d say no.
“Of course. You don’t need my permission. Hell, half of my family raids my vegetable patch without me knowing. I’ll come up to get something, and the vine or bush will be picked nearly clean.”
“Do you think you might be able to bring a second lounger up here? It’s as close to serenity as I’ve ever seen.”
He beams at me, and it’s pure joy I see in his eyes when I tell him I’d like to share this space with him. “That’s how I feel about it, too. Have you ever done any gardening?”
“A little, but I certainly wouldn’t say I have a green thumb. I don’t kill my plants. I just don’t make them flourish like this.”
“Any time you’d like to come up here, I’d be happy to share this with you.”
We walk over to the vegetable patch, and his expression quickly turns to a playful scowl.
“Jorge?”
“Yeah. Javier definitely decided payment for his help keeping my plants watered was to pick off all the peppers and tomatoes. I’d hoped to use some tomatoes for the dinner I planned to cook you tonight.”
“You were going to cook dinner?”
“Yes, chiquita, I do manage to keep the wolf from the door.”
“The wolf from the door? What does that mean?”
“It’s an idiom I learned from an English friend. Maybe it has something to do with the three little pigs, but I don’t know. It just means to keep from being hungry.”
“Ah, I’m pretty good with British idioms since I went to university there, but clearly I either need a refresher, or there are some I never knew.
Daddy, remember though, I’m German. We don’t do peppers like you do in Latin America.
We have some spicy foods, but probably nothing like you’re used to. ”
“I meant bell peppers, but that’s good to know. If I set you ablaze, it won’t be with peppers.”
“Really? What would it be with?”
He waggles his eyebrows. “My tongue or my cock, of course.”
I’m sure my cheeks are radiating as much heat as those spicy peppers I don’t like. I have no idea why that comment out of all the ones we’ve shared makes me blush, but it does.
He gathers a few vegetables in his arms, and we head back downstairs.
We’re efficient in the kitchen as he points to where things are, and I help him make dinner.
What would’ve taken him an hour to prep alone is in the oven within twenty minutes.
It’s something small and probably unremarkable, but it makes me feel like we’re a real—a normal—couple.
We’ve just cleared the table and are in the middle of doing dishes when his doorbell rings. He glances at the security monitor, so I look too. I recognize Luciana. Jorge hurries to dry his hands before answering the door. I giggle along with Luciana when Jorge lifts her off her feet as he hugs her.
“Mamá.”
There’s nothing short of relief and happiness in his voice with that one word.
I realize it’s been more than a month since the last time he saw her.
Nothing about him screams mama’s boy, except for right now as he kisses her cheek and gives her an extra squeeze before putting her back on her feet.
They don’t let go immediately until she pats him on the back.
Then they step away from each other. This side of Jorge confirms what I suspected between showing me his greenhouse and seeing him with his mother.
I’m certain now I’ve fallen in love with him. It hasn’t taken that long, but it’s been long enough.
I dry my hands as well and step out of the kitchen.
“Anneliese, it’s so nice to see you again.”
She offers me a hug that’s nearly as good as my mom’s. Immediately, she feels like someone I can rely on. I suspect there’ll be many times when I do. At least now, at the beginning, as I learn to navigate life in New York and as—I guess—a Cartel woman.
We let go of each other, and the three of us walk into the living room.
Luciana takes a seat in the rocker recliner as Jorge and I sit on the rocking loveseat.
The living room furniture is certainly designed for comfort.
While much of the decor is rather minimalist, it’s still a very welcoming space.
I can tell that not just the garden is Jorge’s reprieve from life outside his front door.
It’s relaxing for someone who contends with anxiety. It’s a good thing he has these spaces.
“Mamá.”
Jorge’s clipped word sounds so aggrieved my head whips over to look at him, but he’s staring at Luciana.
“What did your brother do now, Jorge?”
Luciana’s tone is one I’m sure she used countless times with Jorge and his brothers, but when they were much younger.
“Javier stole all my peppers and tomatoes. Make him give them back, Mamá.”
“You really think I can convince your older brother to give those back to you? He’s probably already eaten all of them.”
“But, Mamá, it’s not fair.”
“Jorge, didn’t your brother come over here to help you? Didn’t he water your plants and make sure everything was okay upstairs?”
“Yes, but, Mamá—”
“Don’t you think it’s only fair to share with your brother since he helped you?”
“He could’ve asked, Mamá. He never asks. He always takes my things.”
I listen to the conversation going back and forth.
Jorge could sound petulant and childish if I didn’t know better, but it’s clearly a running joke amongst his family.
He’s playing the role of the youngest brother so well I can’t help but giggle.
Luciana appears utterly unimpressed by her son’s antics, but I see the twinkle in her eyes as they talk.
“Mamá, you never take my side. You always take my brothers’.”
“Gordito, all of you say that, and all of you know it’s not true.”
“Are you sure, Mamá?”