Chapter 32
I TAKE INVENTORY OF WHICH PARTS OF MY BODY AREN’T sweating. I’m down to my ears and the bottoms of my feet. To avoid the evening bugs, I’ve kept the sliding glass door closed tonight. The sheer mosquito netting tucked around the bed feels like Saran wrap preventing the little oxygen in the room from getting to me.
I can’t stop thinking about René, which only makes the room feel hotter. He’s sexy, that’s all. It’s natural to be attracted to him. I’m not immune to his good looks. I have eyeballs. That’s all it is. Purely physical attraction.
I consider calling Meri. I want to talk to her about René, and how he’s been taking me to see our dad’s favorite places. But last I checked, it was after midnight. It’s probably for the best. I don’t want her jumping to conclusions about what it could mean. I’m doing that enough on my own.
At least things with Mom are a little better. I called her this afternoon to catch up. She sounded so happy, it was hard not to be swept up in her excitement. Even if I think a part of me will be weighed down with concern until I meet this guy.
“So, Meri told you?” she asked me right away.
“About the Cuban fried rice guy? Yeah, she told me,” I teased, trying hard to be on the same page.
“ Ese mismo. Lázaro,” she corrected me. “He makes me laugh, he’s very funny. Oh, and he wants to teach me to play chess. I thought you’d like that.”
Why would I like that? Because you think that makes him sound smart? I think that also makes him sound like a serial killer.
“That’s so cool, Mom. I can’t wait to meet him.”
“And how is it going? Are you okay?” She sounded worried. “You haven’t told me anything.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
“I’ll light a candle to San Judas,” she offered.
“Why? I haven’t lost anything. Isn’t he the saint for that?”
“He also helps with work things.”
“Save the candle, Mom. Everything’s going great.”
And it is. So why can’t I fall asleep? I grab my phone from the nightstand and check on René’s post again. It’s been up for eight hours and already has almost a hundred thousand likes. I scroll through the comments, a lot of which I’ve already read, and find the thread I’m looking for. These are the comments I read just before bed and are probably the main reason the room feels so stuffy and I’m still awake.
Those eyes! Thank you Lord, no sunglasses.
Amen! He’s so hot and filled with desire
I wish I took that picture!
Yeah, who is he looking at?
Wait, can you see the reflection in the glass?
Can someone zoom in?
It’s a brunette, NOT a blond!
It’s not Camila!
SOOO TRUE! I see her! Who is that?
I kick off the sheets, slip out of bed, and slide open the door. Immediately, a strong breeze enters the room. Like it’s been waiting just outside.
I’m letting it cool off my skin when I hear Camila’s voice coming from downstairs.
In front of René’s cottage, there are two figures deep in conversation, lounging on the round outdoor sofa. I’ve stripped down to my tank top and underwear, so I wrap myself in the curtain and take a step out onto the balcony, poking my head out the rest of the way. It’s René and Camila. She’s on her side, her hair a loose, beautiful mess. His hands are resting behind his head and he’s looking up at the sky.
I crawl back in bed, tucking in the netting as I go. I can hear them, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. It’s just animated storytelling in friendly tones that sometimes turn into whispers that seem more intimate, then René will say something that makes Camila laugh.
Things weren’t so peppy between them when we got back earlier today. René arrived first and Camila was arguing with him while James unloaded the truck. The disagreement was still going on when James and I walked into the main house.
“How could you do that? I would never have posted you in that outfit.” She was screeching, she was so upset. “Why didn’t you call me?” They were in the middle of the hallway, so we had to walk around them to get to our rooms. Camila bit her lip, resting her hand on her hips while we passed, and then went right back to arguing. We could hear her the entire walk up to our cottage.
“Cami, it’s fine. You can barely see what I’m wearing.” René tried to calm her, keeping his voice several octaves lower, clearly displeased by her yelling at him like that.
She was upset she hadn’t gone with us, but the whole thing was mostly about the photo we had posted without her signing off on his wardrobe. Now, they’re out there chatting it up as though nothing happened.
How can they have this much to talk about? They’ve known each other for years. They work together. They see each other every day. You’d think they’d be all caught up by now.
They’ve gone quiet outside. I hold my breath and perk up my ears. Snap out of it, Dani. What are you even listening for? Footsteps? Kissing? It would have to be sloppy and slurpy for me to hear it this far away. Waves crashing, leaves rustling with the wind, but nothing else.
I hear Camila speak again and the knot in my stomach loosens. This is ridiculous. I find my earbuds on the bedside table, and listen to an indie pop playlist until I fall asleep.
An hour later, they’re still out there sharing. I’ve dozed off and the breeze in the room is gone. I listen to their voices, to the rhythm of their conversation, and feel an ache in my chest. I’ll admit I’m jealous. Not of Camila, I don’t think. But of their intimacy. I let myself sink deeper into the bed. I’ve never had that. My relationships have always played out on the surface. Even with my family. Intentionally, I realize. There are so many subjects, my father, for one, I avoid so no one gets sad or misses him. I want to stay up late into the night talking to someone like that. I want us each to have that much to say.