28
The estate’s garden is straight out of a magazine, I swear.
It’s Sunday at noon, cold as hell, but the sun is beating down on the long tables, white tablecloths and the whole show.
Trays of grilled meat glisten, open bottles of wine…
And yeah, the string lights on the porch, switched off, full-on wedding decor vibes.
I step onto the wet grass carefully, trying not to slip, and put on my classy act.
I head in with frozen hands, already hunting for the first drink to steady me.
Irina and Julia are going full tilt, running the whole circus.
I step aside so I don’t end up being a nuisance.
I have to laugh seeing the whole staff, a silent army appearing and disappearing, laying down perfect plates.
It smells insane. I pour myself a shot and knock it back.
It goes down smooth, gives me the buzz I need.
The family’s in the middle of it, going all out.
Luna’s already spewing outrageous shit with Valeria; there’s a pile of beer bottles on the table.
Amaia, with the little ones glued to her, slicing the meat with that calm of hers.
Sabina, impeccable, light coat, zero stress.
And Ana, the aging rocker, drink in hand, winks as she passes and gives Rashel’s ass a grope that freezes me.
The rest mill around, chatting, slowly taking their seats.
And then Alaska shows up. Off the porch, black sweater, high ponytail.
She looks at me, unbothered—God, she’s gorgeous.
I gulp air, I gulp vodka. I cannot handle this, I swear.
She sits next to me, crosses her legs. I fake being fascinated by the bread.
Lie. I just want her mouth. She smiles, wets her lip, and my stomach flips between wanting and panic.
I do nothing. I behave. That’s a lie, obviously.
Irina asks me to bring over some chairs and I go.
Rashel brushes my back as she passes and shoots me that “Don’t you dare make a scene today, Nat” look.
I nod, adjust my hair, trying to play it off.
Alaska looks at me and I feel heat crawl up my neck.
I hand her a glass. Her fingers graze mine for a second.
My knee shakes, but that’s the damn cold, not her.
Ivan shows up late, of course, with Mikel cuffing him upside the head and laughing his ass off.
Behind them come last night’s friends, the neighborhood girls: the peroxide blonde isn’t quite so intense in daylight, and the short brunette in her leather jacket says hi to everyone and sits down scoping the scene.
Luna introduces them. Vega can’t contain herself, happy and nervous in equal parts, dimples on full blast, teeth out.
Valeria yells, “Cheers!” and commandeers the bottle. Ana claps like crazy. Two more dishes land and the table gets tighter. I count glasses, Irina counts glasses, and between glances, Alaska drops, “Wanna smoke one with me later?”
I nod without thinking. She licks sauce off her thumb and my brain catches fire. I swallow the filthy line I’d say to her. Not for lack of wanting, but because, you know, protocol. I know I’m an idiot, but I have to hold back.
The sun hits my face, but my ankles are freezing.
There’s noise, laughter, toasts—very family.
But I’m on something else: the one that matters is a yard away.
My pulse does its own thing. I feel it in my throat, in my hands.
She’s there, sunk, sunglasses even though she doesn’t need them, messy hair, no makeup, giving off that “don’t touch me” vibe.
I can smell the hangover from here. She ignores her plate, plays with her fork, barely smiles when they congratulate her.
Vega, on the other hand, is all in: passes out hugs, thanks everyone, laughs nonstop, with Mikel stuck to her like a barnacle.
“All right, all right,” Amaia calls out, trying to hype them up. “Are you officially adults now?”
“Depends,” Vega fires back, sparkling. “If they’re gonna keep taking care of me like this, I’m not signing up for adulthood.”
General laughter. Alaska only lifts a brow. Even the air feels heavy on her. Luna comes in with the cider held high and points at her.
“She crawled back by the skin of her teeth,” she says. “Look at that corpse face.”
Alaska lowers her shades for a second, pins her with a look, her voice wrecked. “Keep it down.”
Another round of cackles. Julia looks at her with that motherly affection, Irina with a weird mix of pissed and proud.
I can’t stop looking at her. Even wrecked, she has me hooked.
It pisses me off to see her this fragile in the middle of all this chaos.
It hurts that I can’t go over, stroke the back of her neck and say, “It’s okay, I’m here.
” The goddamn line hurts. The last name she carries hurts.
I bite the rim of my glass and breathe. I’m supposed to be the cool-headed one, but my body is not cooperating.
Sabina, immaculate even when she’s cracking up, cuts in.
“So, what did the birthday girls ask for? A car, an apartment on the Castellana, or a trip around the world?” she asks, with that tone that says she’ll buy it if she has to.
The brunette from the neighborhood, who has zero say in anything, pipes up:
“A motorcycle would do it for me.”
She tosses it out all cheerful, and of course everyone cracks up. Rashel, cheeks already pink, warns,
“Don’t give them ideas—Irina will lose her mind and there’ll be a Harley at the door tomorrow.”
Irina doesn’t deny it. She smiles, raises her glass, and drinks easy.
The yard is packed with noise, voices, smoke, and laughs that clash with the cold. Vega glows, she’s in her element. Alaska hides, makes herself small.
And me, over here, thinking how the hell I can get close to her without looking like I’m creeping on her. I keep telling myself nope, it’s not worth blowing things up in front of everyone. But I’m still counting the minutes till the fucking cigarette.
Alaska looks for me over the top of her sunglasses.
She gives me the tiniest signal, almost nothing.
I catch it: Later, she says without moving her lips.
My knees go weak. I fuss with my hair, pretend to be fascinated by the bread.
I pour myself more wine—no water today. I picture that patio empty, just us.
The lighter, the shared drag, her fingers brushing me, her voice right up against me. Fuck.
Sabina, never missing a beat, picks it back up.
“So, is there a killer plan for tonight or are you all gonna crash?”
“We’ll be sitting around the table for a while,” Vega says, calm. “And then we’ll see.”
I go back to my spot, my corner. I play the guard dog, the friend who can’t be anything else. I laugh when I’m supposed to, sell normalcy. But inside I’m wired, electric. Wanting, careful.
Irina does her usual move, taps her glass with a spoon, and the yard pauses. Official toast. Shouts, kisses, flashes.
They start belting a chorus that sounds like ass, but whatever—the point here is to make noise and perform happiness.
Alaska props her forehead on her hand and lets out a short sigh.
She smiles just enough. I raise my glass, clink with whoever’s there, and drink my wine without choking.
And I wait. Because after we eat there’s always a cigarette.
And with the smoke, sometimes, the little things happen, the ones that keep me alive.
Irina taps her glass again. The sound threads through the laughter until everyone quiets down.
“All right,” she says, smiling with pride. “Today’s a good one. The twins are turning twenty-one. And I’ve been thinking about what to give them.”
We all turn our heads at once. Alaska and Vega stand together, gorgeous, with that glow that looks crazy good on them. Vega adjusts her hair and Alaska folds her arms; you can tell being the center of attention stresses her out.
“I could’ve bought you a car,” Irina goes on, joking. “Or two, or three. A yacht, if you’re into that. I could send you around the world, first class, all expenses paid.”
People laugh. Sabina arches an eyebrow like she’d totally sign for the boat. Valeria claps softly and she’s already filming on her phone—this girl doesn’t miss a moment.
Irina raises a hand and the patio hushes.
“But I decided to do it differently. Today I want you two to ask. Whatever you want. Make a wish. And not a dragon or superpowers, okay?” she tosses out, and people laugh. “Something I can actually give you. The first thing that pops into your head.”
A silence falls, the sharp kind. Every eye pins on them.
Vega stretches, puts on a playful scared face. Alaska presses her mouth tight and looks at the tablecloth.
“Come on, princesses,” Irina urges. “Ask.”
I smile like I’m calm. I’m not. I want her close, right here in front of everyone, with the family watching, with the boss a yard away.
Alaska lifts her gaze and finds me. Her expression loosens; a small smile slips out.
I drop my eyes because I’m an idiot and also because I don’t want anyone catching the secret.
Vega bites her lip, thinks for a second, and blurts in a clear, totally childlike voice:
“A room full of Barbies.”
Barbies. Just like that. A laugh slips out of me. It pops out, small, and it spreads around the table in these awkward little giggles, the kind you don’t know what to do with.
Alaska goes red to the roots. She elbows Vega.
“Vega, shut up, please!”
“What?” she says, blushing but steady. “It’s the first thing that came out.”
I’m still fixed on Alaska. She’s got that shine in her eyes that tells me someone hit a nerve. Vega clocks it, lowers her voice, and starts in on the real thing.
“When they took us to the group home, when we were eight…”
“Vega, no!” Alaska bursts out, trying to cut her off.
“We were only allowed to take one fucking Barbie. One. For both of us.”