Chapter Twenty #2
I debate whether to lie, but quickly shelve that thought since I abhor lying and that would make me a hypocrite, and also because Zeliá was there and obviously remembers.
‘I said that the groom was “a desperate attention-seeking narcissist with little to no intelligence”. If you’d had the misfortune of meeting him, you’d appreciate the truth in that statement. ’
Their faces reflect shock and awe. How to convince them this was an astute observation?
‘My dislike for him only escalated when he insisted on walking down the aisle with his groomsmen to “About Damn Time” while a camera crew filmed them doing some hideous dance that was later uploaded to TikTok. I’m sure it was meant to be fun and frivolous, but where was his bride in all of that?
He did the same with the first dance, where again, my cousin was relegated to the sidelines as they did some scandalous performance that almost made my entrée reappear. ’
Their taut expressions relax somewhat. ‘Right. Yes, now that you mention it, those dance numbers were rather odd. Didn’t he have a lighting team following him around?’
I nod. ‘For “candid” shots … of himself.’
‘I bet the wedding photos were great.’
‘Yes, my cousin Catarina even made it into a few.’
Tiago laughs. ‘I can’t wait for the next álverez wedding.’ His mother winks at me. Oh dear.
‘Let’s hope for the best but prepare for the worst,’ I say, with a solemn nod.
‘Tiago, you get the coffee going while I chat to Viviane.’
How to survive the inquisition of a Portuguese mother who is not my own?
Even though Tiago and I are strictly platonic friends, she will be conjuring romance between us, simply because we’re both single and unwed and at the magic age for marriage and babies.
I steel myself for it. I must remain polite but firm, and let her know in no uncertain terms that while Tiago is adorable, like an excitable puppy, my heart is closed for business.
Or for repairs. Maybe it’s under maintenance … even.
My ruminating is interrupted when a squat man wearing striped athleisure wanders in and noisily kisses Zeliá’s cheeks. ‘My love, my darling, I’ve missed you so,’ he says rather dramatically.
I sneak a peek at what Tiago’s making of this spectacle, glad for a moment that my own mother is resolutely single these days. Not because I don’t want her to be happy and adored, but because public displays of affection such as this make me squirm.
I frown when I see Tiago glowering at the man, who holds up a hand to high five Tiago, which he pretends not to see, despite it being directly in his line of sight. Interesting. ‘I’m Tiago’s stepdad, John, nice to meet you.’
‘Viviane.’ I hold out a hand to shake, but he pulls me in for the requisite little kisses, the brushing of his cheeks against mine.
‘I’ll get started on that coffee, I guess.
’ Tiago’s entire posture has changed, his shoulders are high and his hands are clenched.
John doesn’t seem like the evil stepdad type to cause such a reaction, but I, of all people, know that looks can be deceiving when it comes to dads and the masks they hide behind.
‘Yes, thanks, my darling.’ Zeliá’s smile turns wooden. The air crackles with tension but John is either oblivious or intentionally ignoring it.
‘What a day! I walked to the Felgueiras Lighthouse and back, then I had lunch …’ He continues regaling us with every detail of his day, and then plonks down in a wrinkled leather chair that makes a humanlike sigh.
‘Why do you always sit there?’ Tiago’s voice is low and taut. ‘There of all places?’ John blanches.
‘Tiago,’ Zeliá says, a hint of warning in her tone. At first glance it appears to be a very average chair, it’s not as pristine as the rest of the furniture. It’s careworn, the leather crazed and patchy like it’s been well loved.
Tiago scrapes a hand through his hair. ‘I’ve asked him a hundred times to sit anywhere else. It’s like he delights in sitting in Dad’s chair, as if he’s the king of the castle or something.’ There’s real anguish in Tiago’s eyes, my heart flutters in sympathy.
‘My apologies, Viviane,’ Zeliá says. ‘Tiago’s father passed away early last year and understandably he’s still processing it.’
John struggles to extricate himself from the softness of the chair, the apple of his cheeks flame as if he’s embarrassed by his mistake. ‘Sorry, Tiago, really. I wasn’t thinking.’
Tiago rolls his eyes and strides from the room.
Bearing witness to awkward family dynamics such as this is not ideal and I hover, unsure of what to do in the moment.
I put myself in Tiago’s shoes, if roles were reversed, I’d hope he’d come and comfort me.
Tell me that one day this won’t hurt so much.
This is my chance to show him I can be supportive, just like he’s been to me so many times already in this brief friendship.
Is this why he’s feeling so lost? He’s been hiding his grief behind a happy-go-lucky exterior. It’s about so much more than selling his app. It’s about losing his dad, and his mum moving on, and finding where he fits in the world. I can relate to that seesaw.
I find Tiago in his bedroom and move to give him a hug, even though I’m not a hugger.
Tiago is making me rethink my stance on displays of affection.
In his arms, the world shifts and for one lonely second, I pretend that he is my reality.
That this is a possibility. Until I remember Tiago has bigger plans and it’s best not to get myself tangled up in something if his goal is to leave.
Tiago’s one of those people who can’t sit still, he needs his work, a purpose, and soon enough his old world will lure him back.
It’s already started. The tendrils of his new idea tantalise him.
‘How do I stop hating the guy?’ he whispers, his breath brushing the soft skin beneath my ear, as we cling to each other. ‘I just feel this utter contempt whenever he’s around.’
I pull myself from his arms. This I can do. A lifetime of therapy, you pick up a thing or two. ‘We make a list, everything you despise about John, and then we set it on fire.’
A yelp of laughter escapes from Tiago. ‘We set it on fire?’
‘Well, you’re supposed to bin it, but setting it on fire is more cinematic, and much more satisfying, don’t you agree? And when it burns, you let those negative emotions die with the flames. It’s either that, or punch pillows.’
‘Ha! Why not both?’
‘And then I want you to tell me all about your dad. What you most loved about him.’
Tiago’s eyes go glassy and mine follow suit. Who knew we were both members of a club no one wants to be in?