Chapter 34 Fear #3
The folk song my grandmother was listening to on that old transistor radio when I complained quietly that my mother didn’t have any food at home; the ballads my aunt loved and we would dance to, me up on her teenage bed and her standing next to it; the pop music I grew up with and dreamed I’d become a big star with; the classic records my mother’s little brother gave me—all those songs and the ones I started getting into by myself have drawn the contours of the way I love.
A sound investigation that every genre fits into because what controls it is the message.
Of all my relationships up until now, I thought Aroa was the one who came closest to those melodic promises of eternal love.
I knew it wasn’t going to be forever, but it worked and we could make it last. All that was missing there and lived in love songs was…
well, just that, poetic license, glorification, unrealistic praise of an emotion that was more idealization than reality.
Or that’s what I thought. Because all the love songs that come into my head are missing something to compare with what I’m feeling now.
“Your Song” by Elton John, “Because the Night” by Patti Smith, “Stand by Me” (Tracy Chapman’s incredible version), “I’m Yours” by Alessia Cara, “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak, “La chispa adequada” by Héroes del Silencio, “Mi ninformana más bella” by El Chivi, “Lovesong” by The Cure—I don’t know, they’re all missing something.
They’re missing Coco. And I understand now that I have her sitting on my lap, on the hotel balcony, and we’re clinging to each other, holding each other, with sheets wrapped around us, brushing against each other’s skin.
I understand now that night has fallen, now that we gifted each other this day of fucking and loving each other and we’re drunk on the feeling and the surprise of being capable of feeling it.
Her feet are propped up on the porch railing, and neither of us is talking.
I’ve been distracted for a while, caressing her neck with my lips, breathing her in.
Thinking. My head is all over the place, jumping from the concept of love to the fear of losing it.
And having it. What if we don’t blossom into being the protagonists of a perfect love story?
The kind that shakes the foundations of your life.
I always thought I wanted a small love story.
I thought that was just my way of experiencing love and that’s why my relationships were…
beautiful but small. I mean small as in the opposite of the sweeping love stories they make movies about.
I wanted relationships that didn’t cause me any problems, and coming to that conclusion while I caressed Coco—the one I know I’ll love even if it hurts me that I didn’t love her before—makes me feel kind of dismayed.
It just dawned on me that I’m emotionally mediocre.
And…I don’t know if I’ll be good enough.
“Are you sure the Perseids are today?”
“Yes.” I kiss her shoulder. “They’ve been talking about it for days in the news and on social media.”
“Well, I don’t see anything.” Coco turns to look at me and smiles. “Why are you so quiet? Is this about the thing with your sister?”
My heart jumps in my chest. “What?” I manage to ask.
“About your sister’s date.”
Ah, God, that scared the shit out of me. “No. Well…I’m worried they’ll fool around. Actually, I’m worried they’ll fool around, she won’t like it, and she won’t know how to stop it.”
“Gema? You’re nuts. She’s totally clear that she doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to.”
“Like taking fucking iron vitamins,” I mock myself.
“Exactly.”
Coco swivels in my lap until her legs are dangling on either side of me.
“Is everything really okay?”
“Yes,” I nod. “I’m just getting used to the fact that I just spent the day fucking my best friend.”
She smiles and nods. “In a little while we might even…”
“Oh, God.” I pretend to roll my eyes. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
“We have to make a wish for Gema,” she reminds me, ignoring my complaints and stroking my face.
“I know. And another one for us.”
“Yeah? Another one for us?” And her expression shows how happy that makes her.
“We deserve our own wishes, right? I don’t wanna get fired and…if possible, I wish to get transferred to the international department.”
“Ah.” Her smile seems tinged with disappointment. “Well, I don’t know what to ask for…”
She turns her gaze back to the sky, and I understand. She wanted a wish for us as a unit. Not a “you” and then on the other side a “me.” One single us, one single wish. Coco is really in love with me, and I have no idea when that happened.
“Keep your eyes peeled. We need four shooting stars,” I say, hugging her.
“Four? Do you want to wish for one for the landlord too?”
“One for Gema…like for her to grow into a very happy woman, for example. Another for you…like your boss retiring, just to throw anything out there.”
“Or that I win the Euromillions jackpot. Some crazy amount of millions. That’d be cool. I’d spend the first million on a pool full of candy.”
“Very mature.”
“And the other two for you?” she asks me with her eyebrows raised.
“One for me and the other for us. For both of us…as one.”
There it is. I hit the target.
“What should we wish for?” she asks.
“That this isn’t too much for us.”
I regret saying it as soon as it comes out, but I’m convinced that ignoring the possibility would be really irresponsible. Still, I kiss her. A kiss on the lips in the way that isn’t chaste but isn’t about sex either. The way a man who just turned the love of his life into his wife kisses.
“This is new. I wasn’t expecting it,” I clarify. “Just give me time to fit it into the life I had and give it the space it deserves.”
“Of course. I had an advantage… I’ve loved you for a long time.”
That’s probably the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me, and I don’t know if I deserve it.
“When did you realize you loved me?”
“When I stopped being jealous of Aroa because at least she made you happy. But it’s all your fault, Marín…because you always treated me like I was the only woman on the face of the earth. That’s what happens when you make someone feel really special—they want to be it at all costs.”
Feeling loved is a two-sided coin: One of them smiles at us and makes sense of the need to find someone to cuddle with; the other bares its teeth because it makes us keenly aware of our own imperfections.
Am I capable of loving her the way she deserves?
Can I make her happy? Will my way of loving be enough for her?
Am I really falling in love with her, or are we just destroying the best relationship of all time by trying to become lovers?
Can she cure my broken way of thinking about love?
Is it fair to put that responsibility on her?
“I love you,” I say.
Fuck. What was that? I wasn’t expecting it. I didn’t even know I felt it as strongly as I said it, but she seems, as always, to know me better than I know myself and she smiles.
“I know. And I love you too.”
I rest my cheek on her head, and when I look up at the sky…zasss. There it is. The first one.
“Did you see that?” we both say, giddy as kids.
“Quick, make a wish and don’t tell me,” she adds.
You, Coco. You always and me being good enough.
You and not this fear. You with no space between us so I suffocate against your chest. You understanding, when you find out, why I didn’t tell you before about Gema.
Because you’re finding out, you’re going to find out, I’m sure of that. I just hope I’m the one who tells you.