23 Where very few things have that effect on me
23
Where very few things have that effect on me
Tristan
When we wake up, I have six missed calls from my mother, but I’m more worried that we missed breakfast. It’s 1:20. This is what happens when you get back to the hotel at 9:30 in the morning after sneaking off to Cape Finisterre in the middle of the night and you’re so exhausted…that the whole eating breakfast before you fall asleep thing doesn’t even occur to you.
I’m not very romantic. That’s the truth. To me, romance means sharing your Wi-Fi password. But what do I know? I can’t picture myself going to pick Miranda up brandishing a bouquet of flowers, and it’s not because I think that would be bad. It’s just that…those kinds of gestures are hard for me. It’s not my style. I try to express that stuff in a different way; I hope the message gets through, even if it comes with fewer frills.
I want to take Miranda to get some martinis and then to the A Riouxa Park, which I know she’ll love. It’s not like driving two hours in the middle of the night just to say “I love you” at Cape Finisterre, but it’s something. Tonight, we have plans to meet up with my parents at four and then go to dinner. Uxia isn’t coming because she’s busy, but maybe it’s better that way. There hasn’t been much harmony between my sister and my girlfriend. I’m not going to say I wasn’t expecting it. Uxia has always been…special. She can be a hard pill to swallow when she puts her mind to it. Sometimes, we seem a lot alike, like the siblings we are, but other times, we’re like the sun and the moon. Yesterday, she wasn’t very friendly with Miranda, and I guess I should have done something about it, but it seemed aggressive to me. I’ve never been a big fan of confrontations. I’ve only gotten in a fight once in my life, and to be honest, all I really did was push away some asshole who was coming at me. Although…this isn’t about punching anyone; it’s about telling my sister to please stop being a jerk.
I have a lot to do today.
Miri comes out of the shower wrapped in a towel. I took a shower first, and now I’m dressed, taking the opportunity to message someone on WhatsApp.
“Will I be okay in a dress, Tristan? Because I’m guessing we’re not coming back to the hotel before dinner with your parents, right?”
“We can come take a siesta midafternoon if you want.”
“Okay, but will I be okay at dinner in a short dress, tights, boo—?”
“No,” I cut her off.
She turns and gives me a confused look, and I laugh.
“I mean, of course, silly. You always look good. You don’t have to ask me what to wear.”
“It’s for your parents.” She wrinkles her nose shyly. “Sometimes, in Madrid, I get carried away with the trendy stuff, and I don’t want them to think I’m wearing a costume.”
“You always look good,” I insist. “Don’t worry about what they think. They already liked you yesterday.”
She keeps talking about how important clothes are for first and second impressions, but all I can focus on is the lingerie she’s putting on. Jeez, it should come with a pair of free sunglasses, because the color could burn your retinas.
“You know? Because the second impression can either confirm the first or prove it wrong.”
“Does that underwear glow in the dark?” I joke.
“Yes. I wear it when I’m going to be in a dark room so everyone can spot me.”
I sit on the edge of the bed and focus on putting my shoes on.
“You’re ready?” she asks. “I’m going to need a little more time. I have to blow-dry my hair, put my makeup on…”
“Yeah, I’m ready, but… I’m going to head out for a minute. Is that okay?”
I sit down next to her, opposite the mirror, and she studies me in silence.
“What?” I ask.
“Where are you going?”
“I just wanna go say hi to my ex-boss. He messaged me that he’s in a bar with the other partners and…”
She raises her eyebrows doubtfully, but she nods and shrugs.
“Of course. I’ll wait for you here?”
“Yeah. Or…if I take a long time and you feel like going out to grab something to eat, feel free…”
“But are you going to take a long time?”
“I mean, I don’t know, Miranda. I don’t think so.”
“I don’t know why I’m even asking. You’re always late,” she grumbles.
“Like you at the bakery yesterday when you were buying the sweets, right?”
“Wait, what’s up with you?” she exclaims.
“Nothing’s up with me, Miranda, for God’s sake,” I complain. “You always get so defensive.”
“I’m not getting defensive, Tristan. It’s just that…”
“It’s just what, exactly?” I lean against the table and cross my arms over my chest.
“You’re handling me with exfoliating gloves. If you could be a little sweeter when you talk to me, I wouldn’t be so defensive.”
“I thought you said you weren’t defensive.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
I sigh. Ay, Lord, what a woman.
“I don’t like it when you sigh instead of saying what you’re thinking or how you’re feeling,” she insists.
“Miri, my angel, you can’t change a donkey,” I say to try to make her understand, with all my affection and love.
But she doesn’t answer. I pat my pockets to make sure I have everything and throw on my jacket.
“I’m leaving.”
She doesn’t respond. This time, I don’t sigh. I snort.
“Miranda, please…make things a little easier on me. What’s the biggest complaint?”
“I don’t have a complaint, Tristan. It just makes me a little sad that we can’t find a middle ground between your way of showing love and mine. That’s all.”
“Well, don’t be sad.”
I go over, kiss her on the temple, and wrap my arms around her briefly.
“I’ll be right back. I won’t take too long.”
I know sometimes she’s right, but right now, I feel like Miranda adopted a fish hoping it would bark.
When I get there, she’s sitting at the bar. I can tell it’s her from her hair, which she’s wearing loose, wavy, and very long. She turns around when I swoop in next to her and smiles, leaning against my chest affectionately in a kind of brief hug.
“I could smell your aftershave from a mile away.”
“It’s cologne,” I quibble.
“Did you really just wake up?”
“I was glued to the sheets. I went to bed really late last night.”
“How come? You were out partying?”
I suck my teeth and order a stubby.
“I don’t have much time,” I warn her.
“You lied to her, didn’t you? You made up an excuse to get out.”
“Well, yeah.” I nod, leaning backward against the bar and looking at her. “Because I wanted to talk to you alone and…”
The bartender serves my beer, and after I thank him, I stare at her with a calm smile.
“You can’t keep picking fights with her,” I declare with a lot of self-restraint.
“You’ve always been so freaked out by conflict.”
“I avoid mess that isn’t worth it. There’s a difference.”
My sister rolls her eyes. I’m afraid this seems to be a gesture we make a lot in my family.
“Did she send you to yell at me?”
“Do you think I’m twelve years old, Uxia?” I say this a little more seriously, trying to make her get it. “You don’t have to watch over my life choices.”
“So what if I don’t like that girl? Then what?”
“Then you grin and bear it.”
“Yeah?” she says, livid.
“Well, yeah, Uxia, but for a whole bunch of reasons. For one, because I live in Madrid and you’re not exactly gonna have to see her every Sunday. And…”
“The girl from the big city…” she says snidely.
“And,” I insist more bluntly, “because she’s the woman your brother fell in love with, and you can keep your mouth shut because it’s none of your business.”
“You’re my brother, so it kind of is my business.”
“Yes, your little brother, but that doesn’t mean you have to inspect everything I do with a magnifying glass and judge me.” I soften my tone a little. “Uxi…I’m asking you please.”
“What a crybaby, that babe…” she mutters.
“She didn’t say anything to me,” I lie. “But I have eyes and ears, and what you did yesterday was”—I throw my hands up—“uncalled for…and I’m asking you to do this for me, if you can’t find a reason for yourself. Smile at her, talk about the weather, I don’t care, but don’t bust my balls.”
She sips her martini and scowls.
“You really like her that much?”
“Well, yeah.” I nod, and in spite of myself, I get the giggles. Sometimes my sister…she still acts like a teenager.
“What the hell are you laughing at, you clown?”
“The fact that I have to explain to you that I like her a lot.” I laugh. “It’s not that I like her. I love her.”
“Wait, you’re not going to propose, are you?” Her eyes bulge.
“I mean, I don’t think so, but only because I can’t picture her in a white dress walking down the aisle. She’s”—I waggle my head, being funny—“she’s not that kind of girl. But we live together. Doesn’t that give you a hint? We’re making plans.”
“Like adopting a dog and going vegan?”
“You’re such a dumbass,” I say impatiently. “I don’t know why you have so much beef with someone you don’t even know. You’re being a little provincial, and I never thought you were such a bumpkin.”
She flips me off, and I take some cash out of my pocket and give it to her.
“This is on me. I’ve gotta go. She’s waiting for me.”
“Who, Amanda?”
I flick her on the forehead, just like when we were little, and she laughs.
“What if she makes you choose?” she says, and I can’t tell whether she’s joking or serious.
“Then I’ll choose the one who’s not making me choose.”
I kiss her on the forehead, right where I hit her (gently, hit isn’t really the word), and wink as I down the rest of my beer.
“Go take a nap. Don’t show up at Mama and Papa’s house with that depraved face like you’ve been up all night screwing.”
I let out a chuckle.
“Nothing could be further from the truth.”
“You didn’t get laid?”
“She took me to Finisterre to watch the sun rise,” I confess with a mix of shame and pride.
“That’s so beautiful,” she says sarcastically.
“It was. Try feeling something human. You’d be surprised. Take your boyfriend to Finisterre, and tell him that you can’t promise him eternal love, but you can take him to the end of the world to tell him you love him right here and now. And then try to fuck in the back of the car to see if it wipes that bad mood off your face.”
“Yuck.”
That’s the last thing she says to me. Then I just kiss her on the cheek and leave. But I still have one more stop to make before I meet Miranda…
I find her sitting on a patio, in the weak sun shining over Vigo today. I glanced at the weather forecast, and it’s supposed to rain this afternoon. We’ll make the most of it until the first drops, and then we’ll go to the hotel to sleep, fully clothed, listening to the drops pattering against the window, until dinnertime.
“Hi.” I lean down and give her a kiss. Her lips have a trace of vermouth on them.
“I didn’t order you anything in case you took a long time.”
“No worries.” I sit down next to her and squeeze her leg affectionately.
“How’s your boss?”
“Good. Like always. Walking the thin line between being a jerk and a psychopath.”
That gets a smile out of her, and I show her the little bag resting in my lap.
“What’s that?”
“I stopped by the pharmacy. It’s for you.”
I give it to her. She peeks inside and recognizes the medicine. It’s the morning-after pill. I came inside her yesterday. We’ve been doing it without condoms for a year, but I always pull out. And we never actually settled on a contraceptive method. Then we did tests to make sure we were healthy…it’s too tempting. We both get carried away in the moment, even though we’ve never taken it as far as we did last night. And yes, I know all about how “it sprinkles before it rains,” but that’s part of the risk we take on.
“Ah…” When she fishes out the box, she seems a little disoriented, like she doesn’t remember last night, but she quickly nods to herself. “Of course. Thank you.”
“I didn’t buy it because I think you… I mean…you know I…” God, I’m so bad at this stuff. “If you don’t want to take it, please, don’t think I’m pressuring you. I know you… If it were up to me…”
Miranda smiles, opens the box, and asks me to call the waiter over.
“Order your beer and a tap water for me.”
“How do you know I want a beer?” I return the smile.
“Because I know everything about you.”
And that declaration scares me. And makes me feel warm. Warm, too, right in the part of my chest where very few things have that effect on me.