18. TIAGO
TIAGO
‘Why do you look nice?’ I accuse as we get in the car.
Isa unfurls her bangs from a roller. ‘I always look nice.’
‘Did you put red lipstick on in the bathroom just now?’
Adjusting the front of her hair, she turns toward the window at the 767s lined up in their parking bays. ‘Shut up.’
She smells nice too. Usually it’s sweatpants and a holey Dolphins hoodie for travelling, but today she looks like she’s about to go shopping in Paris.
‘Why is Peroni emailing me about working with you?’ asks JC, staring incredulously at his phone as the car eases into motion.
Oh shit.
Isa’s glued to a plane taking off like she’s never seen aviation before.
‘A couple of their guys were Leone’s guests at the race.’ It’s the truth – if you sub out Leone for Jules, with the ‘guest’ part organised by Isa. ‘We had a little talk after that Q it’s like we’re going backwards. I just want to relax and shake it off before New York. Spending eleven hours with Hermione Granger’s not what I had in mind.
‘Rolls-Royce engines,’ I can hear Jules’ assistant murmur as she boards, and I can’t help feeling a wave of pride. This is cool shit. Jules should be thanking me, not slapping me in the face when she was clearly giving me signals.
I get waylaid talking to the pilot about his time in Italy and by the time I reach my seat, it’s taken. I swear to God this woman’s been sent to Earth to test me.
‘That’s my seat.’
Jules opens her mouth to reply but I hear Isa’s voice first. ‘Take my seat, child.’
‘I don’t want your seat. I want my seat. It faces forward, it’s got a great window, it’s near the bathroom—’
She stretches up behind me so she’s very close to my ear. ‘Take. My. Seat. O te sientas en el bano.’
I suck in a long breath and release it. Fine. If I can’t have my seat, I want the next best thing.
‘Are you serious right now?’ Isa hisses as I park my ass beside Jules. Isa sits across the table from me, next to Nyla, and mouths, ‘Damage control’.
Trey has no idea about anything and sits across the aisle, headphones circling his neck. ‘Why are you ladies going to New York?’
‘Don’t be nosy, Trey,’ Isa snaps.
‘We’ve got a brand meeting,’ says Nyla quietly, looking a little less like she wants to be swallowed up by the floor than she did a minute ago. ‘Are you guys… from New York?’
Trey chortles. ‘No way. Too cold. We’re going for a wedding and a quinceanera – but not the same person!’ He loves that joke.
Nyla laughs. Jules does not.
‘One’s Trey’s sister and the other’s another cousin,’ Isa elaborates.
Nyla nods as she accepts an orange juice from the flight attendant. ‘Do you have a lot of cousins?’
I lean toward Jules. ‘You look terrible.’
She continues to stare out the window, hands pressed tightly between her thighs. ‘Get lost.’
Even through her make up I can see she’s super pale. Her ponytail’s so tight it looks like she’s taken skincare advice from my Tía Elisa. She still smells great, though. Not like her normal perfume – different, more subtle, like fabric softener. Fresh and soft and—
‘Stop sniffing me. I’m not a candle.’
I reel back, swallowing an apology just in time. I’m not apologising to this pouting woman. The only person allowed to sulk here is me. I’m the one who got slapped – in the god damn Miami Team Village! She could at least act professional. Is this how she usually treats her business partners?
‘Hey,’ I say, quieter, so my brother can’t hear. ‘Did you tell those marketing guys to email JC?’
She doesn’t answer immediately. Is she… Is she shivering? The AC’s not even high.
‘I had to,’ she finally says. It feels forced, like she has to put real effort in to form words. ‘I’m not your… manager. And how were you going to explain why you’re suddenly… in their campaign?’
The plane starts moving and she jolts. Her hand lands on my arm and clutches tight. Her touch sears through my skin. My other hand moves to cover it – on instinct – but she snatches it back too soon.
What was that?
My brain’s scrambled. When I look back at Jules, she’s squeezing her eyes shut and 100% looking like she doesn’t want to unpack the last fifteen seconds.
‘What are you, like, scared of flying or something?’ I ask, half joking, but when she doesn’t respond, any amusement evaporates. ‘Oh my god, you’re scared of flying. What? But you’ve made travelling your job. That’s like me being scared of G forces.’
‘Yes, I’m a bad flyer. Happy? Now will you shut up?’ She finally meets my gaze and her eyes are terrifying. Big and crazed and wired, like she’s OD’d.
Nyla’s not concentrating on Isa going through our siblings. She wordlessly slides a white Ambien bottle across the table. Jules shakes her head and Nyla tucks it back in her bag.
‘Do you need something? Water?’ I ask gently.
‘Go away.’
That’s the first and last time I try to be nice to her.
‘—who’s still at school. We call him el nino because he’s the baby, even though he’s the tallest,’ Isa finishes.
‘Second tallest!’ JC calls from the far side of the plane. He wishes.
‘Let’s get the vibes going!’ Trey says, connecting his phone to the speakers.
Reggaeton fills the jet as we reach the runway, but I can still make out Jules’ raggedy breathing over it. She’s sitting like a rigid block. When we start picking up speed, she buries her face inside her sweater, hands covering it through the fabric.
Her humanity sneaks right underneath my guard. For a while there I thought she hailed from Terminator. I want to help her but everything I do seems to make it worse. I carefully lean over her and close the window. It’s not much but maybe forgetting she’s in the air will be a comfort.
‘Jules, breathe from your diaphragm, not your chest,’ Trey instructs, craning over the aisle.
She doesn’t respond. ‘Breathe in for four seconds, focusing on your abdomen expanding. Hold for two, out for six. It keeps your blood oxygen high and calms your parasympathetic nervous system. We’ll do it together. In…’
Isa looks astonished Trey knows something about performance coaching. Ye of little faith. I watch Jules’ hands undulate with the movement of her chest. It seems to be working; her breathing sounds like it’s evening out. It bothers me more than it should that she listened to Trey and not me.
When Jules eventually releases her face, she looks like she’s been awake for weeks.
‘Do you want an orange juice?’ Nyla asks.
A small nod.
Isa leaps to her feet. ‘I’ll get it!’
‘I still can’t believe you have eleven siblings,’ Nyla says when she returns.
‘It’s loud, that’s for sure.’ Isa smiles as she places the juice into Jules’ trembling hands. ‘What about you, Jules? Any siblings?’
‘No.’ It’s an octave too low.
‘What a surprise,’ I hear myself say. I don’t mean to kick the scared girl, but it’s reflex. I knew she was an only child pretty much the day I met her.
Her expression tries for sneering but it’s too watery. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Let me see. You’re a Type A, overachieving, independent, perfectionist bulldozer who’s used to having your own way.’
She carefully rolls her shoulders, body unclenching, and the tightness in my own chest gives a fraction. I may not know how to soothe Jules, but I know how to do this.
‘I’m not used to having my own way,’ she says. ‘If I want something, I go get it. There’s a difference.’
‘I bet you were spoiled rotten. I bet your mom—’
‘My mum’s dead.’
I feel like the plane just bottomed out.
Jules has no mom?
She turns away to tune into the others’ conversation.
‘What? I didn’t know that,’ I say over Pitbull rapping about butts. He’s not exactly setting the right tone.
She reluctantly turns back to me. ‘Why would you’ve known that?’
‘How’d it happen?’
‘Parents die, Tiago. I was only saying it to make you shut up. I didn’t ask for therapy.’