Epilogue JULES
MIAMI
Ithought there was nothing this family could do anymore that would surprise me.
They chartered an airbus to watch the Dallas Cowboys play in Texas on Thanksgiving.
They took over a floor of the Ritz-Carlton to visit New York’s Christmas markets (and complained about the cold the entire time).
But their Christmas Eve setup is something else entirely.
Tiago was right – the pool is covered in glass flooring, a marquee overhead sheltering the two longest banquet tables I’ve ever seen in my life from the weakening sun.
Hundreds of lanterns are dotted around the garden, and warm fairy lights hug palm trees.
Overlapping music blasts from all corners – folk, merengue and reggaeton. It’s like a scene out of a movie.
There are six nativities ranging from gaudy to sentimental.
In one, the hay (made of gold) wraps around the crib (made of gold), holding a tiny baby Jesus (made of porcelain).
In another, the donkey is missing an ear, and Mary is an electrocuted Barbie.
Tiago’s aunts are arguing over whose is the most beautiful.
I can instantly tell which is his mother’s – Joseph really does look like Nancy Pelosi.
As we head back out to the garden, Tiago gestures to Paisa Claus, a unique take on the bearded gift-giver with a white cowboy hat, sunglasses, and maracas. He looks like he’s selling reindeer, not flying around with them.
We sit down to eat, big grown-ups at the far end – my dad sitting in between Tiago’s dad and Trey’s dad – medium grown-ups in the middle, and kids nearest the house.
There must be over two hundred people here, all shouting, hugging, and laughing loudly.
It’s insane. This is more extravagant than most British weddings.
Steaming sharing dishes are placed in the middle of the tables.
Tamales wrapped in banana leaves; soups; arepas; empanadas; white, yellow, red, and green rice.
I try to ignore the whole roast pig up by my dad.
It still has its trotters and everything.
Dad’s even newer to the Cabreras than I am so I wonder what he’s making of it all.
I’m aware Tiago’s abuela is probably watching me like she does whenever we eat together – she apparently thinks I’m too skinny, which makes no sense because her granddaughters are mostly smaller than me.
I load my plate up all the same. Maybe I’ll leave the calorie counter for today.
I can’t be arsed to search for all the individual items.
My phone buzzes as I reach for the ensalada rusa, and I quickly glance at it in case it’s work.
It’s from Minnie. Just a photo, nothing else.
Before I can open it, a torrent of notifications appear from Ash, pinging one after the other in a ferocious cascade. It’s like she’s running a finger across her keyboard. I quickly push past them and gasp.
‘What is it?’ Tiago says, craning over, his hand finding my knee under the table.
‘Minnie’s engaged.’
All I can do is beam at the photo of her bejewelled finger. She clearly wasn’t expecting it, she has little Christmas trees on her nails. Bloody hell, that rock is enormous. Impeccable, but enormous. I fear for her wrist.
I can’t think of two more deserving people.
Minnie was an even bigger commitment-phobe than me but she found her match in Jack, and he’s treated her like royalty ever since.
I squeeze my excitement into gaps of Ash’s continuing stream, and ping Minnie’s mum a quick congratulations message too.
We’ll have to debrief at our next Hyrox event.
‘Do you think the ring’s big enough?’ Tiago jokes.
‘?Coma, coma, coma!’ Abuela barks at us from behind the pig.
We shovel food in our mouths to disguise laughter.
I swallow and point at the green rice. ‘?Me podrías pasar el arroz, por favor?’
‘Si,’ Tiago returns automatically, ‘un momenti—’ He freezes, then turns slowly to look at me.
I smile sweetly.
‘What was that?’ he asks.
His sisters around us quieten, beaming and nudging each other.
I shrug. ‘Nada.’
His eyes sparkle. ‘You learned Spanish.’
‘Learning,’ I correct. ‘It’s your Christmas present. Feliz Navi—’
The girls erupt, clapping and bouncing, a chorus of ‘?AYYYY! ?UUUUUY! ?AY, DIOS MíO!’
His finger swivels around them. ‘You guys taught her?’
‘I’ve been teaching her,’ Isa says through laughter.
‘Mentirosa,’ Marcela snaps, smacking her sister’s arm with the back of her hand. ‘We’ve all been helping. I don’t know how you didn’t notice.’
His delighted eyes find mine again, and butterflies spasm in my stomach. I take pride in my gift-giving skills, but what do you get a man who has everything?
‘You learned Spanish for me,’ he says again, in utter disbelief, like in a million years he never thought I would. How little he knows me. He believes no one cares like Colombians, but he’s so wrong.
‘For us,’ Espy corrects. ‘She’s a Cabrera, and we speak both.’
He blanks her. ‘You really didn’t have to do that.’
‘I wanted to.’
‘I have a gift for you too… but I’ll give it to you before dessert.’
The way he says it sounds naughty. Too naughty. Why can’t he give it to me after dinner with all the other presents? I feel like pointing out my dad’s here, not to mention four generations of his own family, so I pray I don’t open a sex swing. He’s been going on about it for ages.
Better to change the subject. ‘What are your plans for New Year, Isa?’ I ask, taking a sip of water. ‘I hear you’re not going to be here with us.’
She switches from smiling to pointing daggers at her brother in a heartbeat. He probably deserves it, but what’s he done now?
‘I’m… going to London,’ she grits out.
‘Really? To see the fireworks?’
‘Yup.’ She pops the ‘p’, shifty as anything.
‘You know,’ Tiago has a taunting smile on his face, ‘Nyla’s going to be in London over New Year’s, right Jules? You should totally call her.’
There’s a thump under the table and Tiago winces.
Do they think I’m an idiot? I know she and Nyla fancy each other, and have done since pretty much the first time they met.
Of course, Nyla’s never said anything outright.
She’s not the kind of person to move boldly and loudly.
She has, however, dropped little hints over the last few months.
Isa has pretty hair; Isa’s very kind; I’m going to have dinner with Isa; Isa’s great at chess; Colombia sounds like a nice place to go on holiday.
I know she’s going to the New Year’s Eve fireworks with some friends, but I didn’t know she meant this friend.
For the sake of Tiago’s shins, I’ll play along. ‘You should message her, Isa. I’m sure she’d love to see you.’
Isa’s very still, reading every ounce of what I’ve said. I meant it. Give Nyla time and she’ll come around.
I haven’t been a fan of Christmas for years – it’s hard when you’re missing the main architect in your family – but this is a million miles away from my Christmas.
Bitterly cold, quiet, daytime TV, Dad going for a nap.
I didn’t know people celebrated like this.
I didn’t know there were families like this.
I don’t feel like I have to perform or explain or squeeze myself to fit in. I can just be.
I watch Tiago’s mum hold court amongst the aunts and abuelas.
She’s so different from my mum – loud, enigmatic, and flashy – but watching her makes me miss mine more.
She was our breadwinner, organiser, therapist, travel agent, cook, teacher, hairdresser, career advisor.
My dad was away so much it often felt like I was raised by a single parent.
And when she got sick, everything sort of stopped.
My dad couldn’t or wouldn’t fill the void. I don’t think he knew how.
I feel her absence all the time, and celebrations like this especially so. But being here makes it a little easier to swallow. New people, new places, new traditions.
Tiago’s hand covers mine, his thumb running gently over the back. ‘You miss your mom, huh?’ His ability to read my mind’s scary, and he’s getting better at it almost every day.
I nod, not taking my eyes off Mrs Cabrera telling a story I patchily understand, all jangling jewellery and exaggerated expressions. ‘She would’ve loved you.’
‘You think?’
My gaze drops. ‘She would’ve hated to see what I became. Boxed in and uptight and scared. You cracked me open.’
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘I would’ve loved to meet her.’
‘We know you’re a long way from home,’ Marcela cuts in as the plates are being swept away, ‘so we got you some British traditions to help make it feel more like Christmas.’
I’m close to crying when she drags a box from under the table and holds up a pack of six crackers, tied with little red bows. This family. Tiago’s hand doesn’t move from mine and it keeps me anchored.
I blink away tears and focus on the matter at hand like it carries national importance: teaching them what to do. You pull the cracker, wear the hat, tell the joke, and play the tiny game.
Isa cackles from under her too-big hat as she scoops out her game. ‘I have mini cards!’
‘Keep those away,’ Tiago chuckles, ‘it’s too early in the relationship to test our competitiveness.’
‘Why?’ I arch an eyebrow. ‘You scared I’ll win?’
‘Oh I’m not scared.’
‘I mean, it kind of looks like you are.’
He sits up straighter. ‘You wanna do this? Here?’
‘Settle down you two, you’ll scare the ninos,’ Marcela chastises through a giggle.
Tiago pecks my cheek with a smirk and drinks his water.
‘I thought you had a present for me,’ I whisper. Better to get it over with.
His smirk deepens into his glass. ‘Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten.’
‘Remember our parents are around, so if it’s—’
Light dances in his eyes, wicked and teasing. ‘Look under your seat.’
It’s small enough to fit under a seat. Ok, good start.
Christ, it’s not plane tickets, is it? I didn’t spend a penny on him; he better not have gone mad.
We said no gifts. Obviously I was lying, but I’d hoped for something small and silly.
Considering my favourite gift ever was the AirPods he got me, I don’t need something extravagant to feel special.
It’s a box about the length of a Kindle, beautifully wrapped in gold ribbon. I open it under the tablecloth just to be safe. He’s studying my fingers with the same fixation as in bed, and it’s making me sweat.
I lift the lid to find a bright pink… blob, shaped a bit like a semicircle. What is—?
Oh my god, it’s a vibrator.
With no buttons.
‘Where’s the—?’
He opens his hand to show a grey remote control.
It’s an upgraded version of mine. Bigger. Thicker. Probably a lot more settings.
‘I think you need to go to the bathroom,’ he says coolly, scratching his ear.
I blink at him. Then I blink at the box.
Here? At his wholesome family Christmas?
‘There are children around,’ I hiss.
He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, enjoying this way too much. ‘They won’t know.’
Panic courses through me, but also a flicker of pleasure. Just a little one. I’ve never done anything like this. Nothing in public. I squeeze my thighs together. I can’t. I want to, but I can’t.
He leans in so close his breath caresses my ear. ‘Feliz Navidad, Mami.’
‘You’re insane.’ But my feet are ready to move all the same.
The back of his hand brushes my bare thigh. ‘I’m all about helping you let go.’
God, I love this man.