51. I think Tio Rafa is your Pickle.
51 /
i think tio rafa is your pickle.
charlie
We step into the kitchen, and everyone is busy with something, eyes lowered to their tasks, except for one man. His hazel eyes are bright, and his smirk is all mischief. There’s no doubt in my mind he’s the one who shouted for us to come in here.
“Hey there, lovebirds,” the man I assume is one of Raf’s younger brothers says. He might not be biologically related to Rafael, but his teasing tone is identical to the man’s next to me.
“Gus.” Raf’s tone is more of a warning, and his brother raises both hands, palms up, then walks a few steps toward us.
“Great to finally meet you, Charlie. I’m Gustavo, the good-looking brother.” Rather than give me his hand to shake, he starts to point across the room. “That’s Marcelo.” A man who looks nearly identical to Gustavo other than the eye color waves to me. “You met Gabe and Cece.” The pair look up at me with matching smiles and go back to folding napkins. “And our baby sister, Daniela.” A girl with long, dark curls, who is setting up a charcuterie board, smiles brightly at me and mouths what I think is I love your skirt.
I raise a hand in my own awkward wave as all of the Machados welcome me as quietly as I’m sure they can manage. Simultaneously, Rafael and I walk toward Ana Maria, who is drying her hands at the sink.
“Ben?a, Vó,” Rafael says as he reaches for her in the same way as he did with his parents, still holding onto me. Once she’s responded and patted his cheeks, she turns to me, brows high in the air as if expecting me to say or do something.
I clear my throat and say the only thing I can think of. “Ben?a, Vó.” I kiss her cheeks and pull back, feeling like I did the right thing when her smile grows.
“Deus te aben?oe, minha filha.” She pats my cheeks, slightly more gently than she did with her grandson, and lingers on me for a few seconds before looking lovingly at Rafael and stepping away from us.
“Can I get you a drink, Charlie?” Andrea is walking to the fridge before I have an answer fully formed.
“I got it, M?e.” Rafael kisses the top of my head and walks away from me. I guess after Gustavo’s comment about us making out, it’s okay for them to assume we’re together? Or was that a friendly head kiss? He’s done this to his grandmother. To Lainey, even. So, I suppose this is just Raf being Raf.
I feel oddly comfortable in this kitchen. Perhaps because I’ve been in it when there are just three of us, so I don’t hesitate to ask, “Can I help with anything?”
“No way. You’re the guest of honor. You’re literally the one person we’ve been waiting for since M?e made us all get here early to prep,” Daniela says.
“I would take offense to that, Dani.” Raf walks up behind me, setting a drink on the island countertop where I have been normally perched during our Tuesday visits, and wraps his arms around my middle. “But I’m not even mad because Charlie is always the most important person in the room to me.”
I melt. Andrea swoons. Daniela clutches her chest. Marcelo makes a loud gagging noise. And then we all laugh, easing the tension I had started to feel with Rafael’s sincere proclamation. He didn’t even have to think about it; he just came out and said it so naturally.
Shortly after introductions, Andrea and Vó asked to be left alone in the kitchen, so the rest of us headed outside with drinks and snacks. They ask me about London, whether I’m liking California, and how Raf and I met—though Gus admitted that they already knew, they just wanted my version of the story.
“And you work in finance, right? Rafa told us you’re very good at what you do.” Ivan smiles kindly at me. When I look at Rafael on the other side of the patio, he’s blushing.
“You’ve been talking about me?” I ask the question teasingly, grinning at Raf before answering his father. “I do work in finance. And he’s right. I am very good at it.”
“I like you,” Daniela points at me. “You’re badass.”
I shake my head. “Well, I might be good at my job, but I don’t like it very much.” The admission sends tingles over my skin.
Ivan clicks his tongue. “You should love whatever you do, Charlie girl. Life is both too long and too short for you not to do what makes you happy, you know?” There’s a sadness that comes over Ivan’s features then, but he covers it quickly. “And I have a feeling your current job isn’t the only thing you’re good at.” His eyes crinkle kindly at me.
“Pfft, this is nothing,” Raf says. “She also writes books. And she smiles when she writes them. It’s incredible, to watch her create an entire world full of people and places no one has ever seen before. Charlie’s stories are amazing.” He’s positively beaming with pride as he tells his family about me. My entire body is taught, and he must see it. His smile fades and he mutters a curse, mouthing the word sorry to me. But there’s nothing to be sorry for. I only tensed at the initial shock of his words. I know he’s proud of me. I can feel it. I can hear it in the way he’s excited to share pieces of me with his family, and they’re excited to know me. It’s… wonderful. He’s wonderful.
“Really? You’re a writer?” The youngest sister’s question rips me out of my spiral.
I breathe out a laugh. “Okay, yes, but let’s not go down that rabbit hole right now. I’d love to know more about you all. I’m fascinated by the fact that your backyard is an orange grove. And I’m going to need to see some Brazilian skills put on display on that football pitch.” I lift my chin in the direction of the nets set up on the grassy field.
“Ai,” Ivan clutches his chest. “You know it’s a grove and you call it football, not soccer .” He emphasizes the last word with an exaggerated American accent. Looking pointedly at Rafael, he continues, “Better not let this one go, filho.”
Raf’s eyes lower, a tight smile pulling at his cheeks. I wish he would look at me so I could see the emotion in his eyes. From here, with his head down, I can’t get a read on him.
“Get ready, Charlie,” Marcelo says on a laugh. “Now you’ll have Pai talking about oranges and The Beautiful Game for the rest of the day.” He winks at his dad and everyone laughs.
Ivan does talk about both oranges and football, and I try to remain engaged. But after an hour of conversation with so many people and my first official admission of being an author, I’m starting to feel my social battery start to drain.
“Daddy, can I show Charlie my quiet place?” Cece approaches her dad cautiously, careful not to get too close to the hot grill he’s cooking part of our meal on. Gabriel closes it, turning to give her his full attention.
“Only if she wants to, sweets. And if she says no, another grown-up needs to go with y?—”
“I know, Daddy. I know the rules.” She shakes her head, and based on the way her dad’s eyebrows rise, she probably just rolled her eyes at him, too. I look away, stifling a smile. I didn’t expect to like a five-year-old so much, but here we are.
I watch as her little shoulders rise on a deep inhale. She’s probably psyching herself up to ask me to go with her. It’s a big deal. For her to approach me, for her to share such a special place with me, so I decide not to cause her any further stress. When she turns around, however, with determination written all over her sweet face, I have to change my mind. Because this little girl isn’t in any kind of distress over this, she’s simply finding her courage.
“Hi, Charlie,” she says when she approaches me. Rafael is deep in conversation about a football match—the kind you play with your feet, not the American kind—with his dad, but he looks over as his niece approaches me.
“Hey, Cece.” I pretend that I didn’t just hear her whole conversation with her father.
“I want to go to my quiet place, and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me. We won’t be long since it’ll be time to eat soon, and my dad has a rule that a grown-up has to come with me, so if you don’t come, I’ll have to ask someone else.” She states the facts and then waits for my answer, all while looking over my shoulder. Cece hasn’t made eye contact with anyone but her dad since I got here, and no one has tried to force her into it during any interactions either. I’ve never experienced anything like this.
“I’d really like to come with you. Thank you for asking me.” I start to stand, setting the glass of prosecco Rafael had gotten me earlier on the table.
When I walk past him, he snakes an arm around my waist, squeezing gently as he kisses my temple. “Take your time,” he whispers.
“Let’s go, Charlie.” My little green-eyed friend skips away from me, crossing to the other side of the backyard toward the pond. When she gets close to the water, she stops and waits for me to catch up, then walks to a wooden bench where she sits and looks at the calm water.
“Vov? made this bench for me, and Titia painted it.” She pats the seat next to her like the bench is precious. I’m sure it is to her.
I know from listening to her interact with her family members for a little while that Vov? is her grandfather and Titia is Dani, her aunt. Vovó is Grandma, and Bisa is short for Bisavó, which means great-grandmother.
“You can sit here if you want.” Cece’s hands go to her lap as she looks our at the water.
I walk closer to her and take a seat on the simple but beautiful bench, which has tiny flowers painted along the back of it. The letters “ilia” are visible among the florals, so I can safely assume her name is what’s written there in the beautiful cursive.
“Thank you.” I don't say anything else. This is a quiet place, after all. So, we sit in peaceful silence, enjoying the way the trees sway and the reflection of the sky on the water’s surface.
Several minutes pass, and though I can’t say how long it’s been, I know I feel much more at peace now, and I can tell Cece does too. My thoughts have quieted. My emotions, too.
“Are you going to marry Tio Rafa?” Her tone is perfectly calm as I nearly choke on the air caught in my throat. “It’s okay if you’re not. I know sometimes grown-ups look at each other like that, but they don’t get married. Tio Gustavo is like that with his friend, too, and he says he would never ever marry her. And Mommy and Daddy used to sort of look at each other like that, but they don’t anymore. That’s why they got divorced.”
“Oh,” is all I can think to say. “H-how do we look at each other, your Tio Rafa and me?” I’m not sure I should be asking, but she’s five. It’s fine, right?
“Just like I look at my favorite stuffy.” Okay, yeah, this is fine. “Mommy said she forgot to pack her today, so you’ll have to meet her next time.” Next time. My heart breaks a little. She gets a sad look in her eyes before continuing. “I like all of my stuffies, but Pickle is special. I look at Pickle like she’s the one I treasure the most. Like I feel safe with her, and she makes everything good even better, and everything sad a little happier. I never ever want to be away from her. And when I am away from her, I feel sad and I cry, like I did today when Mommy dropped me off. I think Tio Rafa is your Pickle, and you are most definitely definitely his.” She raises her chin, confirming these so-called facts to the open air.
“Oh,” I repeat. That double definitely sends me into a déjà vu of when I asked Rafael if he would take me on a date. “I’m really glad that you have Pickle. She sounds like the best sort of stuffy.”
“She is. She’s my best friend, too.” Her brows scrunch together as she thinks about her next words. “My best not-human friend. Daddy is my best human friend, and Tio Rafa and Tia Dani and everybody who’s here. You can be one of my best human friends, too, if you want.” She doesn’t give me time to respond to that incredibly sweet and heartfelt offer. “But with Pickle, it’s just easy because I can tell her everything. I don’t have to try to explain myself; she just knows me.”
I sit with that for a moment, completely in awe, and yet not at all surprised that the same little girl who offered me her quiet place would offer up this kind of insight.
He’s the one I treasure the most. I feel safe with him. He makes everything good better, and everything sad happier. I never want to be away from him. It’s easy because I can tell him everything; he just knows me.
I think it. My head tells me these are facts.
I feel it. My heart tells me these are truths.
I don’t need anything else. Head and heart are in perfect harmony. I thought this would be scary. I thought giving in to this kind of love would be turbulent and disruptive. But it’s as peaceful as the glassy water on this pond.
A loud whistle sounds from the back of the house, and we both look back to see Ana Maria at the kitchen door with both pinkies at the corners of her mouth.
“Wow.” I can’t hide my surprise.
“Yeah. Bisa is awesome.” With that last bit of truth, Cecilia stands, and we start our quiet walk back to the house. My heart trots along to a steady beat, so completely content to simply be here with these wonderful people.
When we walk in, the youngest brothers are already at the table. Gabriel waits for Cece and helps her into her chair, speaking quietly to her as she points at what she wants to eat. Rafael saddles up beside me, pulling me into him with an arm around my waist.
“Hi, gata.” His smile is full of tenderness, his brown eyes shining on every inch of my face, until a scoff sounds from the table.
“You call your girlfriend gata? That’s like the most basic shit ever.” Marcelo’s smirk turns into a wince.
“That’s five dollars, Tio. You owe the most today.” Cecilia doesn’t even look up from the little puzzle she’s working on.
“Cece, at this rate, I might as well just buy you the book.” Marcelo takes out a bill and hands it to his niece, who pockets it quietly.
“What’s happening?” I ask Raf.
“Cece gets a dollar for every swear word any of us say. She’s saving up the money for a really expensive version of a book about wizards with pop-ups and sh—” He eyes his niece quickly. “Stuff. Anyway, she usually waits until the end of the day or until we get to at least five because she doesn’t want a bunch of dollar bills.” He lets out a small laugh, not because his niece amuses him in a comical way, but like he’s truly impressed by how smart she is.
“Anywayyyyy,” Marcelo drags out the word. “Back to the fact that you chose this pet name, Raf. You couldn’t be a little more original?” He attempts to steal a piece of a shoestring chip off the table, and Daniela smacks him on the back of the head as she walks by on the way to her seat.
“Why is it not original? Doesn’t it mean cat? I mean, I don’t know why you call me that, but maybe it’s because I’m sort of temperamental like a cat?” I ask, looking up at Raf, then back at Marcelo, but I find no answers in his satisfied smirk. Raf takes my hand, leading me out of the room until we’re in the same hallway where he kissed me earlier.
“It does mean cat.” Raf reaches up to grab the back of his neck. “It also means…” His voice lowers to a whisper like he’s worried his family will hear. “Hot. Or sexy.” His eyes are laser-focused on the small space between our feet on the floor, and his cheeks are the color of a ripe peach. It makes me want to kiss him again. It makes me want to hug him and never let him go. And, of course, my brain pinpoints a detail that probably doesn’t need to be mentioned right now.
“You called me that for the first time last year. In Ojai. The day you switched sandwiches with me because mine had…” I shift my feet, so I’m facing Raf, watching as his face softens.
“Mushrooms, yeah. I remember, pretty girl.” He pushes a strand of hair behind my ear as we stand nearly chest to chest, the sound of people moving around the kitchen now even more muffled thanks to the questions sounding off in my head. As if he can hear them too, he says, “Lainey probably forgot to ask for no mushrooms. She was newly pregnant, and we didn’t even know it yet. Honest mistake.” He shrugs. “And yeah, that was months ago. I may not have great vision, but I have eyes. I can see you. I’ve always seen you, Charlie. It was just a little fuzzier before. A little out of focus. But then it was like one day, I put my glasses on, and everything was so clear. You became so clear. You became my only focus. The only thing I even wanted to look at anymore.”
Raf blows out a heavy breath and sniffles. This man and his emotions. They’re all always out here, out in the open. I take his face in my hands as he blinks back the tears that have welled in his eyes.
“No tears on your birthday, all right?” I kiss him lightly, and he nods into the kiss, wrapping both of his arms around me. He lowers his face to my neck and kisses the same spot so many times I lose count.
“Roses. My favorite.” He leaves one final kiss on my nose, smiling down at me. “Let’s go eat?”
“Let’s go,” I answer and begin to make my way toward the kitchen. He smacks my bum lightly as I walk away, and I yelp. By the time we come into view of everyone else, we’re both giggling as if we had just been doing far naughtier things in that hallway, and now it’s my turn to have rosy cheeks.