32
DANTE
In the middle of a meeting, I remembered the bottle cap.
Not the whole word, or the park. The ridges of plastic under my fingers as I tried to turn the cap without dropping the bottle. The memory was so clear I had to force my attention back to what a director was saying about the months ahead.
I made a note so I wouldn’t lose the thread.
I didn’t want to be any less attentive at work just because my son had finally called me “Dad.” I just wanted to figure out where to put this joy that had appeared without warning.
By then, Augusto was already avoiding being alone with me.
He’d attend the meetings, answer whatever questions were asked of him, and leave with some excuse before everyone else got up.
The review continued. I fulfilled the requests that fell to me and tried not to let my anxiety become an excuse to ask for updates every hour.
On Thursday, I finished early enough to head home before traffic got worse.
On the way, Cecília asked if I could take Bento to the play space for two hours on Saturday while someone assessed the bakery kitchen. We’d already discussed starting to go places without her, after the mornings at home. The route, car seat, and timing all needed to be settled beforehand.
I confirmed that I was available. We worked out the details that night.
On Saturday, I arrived without needing to ask again what we’d agreed on. Cecília walked Bento to the car, we checked that he was settled in, and she kissed her son before stepping back.
He watched as I walked around to get in.
“Mom’s going to the store,” he said.
“She is. Then we’ll meet her at home.”
“After we play.”
“Right.”
I started the car.
***
I spent two hours being briefed on a building whose purpose changed every ten minutes.
First it was a garage. Then a doghouse. Just when I’d figured out where the entrance was, it became a place to store balls that didn’t exist. Bento was improvising, and I was learning to stop asking what we’d do with the previous part.
At some point, he called me “Dad” again.
I answered before thinking.
I only realized it later, while I was looking for the piece he wanted. I found the red one and held it out, smiling.
On the way back, he talked for half the trip and fell asleep near home. I parked and told Cecília we’d arrived. She came down to help with the backpack and cleared a path while I carried Bento to the elevator.
The weight of his body against my chest changed the way I walked. My hand supported his legs, and his head rested close to my shoulder. I could feel the warmth of his breath through my T-shirt.
Cecília stood beside me, watching the floor numbers.
In the apartment, she pointed to the sofa. I lowered him carefully, but Bento woke before I could let go. He blinked, looked for his mother, and asked for food.
She stroked his hair.
“Lunch is almost ready.”
He accepted some water and sat there, still sleepy. I left the backpack in its usual spot and went to wash my hands.
When I came back, Cecília was in the kitchen, cutting up some fruit.
“Would you like some coffee before you go?” she asked.
“Yes, I’d like some.”
My desire came across more clearly than I’d intended. She looked up at me, held my gaze for a moment, and grabbed another cup.
Bento had found a book on the couch. We were close enough to hear him turning the pages, but our conversation didn’t need to involve him.
“How did the evaluation go?” I asked.
She set down the knife and began to explain.
There was room for some changes. Others would take more than they were worth right now.
One way of making it easier to move around would let her keep some of the furniture.
Cecília talked with her hands, drawing the positions of the counters in the air, and I caught myself watching her face before I’d understood the measurement.
“Are you following along?” she asked.
Caught, I smiled.
“The part about the door, yes. Then I got distracted.”
She lowered her eyes, but not before I caught her smile.
“It’s an important door.”
“I believe you.”
Cecília took the fruit to Bento, came back, and handed me the cup. Our fingers almost touched. I already knew that distance—too short to be comfortable, yet long enough to remind me that it still existed.
I took a sip.
“Was it a tough week?” she asked.
I looked at the coffee.
“It was. In some ways.”
“Your brother?”
“Him, too. We’re only talking about what’s necessary at work.”
She nodded and turned her cup by the handle.
“Clarice filled me in on what she received,” she said. “I’ll follow up with her.”
“Okay.”
There was a pause. I could have brought up documents, the board, anything that would keep the conversation on familiar ground. Instead, I looked at Cecília.
“I like it when you tell me about the kitchen.”
She furrowed her brow slightly.
“Even when you don’t follow along?”
I laughed.
“Even so. I like knowing what you’re thinking about. The things you want to do.”
Cecília leaned her hip against the counter and held her cup with both hands.
“I’m still figuring some of them out.”
“So am I.”
She looked at me a little longer.
I wanted to move closer. That wasn’t new. What had changed was how hard it was to keep hiding the desire behind safe subjects.
“I want to stay,” I said.
Her fingers moved over the cup.
“Here?”
“With you. Talking. After Bento gets distracted and there’s nothing else he needs to show me.”
I heard a page turn in the living room.
Cecília followed the sound with her eyes before turning back to me.
“Sometimes I feel like continuing the conversation, too.”
My chest tightened.
I wanted to ask on which days. I took a sip of coffee; her cup was still full.
“I keep wondering what this does to you,” I admitted.
“It does a lot.”
She let out a nervous laugh, then set the cup down.
“There are days when I miss you and get angry at myself for feeling that way. There are days when I like having you here. Sometimes it’s on the same day.”
I nodded slowly.
“I don’t want to rush you.”
“I know you want more than just coffee, Dante.”
Her candor took my breath away for a moment.
“I do.”
Cecília didn’t look away.
“I also know when you’re looking at my mouth.”
I looked, unable to help it. She let out a breath, and the tension between us grew so distinct I could almost touch it.
“I want to kiss you,” I said.
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It held the sounds of the apartment, the distance to the living room door, the subtle rise and fall of her chest beneath her blouse.
Cecília started to tilt her face toward me.
Then she lowered her eyes.
“Not yet.”
I stayed where I was.
“All right.”
She lifted her face again. My mouth felt dry, and I needed a moment before I could look at anything else.
Bento called for his mother. He wanted to know why there was a boat in the illustration in a book about animals. Cecília went over to him, answered his question, and stood for a moment next to the sofa.
I finished my coffee.
When she came back, I thanked her and gathered my things. It was time to leave, even though I wanted to stay exactly where I was.
At the door, Cecília touched my forearm.
It wasn’t an accidental brush as she passed. Her fingers curled lightly around my arm, and she kept her hand there when I looked.
“I didn’t say I don’t think about it,” she said softly.
I could feel my pulse where she was holding me.
“I understand.”
It took her another second to let go.
We said goodbye without a kiss.
In the elevator, I leaned my back against the wall and let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Cecília had told me “not yet,” and then chosen to touch my arm.
The touch had been brief. When I got into the car, I still knew exactly where her fingers had been.