69
GAbrIELA DUARTE
Cris returned from Lisbon with the quotes I’d requested and three outrageously noisy presents for his godchildren. He found me on the terrace at dawn, still in my nightgown, trying to fit a budget onto a small screen.
He set the folder in front of me.
“My last delivery before vacation.”
“You booked it?”
“Two weeks. I’ve already bought the ticket.”
I looked at him. Since turning down his proposal, I’d been rehearsing how to ask if he was all right without making him reassure me. That morning, there was more sun in his face than in the photographs he’d sent from Lisbon.
“Where are you going?”
He showed me the itinerary on his phone. A train, two cities I didn’t know, and four days with no hotel booked.
“That’ll make you nervous,” I said.
“It already has. I bought it anyway.”
I handed back the phone.
“It’ll be good, Cris.”
“I hope so. And you’ll survive without calling to ask where you left the car keys.”
“You always knew.”
“Because you always leave them in a pocket of the bag you’re not using.”
I laughed. He pulled up a chair and asked for some of my coffee.
Over those months, our conversations had changed. He didn’t always answer immediately. I’d learned not to call again when it could wait. There were still afternoons when I missed finding him at the guesthouse table; I also liked hearing what he’d done without us.
“Do the children know yet?”
“I’ll tell them at breakfast.”
“Noah will ask for a calendar.”
“I printed one. For me too.”
I touched his arm. Cris covered my hand for a moment, then opened the folder.
“And now, the quotes. The second supplier costs more but can deliver the workbenches on time.”
I leaned over to read. We discussed the measurements until we heard Heitor shout for the third time that the first pancake was his.
We went downstairs together. Luca was helping the triplets make pancakes. Two had torn when he flipped them; the third made it whole from pan to plate. Cris came to the counter.
“Now it looks like food.”
Luca looked at us before smiling.
“Want to try?”
“After the children. I’m cautious.”
Heitor put a pancake on Cris’s plate. That was how the vacation announcement began: with honey running over the itinerary.
“Two whole weeks?” Camila asked.
“Whole weeks. But we can talk on the phone.”
She pulled the sheet closer.
“What will you bring back?”
“A photograph from each place.”
“Only photographs?” Heitor asked.
“I could send you a postcard.”
“Does that take long?” Noah wanted to know.
“A little while. I might get back first.”
“Then bring it in your pocket,” he decided.
Cris looked at me. “Can’t argue with that.”
After breakfast, I took the children into the garden while Luca helped clear the table. Cris stayed on the veranda, talking on the phone. I heard him laugh as we passed beneath the window.
The paternity registrations were complete.
During that trip, the lawyers sent us the updated parenting agreement to include the vacation arrangements we’d tried over the past few months.
I read the schedule and made a correction before signing.
The children’s support remained separate from the expenses of our relationship.
Luca had also confirmed a donation to the neonatal program, separate from the money set aside for the children. When the project reports came in, I wanted to read them. Cris had asked to do the same.
That night, I left my mother with the children and went to Luca’s room. He was in bed reading, wearing glasses. He took them off when he saw me.
“Put the book away.”
“I thought you were still working.”
“Tomorrow.”
I closed the door and went to him. Luca pulled me onto his lap; the book fell open onto the rug. I kissed the line of his jaw and felt his hands beneath my nightgown. When we lay down, I didn’t want to turn off the light. He looked at me for a moment before kissing me again.
At dawn, I heard three knocks. I put on my nightgown while Luca searched for his pants. When he opened the door, the triplets came in, followed by Cris.
“Your room’s on the other side,” Luca complained.
“I came looking for coffee. They followed me.”
“Great-Grandma’s hungry,” Camila announced.
From the hallway, Sofia confirmed that she couldn’t wait until lunch.
“She wants a photograph before you go back to Brazil,” Cris said.
“You’re in the photograph,” I told him.
He looked at Luca.
“Did you hear that?”
“I’d already worked that out.”
In the garden, we gathered in front of the pergola. Sofia stood in the center. The children clustered around the adults. Cris stood on one side of me, Luca on the other. When the camera clicked, no one left an empty space.
Sofia asked for a third photograph of just the children with me, Cris, and my mother—the family that had existed before Luca returned. He stood behind the camera and pressed the button. For the next photograph, the children pulled him back in.
The following week, we returned to Paraty. The children went back to school, Luca stayed in the rental house, and I divided my work between the guesthouse and my projects. Apart from our professional commitments, we kept trips for school vacations.
Camila continued seeing the same medical team. Luca knew the instructions now and began taking her to appointments when I couldn’t go. Sometimes I still called twice to ask how they were.
Noah helped me mark activities on the kitchen calendar. Heitor insisted on two birthday parties, one in each country. Camila wanted the gardener’s cat to come and live with us.