Chapter 18 #2
Blanca nods. “From Talón de Aquiles.”
I sit back down as my mother’s song comes to an end and she jumps offstage with a loud Whoop!
“Caballo de Troya,” I correct.
Blanca winks sneakily as Simón takes the chair closest to mine, laughing. “Talón de Aquiles would have been a better name anyway.”
“A CANTAR!” My mother’s booming voice startles us. She puts an arm around my shoulders and squeezes me against her. “MI REINA! A CANTAR!”
Uh…no. “How many drinks have you had? It’s not even midnight yet.”
“Oh, hush,” she says. “We’re having fun!”
I eye my cosmopolitan and push it away. I don’t want to have as much fun as she seems to be having.
My mother, sensing she’s not going to make me get up from this chair, moves on to another table.
A minute later, she’s getting onstage again with a man I recognize as her favorite designer.
The familiar merengue beat of “A Dormir Juntitos” fills the venue.
Blanca jumps to her feet, raising her half-empty glass. “HELL YEAH, VIVIANA!” She grabs Gustavo by the arm and pulls him to his feet as well. “Come on, let’s dance.”
“I like your mom a lot,” Simón says when they’re gone. “She reminds me of mine.”
I watch Mamá dance chest to chest with her singing partner, swaying together while people cheer around us.
“Is your mom loud and extravagant too?” I ask.
She’s always been this way. She’s a force of nature, the brightest light in any room.
At least one person falls in love with her everywhere she goes.
She believes in following your heart, which is why she’s had five husbands.
Francois has been her most lasting marriage, going on six years now.
Her shortest marriage was to my favorite husband, Arturo Goncalves, a gay fashion designer.
It lasted two weeks. He secretly sends me dresses to wear on my birthday and on New Year’s Eve.
Simón smiles, looking down. “No. The opposite. But she’s very caring. And this happens to be her go-to karaoke song.”
I laugh. “What is it about Eddy Herrera and Liz? This song came out like twenty years ago.”
Simón grins. “It’s a classic. Who doesn’t love sleeping together and erasing what is dampening their love?”
I laugh harder. And then I have a horrible thought. “Oh my god, is that what I’m doing?”
Simón frowns. “What?”
“With the list!” I remind him. “Am I begging Alejandro to…dormir juntitos…again?”
Simón watches me for what feels like forever before he bursts out laughing. His face transforms. His eyes are crinkled, his cheekbones high, his whole face exuding joy.
“Don’t make fun of me,” I say, but I’m smiling. I can’t help it. He seems delighted. “It’s a real question. I’ve always thought that song was a little desperate. And Alejandro hates merengue.”
“I’m not making fun of you!” He shakes his head. “I’m just…fascinated. By the way your mind works.”
I give a little tap to my temple. “This mind?”
He nods. “That mind.”
“This mind that runs on cortisol and caffeine?”
Simón shrugs one shoulder, leaning back on his chair. “I mean, don’t all our minds run on cortisol and caffeine?”
My mother’s song ends. Or perhaps I stopped listening to it.
Meanwhile, Simón and I stare at each other.
The neon lights of the bar bathe the side of his face, making his beard appear more red than brown.
He’s truly so handsome, which shouldn’t be a surprise.
But his presence, the way he takes up space, it’s like the universe would gladly rearrange itself to make room for him in a way it’s never done for me.
The way he reaches for his beer, finishing it in one gulp before leaning forward, elbows on the table, traces of an easy smile still on his lips, makes him seem at home.
There’s no way his mind runs on cortisol too.
“Do you miss being home?” I ask, because I can’t keep dissecting him like this. It’s…a lot.
Simón shrugs. Then nods. Then shrugs again. “It comes and goes. I’m used to it.”
“Being used to it doesn’t mean you can’t miss home,” I say.
“Then, yes,” he decides. “I am used to being away, but the truth is this is the first time I’ve ever traveled for work without the band.
We have this…routine, I guess? We take any moment we get to unwind.
” He laughs, remembering. “It’s like traveling with five-year-olds.
We come up with stupid games to pass the time, to take our minds off how stressed we are.
I think tonight’s the closest I’ve gotten to loosening up since I got off the plane—did you know we grew up together? ”
I nod. The other members of Caballo de Troya are two of his best friends and his younger sister.
His sister is my age. And he’s known the other two since preschool.
They’re more a family than a band. Maybe that’s why they’ve managed to stick together despite how hard it can be to break into the industry.
Simón smiles. “Oh, you’re a real fan.”
“Did you think I was making it up to impress you?” I ask, drawing a chuckle out of him.
“Yeah, I thought Alejandro was a paid actor in the coffee shop,” he says.
I hide my face behind a curtain of hair, laughing.
He joins, staring right at me, his expression open and inviting.
The room is suddenly suffused with warmth, like a cozy quilt wrapping us both in a comforting embrace.
I’m not sure anymore whether it’s him or the cosmopolitan, but even the cigarette smell floating our way takes a backseat.
With a sigh, I pat his arm twice, then pull my hand back as if he’d burned me. “I’m sorry you’re missing home.”
“Thank you,” he says. “It’s not so bad, Caracas reminds me a lot of Medellín.”
I want to ask what exactly reminds him of Medellín—the traffic? The endless motorcycles? The organized crime? But a pair of arms circle my shoulders from the back, almost choking me. “I signed you up to go next!” Blanca yells in my ear.
I shift out of her embrace, twisting on my chair until we’re face-to-face. “You what?”