Chapter Twenty-One
Tiago
John riles me up, no other way to say it.
I find him wearing Dad’s apron, kitchen tongs in hand by the outdoor barbeque, as if he’s stepped into his life, his very skin.
I’m too old for childhood tantrums but I’m sorely tempted to tell this imposter to put the tongs down and buy his own apron.
He drives my dad’s car! Sits in his reading chair.
After Viviane hugs me, she asks about my dad, and it feels good to bring him back to life, even for a moment. I see it in her eyes that she really is interested, it’s not just words.
My dad believed in my career, he was one of few who did.
And he showed me that success means sacrifice.
It’s why I focused so intently on developing my app, knowing that if I didn’t put the hours in to get ahead, someone else would beat me to it.
What Dad didn’t tell me was those sorts of hours become the norm, become your whole personality, until you lose yourself in the process.
Like he did. And then he died. A heart attack, likely caused by the ever-present work stress.
It put my own life into sharp perspective.
All those long workdays that slipped into the evening.
The hunching over a screen. The lack of sunlight.
The lack of living, being caught up in my own ambitions.
My thinking changed overnight. What if that wasn’t the right way to go about this one great life we all get?
I made a hasty decision to sell the app. The sale took some time, almost a year. And I could finally return to Porto to be with my grieving mum. Imagine my surprise to find her in a relationship with another man, a man who’d already moved in. Worse was their announcement – they’d secretly married.
What about Dad? Did he not mean anything to her? Mum sat me down to explain their marriage had ended long ago. They’d kept up the facade because they didn’t want to hurt me and my siblings, but now she wants to live life on her own terms.
I get that, I do.
But can we trust this imposter? It’s just … he’s not my dad. And seeing him here, in Dad’s chair, gives me a jolt. Still, Mum’s happy, so I should be, right? Maybe it’s my own life I need to focus on?
I think back to when I met Viviane …
I’d been in such a low mood, missing my dad, hating my life, feeling like an outsider in my own hometown, like I didn’t belong anymore. How it had all changed so fast, nothing was what I thought it was. Even my parent’s solid marriage was a farce.
Then I saw her, hovering outside the pastelaria as if working up the courage to come inside.
There was a real vulnerability about her, the way she held tight to the strap of her handbag, like she needed something to keep her anchored.
Her rigid posture, her pressed lips, brought out something in me that I didn’t know existed, the need to care, to protect. I wanted her to feel safe.
Everything about her was compelling – why did she set out the things on her table just so?
Why did she sit as far away as possible from other patrons?
Yet she watched them with undisguised curiosity.
Her gaze skipped over mine and I sensed I only had this one chance to make an impression.
I had to talk to her, find out her name and why I felt such a strong pull towards her.
When I worked up the courage to approach her table, she surprised me by being forthright – it’s not everyday someone predicts your death, is it? I found her wildly amusing, and my poor heart hasn’t been the same since. I’ve found it hard to think of anything but her.
She’s a galaxy of shimmering stars, and yet, she doesn’t see how special she is.
How her curious nature makes life so fascinating.
She’s funny, charming, and all I want to do is tell her how I feel, but I don’t want to risk our newfound friendship, because she’s made it clear she’s not interested in a romantic relationship.
Still, I can love her quietly, from afar.
For the first time in ages, my world is full of colour. I wake up with energy to burn. As though anything is possible. All because of her …