Chapter Fifty-Two
Tiago has called to meet me, so against my better judgement I agree. He just wants me to hear him out, and so he comes to our apartment. And with him comes Zeliá and her sisters. Her many sisters.
‘Tiago.’ I give him a long stare down. So much for a private chat.
He has the grace to blush, as he grimaces. ‘Mum followed me, it couldn’t be helped.’
Zeliá puts two hands on his shoulders, pinning him on the spot. ‘Your mother invited me, actually. The timing was just a coincidence.’
‘Mother!’ I yell out.
‘Come in, come in.’ The dastardly woman bustles past, eyes anywhere but my direction as she leads everyone into the kitchen.
It’s a tight squeeze in our humble abode, there are so many of them, who stare at me with undisguised curiosity, grins at the ready.
It’s like being in a fishtank and I shrivel inside.
‘I’ll be upstairs,’ I say. Too many loud voices, too many eyeballs.
‘Eat first, querida.’
I roll my eyes but comply. It’ll be quicker.
How did I not put two and two together that Mum’s spent the better part of the day baking?
That should have been my first sign. I’d thought she was stress-baking.
Mum offers plates around and encourages everyone to help themselves to a smorgasbord of delicacies spread across the dining room table.
Mum is fussing, offering drinks, yet they all continue to stare at me like I’ve got two heads.
Mother moves her attention to Tiago, who is shrunken in on himself like he’s not exactly enjoying this either.
Mother is one step away from force feeding him as she insists he tries every delicious morsel she’s laboured over.
His complexion reddens, and so it should. He is clearly embarrassed that we’re all assembled like judge, jury and executioner. Honestly, he’s the bad guy here, so that’s on him. The poor guy is pulling at his ear and swallowing hard. Guilt is hard to swallow.
But then part of me feels bad at my bitterness. It’s just been a week of big messy emotions. And I feel trapped in this tiny room with so many people ogling me and Tiago like we’ll put on a show at any minute.
Tiago coughs and splutters as Mum continues to load up his plate.
I’m about to tell him he doesn’t have to be bullied into eating every morsel she shoves his way, when he clutches his throat and falls dramatically to the floor. The old “I ate almonds” trick. Not this time, Tiago.
His gasps are scarily realistic as everyone freezes, the space falls eerily silent except for the rustling from Tiago, and it dawns on me. ‘We have a code red! A code red! Tiago!’ I drop to his side. Before my very eyes his cheeks swell, his lips balloon. ‘Where’s his EpiPen!’
Zeliá pats his pockets and shrieks. His aunties scream.
Noise folds the room in on itself, and all I can hear is my own panic.
My mother stands off to the side, her face pale.
Oh my God, did she poison him on purpose, as revenge for breaking her daughter’s heart?
I wouldn’t put it past her. The woman did help me assemble the glitter bomb.
‘I can’t find his EpiPen!’ Zelia screeches. ‘What do we do?’ Her voice is frantic, her face devoid of colour.
‘Ring an ambulance.’
I dash upstairs to my handbag, relieved to see the spare EpiPen and slide back down in my haste to get back to Tiago and save his life.
He’s a worrying shade of purple and there’s not much sound as his throat closes over.
I administer the drug and wait. ‘How long does it take?’ I yell at Zeliá. ‘How long?’
‘Not long, not long. The ambulance is on the way.’
She dashes off to meet them while I cradle Tiago’s head.
‘Don’t die! Stay with me!’ His eyes slip closed.
‘Tiago! I-I love you! Don’t leave me. I love you!
’ And with that I burst into messy tears.
A moment later, his beautiful warm eyes open once more.
‘Oh my God. Oh my God. He’s OK! He’s going be OK. ’
His voice is a croak. ‘Did … you say … you loved … me?’
My body feels boneless as I fall beside him on the kitchen rug. ‘Yes, but you didn’t have to go to this length to elicit such a response, Tiago.’ I lean across and brush my lips against the swell of his.
‘They’re together again!’ The aunts chant and clap.
I help Tiago up as paramedics enter the apartment. They check him over and give him the all clear. ‘Lucky you administered the EpiPen so fast.’
‘Yeah, lucky we had a spare.’ He grins. I’ve got a lifetime of keeping this guy alive.
‘Couple more questions and we’ll get out of your way,’ the paramedic says. ‘So how did you come to eat almonds? We just want to ascertain you won’t come to any harm once we leave.’
I narrow my eyes at Mother. ‘Sorry,’ she says, and cups her face. ‘I totally forgot he was allergic. I used almond meal in one of the pastries.’
‘No harm done,’ Tiago says affably.
‘Well, that’s not entirely true, Tiago. You nearly died.’
‘Not quite.’
‘Right, well just to be certain,’ the paramedic says, ‘best not to consume anything from this table in case it’s been contaminated.’
I’m not sure whether my mother is innocent in this little scenario, The Strange Poisoning of the Guy Who Told a Lie. Or whether she orchestrated such a dramatic event, so I’d be forced to realise my feelings for Tiago. When it comes to Portuguese mothers, you never can tell …