6 - ADAM
I’d never made my mother, Aunt Olivia, and Aunt Renê—that’s what I call Olavo and David’s mothers; my friends call my mom aunt too, even though we’re not blood related, something we’ve carried since childhood—so happy.
I let them bury me in wedding preparations, in finalizing the official engagement party.
I spared Laura from all of it, just as she wanted.
This way, my mind stayed completely occupied and my body exhausted.
Laura’s family’s house suits the event, quite satisfactory, as the three most elegant women I know declared. Of course, to them the house was still small, though cute—as Mom put it to her friends who were used to mansions.
They wanted it at the condominium clubhouse where they live, but Nicácio, my future father-in-law, insisted it be held at his place. After all, according to him, my parents were covering everything. It was the least he could offer.
I never understood why they still lived in that neighborhood on the outskirts.
They had the financial means for a much better property.
Laura said it was sentimental attachment—her grandparents were born there.
Which seemed strange to me, since they claimed to have come from France.
I didn’t dig deeper; my father also repeats that we’re descendants of Europeans.
Which we are. This was something that united us even more, the coincidence of our French ancestors.
Our fathers laughed, satisfied, saying the bloodlines would become what they should have always been.
Our mothers rolled their eyes because they spoke as if they didn’t have surnames—both of theirs had Spanish origins.
Europeans as well, then. I always wondered, what’s the problem with saying we’re Brazilian?
I love my country, so much that I insisted our company headquarters stay on our soil rather than transfer to Germany.
I met Laura at Fabrícia’s birthday party—Paula’s university friend.
The party was in one of the clubhouses at my parents’ condominium, with two separate areas: one for the older crowd and another for those under 30.
She was carefree, dancing, joking around, and having fun with everyone.
She stood out so much that Olavo wanted to bet me on who would score.
Yeah, horrible, I know. I’d had a few drinks, so I accepted.
Didn’t even need to—Laura literally threw herself into my arms when she tripped.
We laughed, danced, and had a great time. From there, we had countless dates.
The brunette knew how to carry herself in any setting.
My parents and aunts and uncles were charmed.
When we traveled to Germany, David brought Paula, his wife; Olavo brought Fabrícia as a friend; and I brought Laura.
With the German proposal on the table, it was easy to call her my fiancée.
I tried my best not to see it as part of the business deal.
It wasn’t. Now, watching Candy approach with Nicolas and Veruska, Laura had never seemed so much like a checkbox on the merger agreement.
“The one coming over is my youngest sister,” Laura whispers in my ear after giving me a peck.
“The runaway sister”—that’s how they referred to her.
When they talked about her, that was it: no photos, nothing at all, and I’d never bothered to dig into the subject.
Neither had they. And everyone’s brunette—where did that blonde come from?
Holy shit! I glance quickly at Nicácio and Louise.
Of course. Her mother’s hair, her father’s eyes. Damn! Damn it all!
My peripheral vision catches David and Olavo looking just as shocked as I am. None of us moves. For me, it’s as if the whole world has become a blur in slow motion.
Nicolas introduces her. Yes, I pretend this is the first time we’re meeting.
Her eyes are teary. She’s clearly controlling her breathing, her chest rising and falling.
Laura greets her enthusiastically. I think.
I can barely pay attention to anything. My heart is pounding out of my chest. My hands are sweating.
I excuse myself. I feel my friends on my heels.
I go into the bathroom and let everything out.
“Keep an eye on the door,” I hear David’s voice in the distance.
“What the fuck is this shit, Adam?”
I’ll answer, but the sound that comes out is more vomit, even stronger. A more than appropriate response.
“Dude, where did she come from?” Olavo whispers from the door. “What the hell is this? You paid, right, Adam?”
“For the love of God, Adam, you told me you paid. She didn’t come after money, did she? Could that be it? The last thing we need here is a Mexican soap opera scene.”
“You don’t understand,” comes out between gurgles, “she’s his sister”—I go back to vomiting uncontrollably. I don’t even know if they heard me. Images of Lara, the kitten, the hamster, the apartment, everything we shared during those days all mix together, and I vomit more and more.
“Holy shit, Adam, at this rate there won’t be anything left of you for the wedding,” Olavo jokes, and I feel my throat close up.
I press my palm hard against the tile. I need to focus on something else. Anything.
“Lock that damn door, I’ll handle this. Help him stand up, fix him up, do something.
” David instructs Olavo. I feel him close to me, by the toilet.
“Take a deep breath, pull yourself together, and get back out there for the big moment. You have a speech. Focus, damn it!” I look at him as best I can.
“Shit, you look terrible. Olavo, wash his face. I’ll grab some decent clothes.
I’ll ask Paula to come help—I’ll tell her he ate something that didn’t sit well, but he’ll be fine soon. ”
Minutes later, we hear soft knocks on the door.
Paula hands me clothes and medicine to help me look more presentable.
It’s a special day—I can’t ruin everything for everyone.
My cousin puts her fingers on my pulse, checks my eyes, assures me I’ll be fine.
It’s probably nothing, but she advises me to get some tests done if the discomfort persists.
I take a deep breath, look at myself in the mirror. Damn, I look like hell. I feel Olavo’s hand on my shoulder. He dries my face. Soon Paula is doing my makeup.
The memories are killing me.
I loosen my tie again, turning to the sink. I'm suffocating.
“If you're going to start again, better take off the clean clothes,” Olavo warns me as Paula watches with concern. “It'll be weird getting another set from her brothers.”
From theirs. I think.
I tear everything off. I drop to my knees over the toilet again.
“Guys, he's really bad—we should check what he ate so they stop serving it. Warn anyone who ate it to be careful...” Paula starts to leave.
“Paulinha, no.” Olavo holds her gently while I watch them from below, prostrate. For a second I think he's going to tell her. “It wasn't here. He hasn't even eaten here yet. Must've been at his place. Before.” He convinces her.
I try to get up. I ask my cousin to leave—I need to piss.
“Oh, come on, Adam, like I've never seen that little guy of yours. I even examined it when you got obsessed with that tiny spot,” she complains, hands on her hips.
Olavo and I glare at her.
“Fine, I get it, guy talk.” She waves her hands in the air. “Just so you know, I could participate—I've worn David's underwear before.” She leaves laughing.
Olavo kneels beside me.
“You need to get a grip, man. What's done is done, forget it.
Her sister's a hooker, okay, whatever. It's a profession like any other, relax—she's not going to tell, she won't because nobody knows anyway, it wouldn't make sense,” he talks nonstop, trying to hide his own nervousness.
After all, his parents would kill him, just like mine would.
“I fucked up, man. Big time. Huge,” I babble, trying to get up again.
He helps me. Standing, he holds my head, locking eyes with me.
“Adam, you fucked your sister-in-law—you didn't know, she was one of the hookers that night.
She didn't even say anything herself. Stick to the script, brother.
Walk out with your head held high—the one up top, let's be clear, the moms and dads aren't ready for your little guy.” He laughs, I huff, he grimaces at my breath.
Minutes later, I'm sitting, facing the guests at their tables. Laura seated beside me. Nicácio standing, giving a speech. After him, my father. Our mothers smiling happily. I see Olavo with his parents. He looks at me steadily, willing me strength. My turn. I'm paralyzed.
Laura stands up, breaking protocol. I think that's what she says. She declares her love. I barely register any of it.
My mother pinches me under the table.
I take a deep breath, stand up. I look around. There's an empty chair on the Borbón side. Hers. Where is she? What happened? I see her at the entrance to the house. David and Paula beside Lara.
I swallow hard. I raise my glass. I don't even know what I'm really saying. They gave me a romantic speech, planned down to the last detail for this moment. I memorized it months ago. In this instant, only she exists. The words begin to flow easily.
Then, the applause. Slender arms wrapping around me. Quick kisses on my face. A hand pulling my head down to press my lips against others I don't want, that I don't desire. I reciprocate. It's what they expect of me. It's what I can offer at the moment.
Nicácio says something I don't catch. I blink several times. Our parents congratulate us. My mother is so proud. I'm so lost.
My father hugs me tight, telling me that while I was recovering, members of the German family arrived. He points. I don't know who they are. I can't make anyone out. They're blurs.
Olavo grabs my head firmly, congratulating me and giving me shit, obviously. Something about not expecting that kind of meltdown from me, but that I'm a perfect happy groom now. He pats my chest.
I don't know. I'm on autopilot.
Laura pulls me out to dance. Some people laugh, amused that the bride is asking the groom. She makes some kind of girl power gesture.
I don't know. I'm on autopilot.
I dance. It's slow. Laura entwined with me. I'm dirty. I feel like the most corrupt of men. My marriage has never felt so much like a business deal to close. Where is the passion for Laura? I didn't love her, but passion, desire—I felt those.
Couples start dancing too. Fuck, it's not a wedding yet!
Then I'm standing beside the drinks table. David scolds me. I'm not drinking. Olavo laughs. I don't care. They move away. I think. I don't know.
“Darling,” it's Laura, I know, “look, she's alone.” She takes my hand, I follow her.
I don't know. “Dance a little, I'm tired, he's not. I want you to have fun at my engagement, sis.” What?
My heart stops. “It's so good to have you here. You have no idea how happy it makes me. Go.” I feel my arm being raised, my hand placed in another hand. Soft. As cold as mine must be.
Then I'm dancing. With her. With Lara. My breathing gradually calming. My mind playing Deitada Nessa Cama by Tiago Iorc, which Olavo had been listening to earlier today, just before we came.