Chapter 16
As I stare into the mirror of the tiny bathroom in my tiny apartment, I take in the aftermath of my make-out with Elias.
It looks even worse than I realized. There are blue streaks in my hair, making me look like a fourteen-year-old version of myself decided to dye her hair in the throes of a rebellious phase.
Elias has left fingerprints all over my face and there’s a blue handprint on my right boob.
Aside from the paint evidence all over my body strongly suggesting I had a torrid affair with Papa Smurf, I also have an absurd grin on my face.
Once I’m in the shower, I use massive quantities of soap to deal with the paint, but this grin isn’t going anywhere.
I watch pastel blue water run down my body and twist down the drain.
Thinking back to those moments with Elias, my grin grows another size.
Once I’ve rinsed off all the paint, I turn off the shower and get dressed in a long-sleeve shirt and wide-legged pants made out of airy fabric.
I dry my hair, then tie it into a messy bun on top of my head.
There’s still a hint of a blue sheen on my dark locks, but those last traces should all be gone after one more wash.
My phone bleeps and I see Elias’s name appear on the screen. I open the message to find a selfie of him looking semi-frustrated, his hair covered in blue paint.
Elias: How are you supposed to get this stuff out?!
I gaze at his picture with a goofy grin and reply with a photo of my clean locks.
Eva: There’s actually a miracle cure for it! It’s called shampoo. Maybe you’ve heard of it?
Elias: Ah, thanks for the tip. Too bad I have to wash it out all by myself, though...
I chuckle. Elias did invite me to come back to his place earlier, but I declined. That passionate kiss in the rain was about all I can handle for now.
Eva: ;-)
Walking into the restaurant kitchen, I’m met by the scent of smoked paprika, broth, and garlic.
Me Olvidé De Vivir, a song by Abuela’s favourite singer Julio Iglesias, plays quietly in the background.
Abuela’s at the stove stirring a massive pan of paella as she hums along to the music.
Mia is cycling the dirty dishes still left on the counter through the huge dishwasher.
They both look up when I enter the room.
It smells incredible in here, I say, taking a whiff of the delicious aroma of herbs and spices.
Abuela laughs. It’s coming down in buckets out there and we’re all out of guests. I thought it would be nice to enjoy dinner together tonight. A concerned expression appears on her wrinkled face. You were gone for so long. It’s both a statement and a question.
I’m sorry, the car broke down, I reply, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. Your car is toast, Mia.
Mia leans against the counter and gives me a look of surprise.
I shake my head weakly. It didn’t really take a fortune teller to see that coming, though.
Where is it now? she asks, furrowing her brow and crossing her arms.
Right at the top of a mountain, I reply as I walk over to Abuela so I can see everything she’s adding to the paella.
A mountain?! She looks at me, shocked. You were stuck at the top of the mountain? In this weather?! That’s so dangerous!
Her sincere concern makes me feel a bit guilty about the sarcastic comment I made just a moment ago, so I try to reassure her. Someone gave me a ride, so it all worked out.
She shakes her head. I should have gotten rid of that stupid car ages ago, she mumbles to herself as she puts away the clean dishes.
Abuela scoops up a spoonful of paella and gives it a taste. Hmm, it needs a touch more saffron, she states, clinking spice jars around as she rummages through them to find the right one.
Eva? Abuelo is beaming when he walks in holding a little folder. Look what I found in the cupboard! Old pictures! He presses them into my hands and Abuela, who so rarely lets herself get distracted from what’s cooking on the stove, looks up with a sense of curiosity.
Oh, fun! I check out the first picture where I’m sitting out on the patio with my mother. She looks exactly like Mia. Abuela comes over, leaning over my shoulder to get a better view as I study the next photograph.
Oh, you poor love, that’s when you got that jellyfish sting, she says, pointing at the picture of me with a big red splotch on my leg. I’m licking an ice cream cone.
I chuckle. In those days, ice cream was the answer to all my problems. Stung by a jellyfish? Ice cream. Fell off your bike? Ice cream. Your Grade 5 love of your life picked someone else to play with at recess? Ice cream.
Oh look! Abuela exclaims when we get to the next photo. That’s when you built that enormous sandcastle.
Intrigued, I take in the details of the picture as I let my fingers glide along my necklace.
I’m staring directly at the camera with a huge grin on my face, my chest is puffed out in pride, and my hair is wet from my first time swimming in two years.
On the other side of the castle is the boy who helped me rebuild it.
He’s flashing a toothy grin, too, and he’s squinting a bit against the sunlight hitting his eyes.
He’s wearing that shark tooth necklace that he made for himself after he—so he claimed—wrestled with a shark.
I obviously told him I didn’t believe him, but I still made a promise to myself to never pick a fight with him.
Abuela’s paella is delectable, as always.
We’re all inside the restaurant sitting around one of the patio tables.
Mia has us laughing out loud at a story about an annoying customer she dealt with earlier in the day.
We decide we’ll all take a day off after painting tomorrow so the paint can properly dry.
Given the weather report, it’s unlikely any guests will show up anyway.
To Abuelo’s dismay, Julio Iglesias’s voice is still playing loudly through the restaurant speakers.
You would trade me in for him at the blink of an eye, he sulks, peeling a prawn and popping it in his mouth. Did you know she had her picture taken with him once? And that she framed that picture to put on her nightstand?
Abuela gently slaps him on the arm. Shame on you, Pepe, she says, blushing. Of course I would never trade you for him. How could anyone ever compete with you?
Abuelo lets out a satisfied laugh and kisses the top of her head. I know, my love. But it’s still always nice to hear that I can’t be beat by someone who’s won a Grammy Award.
Mia and I chuckle at their banter and I take a big bite of the delicious rice dish. It’s almost impossible not to groan as I savour a piece of fish. The rice is cooked to perfection and the herbs and spices in this dish are throwing a little flavour party for my taste buds.
One thing is undeniable: Abuela is a phenomenal chef.