My smile tugged down from a rush of melancholy. I reached up and touched his jaw, brushing along his beard with the backs of my fingers. “Seems a shame we couldn’t have started this up earlier.”
“Yes,” he murmured, kissing my forehead. “But good things take time. As much as I hate having so little of it with you like this, I wouldn’t have given up any of the other days. They all counted. They all brought me closer to you. They all showed me what I wanted.”
I put my hand behind his neck and pulled him closer to me, enveloping him in a kiss, sucking on his soft lower lip. I got his shirt off then he took off his pants and deftly rolled on a condom. With the moonlight streaming in behind him, he looked like a work of art, a silhouette of finely tuned grace and muscle.
The two of us lay on the bed as he turned me over on my side and pushed in from behind, one hand holding mine above our heads, our fingers laced together. He was right about Spaniards fucking and making love at the same time. It was hot and fervent, my body craving him insatiably, his grunts loud and animalistic in my ear. At the same time, it was intimate and safe, and each moment we were with each other, brought closer and closer to the edge, I felt myself falling and falling and falling in love with him.
When we came, we came together, and as the waves smashed through me, obliterating my reality for a star shining moment, I wished he wasn’t wearing a condom so I could absorb him into me. I still wanted more, wanted all of him.
I really was greedy.
We only slept for a few hours that night, after the moon disappeared from the sky. The rest of the time we were fucking, making love, exploring each other’s bodies in hopes that the night would never end.
But eventually the sun came up and a rooster from a distant farm reminded us that our last full day together was here.
The next day—the last day—was all about stealing time. In the early morning hours, Mateo kissed me goodbye and went back to his room. Even though Sara had seen us together, we still had to be discreet. She couldn’t quite prove anything just because she saw him drop by at night and go into my room (and maybe heard us doing it like animals), and even though I could tell it wouldn’t matter to Sara, it could matter to someone else.
So, on the last day, we had to pretend that there was nothing going on between us. It should have been somewhat easy to pretend; after all, I had been pretending one way or another for the last month. But it wasn’t. My skin felt bereft at the absence of his; my heart ached painfully when he was so close but so far. All we had were knowing looks across rooms and sly smiles to connect us.
It wasn’t really fair, the way things worked out. I was so wrapped up with the matters of my body and my heart for Mateo that I was missing out on the sadness around me. Maybe that was a good thing in the end, but everywhere I looked, I saw the quiet sorrow in everyone’s eyes, Spaniard and Anglo, at the impending farewell. We had all bonded so well and so hard that I knew everyone was hurting inside, feeling as if their lives weren’t going to be the same the next evening.
Each one-on-one I had was bittersweet. I had Beatriz, who was unusually emotional and kept wiping a tear away with her dainty fingers; Angel who wouldn’t stop talking about all the things he would miss; and Antonio, who kept on making me laugh with his knock-knock jokes, which in turn made me realize how much I was going to miss them.
At lunchtime, I sat with Mateo, Polly, and Eduardo. Halfway through the meal, Jerry stood up in the middle of the dining hall and sang us a song a cappella. It was shocking, actually, how well a dweeby goof like Jerry could sing, and made some of the tears around the room fall again. The song was in Spanish too, and Mateo told me it was a famous farewell song. I gathered that already from the hushed tones and the sweet, crystal sound.
It was hard not to continuously touch Mateo. I had to keep reminding myself where I was. Because our table was at the back of the room and we had our backs to the wall, we were able to hold hands under the table from time to time. It steadied me, to feel his skin, the pulse in his veins. It both reminded me that he was real and he was here now and that he’d soon be gone.
After lunch, Jerry cancelled the last free time and handed out pens and small pads of paper with the program logo on it. He told us we had a half an hour to go around the room and enter phone numbers into our phones, if we had them, or write down emails. Then afterward we would all go out on the lawn for a group picture.
With the pen in my hand I immediately looked up at Mateo. I tried to swallow. “I guess we should exchange information.”
He nodded, eyes glittering at me. “Of course.”
He wrote down his email and tapped it with his finger. “This is private.” He then wrote down his phone number. “iMessage will work overseas. You can text me anytime you want.”
That struck me like a hammer to the chest. Texting. We were going from seeing each other every day and fucking to seeing each other never and texting.
“It is going to be all right, Vera,” he said, his voice lower. “Remember my presentation that impressed you so.”
“You’re saying we can write our own destiny,” I said, feeling too jaded and stubborn in the moment to believe it.
“I am saying,” he said carefully, “that this is not the end of the story. Not the way I am writing it.”
“Hey, I’d love to get your guys’ info,” Eduardo said, walking over and interrupting us, “and Facebook if you have it.”
I took a step back from Mateo, conscious now that we may have been standing too close, and looked at him for his response.
Mateo gave him a tight smile. “I don’t have Facebook, if you can believe it. I’m too old for that.”
“I can believe it,” Eduardo said good-naturedly. Even though Mateo brought the joke on himself, I swear I saw a shadow pass over his eyes, darkening them.
I exchanged information with pretty Polly, who also seemed to be going through emotional turmoil, having to leave Eduardo and all, then went around the room, exchanging emails, Facebooks, and phone numbers. I talked to pretty much everybody.
Even Lauren.
I didn’t approach her and she didn’t approach me, but I ran into her when I was coming out of the women’s washroom. I was going to let it go, to just forget everything and leave this place without having to talk to her. But I couldn’t.
“Hey,” I said to her as she brushed past, ready to say something to put her in her place.
She slowly turned around and gave me a caustic look. But through her glitter-coated glasses, I saw her eyes were completely red and puffy, and the corners were wet with tears.
“Are you okay?” I asked, feeling an uncalled for bout of concern. I couldn’t help myself.
She sniffed and shook her head. Then, as if she remembered who she was talking to, her back straightened, her expression becoming hard. “Are you okay?” she retorted.
“No,” I said honestly.
She gave me a blasé look. “Well. Then you know.” She turned and pushed open the door to the bathroom. I could hear her muttering, “Of course, you could mind your own business,” to herself as she went.
Huh. I guess the Brony ended up having a sexual preference after all, and it was Lauren, the slut-shaming feminist. It seemed as if hearts were breaking all over the place. I thought back to the first piece of advice I had been given by Gabby when she dropped me off at the bus. “Don’t fall in love,” she had said. She knew exactly what happened in Las Palabras, every single program. It kind of made me wonder why this wasn’t a reality TV show.
Soon, when people’s emotions were more in check, we all gathered together on the lawn for the group picture. It was pure chaos. Eduardo, Angel, Sammy, and Froggy Carlos all lay down at the front like they were posing as centerfolds in a 70’s Penthouse, while the rest of us were all squished together, laughing, touching, hugging.
I had Claudia on one side of me and Mateo on the other. Mateo had his arm around me as if we were a couple. I felt my cheeks flame red for that picture and I w
as sure my smile was ridiculously huge. It wasn’t until the camera stopped clicking that I realized that Mateo also had his arm around Ed on the other side, to make things less suspicious, I guess.
It didn’t matter. We’d all been captured in a moment for the rest of time. That was the picture that I wanted on my wall, so I could stare at it whenever I felt lonely. I could look at it and remember that for one month out of my life, I had a family, I had friends, and I had love at my side. The exalted look on my face would say it all. Apparently it would be emailed to us all in a few days, and I was already anticipating the joy and pain it would bring.
The final business sessions were all cancelled and Jerry told us all we had free time to do whatever we wanted, as long as we were back for dinner at six. It was earlier tonight because there were a few special performances that some of the Spaniards wanted to do to thank the Anglos for all their hard work in teaching.
I felt it should have been the other way around—I wanted to do something for the Spaniards for teaching me about love and life.
But, I could always start with Mateo. As soon as Jerry announced the free time, we were gravitating towards each other, eager to get away for a few hours and just be together whatever way we could. We walked off up toward his cottage since I saw Sara and Nerea go back to my apartment. We checked his apartment, but Marty/Mark was there with a few other people, cracking open a few beers. They invited us to stay, but it just didn’t feel right.
So, we ended up going back down the road and to the dining hall. Mateo grabbed a few cushions off the chairs and waved them at me. “For old time’s sake,” he said. He took them over to the tree and threw them on the ground.
We may have not had enough privacy to do what we really wanted, but we at least had some.
We lay down, this time as close together as possible. With him on his back staring up at the sky, I rolled onto my side and propped my head up with my hand. I just wanted to stare at him for as long as I could, drinking in the features most people missed: How dark and long his eyelashes were, how they curled up at the ends, the silky shine of his black eyebrows, a tiny white fleck of a scar gracing his bronze cheekbones, the salt and pepper hair at his temples.
“Do you like what you see?” he asked me, rolling his head to the side to gaze at me.
I grinned. Butterfly wings beat against my heart. “Always.”
A soft moment passed between us. It was becoming dangerously sad again.
I cleared my throat, forcing myself to perk up. “Remember when you said you were going to ask me a question every day? And you said I could have my question at the end?”
He pursed his lips in mock contemplation. “I seem to recall something like that, yes.”
“Well, I have twenty questions for you. Right now.”
“No siesta for us?”
My smile was sly. “We can siesta tonight. In between…other things.”
He nodded. “That is fair. Ask away.”
And so I got my twenty questions and I got twenty answers. I asked him sexual questions like when he lost his virginity (fourteen, to Barbara Lopez, after school, behind the gym), if he’d ever had a threesome (twice, in his twenties, after football matches), the kinkiest thing he ever did (jack off while watching a teammate do a girl up the ass…apparently this was normal, back in the day), and the weirdest place he’d ever had sex (the Tibidabo Amusement Park in Barcelona).When I got too horny for the questions to continue, I switched to personal ones: his first pet was a golden lab called Pedro, his best subjects in high school were gym (of course) and history (very interesting), his favorite childhood memory was fishing off of Gibraltar with his father. Noting that he didn’t mention his mom, I asked him what her name was. It was Sandra, and she died of cancer when he was only three. His father eventually remarried, and his sister Lucia is only a half-sister.
“And your favorite memory?” I asked him, the questions winding down.
“My first favorite memory is the day Chloe Ann was born,” he said, smiling to himself. “I wasn’t allowed in the room with her, so I was just pacing outside all day in the hallway, losing my mind, going crazy. It was a long labor too. But when I finally saw that little red face…I couldn’t love her enough. I told myself that I would do whatever I could to make her happy, to keep her safe, no matter the cost to me. And I did.”
There was a despondent strain in his voice, his eyes gazing off into the distance. I watched him for a few beats, not wanting to say anything.
Finally he turned to me and said, “Do you want to know my second favorite memory?”
I nodded.
“This,” he said, gesturing to me. “All of this, all of you. Here.”
“I’m not a memory yet,” I whispered.
“But you will be. After tomorrow, all of this will be a memory.” His eyes held such soft sadness. “You and I, we were always a memory in the making.”
That gutted me. Hard. And it hurt because it was true. Suddenly I wanted nothing more than for him to whisper hopeful things in my ear, that somehow this could all still work. I could see the appeal in kidding ourselves.
“I wish I could kiss you right now,” I said softly, my hand itching to touch him.
“You could,” he said, his face serious. “And if there are any consequences, I will gladly suffer them.”
But I couldn’t. To carry on in private was one thing. To flaunt it in public was another, especially when he was someone who frequently appeared in Spanish gossip rags.
So I just stared at him and he stared at me, and we lay there on the grass for one last siesta at Las Palabras.
Chapter 17
I don’t know how anyone got through the rest of the night. It was a shitshow of emotional carnage, just pure tear-soaked chaos worse than any Grey’s Anatomy episode.
It all started with the performances after dinner. With Manuel on guitar, Nerea gave a solo flamenco performance, the dress and shoes and everything, with Jerry singing another song. Soon, Sara and Beatriz joined in, and Antonio, Froggy Carlos, and Jorge stood behind them, clapping loudly on beat with the music.
There wasn’t a dry eye in the house after that, though there were some laughs after Angel distributed a tiny bronze pig figurine, with the words Acantilado carved on it, to each Anglo. He shook my hand, shook everyone’s hand, telling us all individually—and with tears in his eyes—that every Spaniard thanked us for our hard work and that we would be missed terribly.
I held the cold metal of the pig in my hands and looked up at Mateo sitting beside me, about to totally lose it.
He smiled down at me. “Something to remember us by.”
My lower lip trembled. I looked across the table at Claudia and Ricardo who were smiling at me with tears welling in their eyes as well.
As I said, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. It only got worse as the night fell and sangria started to flow. Everyone was drunk. I saw Lauren and Tyler making out and crying at the same time (which was really disturbing), big Antonio was hiding in the bathroom and drying his tears on Froggy Carlos’s sweater, Angel was wasted and publicly declared his love for Sammy—thank goodness she reciprocated with a very big, albeit sloppy, kiss.
I had people coming up to me, telling me that they were sorry they didn’t get to know me better, and I had others telling me they’d never forget me. The more sangria and beer I drank, the more I started saying the same shit. It was just one big red-nosed, mascara running cry fest. We should have all been committed.
As much as it was breaking my heart to stay there with everyone, my heart deserved to be with Mateo. When I couldn’t take anymore, I went over to him by the door where he was making polite conversation with Ed and Jorge.
“You wanted me to tell you more about the stars,” I said brightly to Mateo.
He suppressed a smile and nodded at Jorge and Ed. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.”
We walked together into the dark of night then disappeared into the dark of my bedroom.
“Are you seeing stars yet?” I asked as he slid in and out of me, his thumb rubbing my clit in slow, building strokes.
“Only you,” he moaned in my ear. “My Estrella.”
Hours later, when we were finally satisfied, our bodies sweating and exhausted and overrun by the day, we settled under the blankets. I put my head on the crook of his arm, my fingers teasing the soft treasure trail of hair that led down toward his beautiful but overworked dick. I tried to live in the moment but the moment was passing us like the hands on a clock, and I knew that tomorrow night I wouldn’t be doing this; I would be sleeping on a plane.
I wouldn’t ever have this, this exact same wonderful thing, ever again.
The tears started flowing again, silently and steadily, until a sob escaped me. I was wrecked through and through.
Mateo gently kissed my tears away and brought me into his chest, his strong arms encompassing me. I could hear his heart beating loudly, smell his scent of ocean and musk. His rubbed his hand along my back and kissed the top of my head.
“There will be nights where you will feel alone and lost,” he murmured into my hair. “Where I will feel alone and lost. When that happens, I want us both to remember this, right now. Bring our thoughts back to this room, this moment. Where we aren’t lonely. Where we are both found.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat. “I hope it will be enough.”
“It will never be enough,” he said.
I drifted off to sleep in his arms.
The dry countryside rolled past the window, golden fields speckled with old stone barns and crumbling walls. Little by little, there were more gas stations, more houses, more yards, more fences. More traffic, more people, more concrete. The city of Madrid was getting closer and my love and life were getting further away.
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