Love, in English

by Karina Halle

  What made my heart lurch around worse than trying to run in the oppressive heat with a heavy backpack on, was the fact that there was no bus waiting outside.

  But…it couldn’t have left without me. Could it?

  I fished out my phone. It was 2:16PM.

  I didn’t like the way the time looked, staring at me with those cold digital numbers.

  I thought the orientation had started at two. There was no way they could go through everyone in sixteen minutes.

  I flung open the glass doors to the office and stumbled into it, my hair flying around my face.

  “Am I too late!?” I screeched, looking around wildly.

  There was no one in the office. It had neat wood desks with glass tops, sterile filling cabinets with baby pictures pinned up with cheap magnets, and blue walls with posters about Spain, featuring white people with cheesy smiles talking to Spanish men with nineties Ross Gellar hair. One the end of one desk, one of those perpetual motion birds dipped its wooden beak up and down, as if someone had just set it off.

  “Hola?” I heard someone say from beyond a door at the back of the office. It was open a crack and I could hear shuffling. I made a quick prayer that this person spoke English.

  To my surprise a young woman with brown hair piled on top of her head poked her head through the door. The minute she saw me, her eyes widened and she came hustling out, a stack of papers in her skinny hands.

  “Miss Miles!” she exclaimed in a British accent.

  I frowned. “Yes?” As if I didn’t know who I was.

  “Oh my god,” she went on, her forehead furrowing with concern. “The bus just left.”

  “What?!” I threw my head back and groaned loudly. It was actually quite loud. I probably sounded like a lion in heat. “Fuck.”

  “Don’t worry,” the woman said, throwing the papers on the desk and picking up the phone. “I’ll call the bus, I can stop him for you.”

  Oh god. This was just what I needed. Everyone is already on the bus, getting to know each other and making friends and small talk and whatever the fuck, then I show up and slow everything down. Vera Miles with her tattoos and crazy hair, here to make things more difficult.

  The woman held the receiver to her ear and continued to talk to me. She was pale with big round eyes, a gaunt face and some freckles. “Don’t worry, they haven’t gotten far.”

  “I though the orientation was at two,” I said, trying vainly to defend myself. God damn it my backpack was heavy. I took it off and placed it on the floor with a thunk. My shoulders screamed with the freedom.

  “The orientation is at the resort,” the woman said, her eyes seeking the ceiling as the phone rang audibly on the other end. “The bus pick-up was at two.”

  “And you boarded the bus that fast?” I asked, as if they were the ones at fault. “What about waiting around for me? I mean, didn’t you know you were missing someone?”

  She nodded, mouth open. “We did. We called your cell. There was no answer.”

  “I was in the metro,” I said feebly. “You see, my flight was late and then I didn’t have the right directions because I downloaded the new Nine Inch Nails instead and then it was really hot and I got confused…”

  She wasn’t listening to me. “Yes, Manolo, hola, hello. We have Vera Miles here, she just showed up.” I could barely hear Manolo’s Peanuts-type squawking on the other end. The woman nodded. “Yes, but she’s here. Hold the bus and I’ll come meet you.”

  Oh god, this was even worse than I thought.

  She hung up the phone and snatched her keys off of her desk. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

  “Oh, that’s okay,” I said breezily, as if she was just dropping me off at my house when I normally walked instead. Suddenly I felt like maybe this whole thing was a bad idea after all. Maybe instead of spending a month at an all-paid for resort, I could just slum it in Madrid, hiding my tail between my legs until I got home. Of course, I’d probably end up working the streets…

  “Forget it, it’s fine,” the girl said. It was only then that I realized she never smiled. It wasn’t that she was angry but that her skinny face seemed always frozen in a state of perpetual shock—eyes wide, mouth open. She reminded me of Shelly Duvall in The Shining.

  “How did you know my name?” I asked, bending down to pick up my backpack. I looked at my chest and realized I was giving her quite the cleavage shot. I wiped my hair out of my face before I swung it up on my shoulders. “You know, when I first came in.”

  “I recognized the profile picture you submitted,” she said, marching over to the front door. “And you were the only person who didn’t show up. So, there’s that.”

  Ugh. What a fucking start.

  I cleared my throat. “So what’s your name?”

  “Gabby,” she said as we exited the building back into the sweltering sunshine. She locked the door and motioned for me to follow her over to a two-door vehicle.

  “Gabby, the person I’ve been in contact with for the last three months?” I asked as I tossed my bag on the backseat. Gabby the person I kept bugging in email after email about mundane stupid shit?

  “That’s me,” she said, though from her default surprised expression she looked like she was unsure of that herself. Just gestured for me to get in the passenger side while she trotted around to hers and hopped in.

  Inside the car it was sauna hot and I immediately started questioning if I had put on enough deodorant. While Gabby peeled the vehicle out onto a busy road, nearly taking out a few sightseers, she threw a stack of papers on my lap. “You better fill those out now.”

  Before I had a chance to ask for a pen, she thrust one in my hands. I’d been annoying Gabby remotely for so long, it was strange to finally annoy her in person.

  I looked over the papers. Most of them were photocopies of stuff I had already filled out online months ago but some were accident waivers and the like. I was grateful for something to do, to both keep our talk to a minimum and prevent me from watching the scene of impending doom as our car rushed through the traffic, nearly sideswiping, well, everything in our direction.

  “So, Vera Miles?” Gabby questioned, between blaring the horn. “Are you named after the actress? I’m a big Hitchcock fan.”

  I got this question all the time, usually from film buffs or old people. “No, my great-grandmother’s name was Vera. My mother said she never cared for the actress anyway, so she thought she could do better, I guess. Of course, she was totally wrong.” Even though I hadn’t been named after the fifties screen star, having her name definitely got me into a love of classic films. I even had an appreciation for the often overlooked actress, maybe because it pissed my mom off. Lord knows she probably thought I’d turn out to be a well-behaved beauty queen instead of a, well, me. Me and other Vera, we were underdogs.

  With that thought in mind, I paused at the last question I had to fill out on the form: who was my emergency contact if something should happen to me. That was a bit of a tough one. I’d put my dad over my mother, just because we got along better, but my parents divorced when I was thirteen and he was a pilot, which meant he was more in the air than he was on the ground. Both my mother and Mercy seemed too busy with their own lives to give me much thought, which left Joshua. My dear brother was the only one who truly had my back. Unfortunately, he was high all the time, which was also kind of my fault.

  I sighed and wrote down my mother’s information.

  “There’s the bus,” Gabby said.

  I looked up to see the bus pulled over to the side of the road, the engine running. We were on the outskirts of the city center where the tall business buildings started to peter out into wide boulevards framed by flowering trees.

  “Thank you so much,” I said to her as she pulled up right behind it. “I am so sorry I was late.”

  She finally smiled. It was quick but it was there. “It happens every program, don’t worry about it.”

  I opened the door and got out. As I reache
d into the back to retrieve my pack I asked, “Any last minute advice?”

  She raised a brow. “Try not to fall in love with anyone,” she said dryly.

  I slowly closed the door and she sped off, honking at the bus as she drove past it.

  Phfff, I thought to myself. Try not to fall in love with anyone? She obviously doesn’t know me at all.

  I shrugged on my heavy bag and hauled it over to the bus in time to see a short and rotund looking driver come hoping out of it. Though I was afraid he was going to reprimand me, his mustache and smile were miles wide.

  “So you’re Vera!” he said in a thick accent. He went for my shoulders. “I’m Manolo. Come, come, give me your bag.”

  I awkwardly spun around so he could take it off. He then said, “Go, go on board and take an empty seat.” He started to lift up the compartment at the side of the bus.

  I thanked him and shrugged, adjusted my purse on my shoulder as I walked up to the bus. I knew people were looking down at me from their window seats and already making their judgements. But fuck it.

  I took in a deep breath and climbed up the stairwell.

  Everyone was staring at me as I stood in the middle of the aisle, quickly scanning the rows for an empty seat. I thought I saw one at the back.

  Luckily, no one looked mad or upset at the interruption. Most were smiling. Some of the grey-haired folk eyed my tattoos and even my tiny nose ring stud with disdain, but that was normal.

  Well, might as well introduce myself.

  I raised my hand and waved it. “I’m Vera Miles,” I announced sheepishly. “And I’m the one who was late. Lo siento,” I added, the only Spanish I knew.

  Everyone laughed and a few people applauded.

  A cheery middle-aged man in a cowboy hat and checkered shirt nodded at me. “No more Spanish for these folks, they said it’s English only from here on in,” he said in a boisterous drawl, shooting me an apple-cheeked grin. “Didn’t you get the memo?”

  “No, I was late,” I joked just as Manolo came back on board.

  “Vera, sit please,” he said. “There’s a seat down there.” He quickly pointed down the aisle then climbed back into the driver’s seat, closing the hydraulic door.

  The bus lurched forward and I steadied myself on the backs of people’s chairs. I made my way down the aisle as he pulled out into the road, giving everyone the shy “hey, I’m sorry” smile as I walked past. There really were people from all walks of life here. Even though it was hard at first to tell who was a native English speaker and who was Spanish, I started to pick up on the fact that every English person was seated beside a Spaniard and making awkward small talk. The Texan was right—the program had already begun.

  I kept going until the second to last row where I had seen an empty seat. Actually, it was the only empty seat on the bus.

  It was beside a man who was staring out the window, chin resting thoughtfully on his fist. I only had a good moment to take him in unabashedly before I had to sit down. After that, staring at him would become really awkward.

  And for some reason, I wanted to stare at him.

  Okay, maybe it wasn’t some reason. He was handsome. Like, wow, that’s a handsome guy, and then you nudge your friend and get her to take a look as well. That kind of handsome. Though I couldn’t see him straight on, he had a nice, strong face, broad nose with a bump on the bridge, and just the right amount of stubble on his cheeks and jaw. His deep-set eyes looked rich brown, his longish, thick hair a shade darker than that and his brows even more so. I couldn’t tell how tall he was, he was at least a few inches taller than I was, but his body was fit and lean. His stomach looked washboard flat under his white dress shirt and his forearms that peeked out from the rolled up sleeves were muscular, the same color as wet sand, a beach in the afternoon light.

  He was the stereotype of what I thought a Spanish man would look like, all dark looks and mysterious ways, and judging by his neatly pressed dark grey pants and the size of his Rolex on his wrist, he was a successful one at that.

  Handsome business men were so not my type—I liked them roughed up and edgy and fun—but there was something about him that got me a little hot under the collar. I sat down as close to him as possible and, once again, hoped I didn’t stink.

  He turned to look at me and offered me a smile that made me glad I was already sitting down, my joints feeling weak. It was stunning, genuine and charming all at once.

  “Hello,” he said, in beautifully accented English. “I’m Mateo.”

  He offered me his hand and that’s when I saw the wedding ring on his left hand, glinting from the sun that snuck in through the tinted window.

  Married? Okay, definitely not my type.

  Chapter Two

  I shook Mateo’s hand, surprised at his warm, firm grip. “I’m Vera, nice to meet you,” I said before I ever so subtly adjusted myself so that I there was a good amount of space between us. It was just as well that he was a married businessman. I hadn’t come here to sleep with the first Spanish man I’d met. Otherwise I’d end up in bed with the man I was miming to on the street.

  “Vera,” Mateo repeated, his voice smooth and polished as glass. “You have just arrived and already you have made me feel better about myself.”

  I frowned at him, curious and finding his carefully pronounced English adorable. “How so?”

  “I was late also. I thought I would spend the whole ride alone.” He smiled warmly. “So. Tell me about yourself.”

  I flipped my hair over my shoulder and grinned. “Oh, okay. How long is the bus ride?”

  “Three hours, he said.” He nodded up the aisle at Manolo. “We’re supposed to talk the whole ride.” He gave me a one-shouldered shrug. “More or less.”

  He was right. Everyone on the bus was murmuring to each other in a forced and kind of awkward way, a range of accents and tones filling the space.

  “All right,” I said, feeling immediately comfortable around him. Then again, it was often that way when you were with married men. There were no expectations or misunderstandings—you could just relax and be yourself. “How about we ask each other questions? Take turns. You know, I go first and you go second.” I hadn’t meant to be patronizing but his English was so good that I’d forgotten why he was here.

  “I know what taking turns means,” he said good-naturedly.

  “Well then that brings me to my first question,” I said. Normally I would have slapped his leg in flirty good fun but I decided against it. Okay, so maybe I couldn’t be exactly like myself. “Why are you here? You speak really good English.”

  “My company,” he said. “My English is good, yes, but not so when compared to you. In an international market, those who are fluent in English remain at the top. If you don’t speak so well,” he waved his hand back and forth and winced, “eh, then you are looked at as being dumb.”

  “You’re definitely not dumb,” I told him.

  He smiled faintly. He had nice lips. “You don’t know me after some beer.”

  “A lightweight, I see.”

  He frowned. “Light…weight?”

  Well he certainly wasn’t dumb but I could see he didn’t know everything. Time to try out my non-existing teaching skills. Lord knew that’s all I’d be doing for the next month. I could only hope that it would feel as easy as it did with Mateo—a stranger up until a few minutes ago—but I knew I wouldn’t be that lucky.

  I sat back in my seat. “Yeah, lightweight. It means that you can’t handle your liquor very well. One drink gets you buzzed, the next gets you drunk.”

  “Buzzed?” he asked. “Like a bee? I do not understand.” His brows furrowed, his expression endearing. He had really striking eyebrows.

  I had to stop thinking like that.

  “Kinda,” I said. Actually no, it was better not to confuse him. “Okay, buzzed is like when you’re feeling good. Loosey goosesy,” I waved my arms up and down like a spaced-out hippie. “Tipsy. Almost drunk. You know, you’re like…�
�

  “Happy,” he filled in.

  “Yes,” I said. Well, unless you were drinking and in a shitty mood, then that first drink just makes the tears fall. But that was neither here nor there.

  “Do you get…happy, Vera?” he asked. His voice was lower and leaned into me ever so slightly. I caught a whiff of fresh-smelling cologne, something expensive that probably came in a turquoise bottle. The cologne made me happy.

  I gave him a small smile, suddenly self-conscious. I had expected his eyes to be resting on my cleavage, this damn black tank top kept falling down so low, but he was staring forward at the seat in front of us, waiting patiently for my answer.

  “Um,” I said rather eloquently. “I’ve been known to get happy.”

  He nodded as if he were pleased with that answer and relaxed back in his seat, the space between us widening again. “In Spanish there are many words I could use, but Manolo said there would be, how you say, consequences if we not speaking English. I admit, I did not realize that we won’t be able to speak a word of Spanish. I can’t imagine I will survive three weeks.”

  I felt a strange pang of disappointment. “Only three weeks?” I asked. “I’m here for four.”

  “I bet you’re going to get tired of talking,” he smirked. “And I will get tired of having to think. Perhaps I shall end up dumb in the end.”

  “Ah, but if you have enough beer, you can be dumb and happy.”

  “Buzzed,” he corrected, grinning impetuously. He brought his phone out from his pant pocket. “I must write that down. Buzzed.” He made the z vibrate as he said the word and I couldn’t help but smile. When he was done he put the phone away and steadied his gaze at me.

  “Now,” he said slowly, “it is my turn to ask you.”

  “Wait, I was going to ask you where you worked.”