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 Seventeen
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.
We collapsed onto the bed, our passion untempered by our sorrow, our mouths and hands seeking pleasure and joy, getting what we could from each other. I put all tears aside, all thoughts aside, and decided to just exist. We were pure, primal sex.
“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.