Now I raised my brow. That didn’t seem like what he said.
Luckily there wasn’t time to stand on the porch and think about it. He opened the door wider and Mateo led us inside.
The home itself was cozy and inviting. Very Spanish—lots of tapestries, some Dali and Picasso prints among pastoral landscape paintings, walls of color mixed with wood. It smelled amazing, like herbs and olive oil.
“Mateo!” a woman cried, coming out from what I assumed was the kitchen, wiping her hands on her messy apron. This must have been Carmen, and at first I was shocked at how young she looked until I remembered that his father had waited ten years before he remarried.
She put Mateo’s face in her hands, squeezing it until I had to laugh, then kissed him twice on each cheek. She was a tall woman with a lively, friendly face. When she finally focused on me and I could see that same warmth in her eyes, I knew she was just a friendly, good person.
She came right over to me and embraced me like I was an old friend. “Vera,” she said, her accent heavy. “I am so happy to meet you, Vera. I have been asking Mateo about you.”
I was so stunned, I didn’t know what to say. She pulled away, and with a firm grasp on my shoulders, looked me up and down. “You are very beautiful. Such a lovely face.” She looked at Mateo. “She is an angel, Mateo.”
“More like an angel in disguise,” he said gleefully, biting his lip at the daggers I was shooting him.
“Oh, you are no good,” Carmen said to him. She looked back to me. “Are you hungry? I hope you are hungry.” She started leading me toward the living room. “Come, come, sit down.”
Mateo’s father said something but Carmen waved him away. “Quiet Sebastian,” she admonished him. “Mateo’s father doesn’t speak a word of English but don’t worry, he is more harmless than he looks. He thinks he’s turned into Hemingway in his old age.”
I wanted to make a remark about George R. R. Martin but decided not to push it. I had a tendency to gang up on people when I was trying to make friends.
Carmen sat me down on a worn velvet sofa. Mateo joined me while his father and Carmen disappeared into the kitchen.
“You are doing great,” Mateo said to me, putting his arm over my shoulder. “Carmen is very lovely.”
“Yes, she is.”
His father came out a moment later holding a bottle of wine and two wine glasses. He gave us one each and poured the bottle of red into our glasses. Mateo thanked him and he only grunted, shuffling back into the kitchen.
“My father is shy,” Mateo said. “And, well, he can be a bit of a grump before he’s had his wine. He will loosen up later, you will see. I bet he is nervous about you.”
“Me? Why?”
“Because he doesn’t speak English and wishes he did,” he said. “He always wanted to learn, he just never got around to it.”
“Maybe I can teach him English one day,” I suggested. “Apparently I am good at it.”
“You are,” he said, clinking the edge of his glass against mine. “And even the fact that you would offer that makes me very, very happy.”
We finished our wine while Carmen worked in the kitchen. Eventually his father came out and made small talk with Mateo, becoming more animated the more wine he drank. Then Lucia came down, a sullen look on her pretty face.
“What is wrong, sister?” Mateo asked in English, giving her a hug.
She shrugged. “Carlos isn’t coming for dinner. He is working late. Again.”
She came over to me and gave me a quick hug. “Nice to see you again, Vera,” she said sincerely, even though she was pouting a bit.
“Fuck Carlos,” Mateo said.
“Mateo!” Carmen admonished him from the kitchen. “Please be nice.”
He laughed. “I am serious, Lucia. He is always cancelling on these dinners. When are you going to give him the boot?”
She glared at him. “His reasons are all true. Don’t be so overprotective.”
He sat back down, pulling me against him. “I am not overprotective. I am just getting annoyed that you are dating the invisible man, that is all. I mean, how do you even kiss him if you can’t see his face? Seems complicated, yes?”
I elbowed him, feeling like Carmen. “Be nice.”
He grinned at me like a jackass. “What? It’s true. I wonder about such things.”
I rolled my eyes, though secretly I was enjoying the banter between the two. Playful Mateo was always fun and he really loved to rile Lucia up who fell into his trap every single time.
Dinner was pretty much the same thing, except that his father was smiling a lot more. He asked me a few questions too, which eager beaver Lucia translated for me. The food was amazing—finally some authentic homemade paella that wasn’t made for tourists—and there were endless bottles of wine. I was pretty buzzed, laughing at everything, while Mateo stayed sober so he could drive us home. And by the time that came, I actually didn’t want to leave. I had a long embrace with Carmen and even Sebastian seemed affectionate enough when we said our goodbyes. For all his grump, there was an innate kindness in his eyes.
In the car ride back, I told Mateo that I had been terribly wrong about his family.
“I told you so,” he chided me. “They are good people and they trust me.”
“I wish everyone was good like they are,” I said.
“Yes, the world would be better,” he said. “But frankly, I am grateful for them and the way things are. Sometimes you don’t need everyone on your side, you only need a few.”
I smiled and prayed someday I would take that to heart.
A few beats of silence passed, that kind of comfortable air that happens when you’re riding in a car at night, only the sound of wheels on the dark highway and the soft glow of the dashboard lights.
“You know what we should do?” he eventually asked.
“What?”
“When we get back from Barcelona, we should have a party. Let’s invite everyone from Las Palabras, all the ones who live here or nearby.”
My smile nearly broke my face. “That is a fantastic idea!”
“I thought you would like it,” he said. He put his hand over mine and gave it a squeeze. “We deserve some fun and friends, no?”
That night we got home and tore each other’s clothes off, barely making it in through the door. I hoped I was able to show Mateo just how beautiful he made me feel.
Barcelona ended up being an absolute gem. First of all, I loved road trips, so the fact that Mateo and I were jetting through the Spanish countryside, stopping at wineries and olive farms and drinking and stuffing ourselves silly on everything that was overripe and decadent was amazing. Then the city of Barcelona itself managed to knock my boots off. The city was a maze of beauty, a mix of the quaint and the avante garde. Dali and Gaudi-esque architecture made me snap a million pictures, the narrow and unassuming side streets led us to hidden tapas bars and used bookstores, the busy street of Las Ramblas made me spend too many euros giving change to all the living statues that were lined up and down it.
Mateo’s apartment was as fantastic as I had imagined it back at Las Palabras. It was in a modern-looking high-rise overlooking a wide expanse of golden sand beach. With the balcony doors open, you could hear the aqua waves crashing at night and feel the ocean breezes during the day. The apartment was only a studio and it was furnished sparsely, looking more like a hotel room than anything. But it was absolutely exquisite nonetheless.
The day before we left, we packed up a picnic lunch—rose wine, meats and cheeses—and headed to the beach just in front of the apartment. It was a Monday and less crowded than the weekend, with only a few bronzed bodies lying about. I decided to do what I had been too scared to do all weekend long and that was to sunbathe topless.