Love in English

Chapter Eleven
___
The verbal attacks from Lauren, my conversation with Claudia and my encounter with shirtless Mateo did a total number on my head and my heart. The next four days passed by like a blender, shaking me up, changing my feelings from moment to moment. It didn’t help that a heat wave had suddenly gripped the region and the sweat diluted my thoughts.
The thing was, I didn’t do love. That wasn’t my thing. That was the reason why I didn’t date, I only got laid when I needed to blow some steam or have some fun. I didn’t have time to put up with complicated relationships or put my heart and soul out there for someone to step on. Love was scarier than deep space.
So that’s why I knew I couldn’t be in love. I was just in lust with Mateo, and that was usually fine, totally normal. But now, everything seemed so jumbled. I couldn’t keep my head on straight and every time I tried to pick a new strategy to get through this, such as “from now on, I will not be attracted to him” or “from now on, I will not speak to him”, something came along and shook things loose.
That something was usually Mateo. Avoiding him was really hard when you were forced to interact nearly every day and especially hard when he still sought you out for his daily question.
It was also hard because every time he asked me to go for a walk with him, to eat breakfast with him, to look through an English gossip magazine together with him, I couldn’t say no. I didn’t want to. I wanted to be around him as much as I could, even though I knew I shouldn’t.
Really, I was just f*cked. And not in the right way.
Like when he asked me to try napping with him again after we finished lunch. The temperature was sweltering, even with the fans inside going full blast, and everyone looked like they’d been hit by a truck carrying a flatbed of sweat. I hadn’t been sleeping very well thanks to the heat and was extra tired. So, taking a nap felt like the smart thing to do even though it might have not been.
We walked outside onto the patio where he once again grabbed a few extra seat cushions and went over to the tree where we last had our siesta. Because of the heat, he was wearing his worn-in jeans, Keds and a fitted black t-shirt with faded vintage designs, pretty much his uniform for the last few days. I wasn’t complaining. I loved Mateo in his slick business suits but I also loved Mateo in his dressed down, rough style. I had a feeling that deep down, that was the style closer to him.
I loved Mateo in everything.
Except, I wasn’t in love with him.
Of course.
“Ready for another siesta?” he asked as he got down on the ground, propping one of the cushions up under his head.
I looked around me to see if anyone was watching. There were a few people at the tables—Polly and Eduardo, Sara, Manuel and Nerea. The slut-shamer and the Brony were nowhere to be seen.
“You going to join me?”
I stared down at him, at his long body lying beneath me. What I really wanted to do was straddle him and put my hands down those jeans. But I shoved those lewd thoughts in a box somewhere.
I got down to the ground and made myself comfortable. We were lying closer to each other than we had been the first time. I felt like if I moved my arm even the slightest little bit, my hand would brush against his. I couldn’t help but wonder if that was a coincidence or not.
“Are you going to the party tonight?” he asked casually.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Tonight was the weekly party and this time we were supposed to get a flamenco dancing show, put on by Sara and Nerea, with Manuel playing classical guitar.
“You seem tired,” he explained. “But so am I. It usually doesn’t get this hot until August.”
“I bet you wish you lived on the coast,” I said. In Vancouver, it rarely got hot—or cold—because we were by the ocean.
“Yes,” he said. “But I have an apartment in Barcelona, so I try to go on the weekends.”
Wow. Now that would be cool. I bet it was a beautiful place too. My mind immediately began to envision a butter-colored Dali-esque exterior overlooking a wide expanse of golden beach. Mateo was there, standing by a balcony, the transparent curtains blowing past him. In my mind, he was wearing only boxer briefs, with a plush robe half-hanging off of him, the ocean breeze moving his hair.
“You should come see it one day,” he said, still a casual tone to his voice. It entered my dream and suddenly I was in the picture too.
I let out an uneasy laugh and the image vanished. “Yeah, I wish.”
Silence hummed between us. I could feel that Mateo wanted to say something more but I didn’t want him to say it.
“So,” I said, sliding over it. “In the last however many days, you’ve asked me who my favorite Spaniard is, my first pet as a child, my favorite childhood memory, what my thoughts are on global warming and why Justin Beiber exists.”
He raised his hand in the air and started ticking off his fingers. “And you’ve told me it was me, naturally, a hamster named Chubb-Chubb, a sailing trip on your parent’s friends boat when you were nine, you think the planet is angry and we are all f*cked, and that Justin Beiber exists because he is the anti-Christ and no one would ever suspect the anti-Christ came from Canada. Correct?”
“Sounds right. So what is today’s question?”
“Hmmm,” he mused. He put his hand back down beside him and his pinky finger lay directly across my pinky finger. I held my breath, afraid to move, the sensation of his skin on mine felt heavier than lead. It was all I could think about. His finger on mine. Was he going to move it? Should I move mine? Were we going to just lie there, touching like that?
Oh my god, I was going insane.
“Vera?” he asked.
I swallowed. “Yes.”
“What are you thinking about?”
You, you, you, always you, I screamed inside.
“Sorry,” I quickly said. “I was thinking about Justin Beiber.”
“Is that so?”
“What were you saying?” I prodded, hoping he wouldn’t pry.
“I was saying I was hoping to ask you tonight.”
“Why tonight?”
“Because you would be drunk.”
My heart thudded in my chest. What did that mean?
I took in a careful breath. “How come you can’t ask me when I’m sober?”
He shrugged but his finger was still on mine, trapping me. “People speak the truth when they are drunk. More or less.”
“Well,” I said bravely. “Then ask me tonight when I am drunk.”
“I will.”
We didn’t say anything for a few moments. All I kept thinking about what he was going to ask me, why did he need me to be drunk and truthful? My mind started going fast, the hamster wheel spinning, as my heart sprinkled it with hope. Was he going to ask me to have an affair with him?
No. No, it was such a long shot. Despite what Claudia said, he didn’t see me as his favorite food and even if he didn’t, he wouldn’t take a bite.
Oh, god I hoped he wouldn’t because I didn’t think I’d be able to resist.
And then what?
Suddenly it felt like I choked up with fear, like it reached a hand in and took a good hold of my chest. I couldn’t go to the party tonight. I couldn’t be put in those circumstances. I didn’t trust myself this time, I didn’t trust that I wouldn’t do something that I would regret and I didn’t trust that I wouldn’t get hurt.
If the heart had no regard for time, mine wouldn’t have any for pain.
“Tell me about the stars, Estrella,” he said abruptly, clearing his throat, clearing my panicked thoughts from my head.
I stared up at the sky, at the sun that was trying to push through the clouds, clouds that pressed down the oppressive heat like an angry fist. “Uh, you can’t see the stars right now.”
“But let us pretend you can,” he said. “I know you are very good at pretending.”
I frowned and rolled my head to the side to look at him. He was facing the sky, his aviator shades on his eyes, the clouds reflected in them. I loved the slight bump on the bridge of his nose, like he’d gotten it head-butting someone in soccer. He probably did.
I watched him carefully for a moment before I told him constellations we’d see later that night, if it were clear.
“We saw those the other night,” he said. “I want to hear their stories. Tell me a story about the constellation Leo, the lion.”
“You mean the story with Hercules, or…”
“No,” he said. “Something you’ve made up.”
“Pretty sure the Hercules story was made up.”
“Play along now, Vera,” he said, his voice so silky smooth. “For me.”
I sighed and blew a strand of hair off my sticky face. “Fine.” And then I proceeded to make up some story about Leo, which ended up being eerily similar to the Disney classic, Lambert the Sheepish Lion.
When I was finished the story, I looked over at him for his reaction. He was sleeping soundly, his chest rising and falling.
Did Mateo just use me as sleep-aid? Why did I find that somewhat endearing?
I smiled to myself and did the creepy stalker thing where I continued to watch him sleep, allowed to stare unabashedly at his beautiful, temporarily innocent face until he began to stir.
The siesta was over.
* * *
I tried not to go to the flamenco party, I really did. In fact, straight after dinner, I ran back to the apartment, took a shower and put my pajamas on, ready for a night in. I did not want to have my resolve tested. Even if Mateo was going to ask me something funny and completely innocent, it didn’t matter. At this point in our relationship, I did not trust myself around him when I was drunk and it made me really nervous to even talk to him with everyone watching. For the last four or five days, ever since Claudia told me that she assumed I was sleeping with him, I felt everyone’s eyes always on me, always judging. I knew this probably wasn’t true—aside from Lauren—but even so, a party seemed too risky.
Lauren’s words kept ringing in my head too, telling me his wife would find out. What happened when there was something to find out? I didn’t know Isabel Casalles at all, especially since Mateo didn’t seem to like to talk about her, but no woman wants to do that to another. No one wants someone to commit adultery.
I’d just settled down in my bed with my Kindle, still a bit buzzed from the wine at dinner, and ready to read the urban fantasy I’d been sucked into, when there was a knock at the front door. I ignored it but it persisted and finally I heard the knock at my door.
I really needed to start locking the apartment.
“What?” I yelled, not bothering to cover up my annoyance. When there was no response I went over to the door and opened it enough to stick my head out.
Claudia, Ricardo, Sammy, Becca and Dave were all huddled outside my door with devious smiles on their faces.
“The hell?” I said, now conscious of Dave’s eyes roaming over the slice of booty-short topped leg that was visible to everyone.
“What are you doing?”
“Get dressed!”
“Come to the party!”
“You can’t hide forever.”
I was suddenly bombarded by their drunken voices. Man, they must have gotten a head start.
“Guys!” I yelled, trying to shut them up. “I’m in my pajamas, can’t you see?”
“I can see that very well,” Dave commented with a lecherous smirk.
I glared at him. “Shut up.”
“Please Vera,” Sammy said. “You’re the life of the party.”
“No, I’m not,” I said. “I’m reading a really good book. And it’s really hot out,” I added feebly.
“And the beer is cold,” Claudia said, “and we are better company than a book.”
I gave them all a wary look. “I don’t know about that.”
“Come now, you twat,” Sammy said, waving at me. Tonight she looked like a tiny round blueberry: Blue camisole, short blue skirt and blue suede platform pumps. Jeez, she must have packed more shoes than I did. She plopped herself down on the couch and patted the seat. “Oy, everyone else sit your arse here. If Vera won’t come to the party, we’ll bring the party to Vera.”
And that’s pretty much how that started. I relented and slipped on a pair of drawstring lounge pants, though didn’t bother with a bra. Sure my tank top was pink and thin and you could see my headlights through it, but they were just girls. And Dave. Dave with his smarmy smirk and tattoos, who I’m pretty sure he’d at least gotten a feel of them the last time we were together. I wondered, briefly, whom he was f*cking here.
Pretty soon the wine was flowing, the beers were being opened and the firewater we called grappa kept being passed around. Jerry had been giving Dave and a few others a ride into Acantilado over the weeks so they could stock up on supplies and alcohol. I should have felt bad for mooching, but hey, they were offering.
While Sammy and Dave had battle over what music would play on the iPod (Lana Del Rey VS The Clash), Becca, Claudia, Ricardo and I all sat on the floor playing the drinking game “Kings” with a deck of cards. I felt like I was in college—which was funny, because I was in college. It’s just that I didn’t have that many friends there and never got invited to anything on the UBC campus. Being around this group made me realize I might have been missing out.
When we were sufficiently drunk enough, and The Clash had won out as the music on accounts of Lana’s music being too much of a bummer, we start dancing, just bopping all over the apartment.
And then the party grew. At first it was just Sara coming home with Nerea and Manuel in tow, wanting to celebrate after their flamenco performance. We quickly convinced them to join us, even though I was bare-faced and in my pajamas. Then Claudia texted Eduardo, who came over with Polly and Jorge, then Antonio, Wayne, Angel and Mateo showed up.
Yep. Mateo.
I don’t know why I thought my apartment was some impenetrable little fortress against the powers of the Spaniard but clearly I was an ill-prepared idiot. The minute I saw him walk in the door, back in his white linen shirt and black dress pants, the heat of the night glistening on his arms and collarbone, I knew it was game over. I was drunk and improperly dressed, he was here, and there was a damn good chance that I was in love with the man.
And considering he was married, living a life with someone else, in another country than the one I lived in, I knew that my heart would only get broken. I’d slept with my fair share of men, but I hadn’t really cared about any of them. This man, I cared for him, craved him, and if I slept with him, his predicament would destroy me and every defense I worked so hard to build.
He saw me immediately, too. As soon as he closed the doors, his eyes made a straight shot to mine and held me there. For the first time, I could see the want and need in them, terrifying me to the core. I had to get away. I had to make this stop. He started walking toward me, trying to get past Sammy, Polly and Claudia who were all grinding in a circle. He was coming to ask me his question, the one I needed to answer honestly.
I had to act fast.
I reached out and grabbed Dave, who happened to be standing by me. I gave him a squeeze on his arm, smiled up at him, batted my eyelashes. Then I put my hand behind his head and pulled him into me, kissing him hard.
He hesitated for a moment, totally caught off guard, before he relented and started to kiss me back. He wasn’t bad at all—he knew what he was doing—and splices of memories from the week before flooded my brain. I knew I wasn’t as drunk this time around, which was good, because I needed be smart and in control. It’s hard to get over someone when you can’t remember what you did to get over them.
Eventually I caught my breath and pulled away. The party was still raging, people still laughing and talking and spilling their drinks. I could see Claudia over my shoulder, approaching us with a frown on her angelic face. I knew she wanted to have words with me, to tell me that Mateo was there. But I knew he was there—that’s why I did it. If he saw and he cared, well, he was married and he shouldn’t have cared. And if he didn’t care, well, then the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.
Or so I’d been told.
I turned away from Claudia, grabbed Dave’s hand and led him towards my bedroom. I made the mistake of turning around to face the party before I opened the door. I told myself I wanted to see if anyone had noticed, if anyone cared, but the truth was, I was only looking for Mateo’s reaction.
I was counting on it to set me free.
It didn’t. All I saw was him, paused behind the couch. He stared at me with such disbelief, such simmering… anger. As if I’d pissed him off and then kicked him in the gut.
Well…I guess that answered that.
He did care.
And so, I had to be doing the right thing. Right?
I ushered Dave inside my bedroom and closed the door behind us. I pushed him back a few feet and slipped my tank top over my head, and pulled my pants and boy shorts out from under my feet, until I was standing in front of him completely naked. I could tell he was taking a moment to take in my tattoos and my body. Then I walked over to him and shoved him onto the bed. I pulled out a condom from the drawer.
He was naked in an instant, and though I could see the tats on his body, I didn’t care enough about him to know what they were or what they meant. I thought about Mateo asking me to explain mine, I thought about the way he listened to the way I told him my favorite childhood memory, I remembered how my story about Leo put him asleep.
I wanted more than anything to be touching Mateo instead of Dave. But that wasn’t an option—it would never be an option. Not in this life of mine. So I had to make do.
Because Dave was on the drunk side, we had sex for longer than I anticipated. He was better than that Portuguese guy, I’ll give him that. He momentarily filled the empty yearning inside of me, distracted me from my thoughts as I was coming. He wasn’t by any means a bad guy. He just wasn’t the guy I wanted.
After we were finally finished, we must have fallen asleep for a little bit because when we woke up, the whole apartment was silent. We gave each other the nervous, awkward after-sex look and slipped on our clothes before I cautiously opened the door.
The apartment was empty. Messy as all hell with empty beer cans and wine bottles everywhere, but empty.
“Damn,” I said to Dave, keeping my voice down in case Sara was trying to sleep. “They must have gotten bored without us.”
He smirked at me. “Ah, they knew what they were missing.”
I decided to walk Dave to the door. I wasn’t really sure how to treat this, didn’t know if I wanted it to happen again, but at the same time I didn’t feel like telling him to get out of my place because I was going to bed, even though there was no way he was staying the night.
I opened the door and he stood on the landing, staring at me with the kind of smile that told me he had fun, and fun was all it ever had to be. I appreciated that about him—in some ways, we were very much alike.
“Well, good night,” I told him, hanging on the door. “See you tomorrow.”
He grinned at me, boyishly cute, even with the edgy hair and piercings. “See you.”
He ran down the stairs, the black spikes of his hair bouncing. I watched him and even when he turned the corner and I could hear his feet running on the pavement as he ran home, I still stood there, trying to take in the heat and the stars and the moon two nights away from becoming full.
I breathed in deep, the air full crickets and the starlight, then turned to go back inside.
“Vera,” a quiet, emotionless voice said from below.
I froze, recognizing the voice and slowly turned to see Mateo out on the path, as if he was walking home from somewhere down the hill. Half his body was lit from the neon orange lights from the dining hall.
I didn’t know what to say or do. I just stared down at him, feeling like I’d somehow made things more complicated than they were before.
That look in his dark eyes was like hit to the heart.
“You should treat yourself better than that,” he said, his voice glinting with a steely quality.
Then he started walking again, quickly, and in seconds he was out of my view. Gone into the night.
I realized then that I’d been holding my breath the whole time, afraid to move or speak or do anything. Afraid to let myself feel. Because the number one feeling that was waiting to pummel me over the head was damned, dirty shame.