Here the Whole Time - Vitor Martins Page 0,12

in love at the same time.

Of course, that’s not what happens. I spent the entire afternoon catching up on my favorite TV shows, and when Caio and my mom open the door, it’s already dark out. I sit up on the couch, startled, pull my T-shirt down to hide my belly button, and hug a pillow to camouflage the folds of my stomach, which appear when I sit down.

My mom is yapping away, and I feel sorry for Caio, for having to withstand her chatter all day long. The only thing my mom needs is a pair of willing ears, and she can talk for an eternity.

But when I look at Caio, I don’t find a desperate plea for help in his eyes. He’s smiling and looks happy. Actually, this is the happiest I’ve seen him since he came to stay with us.

“We went shopping!” my mom says, all excitement, walking down an imaginary catwalk while holding a bunch of bags from different shops. I can’t contain a smile, because seeing my mom jokingly parading down the room makes me think that she could have been the prettiest model in the whole world.

“This morning I tried to wake you up in every possible way, but you were passed out.” She keeps talking while she removes items from their bags, one by one. “So I grabbed Caio and said, ‘Let’s go to the mall!’ Because this boy has been stuck in this apartment since Friday. Imagine if the police found out! They’d lock me up and throw away the key!” She starts laughing at her own joke.

Caio laughs, too.

“Of course, I bought a thing or two for you so you wouldn’t be jealous, now that I have a second son!” my mom says while rummaging through the bags for my presents. “Here!” she yells in excitement, and hands me a bag.

“Thanks, Mom,” I say, a bit uncertain, because that’s what Caio’s presence does to me.

I stick my hand in the bag and feel like dying when the first thing I pull out is a pack of underwear.

“I got you new briefs,” my mom starts, “because I went to wash one of yours, and for god’s sake, Felip—”

“THANKS, MOM!” I repeat, almost shouting in order to get her to stop talking. Caio muffles a laugh.

I hide the briefs under the couch pillow and go back to exploring the clothes in the bag. One gray shirt, one black sweatshirt, one pair of jeans, as if I were the most boring participant in the history of a fashion TV show. But the last item surprises me. At first I think it’s a tablecloth, but it’s a checkered flannel shirt. It’s black and red, kind of like a lumberjack Kurt Cobain. It looks nice, but it’s not my style.

“Caio picked that one! I wanted to get you something a little more dressy. But Caio liked the color,” my mom explains, and I don’t know how to react.

“I hope you like it. I think red will look good on you,” Caio says, a gigantic smile on his face. I try to smile back and lower my eyes to look at the checkered shirt.

I feel my face burn and realize that if there were a contest between my face and this shirt to see which is the reddest, my face would definitely win the grand prize.

I try to process the idea that there exists in the world a color that looks good on me that’s not black or gray. Red. I was wrong this whole time.

The house goes silent for a few seconds until my mom resumes her chatter all over again.

“Help me organize these bags, and, Felipe, order a pizza for us. I’m not getting in that kitchen today, not even to paint!”

She’s laughing, and so is Caio. But this time I’m not jealous. I’m happy. Because the two of them are, officially, my favorite people in the world.

We have pizza for dinner and play three rounds of Uno (my mom wins twice, and Caio wins the other one), and it’s late by the time I decide to retreat into my bedroom to sleep. I give up on the beige pajamas and am back to my old habits: old shorts and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles T-shirt that I can’t wear outside anymore because it has a hole under the armpit.

I leave the bedroom door open one more time, feeding the little bit of hope I still have in me. I don’t know if it’s luck,