Mr. Smithfield - Louise Bay Page 0,88
sister of the grown-up Madrid.”
“Madrid is Prada and Barcelona is Lacroix,” Jackson said as we made our way up to the steps.
“La what now?” I asked. Every other sentence Jackson spoke needed translation. There was no way we had grown up in the same country. It felt like we inhabited different planets most of the time.
“Christian Lacroix,” he said as if I might be the stupidest person to ever walk the earth. “They must have Lacroix in Oregon.”
“In Oregon they might, but I’m certain Christian never entered the gates of the Sunshine Trailer Park.”
He cackled and then spun three hundred and sixty degrees. “I mean, it’s pretty. I’m just not sure it’s very me. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the drama, because you know I do. But I’ll take the baroque glory of the Spanish steps over this any day.”
I groaned. “No Rome references,” I complained. “Not today.”
I didn’t have to see Jackson’s face to know he was rolling his eyes. “Listen, I’m up before noon so we can spend an entire day in this place. I can’t promise I can go the whole day without mentioning Rome. Anyway, it’s where you first fell in love. It shouldn’t make you grimace. It should make you smile.”
I linked my arm into Jackson’s. “No offense. I just wish I was spending the day with Gabriel today. He loves this park.”
“No offence, but I’ve seen a picture of that man. I wish I was spending the day with him, too.” Jackson was also in Spain nursing heartbreak. Hiding or running or distracting himself. We were in the same boat and had been each other’s companions in misery for the last week.
I laughed. “We’re both each other’s consolation prizes.”
“You never know. He might take you here for your honeymoon.”
“That hopeless romanticism is what will get you into trouble next time,” I said to him. “Gabriel won’t be the man I go on honeymoon with. I honestly wonder if I even want to get married.”
“And they say the gays are dramatic.”
“I mean it. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t have done for Gabriel. If he’d wanted to get married, I would have. For him. I just can’t imagine feeling that way about anyone else.”
“Give it time, sweet girl.”
Time wasn’t going to do it. Each day grew worse. It just created space where I replayed our conversations over and over in my head. It made me crazy wondering if I’d done the right thing by leaving. Should I have stayed and fought? Why didn’t I tell him I loved him? My heart grew heavier and heavier with aching for him. And Bethany.
I missed them.
“You’re getting maudlin,” he said. “I can see it in your eyes. And it’s three hours before it’s noon and acceptable to drink. Even in Europe.”
“Should I send him a picture? We talked about this place.” If he and Bethany were here, we could have brought a picnic and a Frisbee and raced up the steps. Gabriel would have put Bethany on his shoulders so she could see out onto the city. She would love it here.
“I know, honey. But don’t do anything you’re going to regret.” He glanced around. “There,” he said, pointing at an ice cream stand in the distance.
“I can’t eat ice cream at this time of the morning.”
“It’s not an ice cream stall. It’s a souvenir stand. Let’s buy a postcard. You can write it with what you’d want to say to him and keep it until you’ve had time to think about whether you should send it.”
“Are you this sensible when you break up with someone?” I asked. I didn’t want to send a postcard. Or write one I knew I wouldn’t send. Getting in contact with Gabriel wasn’t the answer. He needed time to see if his family could be pieced back together. And I needed to give him that time.
“Nope. I’d be texting eleven times an hour and drinking in the shower in the mornings.”
I didn’t want to day drink. I wanted to make the most of the summer. Seeing Europe like this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and was the only kind of silver lining of an otherwise clouded sky. I needed to stay positive and make the best of things. “A postcard seems like a good option.” Even if I never sent it, there was something deep inside me that told me he’d feel what I wrote. He’d know I was thinking about him. He’d understand that I loved him.
Forty
Gabriel
It felt like we were about