his mother, Armando, and a girl who looks a bit younger than Armando. There are lots of kisses and hugs and ruffling of his hair. It’s like watching the Pope come to town (minus the hair ruffling), and they’re all staring up at him with such reverence.
This is your man.
The realization is a sweet arrow to my chest.
He catches my eye and gives me a smile that’s both warm and slightly embarrassed.
“Todos, todos,” he says to everyone. “Quiero que conozcáis a Thalia.”
At that, every head swivels toward me.
I lift my hand in an awkward wave. “Buenas Noches.”
“?Quién es ella?” an elderly woman asks him.
Who is she?
“Alejo,” his mother says in a hushed voice. “?Por qué está aquí?”
Why is she here?
Alejo just gives his mother a kiss on the cheek and strides out of the group, coming over to me. He holds my hand, gives it a much-needed squeeze for my own personal bravery, and faces them.
Then he starts spouting a bunch of things in Spanish while his captive audience looks on. I can only pick out a few words here and there: therapist, girlfriend, secret, lovely, and Christmas.
That pretty much sums it up.
The elderly woman comes to me first, a big smile on her lined face, her eyes shining. “Hermosa,” she says, calling me beautiful as she pulls me in for besos, kissing each cheek. “Muy Hermosa! Alejo, tienes suerte.”
He is lucky.
I point to myself. “I’m lucky. Alejo es…” I glance at him, the words failing me. “El mejor.”
The best.
“Sí, sí, sí,” she says, patting me on the shoulder. We know.
“This is my grandmother,” Alejo says. “We call her Yaya.”
Yaya. Even her name is adorable.
After that, after Yaya gives her approval, everyone comes over to say hello.
I meet his Aunt Maya and Uncle Luis.
Their daughter Mila.
His Uncle Nacho.
I meet Santiago and Xavier, Nacho’s sons.
And then of course Armando, who gives me a very cheeky smile, and when he gives me a rather sweet kiss on the cheek, he whispers, “I knew it.”
Last but not least, his mother.
She looks me up and down, one brow raised, her lips pursed.
Then she just looks at Alejo and nods, motioning for everyone to follow her inside the house.
Okay, so I wasn’t expecting her to pull me into a big bear hug and welcome me into the family or anything like that, but still, her distance chills me.
“Don’t worry about her,” Alejo says, holding my hand. “Give her time.”
I have to take his word for it.
The house inside is surprisingly modest for its size, but clean and welcoming with tiled floors and dark wood furniture. The living room is scattered with glasses, so obviously they were all up waiting for us. It’s nearly midnight now, so it’s no surprise that everyone decides to go to bed.
We say goodnight and Alejo leads me to a small bedroom at the very end of the second floor. I don’t realize how tired I really am until I see the queen-size bed and immediately flop down on it.
I barely craw under the covers before I pass out.
Sleep comes for me quickly.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been out when Alejo kicks me in the leg.
I wake up, heart pounding, turning in the bed to look at him.
He’s lying there, face in anguish, holding on to the covers.
“Papá,” he cries out softly, the kind of cry that comes from the heart and cuts through the night. It brings me chills.
He’s having a nightmare.
Do I wake him up?
I put my hand on his shoulder and very gently shake him.
“Alejo,” I whisper, keeping back enough in case he wakes up with arms swinging. “Alejo, it’s Thalia. You’re safe. You’re dreaming.”
Suddenly he freezes and his eyes open.
He blinks, his mouth wide and gasping for air.
I immediately grab his hand. “It’s me. It’s okay. You had a nightmare.”
He looks at me, still blinking, and grips my hand tighter. Slowly, his features relax, his hand loosening.
“My god,” he says, breathless. He shakes his head. “What a horrible dream.”
I wince in sympathy. “It looked pretty bad. You called for your father.”
He nods. “Yes. I have this dream sometimes. Maybe it’s not even a dream but just a memory I’m having to relive. The night that he killed himself.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, rubbing my hand on his shoulder. “I can’t imagine what it’s like.” I pause. “How often do you have these? This is the first that I’ve noticed. Not that we get a lot of sleeping done together.”
He gives me a ghost of a smile.