happiest I’d ever had. Being in Tenerife with his family (even his mother, who became less standoffish by the time we left), put our relationship into the stratosphere, a level where we can just be with each other. All the fear I carried with me, about how I felt about him, how he felt about me, what our future was, just…dissolved under that winter sun.
That’s not to say there’s a future that makes sense for us, but I’m choosing to ignore that pesky detail and do what I can to just enjoy every moment I’m with him and stop worrying so much. Our future together would never be guaranteed anyway, no matter our age or our jobs, and the same goes for everyone, so you might as well make every second count.
At least those seconds where you’re not swallowing grapes.
“Where shall we go?” Alejo asks me.
We’ve made it a few blocks and I don’t even know where we are at this point. Everything is a blurry, sparkling, drunken haze, with partiers constantly walking past us, hollering and blowing horns.
“I don’t know but my drink is done, so keep pouring,” I tell him, handing out my glass.
He takes it from me and starts fishing the bottle out of his backpack when my cell phone rings.
I glance at it.
It’s Helen.
The name makes my stomach queasy, probably because I hadn’t talked to her in weeks, not since I checked in to see if she arrived home okay after she visited me. I know it’s a busy time of year and all, but even so, I didn’t feel like calling her and I’m sure she didn’t feel like calling me.
But something tells me I have to take this.
I have to see what’s left of our friendship, even if I already know the answer.
“Hello,” I say.
“Happy New Year!” she cries over the phone. She’s at a party, I can hear many drunk voices in the background.
“Happy New Year,” I tell her. “Where are you?”
“At a party,” she says vaguely, which gives me an idea of whose party she’s at. “Sorry I haven’t stayed in touch lately, you know how the holidays are. Busy, busy, busy.”
“Yeah, I hear you,” I say, watching Alejo pour me more sparkling wine. He’s frowning, trying to figure out who I’m talking to.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“I just celebrated the countdown by eating a lot of grapes,” I tell her.
“You mean drinking wine?”
I don’t have the energy to explain. “Yeah, sure. Wine.”
“Where are you?”
“Just wandering around town.”
“Madrid?”
“Claro. Of course.”
“By yourself?”
Here’s the loaded question.
I clear my throat. “No, I’m not alone. I’m with Alejo.”
Alejo’s eyes widen beneath the mask. He points at the phone and mouths “Helen?”
I nod, wincing.
There’s silence on her end though a familiar laugh rings in the background, her husband Frank and some other people.
“Are you serious, Thalia?” she eventually says. She coughs. “The kid?”
“He’s not a kid. He’s twenty-four. You know by the time my brother Steve was twenty-four, he was already married with a baby.”
“He’s a fucking kid,” she whispers harshly into the phone. “Hold on, I don’t want other people to hear this.”
At least she has the notion to keep things private.
I hear a muffled sound and silence and only then do I realize how loud my heart is drumming in my chest. But with each beat, I seem to get braver.
I hear the sound of a door closing, and then her exhaling. “Okay, how drunk are you?” she asks me.
“Pretty drunk,” I say, taking the glass from Alejo who is watching this phone call on edge. “Think I’m about to get drunker.”
“Okay, well we all do stupid things when we’re drunk.”
I laugh bitterly. “Alejo isn’t a stupid thing and that’s not why I’m with him. I love him, Helen. I’m in love with him.” The more I say it, the crazier, the sillier, the happier, the better it sounds. “I fucking love him!” I yell into the night, and some random reveler in the distance yells back, “Fuck yeah! ?Te quiero!”
Alejo now is just shaking his head, bewildered, a small smile on his lips.
“Thalia!” She practically hisses. “You have lost your bloody mind.”
“I haven’t. I really haven’t. I think I found my fucking mind, that’s what. I feel like a new woman, like my old self. Or maybe those are the same things now.”
More silence on her end. “Why are you so mad?” I ask, goading her now. “Why does it bother you?”
“Because it’s disgusting!” she says and I have to admit, it stings