you without your, your pelo de gato.”
“Gato? As in cat? What exactly are you saying here?”
I’m impressed she knew that word. “Hair of the cat,” I reassure her. “Your hair is raised.”
“My hackles, you mean?”
“Sí. Hackles are raised. Just relax and trust me. Be happy that I’m here.”
She nods and reluctantly closes the door, then leans against it with her arms folded. “Okay. I’m relaxed. What’s in the bag?”
Inside, I feel victorious.
She let me in. She closed the door.
“It’s a treat for you. For us.”
I go to the bag, unzip the top, and start taking things out, placing them on the counter.
Oranges.
An apple.
Green grapes.
A jar of maraschino cherries.
Cherry brandy from Portugal.
Two bottles of red wine.
A small bottle of orange juice.
“Sangría,” I announce. “A specialty of number twenty-eight, Alejo Albarado.”
“Trying to get me drunk?” she muses.
“Trying to share a pitcher of sangría with you, so you don’t have to drink it alone.”
I start rummaging through her kitchen. Her apartment must have come fully-furnished, but even so, there’s not a lot of plates or cookware. I do find a glass pitcher, at least.
I fill up the sink a few inches, put the stopper in it, and hold my hands out for the flowers which she is subtly sniffing.
“They’re nice,” she says as she hands them to me.
“Grateful for our long growing season here,” I say as I stick the roses in the sink. “You can use the pitcher as a vase, after we’ve drank everything.”
“Yeah, the apartment didn’t come with too much,” she says, looking around.
“You can always add your own touches, no?” I say. “Can’t say I see any of your personality in here.”
It’s true. It’s a nice place, warm sunny walls with dark wood furnishings, but other than a few stock framed photos of Madrid and a throw over the couch, it might as well be a hotel room.
“I don’t have the time,” she says somewhat defensively, slowly walking out to the middle of the room while I get started on the sangría, bringing out a small plastic cutting board from IKEA and some cheap knives.
I groan in disgust at how badly they cut, even through an orange. “And you don’t even have sharp knives. This is a mockery of a Spanish kitchen.” I glance at her curiously. “What was your other apartment like?”
She shrugs. “The same. I mean, this place is much better.”
“Did you have your own stuff?”
“Yeah, I had some furniture and things from the divorce.” You can tell she doesn’t want to talk about it.
But I can be pushy. “So, how come that stuff didn’t make its way here? I’m sure you had some personal items that you liked or that meant something to you.”
She gives me a small smile and plops down on the bar stool across from me. “You know what? I don’t know. I never really thought about it.”
“What did you do with them?”
“Gave them away. I donated everything. I guess…I just wanted a clean slate. I wanted to leave every bad part of me behind in Manchester and I wanted to start over.”
That sadness comes back into her eyes, the sadness that she’s been dancing with since the day I first saw her.
“Do you think you’re starting over?” I ask her as I put the chopped fruit into the pitcher. “Or do you feel like this is a temporary stop on your way to somewhere else?”
Her brows knit together as she stares absently at the fruit in the pitcher. “I…hope I’m starting over. I’m not so sure about temporary. What makes you ask that?”
“I just don’t get a feel for you in here. And I don’t get a feel for you in general.”
She looks annoyed. “All because I don’t have my own stuff here? As I said, I’m busy.”
“You work as much as I do, five days a week. If you wanted to, you could start making it like home. But instead you still have Manuel drive you everywhere and you’re still living in this apartment which the club found you. I don’t know, maybe they pay for it, too. They have the money.”
“Is this why you came here? To lecture me about how settled or not settled I am?”
“Maybe,” I tell her, measuring the brandy. “Would you rather that or that I came here because I wanted to fuck you?”
She presses her lips together, blinking.
“Thalia,” I say gently. “We’re just talking. I want to know you outside of work, so here we are. We’re having a conversation. And since I like you