Page 50 of Que Será, Syrah

I nod absently, searching for the right tone—amused, casual, disinterested—before adding, “So, speaking of nicknames, or names in general, Gianni happened to notice that Deputy Romero was there, so he dared me to go over and talk to him. And you know me and dares.” I roll my eyes, as though I’m amused by my own foibles. “But hey, at least I finally learned what his real name is, so there’s that.”

“Oh, we did, too!” Bianca says. “I knew there was something I meant to tell you. He was at the wedding. Turns out his name is Clay. But Miles says no one ever calls him that.”

“I know,” I say as I help myself to more popcorn—quickly stuffing my mouth so more words won’t fall out. The story Clay told me about how he and his siblings came by their names and why is so cute! I want to share it with my sisters, but I know I can’t.

Rosa is still looking concerned. “So then…who’s this mysterious friend you spent the night with,” she asks.

“There’s no mystery,” I reply, twisting the truth just the tiniest bit. “I just reconnected with someone I used to know. After I left the restaurant,” I add, in case word of this gets back to the cousins, and they start to get ideas. “But come on, you don’t want to hear about that now, do you? I thought we were gonna watch this movie?”

Lucky for me, the others agree. And—even luckier—the film had already been queued up. So, within less than a minute, the danger has passed and we’re all happily watching Chris Pine in his most relatable (at least from my perspective) role ever as the cute but underachieving, cellar-rat-slash-party-boy who ultimately makes something of himself. And maybe, sort of, kinda gets the girl at the end? Hard to say.

It's been a few years since I’ve seen it, and parts of it are hitting different now. Possibly because I’ve just been with Clay, who reminds me a lot more of Gustavo than he does Bo.

They’re both serious, passionate, impulsive (hello, antenna scene). They’ve both had to work hard for every achievement. They never had anything handed to them—unlike Bo. Senor Garcia was right about that. Or like me, if I’m honest.

And that cabin scene with Gustavo and Sam? Whew. It’s only been a couple of hours since I left Clay’s apartment, but that scene has me wanting to break out my phone and start sexting. I don’t, of course, because I’m not alone, and that would be weird. But I really want to, all the same.

My sisters keep up a running commentary (that I occasionally contribute to) as we watch the film. And it feels so right, so familiar, so much like old times. I can’t stop wondering if Clay has seen it (apparently Jansen had not) and what he’d think of it, how he’d react. Which ultimately leads to me feeling cranky again, and out of sorts—even after several slices of Divino’s pizza—because I can’t even imagine what it would be like if he were here, hanging with my sisters and their misters. I mean, it works well enough on paper—they’re all friends (or friendly) with Miles, after all. But in real life? I just can’t see it. And that makes me sad.

And actually, now that I think of it, the pizza, while delicious, is also part of the problem. Everyone’s s been great about sharing with me, but I wasn’t here when they placed the order, and it shows. Not that I have any real issue with sausage, pepper, and sun-dried tomato pizza. Or with barbecue chicken, bacon, and black olives, either. They’re both solid choices. But it’s been years since I had my absolute favorite toppings, the controversial, much maligned, ham and pineapple. Which is only the best combination ever.

But let me tell you, if you think people on this side of the pond look down on Hawaiian pizza, try ordering one in Europe!

All of which leads me to wonder what kind of pizza Clay would order. For the record, I’m betting on pulled pork and jalapeno with Cotija cheese. Which in turn leads to me missing him, ridiculous as that may be after just one night. But fate is weird like that. Look at Rosa and Jake. They just spent ten years apart and yet; to look at them now, you’d never know it.

By the time the movie is over, I’m done. I’m tired of feeling envious, lonely and, seriously out-of-sorts. I’m also just plain tired from lack of sleep. I’m too horny to go to bed alone, even though that’s the only option available tonight. I’m also stuffed full of pizza and popcorn, slightly buzzed from one, I mean two…no, make that three beers! All of which puts me in serious danger of saying too much, and all the wrong things, if my feet don’t hit the stairs rightthefuck now

“Well, I’m out,” I announce as I climb to my feet. I pause for a moment, swaying slightly as I adjust to the change in altitude, vaguely aware that my sisters are gazing at me in concern. And frowning.

“What? No! Where are you going?” Bianca asks. “We’re about to watch A Walk in the Clouds—your favorite!”

Oh, hell. That is my favorite. But I can’t right now. This is a movie about a woman returning to her childhood home in Napa. A woman with a secret love life that she’s hiding from her overbearing family. I’m already living that particular dream. Less the unwed pregnancy, obvs. “I’m tired,” I tell Bianca. “This has been great, but I gotta go to bed.”

“But it’s peak Keanu,” Rosa says—as if I didn’t know that! Even though the age gap makes it a little embarrassing to talk about now, my pre-teen-self fangirled hard over Neo. “You don’t want to miss that do you?”

“Seriously,” I say—then immediately have to pause for a jaw-cracking yawn—a real one, but it helps to sell the story. “I can’t tonight. But you know what’s great about movies? He’ll be just as beautiful next time we watch it. And I’ll be better able to appreciate it then.”

I cross the room to a chorus of people wishing me a good night—in between yawns of their own. Sorry, not sorry. I pause in the doorway to smile at them all. “This was fun,” I say. “We should do it again. Soon.”

“We should,” Rosa agrees. “We can do it next weekend, if you want. And maybe we’ll invite the cousins, too.”

“The Lambros,” I say, just to pull her chain. “Learn it. Use it.”

She rolls her eyes and grins in response, shooing me away with a flap of her hand. “Go to bed. You’re delirious.”

“I know you are, but what am I?” I tease. As I hit the stairs, I’m hugging happiness and contentment to my chest like a soft and squishy, heart-shaped pillow, metaphorically speaking, of course. For the first time in years, I feel like I have a family that loves me and a home where I belong. It’s a nice feeling. Add to that this thing with Clay—whatever it is—and life just can’t get much better.

Enjoy it while you can, my inner cynic advises. Nothing this good could last for long. Like I don’t know that. All it would take to have my entire world come crashing down is to have one or more of my secrets come to light.

What happens after that is anyone’s guess.

Chapter 12

Clay

The next week starts off great. Which should probably worry me more than it does because, in theory, starting a relationship with Legs, at this point, is a terrible idea. I’d be lying if I said otherwise. But in practice…I just can’t wait to see her again.

I feel more like myself when I’m with her than I have for a very long time. I suppose, in part, that’s because she knew the me from before the fires. That Clay Romero doesn’t really exist anymore.

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