Page 70 of The Producer: Aaron

I support her as she unfastens the high heels she wore all evening.

“I’ve been to the beach many times, but I’ve never spent a night out with a woman watching the ocean as the sun rises, sitting on the sand,” I explain as we walk to the shore.

“Really? Not even when you were in college?” she asks as she snuggles between my legs, and I squeeze her against my chest.

“When I was in college, I was already working with my father. I never had time to enjoy these little things when I was younger,” I admit.

“Do you ever regret not having a normal life?”

I shrug and think about it for several moments. “It’s not just sacrificing what I’ve made. I have reached several goals I had set for myself. I would never have achieved these results if I hadn’t done that. And then I’m living these moments with you, now. I may not have the euphoria of my twenties, but I appreciate the nuances of these moments much more because I don’t take them for granted.”

She grabs my hands and intertwines our fingers.

“So I’m kind of your first time.” I notice a smile on her face.

I smile too, thinking about what she said. “You are so many ofmy first times.”

Dakota is my first time on the beach, the first time I publicly announced a relationship, the first time I’ve lived with a woman, and the first time I’ve fallen in love. Because the time has come to admit that the feeling that is growing in my chest has nothing to do with lust and desire. With her, I could think of giving up this life if she asked me.

My grandparents’ house, where I lived all my life with my mother, hasn’t changed in the three years I’ve been living in Los Angeles. The light-colored veranda is shaded by the giant oak tree in the garden in front of the entrance. The only thing you notice is that my grandmother has changed, again, the rocking cushions on the porch since the last time I was here to visit them. I imagine my grandfather grumbling because he doesn’t understand my grandmother’s mania to change their color every six months. I smile as I pull out my copy of the keys to enter.

“Anyone at home?” The silence that welcomes me is a bit strange.

You usually hear the television at full volume with my grandfather sleeping in the armchair in the living room. And if my grandmother tries to turn it off, he wakes up shouting that he was watching and just resting his eyes. For this reason, the empty living room leaves me a little perplexed.

“In the kitchen!” my mother’s voice calls out, bringing a smile to my face.

“Where did Grandpa and Grandma go?” I wrinkle my forehead as I place my travel bag on the floor next to the stool then enter the kitchen. I watch my mother finish washing the vegetables she picked from the garden this morning.

“They went on a day trip with a group from the Country Club. Can you believe it?” She smiles at me, lifting a corner of her mouth. It is a genuine gesture, but I don’t miss the bit of tensionthat permeates her features.

“On a trip? We are talking about the same people who put a fence six feet high because they don’t want to talk to the neighbors, right? Did they go on a hike with other people? Did you threaten them?” I ask, stunned by the news.

My mother laughs and shakes her head. “I suppose it’s senile dementia,” she teases.

“Wait, what do you mean they went with a group from the Country Club? Since when have they been members of the Country Club?” This is the most surreal conversation I’ve ever had with my mother.

“Since you became a famous actress, they say they must keep your name high. They love to brag to the rich about your success. I told you. Senile dementia.” She laughs again, and I join her because I know that my grandparents are in excellent shape.

It’s the most absurd news I’ve ever received. My grandfather is the one who drives five hours to go watch the pig race. I can’t imagine him in a polo shirt playing golf with other old men of his age.

“If you visited us more often, you would be aware of the news. I thought you had forgotten about this place.”

“Mom, I came back less than a year ago. I have not disappeared from the face of the earth.” I hug and hold her tightly as she wipes her hands after washing the vegetables.

We often quarrel, but the truth is that I love her. She is not happy that I live in Los Angeles and doesn’t miss an opportunity to remind me of it, but she has never prevented me from leaving or chasing my dreams. Except that every now and then, she insists on suggesting that I pursue other interests that she thinks will lead to a better future.

“Is one meeting a year what you give to your mother? Inmates have more visits to prison than I do.” She raises an eyebrow in reproach as she grabs a tea kettle, fills it with water, and puts it on the stove. She doesn’t need to ask me if I want tea with cookies. She knows I would never give up this afternoon ritual we have had for as long as I can remember.

“You know I’m busy with work. And then, you can always come to Los Angeles. You know that money is not a problem, I just need to know the day and the time, and I’ll buy that damn ticket for you.” I sit at the kitchen counter as I watch her prepare a dish with homemade cookies and place it in front of me.

She watches me for a few moments, crossing her arms and studying me, tilting her head. I have no physical resemblance to my mother. Where I am blond, she is raven black, while she has generous shapes, I am skin and bones. But there is one thing I took from her. We’re both skilled at nailing someone with our gaze when we want to emphasize an issue close to our heart. Before she even opens her mouth, I already know what she will say.

“Where should I sleep? In the bed between you and Aaron?” she asks seriously, bringing up the topic I flew here to discuss.

After I learned from Aaron about their past, I didn’t want to address this topic with her on the phone. It’s delicate, and, since she has been accepting checks from the man I live with for years, the least I could do was take a plane and know what she thinks about it.

“What the heck, Mom! Make as many jokes as you want, but not this one, please. It’s…weird. Just weird,” I blurt out, shivering.

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